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"The Grinch, huh?"

Buffy didn't turn away from the television as Spike walked in the room. "Mom only brought Christmas movies."

Spike sat on the couch, making sure to keep his distance from Buffy. "I always liked the Grinch. Well, except for the ending."

"What would you prefer—a Whoville massacre?"

"For starters."

Buffy sighed, putting the movie on pause and turning to look at Spike. "Why are you out here? If you're hungry, the sun's down, so you can walk to the kitchen without bursting into flames. Otherwise, you really don't need to be anywhere but the bedroom."

"I got bored. Come on, Buffy, you can at least let me watch the telly with you."

Maybe it was a bit of the season getting to her, or maybe it was just the fact that every time he called her by her real name it threw her a little, but Buffy decided she could probably concede that much. "Fine—but no talking."

"Right. I'll be quiet."

"I meant immediately, Spike."

Spike muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "bossy little bint," but quieted down at the look Buffy shot him.

The two sat stiff and silent, both trying to pretend the other wasn't there, but their self-conscious body language made it clear that they were quite aware of the fact that they weren't alone—and who they were with.

Just as the Grinch handed Cindy Lou Who her glass of water and sent her off to bed, Spike sat straight up, glancing around. "Slayer, pause the movie."

"What…"

"Pause the movie, dammit! I heard something."

As the image stilled on the screen, Buffy perked up, trying to see if she could hear what Spike was talking about. "I don't…"

"Shh! There it is again. Scratching. You don't hear it?"

"No. And it's probably just raccoons."

Buffy started to restart the movie, but Spike reached out, grabbing her hand to stop her. Buffy felt a thrill rush through her at his touch, cursing herself for not having Willow actually do a forgetting spell. Memories of her "engagement" to Spike were still way too fresh in her mind. "What's the big deal?" Buffy asked. She snatched her hand away. "And don't touch me."

Spike sniffed the air. "Doesn't smell like raccoons. Smells demony. Grab yourself a weapon, Slayer."

Buffy squinted, trying to peer through the dark glass of the picture window. "Are you sure? I don't see anything."

"No, I'm making it up for a lark," Spike replied sarcastically. "Look Slayer, unless you want to be demon meat, I suggest you go check it out."

Buffy got up on the couch, figuring as untrustworthy as Spike tended to be, she didn't have the luxury of ignoring his warning. She went into the bedroom, coming back a few minutes later with both a sword and a stake. "Don't need the stake, pet. It's not a vamp."

"The stake isn't for it."

Spike rolled his eyes. "Right then. What else would I get for trying to help you than death threats?"

Buffy ignored him, walking towards the back door. "Stay here. If there's going to be a fight, I don't need you getting in the way."

"Fine. Have fun hacking up the nasty."

Spike sat down on the couch, staring at the paused television screen. He tried not to think about the fact that the Slayer was outside, facing who knows what. Maybe she'd get killed, and he could have the cabin to himself.

The sound of the Slayer's scream pierce the silence of the cabin, and Spike jumped to his feet. Buffy was in trouble. Before his brain could tell him he didn't care, he ran outside, only to find her pinned to the ground by a rather large, furry demon.

"Oi! Get off the girl!" Spike yelled, hoping to distract the demon. It only looked at Spike for a moment, before turning back to Buffy, its massive paw raised to strike her with glistening claws. Spike immediately slipped to game face, launching himself on the demon and knocking it off Buffy and to the ground, pummeling it as he landed on top.

Suddenly, Spike stopped in mid-punch, realizing that even as he beat the creature into oblivion, his chip wasn't making the slightest protest. His feral-yellow eyes sparkled as he realized he was free to inflict as much pain on this guy as he wanted. Spike hit it a few more times before snapping its neck, roaring in triumph as he did. He stood, wiping blood off his face and grinning as the demon turned to ooze and spread out across the snow.

It wasn't until Spike heard Buffy whimper in pain that he remembered where he was. His face shifted back to its human appearance as he went to her, kneeling down to look her in the eyes. "Are you all right, Slayer?"

"I think so," Buffy replied, even as she winced in pain. "It dislocated my arm."

