Dancing in the Moonlight

[nextpage title=”Part 1″ ]

Part 1: Bad Moon Rising

There were nights when patrol was so tedious, she thought about approaching Giles with the aspiration of redefining hellmouth. No vamps. No demons. No oogly booglies. Just a big, empty, ungrateful graveyard that wasn’t driving the up on rectifying her boredom. She had been looking forward to patrol tonight, too. Not for any reason—per se—she just really wanted to kill something.

Really wanted to let loose a little energy before tackling some algebra. After all, Sunnydale: equal to largest vat of evil on earth. The place that had killed her the year before, as in literally. It was the first night in several that she felt like indulging in her calling, and the lousy vamps that were supposed to run rampant were nowhere to be seen.

A deep breath spilled past her lips and she took a seat on the nearest headstone. Despite all her griping, the crap she gave Giles on a regular basis—even her own spiral of inward complaints—there was something to be said for the peacefulness of a cemetery on a night void of activity. Gave her time to clear her thoughts. Gave perspective to the road ahead.

She had come out here more and more often in the hope of running into Angel, though that seemed to be fruitless in itself. Angel only dropped by to warn her that the world was ending or that she was supposed to die—or both, on a really good day. For a guy that had been around for two centuries, he really needed advice on socializing. There were times when she felt him watching her…knowing that it was him without knowing how she knew. Just that certainty.

The guy could make it as a professional stalker. There wasn’t any doubt about that.

Even the night was still. There was no wind. No distant howling. No guttural growls of the recently undead. Sunnydale was asleep. No action to be had tonight. She might as well pack it in and go home.

After all, who could resist the tug of algebra?

She wondered if she could have Giles investigate the possibility that Mr. Kirsch was a demon. Really, no one should feel that obligated to give out so much homework. Ever.

Lousy school. That wasn’t even counting the English paper she had due next Tuesday, or the history project she and Willow had done diddly on since it was assigned. Well, knowing Willow, doing diddly wasn’t an option. They would have to arrange a time where Buffy could find some small way to contribute and quell her guilt over making her school-happy friend do the entire project by herself.

“Enough stalling,” she told herself, rising lazily to her feet. “Time to go home and argue with Mr. Pythagorean.”

It was a fact universally acknowledged that once someone gave up on something, a reason to stay inevitably popped up. She had just hooked her stake into her belt, frowning a bit at the signs of wear against the fabric when the classic damsel-in-distress scream tore through the still night air, reverberating off every tree in the graveyard.

“Typical,” she muttered, taking off all the same.

The scene that she found, however, exceeded every scenario running through her mind. A few vamp cronies she could handle. Damsel in distress, a little tacky but sadly more common than not, but she could handle. Get in a few kicks, satisfy that urge to cause some violence, go home and crack open the text.

Who was she kidding? Patrol was her excuse to not hand in homework. If she was participating in world saveage, studies could take a backseat.

On the other hand, explaining her progress report to her uninformed mother? Not something she would call fun.

Buffy stopped so quickly that she nearly tumbled to the ground. Her eyes widened beyond the point of casual disbelief and crossed into all-out astonishment.

She had never seen a man move like that. Such fluency. Such poise. Poetry in motion. He moved as though he was made for it. A twist here, a kick there. Flash of a stake and an explosion of dust. He didn’t look panicked. Didn’t look threatened at all. A man in his element. Doing what was natural for him.

And damn, was it natural.

Who the hell was this guy?

Buffy held her breath as he dusted the last, then turned to the damsel who looked to have overcome her fear for the appeal of a gorgeous man in black leather.

At least, that was her hypothesis. The stake-happy hottie looked to be, well, a hottie. He was at a distance yet, though, so that verdict was subject to appeal at closer inspection.

“Word of advice, pet,” the man drawled lazily. “From what I’ve heard of this town, you don’ wanna be lurkin’ around graveyards after dark.”

Oh God. He had an accent. Mr. I-Fell-Out-of-An-Abercrombie-Catalog had an accent. The Slayer shook her head to keep from swooning.

Honestly, what girl could resist an accent?

None, evidently. And at that, cue damsel. Damsel was supposed to slip into something seductive before dropping to her knees to begin her reimbursement. Buffy had heard enough from the upperclassmen at Hemery to know what men expected when they intervened a mugging. Not that many muggings were actually intervened, but such was sadly a topic of discussion. “They were…they were going to…and you…”

“Yeh. Stop walkin’ through graveyards after six o’clock, an’ we won’ have to play a repeat, all right?” He arched a brow and nodded generally in the direction of Restfield’s entrance. “Toddle off, now. No one’s hurtin’ you tonight.”

“Can I…is there anything I can do for you? You know…you just saved my life.”

The man stopped at that and his eyes narrowed; looked her up and down, though void of temptation and more prone to skepticism. “Thanks, but no thanks,” he replied. “Don’ take favors for helpin’ vamp bait, especially if they seem willin’. Now go home.”

That little comment earned him an almost-slap from the highly over-indignant damsel. She nodded, masking angered hurt, and turned to walk away.

It only took seconds. The Slayer watched as he battled with annoyance over gentlemanly manners; he turned to catch up with the scoffed girl in seconds.

She followed, keeping to the shadows. Watched him grab the damsel’s arm, apologize for his rudeness in a tone that indicated he wasn’t really sorry, but some form of manners beaten into him since birth demanded that he make an effort. He walked her out and Buffy watched. Watched him wait until he saw people before letting her loose, and turned to stalk away in the other direction.

Man saving woman and not wanting smoochies? Not wanting happies in return for services rendered? What the hell was going on?

Algebra forgotten, Buffy drew in a breath and turned to follow the guy, though at a careful distance. She didn’t doubt her ability to take him if he became aware of her presence and wasn’t exactly a guy who liked company, but she somehow doubted he was the type to lash out at anyone he came across.

At least she hoped. She was intrigued.

