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Author's Chapter Notes:
Once again I have to thank my excellent betas. Lots of good suggestions that really helped improve this chapter.
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Spike's mind was racing. He tried to focus on the soft lips that were hungrily devouring him and the fervent tongue that had thrust its way into his mouth and was now battling his own for supremacy, but all he could do was wonder when the other shoe would drop. When would Buffy pull out of his embrace with declarations of what a gross, disgusting, animal he was? When would her tiny fist come in excruciating contact with his nose? When would the vehement denials and heated accusations start?

Before his frenzied mind could begin to formulate the answers to any of these questions, Buffy lifted a leg and twined it sensuously about his own, urging him to action. Never being one to sit around and wait for trouble to find him, he slipped a hand down her back and over the curve of her rump, pulling her flush against him. At Buffy's sudden intake of breath, Spike knew the Slayer had felt his arousal, but amazingly she didn't pull away. Instead, she shifted her hips ever so slightly against the hardness of his erection, causing some breathing problems of his own.

His hand remained cupped against her buttocks, squeezing and caressing the firm flesh, all all thoughts of what exactly was happening or why it was happening fled his brain. It was a wonderful feeling; having a soft, warm woman in his arms. Buffy’s breasts were flattened to his chest and he could feel the staccato rhythm of her heart beating in time with his own.

Despite the fact that they were only yards away from the rest of the wagon train, Spike was seriously considering simply pulling Buffy to the ground. He wanted nothing more than to feel the length of her body pressed under his, to feel the heat from her body radiating through him.

However Spike wasn’t quite so overtaken with passion that he didn’t realize the folly in that act and he moved his lips to Buffy’s ear to whisper, “Best take this to the wagon, luv.”

The responding moan that rose from her galvanized him to action and he moved to scoop her into his arms. For a brief moment, he flashed on an old film and he felt just a bit like Rhett Butler carrying Scarlett off to his bed. Unfortunately, his Scarlett didn’t quite know her blocking and as Spike dipped his knees to lift her, her chin collided with his forehead and she reeled back, the soapy mass of her hair swinging down and across her face.

“Yeowwww.” The screech that Buffy gave was followed by a litany of curses that would have impressed the ex-vamp if he hadn’t been focusing solely on staying upright as Buffy pushed away from him, her hands scrabbling to get her soapy hair out of her eyes. “Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow.” She hissed, stomping her feet against the pan and rubbing furiously at her eyes. “God, it burns.”

Spike quickly grabbed the towel that was hanging on the back of the wagon and dunked it into the remaining pail of now cooling water. "Here now, stop that," he admonished, moving her hand away and placing the wet towel over her eye. He grasped her elbow, trying to draw her closer to inspect her injury, but she very deliberately moved out of his grasp.

His arm, still outstretched as if he was imploring her to return to him, finally dropped to his side and a tight, leaden feeling began to build in the pit of his stomach. The other shoe had finally dropped—with a thud that was loud enough that any fool would know the ramifications. But even knowing that, and even with the sickening feeling that had crawled out of his stomach to tug at his now beating heart, he took a hesitant step towards her.

Her own hand shot up at his movement, stalling him, her eyes still hidden by the towel. "I'm fine," she snapped. She took a shaky breath and continued in a much softer tone. "It's okay, really, just some soap in my eye. It's not stinging so much . . . anymore . . . the water's working." She paused and at last looked at him, squinting at him from red, watering eyes. "Thank you."

"S'okay." Though he’d aimed for nonchalance; he hit slightly up and to the right of mildly perturbed. Even though he'd known all along that the kiss would end this way, it still hurt. In self-defense, he drew on the cold, hard shell of indifference that had withstood over a hundred years of abuse.

When she held the rag to her eyes again he sighed in frustration. "It's probably the lye," he muttered.

Buffy glanced at him again, still dabbing at her red and weeping eyes. "What lie? I wasn't lying." Her tone was clipped and she straightened her shoulders as she turned to face him full on.