"Come on, pet, let's get you inside. I can fix that up." Buffy nodded, her arm hurting too much for her to argue. Spike helped her to her feet, letting her lean on him as they went back inside the cabin. Spike got her to the couch, and then asked. "Where's your first aid kit?"

"There's one in my stuff, in Mom's room," Buffy replied.

Spike went to the bedroom and coming back a few moments later, kit in hand. He knelt down in front of Buffy again. "How'd that thing get the jump on you, Slayer?" Spike asked.

"What, you want to take notes for future use?" Buffy asked. She smiled a little as she spoke, and Spike smiled back.

"Just curious is all."

"I'm not use to fighting in ice and snow," Buffy admitted. She colored slightly, turning away from Spike's gaze. "I slipped."

"Good thing I was here to save you then."

Buffy looked up sharply, her eyes widening. "You…you did. You saved me."

Now it was Spike's turn to look away. "Don't make a big deal out of it, Slayer."

"It kinda is a big deal, Spike. I mean, me Slayer, you vampire—remember? You're not supposed to help me. Why did you do it?"

Spike thought about lying to her, giving some answer about how he wanted the honor of killing her for himself. He didn't. "I don't know. I just heard you scream, and all my thoughts went out the window. And then when I saw that thing hurting you, I knew I had to make it stop. Come on, I need to pop your shoulder back in place."

Buffy nodded, turning to grant Spike easier access to her injury. They shared a mutual cry of pain as Spike moved her shoulder back in place, Spike grabbing his head. "Bloody hell! You'd think they'd make it so the damn chip knew when I was trying to help you!"

"I'm sorry."

"Not your fault." Spike opened the kit, pulling out a blue sling. "This is quite the full-service first aid kit you have here, Slayer," he said, helping Buffy get the sling on.

"Kind of a necessity in my line of work."

"I'd imagine so. You've got pretty nasty cut on your cheek."

"It got me with a claw."

Spike took out an antiseptic pad, cleaning and then bandaging Buffy's cut without a word. "He get you anywhere else?" he asked once he was done.

"No. You came in before he had a chance to do any real damage." Buffy looked up at him, worry suddenly creasing her brow. "Spike, how did you kill it?"

"Broke its neck."

"No, that's not what I meant. Your chip—shouldn't it have gone off?"

"I would've thought so, but…" A grin spread across Spike's face. "It was a demon! I can hit a demon!"

"You seem awfully excited about that."

"I can kill again!" Spike said with glee. "Granted, I never thought I'd be the type to run around killing my own kind like your poofter ex, but I'll take what I can get."

"So what, you're going to join the good guys now? Apply for Scooby membership?"

"Um, no. Trust me, I have no desire to join your little Slayer fan club. But hey, point me towards something demony, and I'll kill it." He grinned widely, obviously thinking of all the destruction and mayhem he was once again free to cause.

Buffy shook her head. She knew that all of this could have serious repercussions, but she was in no shape to sort them out now. "Wanna watch the rest of the movie?"

"Are you okay now?"

"It's not bad. With a little Slayer healing I'll be good as new before long."

"Glad to hear it."

Buffy looked at him, her eyes scanning his face for a moment before asking, "Are you?"

Spike turned away, clearing his throat. "How about finishing that movie?"

"Sounds good to me," Buffy replied, not anymore anxious than Spike to see where that conversation could lead.

*** *** ***

Three Christmas movies later, and Buffy and Spike had barely said a word to each other. As each one had finished, Buffy had put another one in, an unspoken agreement between them that another movie was better than discussing any of the events from earlier that night.

As the cute little girl found Santa's cane by the fireplace of her new home, Spike turned to look at Buffy, finding that the Slayer was curled up on the other end of the couch, fast asleep. He clicked off the movie, then picked Buffy up, ignoring the mew of protest she made in her sleep.

"Just carrying you to bed, kitten," he said softly, adjusting her so he wasn't putting too much pressure on her shoulder. Buffy settled down at that, nestling against him. Spike paused, breathing in the scent of her hair. He hated this attraction he'd always felt towards the Slayer, and he especially hated the way what had happened while they were both under Willow's spell had intensified it.