There were certain things she could make out simply by following him, the more obvious being his hair color and the incredibly sexy duster strewn across his shoulders. There weren’t many streetlights in the direction he was heading, and the moon wasn’t even out, but she knew a bleach job when she saw one. His hair was thoroughly bleached, reminding her fleetingly of a guy she had known in LA who enjoyed that type of dye job but wasn’t nearly as efficient as the slayer wannabe at making it look non-pathetic.

The glimpse she caught of him turning a corner confirmed the suspicion that had flustered her insides back at Restfield. The man was a hottie. A big hottie. Prominent cheekbones, his lips sensual at first glance…granted, Buffy wasn’t following him to cop a feel, but she was a girl and she did notice such things. Even the hair looked good. Ruffled, it seemed, from the fight; she liked it like that. Hoped he wasn’t the type to slick it back, though her mind’s projected image of such a style was not at all unappealing.

He walked as though he knew he was being followed and didn’t care. Walked as though he was leading her somewhere. The familiar nagging in the bottom of her stomach told her strictly that she should turn around and go home or—at the very most—report the incident to Giles and get his opinion, but her feet refused to comply. If he was leading her somewhere with the intent to harm, he was in for a world of hurt. She knew how to bring it, and well.

The Master, anyone? Killed him completely dead.

She could go get Angel, she supposed, but it was late and she wasn’t too keen on the idea of losing the guy before she saw where he was going.

It didn’t take as long as it felt. Maybe three quarters of a mile away from the cemetery—not far, but she was counting her blessings that she had foregone heels for tonight’s patrol. Especially since it was getting late and she would likely sprint home before her mother became wise to the fact that she was not tucked away in bed.

The guy was staying at the Sunnydale Inn; Sunnydale’s one and only inn. She had been there the week before to investigate the possible arrival of a Kfagna demon, as requested by Giles, and thus had a vague idea on the conditions of the rooms’ interiors. Not great; hardly comfortable. Granted, Sunnydale wasn’t exactly a tourist attraction for anyone with a pulse; accommodations for visitors were few and far between. Still, for half a beat, she wished she could run up to Mr. Mysterious with an alternative for housing. This place gave her the heebie jeebies.

No. No time. He had disappeared inside after a ten second battle with the door. Obviously imparting some restraint to keep from simply kicking it in. She knew that frustration well and silently commended his control…even if it had looked to be on the verge of shattering.

Some things just deserved commending.

The door closed just as suddenly, and then she couldn’t see him anymore.

Buffy stood still for a few minutes, sure that that couldn’t be it. She had been the Slayer long enough to know that stumbling over hotties who could fight was not something one would call a coincidence. There was a reason she had seen him. A reason beyond the obvious.

She expelled a deep breath and frowned. The guy had yet to flick on a light—the room cast in shadows. She wondered if he was watching her now…though the curtains appeared securely drawn, she knew not to trust anything based on appearance. He was a smoothie; with whatever else she could say about him, that much was a certainty.

Another long sigh rolled off her shoulders. Nothing more could be done tonight. First thing in the morning, she would have Willow hack into the Sunnydale Inn registration system and get all the information on the occupant as possible. Then possibly run a background check.

Buffy frowned. Did Willow have the means of running a background check from the high school library? Well, either way, they would get the know. If not the easy way, then the way that involved her, the sexy blonde, and a lot of touching.

A grin tugged at her lips at that. Option B wouldn’t be bad, either. After all, single white female, not getting anything from her would-be vampire boyfriend. Even a spar at this point would be welcome. The only hint that the big brooding sulk even liked her was the reaction he had emanated when she ground up against Xander at the Bronze.

Speaking of things she would never do again…

“Okay,” she said to herself, turning promptly to begin the jog back to Revello Drive. “Let’s go home and not do math.”

It was yet another truth universally acknowledged that when vampires cornered a new victim, the ringleader of the vampires said something lame that was goal-oriented at striking fear into the impressionable hearts of young would-be snacks. And while she didn’t catch whatever the head vamp spat, she was more than certain that it fell into that category.

Seemed her tinglies weren’t tingling for the British hottie. Which seemed logical—tinglies usually indicated vampires, and unless the vampire in question was Angel, vampires didn’t tend to get overly heroic for damsels.

Especially without the added bonus of a blow at the end of said heroics.

Three very ugly vamps were circling her slowly in some bizarre form of attempted intimidation. She could tell they were newbies right off.

“All right, guys,” she said slowly, adapting a fighting stance all the same. “You really want to do this now? I mean, algebra.”

“You won’t be needing to worry about homework anymore, blondie,” one of the vamps snarled, his eyes trailing her in a way that made her skin crawl. “Or anything else, come to think of it.”

She arched a brow. “Do you write your own material?”

“Oh, touchy one, this is.”

“Not touchy.” She flashed him a pertinent smile before leaping into the air and kicking the one nearest clear across the street. “Bored.”

There were a few gasps at that. The familiar, “Slayer!” cries and so forth, confirming her note about their status on the vampire roster of power. Deciphering the old from the new wasn’t nearly as difficult as it had once been. She noted more and more that the young ones were usually quick to rush into a fight and never paid attention to their tinglies. Never acknowledged that Slayers existed and that one lived right here on the Hellmouth.

These three were toddlers in a world of giants.

Well, at least they knew who she was. That was a perk. Didn’t make them any more efficient at the killing her part, though. Rather, they dusted with near disappointing ease. A few high kicks here, a punch there. Three timed explosions of dust, and it was over. The hint of the skirmish collecting nicely on the pavement. And she was alone on the street again.

Only she didn’t feel alone. Buffy frowned and glanced back to the motel.

No change. Nothing. Only one of the curtains seemed pulled back. Just slightly. Not by much, but enough to make her wonder.

She couldn’t see anything. It was dark, it was Sunnydale, and it was a school night. Slayer or not, she needed to be getting home before her mother became wise to her absence.

Still…she couldn’t help but wonder…

Didn’t matter. Willow would pull up the file tomorrow. If she couldn’t, Buffy would orchestrate a visit herself to find out who he was and why he was fighting vampires. And why he was so damn good at it.