"Not a lie.” He frowned. Was she being purposely obtuse? “Lye. What the soap is made with in these times. Lye soap."

She cocked her head as his words filtered through. "Lye? Like in . . . lye? I am washing my hair with lye?" Her voice grew increasingly shrill as the sentence progressed.

He shrugged attempting to extricate himself from a meaningless argument he knew was simply her defense against talking about what had just happened between the two of them. "Yeah, well, lye and lard—"

"Lard?" She practically bellowed the word, but at Spike's warning look cast a quick glance around before lowering her voice to hiss, "Lard? You're telling me I was washing my hair with lye and lard?"

"'It's what these people make soap from, Slayer." Spike tried valiantly to keep the growing hostility out of his voice. He lost that battle when Buffy raised a skeptical eyebrow at him. It didn't have the same effect, what with her red, watering eyes, but it served the purpose to irritate him none-the-less. "You know, I'm sorry I even had the bloody idea!” he growled. “Should have left you stinking to high heaven and marinatin' in your own juices."

Buffy's mouth fell open in shock, and he took the advantage and pressed forward. "You," he leveled a finger at her, "are a right bloody bitch, you know that?"

“Well, excuse me,” she huffed, “for getting a teensy bit testy about finding out I’m washing my hair with corrosive chemicals.”

Spike closed his eyes, his lips tightening into a thin line, as he attempted to rein in his anger. After a few cleansing breaths, his nostrils flaring with his barely controlled annoyance, he leveled a look at her. “That’s not what’s got your knickers in a wad, Slayer, and you know it.”

Buffy swallowed hard, the thin white cotton of her camisole and petticoat wet and plastered to her body. Watching her, Spike had to fight off his body’s urges. The raging erection that had abated during the mishap with the soap suds, had come back with a vengeance, and it was taking all his self-control not to just grab her to him and kiss some sense into her. Of course, strangling her was also an option.

He watched as she steeled herself, jerking her chin at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His eyes narrowed at her. “Oh, sure you do. All this huff and puff and tempest in a tea pot isn’ about there not bein’ any No More Tears shampoo.” He paused and watched as she took a breath and held it. He relaxed his scowl and gave her smile that bordered on wicked. He knew he was treading on thin ice, but for some reason couldn’t stop himself. “This is about us kissin’”

“It is not,” she snapped, her chin jutting even further.

“Is too.” He pronounced with a firm nod of his head. He’d decided to push her and push he did.

“Spike . . . ”

He knew she was trying to sound tough; the big bad slayer threatening to bust his butt if he didn’t back off.

“Buffy . . . ” He mimicked back to her, knowing it furthered her annoyance and yet not able to help himself. She wanted a fight, she’d get one. He wasn’t going to back down from what happened.

For a moment Buffy seemed to study him, as if taking measure of his stubbornness on this subject; the odds of her actually winning this fight. After a moment, her head titled a bit and her chin relaxed. She looked up into the darkness of the sky, then back at him. Spike could almost see the confidence flow back into her body. “So what?”

Spike blinked, perplexed by her sudden about-face. He wasn't sure where she was headed but fairly certain he wasn’t going to like it. “What do you mean, so what?”

A slow smile spread across the slayer’s face; a smile that immediately alerted Spike to the fact that he’d made a dreadful mistake, a misstep, that had allowed her to have the upper hand. “So what? We kissed. Big deal.”

“Slayer, if you think for a moment—”

“Exactly, Spike. It was a moment. A crazy, insane—”

“Incredible, delicious—”

“Stupid moment.” She raised her voice to trump his comment. At his look, she continued, “We’re both under a lot of stress, it’s totally understandable.”

He raised a brow and regarded her suspiciously. “Oh, is it?”

She nodded, but pulled her eyes from his, turning away from his direct scrutiny. “Of course. We’re scared—”

“Speak for yourself, Slayer.”