He knew, being what he was, that he shouldn't have saved her. He should've just kicked back, lit up a cigarette, and watched the bloodshed. But he hadn't. The moment he'd heard her scream, the only thought that had gone through his mind was that he had to save her. He hadn't even considered the chip when he'd jumped in to pull the demon off of her, his own well-being the furthest thing from his mind.

Spike frowned, suddenly full of self-disgust. What sort of demon was he? First getting chipped and now falling for the Slayer. He…

As soon as that thought went through his mind, Spike almost dropped Buffy to the ground as if she were made of crosses, the only thing keeping him from doing so being the thought that the chip may not like it. Falling for the Slayer? That couldn't be right. Sure, she was hot, and he could admit to himself that recently more of his thoughts had been about shagging her than killing her, but he didn't have any actual feelings for her. He couldn't.

Spike tried to call an image of Drusilla to mind, reminding himself of the only woman he was ever supposed to love. But as soon as he could see his dark princess in his mind's eye, she faded away, dark hair and pale skin replaced with warm gold.

He hurried into the bedroom, depositing Buffy on the bed before backing away. What he thought he was feeling—it couldn't be right. She was the Slayer, and he hated her. Wanted to kill her. Simple as that.

Spike went into the other bedroom, attempting to sleep, but finding it difficult with Buffy's scent still wrapped around him.

*** *** ***

Buffy was back in the living room again when Spike woke the next afternoon. He stayed in the doorway for a moment, watching her as she leaned against the arm of the couch, watching yet another Christmas movie. Spike recognized this one as that one where the kid keeps prattling on about wanting some sort of weapon. "How's the arm, Slayer?" he asked after a moment.

"Healing," Buffy replied, not looking back at him.

They were both silent for a while, and Spike could tell from the little he could see of Buffy's face that she was thinking about something. Finally, she asked, "Are you hungry?"

"You offering to get my blood, Slayer?"

"Yeah. Don't make a big deal out of it."

"But it kinda is a big deal," Spike said, echoing back the words she'd said to him the night before.

Buffy paused the movie and got off the couch. "It isn't really."

"Buffy…"

"I'll have your blood in a minute, Spike."

Spike sighed, running his hand through his tousled bleached curls as Buffy went into the kitchen, a wall of sunlight preventing him from going after her.

Why hadn't dealing with this Slayer been as simple as the other two?

*** *** ***

Buffy leaned against the kitchen counter, waiting for Spike's blood to finish in the microwave. She kept running the events of the night before in her head, trying to sort them out, but never reaching a conclusion she liked.

She knew she'd fallen asleep on the couch, but when she'd woken up she'd been in the bed. The only reason she could come up with for that was that Spike had carried her to bed. Why would he do that? It's not like he should care if she woke up on the couch the next morning all uncomfortable.

And furthermore, why had he saved her in the first place—and then gone as far as to bandage her up. The Spike she thought she knew would've let her die, egging the demon on. She kept trying to find some bit of selfishness in his actions, but she couldn't. Even if he'd saved her just so he wouldn't loose the protection of her friends now that he was chipped, it didn't make sense that he would help her afterwards.

The microwave dinged, stopping any further thoughts Buffy could have. She took out the mug, curling the fingers of her good hand around the handle it and carrying it into the bedroom, where she found Spike sitting on the edge. "Here," she said, handing it to him.

"Thanks, pet."

Buffy blushed as Spike's fingers brushed up against hers. She jerked away as soon as he had the mug, looking down. She started to leave the room when she heard Spike speak.

"Buffy, about last night…"

"I don't want to talk about last night."

"I'm just as confused as you are about it, all right? You think you're freaked out because a vampire saved you? How do you think I feel, knowing I saved the bloody Slayer?"

"Why did you do it, Spike?"

"I told you, I don't know! I knew you were in danger, and I didn't like it."

Buffy looked at him, the sincerity in his features making her stomach flip. He was a soulless vampire. Soulless vampires did not save the life of the Slayer. Angelus would have… She shook her head, stopping that line of thought. But Spike was watching her expectantly, and she knew he wanted her to say something.

"Your roots are starting to show."

Spike blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Your roots. They're brown."

"Well, yeah. Not like I've exactly had a chance for a touch up. Besides, it's bloody hard to do without a mirror. And that was a rather random statement there, Slayer."