Either way, she would have an answer tomorrow.

It was time to call it a night.

*~*~*

She was a work of art.

A gorgeous, vibrant, young work of art. The sort of art that took age before it developed appreciation. Art that remained unobserved for years in museums, admired by a few but overlooked by the masses. He had never seen anyone so full of life. Just at this, at a casual glance, he knew he was in trouble. She was wonderful. And she was the best damn fighter he had ever seen.

Fucking amazing.

Of course, she was the Slayer. Such was in her blood. In her making. In every fabric of what she was. Who she was.

He chuckled lightly to himself as she finally drew herself away from his window, allowing the curtains to fall back into place. Three vamps dusted in less than a minute. She was good. She was very, very good. A bloody pistol just waiting to be shot.

Tomorrow he would get to meet her.

Spike grinned. Somehow he knew. Knew meeting her would change everything. Forever. It wasn’t a hunch, wasn’t a guess—just there. Knowledge beyond knowledge. Something he couldn’t rebuke even if he wanted to.

Meeting her would change his life.

And he couldn’t wait.

[/nextpage]

[nextpage title=”Part 2″ ]

Part 2: Salt of the Earth

Granted it was only the second time she had seen him in her house, but Buffy couldn’t help but be a tad surprised at how much space Angel occupied in her bedroom. He was monstrously huge, and her neck hurt at the mere thought of having to look up at him. He was her vampire, though, and while she was more than confused at his presence, she couldn’t deny the fleeting giddy feeling that shot through her body.

They hadn’t talked since she came back—not really. That mini bitch phase behind her, success in driving him out of his mind while simultaneously driving Xander out of his…and that was the second time that night that her mind had reminded her of the incident. Buffy shuddered and shook her head, stumbling into her bedroom with a graceless tumble that managed to startle a man that had seen it all.

“Buffy,” he said.

“Yeah, in the flesh,” she replied, wiping dust from her slacks. “How long have you been here?”

“Half hour or so. I thought you’d be back by now.”

“Patrol. Ran into something funky. Nothing I couldn’t handle.” She licked her lips and they stared at each other for an awkward moment. “That still doesn’t answer why you’re here. Why are you here, Angel?”

“I just wanted to see you.”

She extended her arms. “Here I am. Being seen.”

“We haven’t had a chance to talk since you got back from Los Angeles,” he continued. “I wanted to make sure you were all right. You seemed a little…” He gestured inarticulately. “…the last time I saw you.”

“Ho-bag?”

“I was going to say distracted.”

“Mine’s more accurate.” A sigh escaped her body and she shrugged carelessly, tumbling to her bed as she reached for Mr. Gordo. “I’m okay,” she replied. “Still have some nightmares and the like, but I’m okay. Making it through. Going through the motions. And my nightmares have stopped.”

Angel nodded. “I’m glad.”

“We’ll that was sort of the reaction I was going for.” She shrugged again. “It’s strange. I would say, ‘You don’t know what it feels like to die?’ but that wouldn’t be true, would it?”

“Buffy—”

“I’m fine. Really.” It was an easy enough lie. One she practiced by the book. She figured it was usual. And it wasn’t even so much that she had died…it was the nature in which her death had struck her. Prophecy involved. The Master sinking his fangs into her throat. The calm casualness with which he had tossed her aside. Just a bite, at that. Nothing more. As though she was an afterthought whose blood was not even worth tasting in earnest.

Her blood that was supposed to be the richest in the land.

Buffy licked her lips and looked away. No, she supposed she still wasn’t over it. A summer away with tons of shoes via her father’s method of buying her off rather than spending actual time together. Her thoughts were still jumbled and confused. She knew that her behavior the first days in being back was unacceptable and felt more than ashamed; it was just her way of dealing.

There was some vindication. She had smashed the Master’s bones to itty bitty bits. Stupid vamp cronies wouldn’t be able to raise him now.

Not now or ever.

“Is there a reason you’re here?” she asked suddenly, startling both Angel and herself in her bluntness. “Some new big scary roll into town that I should be aware of?”

And if so…is he blonde, British, and sex on legs?

“There might be some trouble,” he said, frowning but not calling her on her casual dismissal. After all, they had mutually decided to not pursue a thing between them. The attraction was there, sure, but Slayer plus vampire? That so could not end well. Didn’t matter what else was there. It was simply something that would not work.

“Trouble?”

“The train that comes through Sunnydale every hour…” He frowned. “The one tonight…the one that was supposed to arrive at ten o’clock…there was a massacre. Everyone onboard was killed.”

The bottom of Buffy’s stomach dropped. “What?”

“Severe neck wounds, blood loss, the works.”

“My God. I…” She stopped, blinked, and started again. “Have you been there? Did you see—”

“Haven’t been. They cleaned it up fairly well before I could get a look.”

“A crime scene?”

He shrugged. “Mayor’s orders. From what I was able to gather, it sounds like there was a pretty significant struggle. And there might have been multiple vampires. Moreover…” A frown married his brow. “There’s something else. I’m not sure what just yet, but something…this wasn’t done by amateurs, Buffy. They’re old.”

That was just the sort of thing she didn’t want to hear. “How old?”

“Well, I’m not sure, but I’m wagering fairly up there. Even young vampires get sloppy in a crowd that big. These guys…” He trailed off, frown deepening as he shook his head. “Whoever they were, they knew what they were doing.”

Buffy glanced to the floor. “Well…so much for it being a quiet night.”

“Patrol was quiet.”

“Of the very. Except for random guy hopping around like nobody’s business and staking vamps left and right.”

Angel looked at her quizzically.

The lost expression on his face didn’t help her morale. “Rats. I thought you might know something about that.”

“About what?”

“That’s what I’d like to know. This guy’s in the graveyard, practically doing my job for me and now we have a town overrun by master vamps that like to eat tourists?” Buffy moaned self-consciously. “Okay, definitely getting no homework done tonight.”