She shot him a look from the corner of her eye. “We’re stranded here, cut off from the world we know, fighting to get home – alive – and so we turned to each other. Besides you being so nice and—”

He threw his hand up, halting her words and took a step toward her. “Whoa, wait one mo – you’re tellin’ me you decided to thank me for bein’ so nice by sucking my face off?”

Buffy turned back to him, but quickly looked away from his questioning eyes, tossing the towel over the back of the wagon bed. “Don’t be a pig, Spike.”

Spike smirked at her. “Didn’t think I was pig when you kissed me.”

She looked at him sharply. “Me? Now wait one minute, I did not kiss you.”

Both of his eyebrows rose at her statement. “No?”

“Absolutely not,” she huffed. “You kissed me.”

Spike let out a bark of a laugh. “That’s a good try at revisionis’ history there, pet. But you kissed me.”

She rolled her eyes and waived a hand at him dismissively. “I so did not kiss you.”

Buffy’s fisted hands were on her hips, the flare of anger raging in her eyes. She was using that emotion to fuel her denial of what had happened between them and suddenly Spike knew that now was not the time to try to bring those walls down. His own doubts had begun to gnaw on the edges of his own beliefs. He knew what had happened, and he even knew why – wishing with the whole of his being that just once he wasn’t the love sick sap that was kicked about like a ball in play – but he definitely didn’t want to think about what it might mean for the two of them.

For once his rational mind was able to beat up and hold down his irrational, emotional responses. He listened to that still, small voice, realizing that until he could figure out his own feelings in this matter, discretion was the better part of valor.

Yet his own stubbornness refused to relent and allow him to admit to something that wasn’t true. “You sure as hell did kiss me, Slayer. Leaned right in and laid a good one on me.”

Buffy’s eyes widened and she shook her head vehemently. “Oh, no, no, no! I didn’t not lean. There was absolutely no leanage.” Her hand fluttered up to press against her breast, the fingers visibly trembling.

Seeing this, the chill hand of guilt reached out of his newly found soul and wrapped around his heart, crushing it just a bit. She’d been through a lot today with the heat exhaustion and now they were at each other’s throats again. Where had it all gone wrong? He’d only tried to help. Had only wanted to try to make things better for her. He sighed in frustration, turning away from her. Just proves that no good deed ever goes unpunished.

“You’re right, Slayer.” He sighed again, kicking at the dirt and wishing it was even darker than it was. He needed some place to slink back in to; a place to hide away from these feelings that he didn’t want and didn’t understand. “Don’t know why I even bothered . . . was me that kissed you, and, believe me, if I could take it back I would. You were right, just somethin’ about being here and alone and needing . . . ” He looked back at her with empty, tired eyes. “Well, no use gettin’ into that. Let’s jus’ put it behind us and move on.”

"Oh." She breathed the word so softly he barely heard her. Her eyes, which had been round with wonder, now darted down and away from his scrutiny.

“Water’s there to rinse your hair. It’s cool now, so as soon as you’re done you should get wrapped up and into the wagon. Don’t need you sick with the croup on top of everything else.” He turned to walk away, needing some space between them so he could separate out the tangle of emotions he was feeling.

“Where . . . where are you going?”

His shoulders, which he’d been holding rigid, slumped. “Jus’ gonna take a walk. Maybe gather some more wood for the fire tomorrow.”

He didn’t turn back to look at her, knowing that those green eyes now held the power to slice his heart into tiny bits. Funny thing, that. She wasn’t the Slayer any longer, but here in this wilderness, both of them devoid of any special powers, she had an even a stronger hold over him. She didn’t need a stake now to do him in. She could cut him to the bone with just one lash of her sharp tongue, one rebuke from her cold heart.

He walked into the woods, out of her sight, and felt a familiar comfort in the darkness that surrounded him and welcomed him home.

To Be Continued





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