"If you can't do it without a mirror, then how do you bleach your hair?"

"We weren't talking about my hair," Spike reminded her.

"We are now."

Spike sighed. If this is the way the Slayer wanted it, then fine. "I didn't say I couldn't, I just said it's hard. But most of the time, Dru would help me with it—when she wasn't totally off in her own little world."

"Do you, um, do you…" Buffy's next sentence came out in a rush. "Do you want me to do your roots?"

Spike gave her a puzzled look. "Have I gone barmy, or did you just offer to bleach my hair for me."

Buffy traced a circle on the floor with her booted toe. "Just 'cause you, um, saved my life last night."

"I put myself at risk for you, and you bleach my hair. Seems like an unfair trade to me."

Buffy's nervousness was quickly replaced with frustration. "Dammit, Spike, do you want me to or not?"

"Um, sure." He tapped his mug. "Just let me finish this, okay?"

"Okay. I'll go, um, find the peroxide."

Buffy left the room, leaving Spike temporarily alone with his thoughts and his blood.

*** *** ***

"Ow."

"Stop being such a baby."

"Well, it hurts."

"You've been doing this for longer than I've been alive, Spike. You think you'd be used to a little stinging by now."

"Well, usually I use Sweet N Low to take the sting out, but since somebody says she doesn't have any…"

"I'm not hoarding artificial sweetener just to cause you pain."

Spike tightened his grip on the towel Buffy had wrapped around his shoulders to prevent any dripping. "Yeah, well, you're probably still enjoying my suffering."

"Not as much as I should be," Buffy admitted. She worked the peroxide into Spike's hair, wishing for a fleeting second that she didn't have to be wearing gloves. Even though the rubber, his hair felt surprisingly soft, and she wanted to feel it against her bare skin. She shook her head. That was not a thought she should have concerning Spike.

"Buffy…"

"Don't, Spike. Just don't."

"But…"

Before Spike could say anything else, the phone rang. Buffy ran to get it quickly, glad for the distraction. Spike sighed, trying to ignore the painful tingling of his scalp as he listened to Buffy's end of the conversation.

"Hey. Yeah, I'm fine. Two more days, but…"

Spike could see Buffy through the open bedroom door, and he watched her now as she bit her bottom lip, worrying it between her teeth. The sight affected him more than he wanted to admit, and he had the sudden urge to grab her and kiss her hard.

"I understand, it's your job," Buffy said, speaking into the phone again. "No, I'm not upset with you, Mom, I just wish you could be back up here. I know. No, we're fine. I'm bleaching his hair. Seriously. Well, he had roots. Oh, he kinda, well, he…he saved my life last night."

Buffy looked almost in pain when she admitted that, and Spike smiled. If this was bothering him, at least it was getting to her, too.

"There was a demon, Spike killed it. Uh huh. Yeah. Apparently the chip lets him kill demons. Yeah, he's happy about that. No, we're not really getting along. Hey, I'm doing his hair—that's nice!" Buffy sighed heavily, and was silent for a while, as she listened to her mother. "All right, Mom. No, I don't think there will be anymore demons. I don't know. I'd call Giles, but… I'll be careful. If anything else comes, I'm sure Spike and I can handle it, so don't worry."

Spike raised an eyebrow at that, then smiled. Somehow, he liked the way that sounded…

"No, you just finish what you need to do at the gallery so you can get back up here. I will. Love you, too. Bye."

Buffy hung up the phone and turned back to Spike. "Mom's going to be gone for a couple more days. Apparently, whatever it is she had to do for work is taking longer than she expected. She also says hi. Oh, and she thanks you for saving my life." Buffy said the last part flippantly, not wanting to get back into that particular subject with Spike again.

Spike nodded. "So are you going to finish this, or am I going to have half brown roots?"

"Oh! Sorry." Buffy hurried back to him, picking up the peroxide again.

Spike smiled, the sting easier to ignore now. Spike and I can handle it… Was the Slayer letting him in to her life—and if she was, why did that thought make him so happy?

Spike shoved away any confusing thoughts, vowing to sort them out later. Right now, he'd just focus on how good it felt to have Buffy's hands in his hair.

*** *** ***

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