“This guy was fighting vampires?”

“Yeah. And successfully.” She shook her head. “I’ve never seen anyone move like that in my life. I mean, I can’t even move like that…well okay, I can, but modesty really is a virtue. He was good. Really, really good. Saved this girl and everything.”

“Did he see you?”

“A world of no…unless he knew I was following him.”

Angel looked even more displeased at that. “You followed him?”

She frowned in defense, taking a step backward. “Just to see where he was headed. Jeez. What was I supposed to do? Either the guy’s a demon or he’s someone I need to know. I mean, if he can fight like that then why the hell shouldn’t I know him? Especially now, when it seems like we’re going to need all the help we can get.”

He offered no reply to that observation, which Buffy took to mean that she had a point and he had wisely dropped the matter. Instead, he turned and headed slowly toward the window. And here it came. Angel’s typical: grave-danger-blah-blah words of greeting and subsequent can’t-stay-gotta-go-sulk-somewhere disappearance.

For a vampire, he was incredibly predictable.

“Where did you follow him to?” he asked.

“Sunnydale Inn. Gonna have Will hack into their system tomorrow and see if they can pull anything up on the room.”

“And you’re sure he didn’t see you?”

“No, I’m not sure he didn’t see me. What I am sure of is I’m here, as in not dead, and the Slayer, so if need be, I could kick his ass.”

“You said he—”

“Yes, he is. But hey—supernatural forces work on my side. That’s nothing he can vouch for.”

Angel smiled wryly at that. “Right. Just…be careful, okay?”

“Always.”

“More so now. Until we know more about the—”

“Train, yes. I’m in grave danger every minute of my life, Angel. What makes you think having a heads up’s going to do anything? Just give me one warning out of three million?” His look turned stoic again and she sighed, waving him off. “Okay, you can go now. My future has been told, and I need to pretend to give a crap about algebra between now and tomorrow.”

She didn’t watch him go so much as felt it. That random cold draft that whispered through the open window, timing perfectly to his departure. She wondered if it was a demon thing—being so completely unable to announce arrivals and give goodbyes. Angel seemed to take liberty in popping up whenever it was convenient for him. Or whenever something potentially kill-Buffy-shaped burst into town.

As if anything was new.

Another sigh tugged through her body and she leaned back on the bed.

No algebra. Well, it wasn’t like that came as a surprise.

Her mind wandered inexplicably back to the hot blonde she had seen in the graveyard after seconds of trying to find distraction. With whatever else, she was excited about the prospect of finding out who he was.

Why he was in her town.

When he had learned to move like that.

A small smile touched her lips as her eyes fluttered shut. Girlish, almost secretive. Carrying the weight of something she couldn’t even identify yet.

All at a single glance.

Tomorrow would certainly be interesting.

*~*~*

“So he was a cutie?”

For whatever reason, Willow seemed fixated on that one teeny tiny margin on last night’s report. It had not been an easy day—Mr. Kirsch took out his usual ‘I’m disappointed in you’ eyes when she explained after class that homework was a not, making her feel three inches tall and indignant at the same time. There had to be some way to exclude her from measly algebra assignments, right? Total slayage here—saving the world and all. Some people simply didn’t know how to show their gratitude.

Buffy was more than grateful for Willow, though. Her brainy friend was progressing nicely in their project and assured her that she would allow the Slayer to write the conclusion as means on contribution. After, of course, reminding her of what the project was over and the methods used by the redhead to reach said conclusion.

Some days just really, really sucked. Today looked to be one such day.

Thank the PTB for the forty-five minute lunch break. She didn’t know how she would make it through otherwise.

“Yeah,” Buffy agreed. “He was very much a hottie. Lean, muscular, sarcastic…and he even turned down the gratuitous ‘how may I service you’ line from the bimbo he saved.”

Xander grinned in spite of himself and shrugged. “Well, there you have it,” he said. “Probably gay.”

Buffy’s eyes widened. No. That guy had oozed way too much sex appeal to be someone she couldn’t date if she wanted. It just wasn’t possible. Her mind wouldn’t accept the risk. “No. Not gay.”

“No one turns down the gratuitous line, Buff. It rebukes the golden rule of guydom.”

The Slayer and the redhead scoffed at the same time and muttered an irate, “Men,” under their collective breaths.

“Just saying. We like everything gratuitous.”

“He wasn’t gay.”

“And you know this from all the talking you did with him?”

Buffy pouted. “Don’t try to ruin this for me. He’s hot, he’s not a vampire, and he can fight almost as well as me. Right now, before facts come in, he’s perfect…don’t make him gay!”

“And he really can?” Willow asked in awe. “He can fight as well as you?”

“I said almost,” the Slayer corrected with a slight sulk. “He really gave it good to these guys and…don’t say a thing, Xander.” That effectively erased the line waiting on her friend’s overly-immature tongue. “Dusted them to dust. The girl offered, he looked her over—ha! He looked her over! In that, ‘I’m checking you out’ way, so…there.” She paused and shook her head. “Then he said, ‘Thanks but no thanks,’ and left.” She started picking at an apple, twisting the top as she had ever since middle school, inwardly reciting the alphabet. It wasn’t fate; it was merely habit.

“And you followed him?” Xander pressed. “You really followed him?”

“Really, really. He didn’t see me. And, as I said to Angel last night, notice how I’m still here. As in, not kidnapped, not butchered, still alive.”

“You saw Angel last night, too?” Willow asked. “Wow. Two hotties in one night.”

“Willow, please.” Xander’s face clouded with disgust. “I’m eating.”

The redhead ignored him heartily. “Where’d you see him? What’d he have to say?”

“About the sexy blonde? Nothing. Well, he wasn’t happy that I’d followed him and didn’t know anymore than I did. Gonna take it to Giles and see if he can dig anything up.” She nodded at her friend. “Also, could you hack into the room registry at the Sunnydale Inn? I’d like his name…maybe even a background check. No one is that strong and coordinated without, you know, knowing he was supposed to fight vampires. I mean, he knew about vampires. Of the strange, much?”

“Much,” Willow agreed. “Did Angel say anything else?”

“Oh, the usual. Big danger, blah blah, train station massacre, blah blah. Apparently, we have some new vamps in town. Old vamps that aren’t quite as easily dusted as the three stooges I slayed last night.” Buffy sighed. “Need to check up on that, too. See if there’s anything he knows about the patterns of these vamps or whatever.”

Xander cocked a brow. “You think that he’ll know exactly who the vampires are if you tell him just that? Came in by train, killed everyone, are older than most?”

The Slayer shrugged. “He’s Giles. And he’s British so, he knows stuff.”

“Do you think Giles will know about this guy?” Willow asked. “The hottie with the stakes?”

“Hope so. I want a reason to go over there and kick his door down.”

Xander snickered at that. “Yeah, I’ll bet you do.”

“To talk to him. Jeez.”

“The way you two were going on, can you blame me for not taking that set-up?”

“What? I can’t think a guy’s cute as in ever and not have it be a marriage proposal? What are we, in the 50s?”

“What about Angel?”

Buffy shrugged, though her heart did that warming thing that it always did when the big brooding hunk was mentioned. But she was being good. Cautious. Keeping her distance. And developing a healthy interest in a man that could be a psycho, for all she knew. “What about him? Even if we were going out, which we’re not, being attracted to someone else is hardly reason to paint a big red A on my chest. I mean, hello, they’re called eyes.” A pause. “Angel never shows up for anything more than telling me I’m going to die, anyway. Or a new big bad’s stormed into town. What’s the big?”

“Just another attempt by the males of the species to understand women,” Xander assured her. “Sometimes I feel like I’m sitting in enemy territory.”

Willow grinned at him. “Sometimes you are.”

The warning bell sounded over the cafeteria, and the expected combination of groans and clanking trays followed. A well-timed rehearsal to a dance every high school student knew well and loathed beyond comparison.

“History project?” Willow asked as she and Buffy stacked their trays atop the trashcan. “I promise, it’s not over much. Just some basic ‘causes of the fall of the Roman Empire’ and whatnot.”

“Yeah, I’ll be there. Skipping’s tempting, but I need to write that conclusion.”

The redhead nodded. “Would be helpful.”

The Slayer forced a grin and returned her nod, slinging her backpack over her shoulder as they turned to make their way through the familiar halls of Sunnydale High.

Just an hour and a half before the day was over, and she could go to Giles. Tell him what had happened. And get some answers to the questions that had running rampant through her head since last night.

She had a feeling that wouldn’t go away. Unidentifiable but real.

Something about last night that she couldn’t put her finger on. Just something.

*~*~*

Her Watcher was giving her that blank look that she had come to associate with every bad ending the world could present for her. The one that almost matched the expression that overwhelmed him when she or one of her friends made a pop culture reference. Almost

“And you say he was…human?”

Buffy arched a brow. “Well, I didn’t get close enough to check his pulse or feel his vitals, but I’m guessing, yeah. Pretty human.”

“What I mean is…there is no possibility from what you saw last night that he was a vampire? Perhaps another vampire with a soul, like Angel?”

“Nope. No vampy vibe. I followed him and he seemed pretty human.”

“B-b-but you don’t know for sure?”

The Slayer rolled her eyes. “Well, I suppose there is a possibility, but I’m really thinking not. I mean…you just look at guys and you know, you know? Make all the cosmic theories you want, the guy was human. One hundred percent bona fide. I’d bet my new autumn wardrobe on it.”

“Well.” He removed his glasses for a routine polishing. “You must be certain, then.”

“What did I just say?” Buffy glanced up from where she was inspecting a new blade that he had provided for patrols. “Anyway, Angel says there are new vamps in town, too. He doesn’t know how many, but they got kill happy at a train station last night. He thinks they’re old because it was so…organized and clean or something. Like they didn’t get sloppy at all.”

“Fantastic,” Giles added. “A new demon fighter in town just in time to face some vampires of an older make. Sounds…timely.”

“Giles—”

“I’m just saying—”

Buffy rumbled a groan and rolled to her feet, approaching the weapons cabinet to find something to commence the afternoon’s training. “Yeah, yeah. No coincidences on the Hellmouth. Gotcha. Blah, blah, blah.” She heard the door to the library swing open and grinned. Good. Math club meeting must have ended early. No matter; gave Willow a head start on working on giving her a name and a reason to bust in on their newest Sunnydale resident. “Hey, where’d you put the crossbow?”

A beat. No reply. She frowned. “Giles?”

“Ummm…this…man you saw yesterday…you said he was blonde?”

She nodded without looking at him. “Blonde. British. Sexy cheekbones. A body most guys would kill for…and though he was wearing a coat, I’m guessing you could bounce coins off his butt. Not that you’re interested in any of that, but—”

“Right. I think he’s here.”

Buffy froze, her eyes falling shut. Oh God. That was so her luck.

She turned around slowly, and sure enough. Right there. Blonde, dangerously sexy, black leather. And looking more than pleased with himself, if that cocky grin said anything.

“Buffy the Vampire Slayer, I presume,” he drawled, reminding her just how sexy his voice was. It threw her for a minute, then she frowned.

“What? How do you…I…” She shot a desperate look to Giles. “How does he know who I am?”

“I—”

Okay, panicking on the increase. She glanced back to the demon fighter, eyes wide. “How do you know who I am? What, are you following me or something? Mr. Perverted?”

The guy’s hands came up neutrally and he rolled a long chuckle. “You were the one who was talkin’ ‘bout my bum, luv,” he observed. “An’, last I checked, I wasn’t the one who followed you to your house, now was I?”

Her face flamed. “Giles!” she called without tearing her eyes away. “Answers? Now? Would be nice!”

“I…I…”

“Won’ be necessary,” the platinum hottie said, strolling forward with cool, controlled ease. “I’ll make the introductions. Name’s Spike.”

God. What a ridiculous name.

Ridiculous but strangely fitting.

“And how do you know who I am?”

“That you’re Buffy?” His eyes twinkled and he took another step forward. “The Vampire Slayer. Well, other than the show you gave me last night…” At that, his gaze fogged over appreciatively. “I must say, luv…your moves…never seen anythin’ like that.”

Her flush deepened. Giles cleared his throat.

And at that, Spike snapped back to himself. “Right. Why I know about Slayers. ‘S a nifty trick, really. I happen to be one, too.”

Pause.

“What?”

“Me. I’m a Slayer.” He dug his hands into the pockets of his duster and rocked lightly on his heels, grinning at the blank astonishment that spread across her face. “Surprise.”

The library fell silent.

When Buffy spoke again, there was a desperate shrill to her voice. “Giles?”

He nodded. “I have books.”

“Get them.”

“Yes, I think that would be proper.”

Spike just grinned, his eyes never leaving Buffy’s face. She was gorgeous when she was confused. Almost as gorgeous as she was when she was fighting.

She was just gorgeous.

And that had been loads more fun than he had expected.

[/nextpage]

[nextpage title=”Part 3″ ]

Part 3: I Walk Alone

It wasn’t possible.

It just wasn’t possible.

In every generation there is a Chosen One. She alone will stand against the vampires, the demons, and the forces of darkness. She is the Slayer.

Twice now she had been told that. A lifetime ago with Merrick in the days of Pike and burning down school gyms. And once again not too long ago with Giles when she was the shiny faced new kid of Sunnydale High. A girl who had hoped to leave her patchy, Slayer-shaped past in Los Angeles so that she could start over without the stake part of her résumé.

No such luck.

And even then, she knew. There were rules. One Slayer. Female. That was it.

And yet, here stood Spike.

Spike who was very, very male. Very. Standing in the midst of Giles’s library, declaring he was a Slayer.

Funny enough, her dominant reaction was bland astonishment. There was no doubt. No reason to doubt. His eyes told the truth, and her own had seen it firsthand the night before. His moves, refined and precise. Just like hers. And he had known that she was there. He had led her directly to his motel, watched as she slayed the vamps that had cornered her just seconds later.

Confirming both their suspicions within less than a half hour. She knew about him. And he definitely knew about her.

Giles was in the back looking through his private collection of texts, mumbling a slur of confused British jargon under his breath. Meanwhile, the two blonde Slayers were left in the foyer of the library, leaning awkwardly side-by-side against the counter. Buffy’s body tense, incredibly aware of his presence.

“How did you know my name?” she asked when there was nothing else to say.

“Huh’s that?”

“My name. You knew my name.”

Spike shrugged easily. “Was contacted by this bloke in England over the summer. Said his name was Gerald an’ that he was with somethin’ called the Watchers Council. Gave me the low down on Slayers an’ what all, mentioned you had died but were brought back via the magic of CPR. But since the lineage demands a new one to be called, here I am.”

“But you’re not a girl.”

“So glad you noticed, luv. Was it the bum you could bounce coins off that gave it away?”

Gah. He would be the type to bring that up just for the sake of embarrassing her.

“Slayers are girls,” Buffy said fervently. “How can you be a Slayer if you’re not a girl? Or…” Her eyes widened. “You’re not gay, are you?”

A mortified look washed over his face. “What?”

“Well, at lunch, Xander said you were probably gay ‘cause you didn’t let that hussy give you her form of a tip when you did the slayage on vamps. I told him no way, but maybe the girl-power thing applies for guys who wish they were girls.”

His eyes were wide. And gorgeous. Stark blue but light; reminding her of the sunset on the ocean.

“I assure you,” he said flatly, “I am not gay.”

“Well, it’s not like I’m judging or anything.”

“Are you bein’ serious, or are you lookin’ for me to prove my heterosexuality right now?” he demanded, gaze glossing over as though that thought in itself was too tempting to pass up. “’Cause there are less subtle ways to get felt up, luv. An’ I don’ think your Watcher would fancy us soilin’ up his counter top.”

Every cell in her body froze in mortification—her face turning red enough to land aircraft.

Oh good God.

Who did this guy think he was?

“I…” she stammered incoherently, completely at a loss. “I—you—I—”

If anything, her indignity only seemed to amuse him more. He ran his eyes over her, large with appraisal, his grin broadening. “Yeh,” he agreed. “You, me. That being the idea.”

“You…pig!”

“Guilty as charged. You’ll find most men are.”

Gaaahh. She couldn’t take standing next to him anymore. Just a breather—she needed a good football field between them for a moment. If anything to calm her raging hormones that weren’t as incensed as they were turned on by his crudeness. Buffy had met a number of overly-confident men; Spike took the cake.

Hell, he took the entire bakery.

What was more exasperating, he had a right to be cocky. Not only was he gorgeous and knew it, but he knew that she knew it and knew that she approved.

“Giles?” she called tentatively, cursing the shrill in her voice. “Ummm…any closer to answers?”

“No,” came the muffled, familiar reply. “He hasn’t—err—I should ask him if he has a Watcher that he knows of. Perhaps the Council—”

“Some guy named Gerald.”

“Gerald? Really?”

“Straight from the pervert’s mouth.”

Said pervert was suddenly right behind her, hand running teasingly down her arm. She shivered and tensed, an incursion of protests slamming against her mouth. She would have elbowed him to save face had he not immediately started talking.

“Gerald’s not my Watcher,” he said, his voice and proximity doing a number on her. She could feel the words rumble through him, massaging her resolve with sensuality she didn’t know mere diction could procure. Damn him. Wouldn’t do good to swoon right there. “He was jus’ the bloke that found me. Told me who I was, that Buffy’d died for a couple secs so they needed someone to fill her shoes in a technicality. Appease the PTB an’ what all.” He shrugged. “He spent the summer trainin’ me. I slayed me a few vamps, bagged a few baddies. All was goin’ well till the Council rang me up an’ told me the Slayer’d come back to SunnyD, an’ that I should come an’ join the good fight. So chaps, here I am.” Spike flashed another grin and spread his arms. “In the very fleshy flesh.”

Buffy and Giles exchanged a long look.

“That—erm,” the Watcher began tentatively, “doesn’t begin to explain why you’re not…”

“A chit?” Another shrug. Buffy pursed her lips and took a self-conscious step away from him, effectively falling out of his reach. Then she was facing him, standing now at Giles’s side. Felt much less confusing on this edge of the line. “As clueless as you are on that one, mate. Gave Gerald a run for his money.”

“And, ummm, how old are you?”

“Nineteen.”

Buffy bit her lip, eyes widening at his response. She didn’t genuinely know if she was surprised or not; after all, Slayers were supposed to be girls and young. If the PTB were breaking the rules, why not add a few years?

Furthermore, she hadn’t expected him to be her age. Despite all else, Spike had a sense about him that was much older, more matured despite his lack of maturity. Nineteen even seemed too young for him. But then, there was a boyish gleam in his eyes that only intensified every time his gaze raked down her body—that blissful lack of subtlety that he got away with so well.

“Giles?”

“I don’t know,” her Watcher replied immediately. “I…I know of no foretelling that details the coming of a male Slayer, but there are some older prophecies that I could go through. The Council has records…the Nyazian Scrolls, perhaps?”

At that, Buffy and Spike’s eyes met on the same skeptical note.

“Neither one of you knows what I’m talking about, do you?”

“Nope.”

“Sorry, mate.”

Giles nodded, more to himself. “Right. Right, well…I will research. A-and…well, perhaps it’s not as difficult as all that. Perhaps…” He frowned and turned to his Slayer. “Perhaps this is a reaction to your death, Buffy. The Powers knew that two Slayers would be detrimental to the balance and so they—”

Spike chuckled dryly at that, holding up a hand. “Gerald an’ that Quentin bloke already went through all this,” he said, glancing to Buffy. “You tend to remember what’s bein’ said when you’re bein’ poked an’ prodded like a sodding guinea pig. Has nothin’ to do with your girl bein’ alive.”

Buffy licked her lips and turned to Giles again. “So, kinda rules that out, huh?”

“There has to be a prophecy. Something the Council has overlooked or…” A shadow crossed his face at that. “Or something they…I believe a phone call to Quentin Travers is in order.”

Her brows arched skeptically. “Yeah, and while you’re talking with your pals from the motherland, what am I supposed to do with the massive hereness that is him?”

A grin tugged at Spike’s lips and he spread his arms out again. “Whatever you fancy, pet. Jus’ be gentle on the newbies.”

She gave him a look.

“Well, s’not like I mind it rough.”

“Giles!”

The Watcher was even redder than she was, which so wasn’t right. It wasn’t as though he was the target of this guy’s pointed innuendos and seductive, why-are-you-so-sexy smiles. It just wasn’t right. Spike was a perv. A perv that was three years her senior, no less. Forever in teen years. He might as well have been eighty-five.

Well, granted, not with that body, but still…

“Ummm…Spike.” Giles frowned at the name. “Is there something else we can call you?”

“No.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “What? You expect us to believe a self-respecting woman named her child Spike? Please.”

A playful scowl fell over his face. “Oh,” he retorted, “an’ Buffy’s the height of sophistication.”

“Giles!”

“I—erm.” The Watcher’s glasses were in his shirt, his gaze studiously trained on the floor. “I think it better, perhaps, if you take him out for a quick patrol, Buffy. Regardless of the circumstances…Spike’s presence here might be beneficial, especially if what Angel told you last night comes to terms.”

Spike arched a cool brow. “Angel?”

“Vampire,” she retorted shortly, not looking at him. “Souled. Repenting. Major hottie. Any other questions?”

“Can you bounce coins off his rear?”

Giles’s hand halted on its track back to his face, his glasses deciding they weren’t quite polished enough. “Buffy,” he intervened before she could get a word in, “I do think it’s best if you…show Spike how things are done around here. The cemeteries, of course, and maybe the train station that Angel—”

“How things are done?” she repeated skeptically. “We patrol, we slay, we save the world from unspeakable demons, we party. There. Consider yourself shown.”

A mock-wounded look fell over his faces. “You don’ wanna give me a private demo?”

She groaned what she hoped would pass for disgust.

“Buffy.”

That tone from her Watcher was seldom used. They had long ago developed an understanding based on what he expected from his Slayer versus her level of convention when it came to those documented in history. And thus far, aside a few select times, he had never truly exercised a measure of authority over her, knowing it was a fruitless activity even on the best of days.

And it wasn’t like logic wasn’t being seen. Buffy saw all kinds of logic. Spike could prove to be a very powerful asset—she already knew how skilled a fighter he was. The prospect of being left alone with him, however; walking the cemeteries with him at her side was more than a little daunting.

Especially since she felt he had been on his best behavior since he strolled into the room.

“Yeah, okay,” she agreed sharply, ignoring the pleased grin that spread across Spike’s lips. Instead, she turned promptly at the heel and marched toward the weapons cabinet. She felt him following but paid him no mind. Not even when he invaded her bubble and stepped close enough to feel his breath on the back of her neck.

And that was it. Cocky was one thing. Now he was just being presumptuous. “Do you not believe in personal space?”

“Well, since we’re gonna be spendin’ such quality time together, I din’t see the harm—”

Weapons were a no go. She was just distracting herself, anyway. Nothing more than a stake would be needed tonight. “There’s harm. There’s plenty of harm. Most of it will be yours if you don’t back the hell off, all right?” With a vicious slam that sounded angrier than she felt, Buffy whirled around, thundered past him, and made her way stridently for the door.

And nearly plowed over Willow in the process.

“Hey!” the redhead greeted, breathless. “Sorry I’m late. Math club decided to take another fifteen minutes and…why do I get the idea that you’re on the way out and forgot I was coming by?”

Spike threw the library doors open then, stalking forward in a manner that managed to ooze even more sex appeal. Dammit, this was not good.

He was everything she hated in men. Absolutely everything rolled up into one.

Only at the moment, the snark had abandoned his eyes and he looked more vulnerable than she would have ever accredited him for feeling. That wealth of ocean blue deeper, sincere. A glimpse at a self she would bet not many got to see. And if possible, the flush staining her skin deepened. “Buffy, I—” He stopped and perked his brows at Willow. “Who’s this?”

A sigh rolled off her shoulders as they sagged in defeat. “Willow,” she said, glancing away. “Willow, Spike. Spike, Willow.”

The redhead was dumbstruck. “Huh?”

“This is the guy I was going to have you track down,” Buffy explained, hands on her hips. “He’s a Slayer and he was called when I died for two seconds last year. Also he’s not gay, we don’t know why he’s a guy, it’s a thing, and now we’re going on patrol. Bye.”

“Buffy—”

She didn’t hear her. She was too eager to get the hell out of the building.

Which did little good in hindsight, granted. Because Spike was there. Following her with intent. She felt him like she had felt no one. Not vampires; not even Angel. Spike was there. He was very there.

And she didn’t quite know how to feel about that.

*~*~*

He was a complete and utter wanker. There was just no getting around that.

Watching her face, nothing had ever been quite as certain as that. He was a git. Opening his big mouth before the girl had time to know him yet for even an hour. His mouth was likely one of the largest ploys in how often he found himself in trouble. It never failed him. Whether with his mother, his ex-girlfriend, the Watchers he had spent the summer with, or even the police. Those few times in his disturbed adolescence when friends had convinced him it would be fun to do something so completely juvenile that he couldn’t help but wince whenever he thought of it. Even now, years later. Years after the time for fixing it had passed.

Well, he had a token of reminder for that one, anyway. Every time he looked in the mirror, that scar that paved through his eyebrow looked back at him.

Buffy was brassed, yes, and it was his fault. Though he honestly didn’t believe she was angry at him as much as she was herself for her reaction to him. She was young still, three years behind him. And already within this past hour, he knew that there would be times when that was very obvious—but more likely, times when he forgot there had been days before she came into his life.

So soon. But he felt he knew her. He had spent three months learning about her. Studying the journal kept by her first Watcher in Los Angeles. Pouring himself over every bit of information on her that the Council would provide. Listening to the progress she had made in just that last year. Learning how she had died.

It was funny, feeling a pang of something unidentifiable but real for someone he didn’t know. Someone he had previously never heard of, someone he would have never met had this thing not happened. And even though he knew that her death had been fleeting and obviously less than permanent, the knowledge that she had died made his insides clench.

Meeting her had brought him to a crossroads. Meeting her when he felt he knew her so well. Meeting her when he had been nothing but fascinated from the moment Gerald approached him close to four months ago. Approached him, told him who he was, what he was, and explained there was another.

Another that lived on the other side of the world.

As for what he had said to her…well, that could hardly be helped. The first words he had heard her melodic voice sing out were about him. And, well, he was a guy. The girl liked him—he knew girls well enough to know when he was liked. And she liked him a lot.

She just didn’t like it that she liked him, which was fair.

It was surreal standing next to her. He could see the outline of the Master’s bite embedded in her throat. Could practically see her mind speeding through clockwork as she tried to suss out his presence and why he seemed enamored with her, beyond the obvious. Beyond being one of two. The only two.

“Buffy?”

They both tensed at his voice. She for the anticipation of what he would say, he for the fear that he couldn’t stop his words from running away from him again.

She didn’t reply. But she was listening. Oh, she was listening.

Spike grinned in spite of himself. “Guess that old saying’s true after all, huh?”

“What?”

“Only get one firs’ impression.” He sighed. “Look, if I made you uncomfortable back there, I din’t mean it. Well, I meant it; I shouldn’t’ve said it. You get any bloke next to a pretty girl an’ his mouth’s bound to go off, right? At least that’s been my experience, an’ I fail to disprove it every time I get the chance.”

Buffy tensed even more so, her eyes wide. “Ummm, okay.”

God, what idiotic thing had he said now? “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Like hell.”

She licked her lips and shrugged. “It’s just…you said…pretty. Say that to any girl and she’ll go off into la-la land for a minute. Just forget it.”

Spike grinned. “Jus’ pretty? Is that what I said? Seems an’ injustice, really. After all, you accurately sized me up earlier.”

“And somehow I get the feeling that you’re never going to let me live that down.”

“Likely not, no.”

“Well…don’t let it go to your head. All of that was said before you opened your mouth and introduced yourself. And then failed to do what most sophisticates do and shut up.”

“Someone’s touchy. Seems I struck a nerve, luv.”

Buffy’s eyes clouded over and she stopped short just as they breeched the entrance of Restfield cemetery. Her hand grasped his wrist, twisting him to a standstill. Looking at her lovely face, marred with confusion and anger and arousal that she likely wasn’t even aware of. And suddenly his jeans were uncomfortably tight.

“Okay, we’re going to lay out some ground rules,” she said. “I’m taking you on patrol because Giles wanted me to. After this, we’re never going anywhere together again, okay? Except in the case of an apocalypse or big baddies that require more than one death of a Chosen, you got me? I work alone. That’s the way it’s been, the way it is. The way it’s going to be. Understand?”

“Crystal clear.”

“Good.”

“Except the part where you were talkin’ an’ not meanin’ a word of what you said.” He smiled, somewhere between smirking and sincere. “Look, I spoke a piece an’ some things were said that shouldn’t have been. Got that. But you’re not nearly as indignant as you’d like to be, an’ if you were in the mood to be honest, that’s what really has you riled up.”

Buffy’s face fell in a manner he knew automatically to associate with someone calling her on something and finding the truth in its fast. She wrestled with herself for a few seconds before consigning a sigh and shrugging her shoulders. “Well,” she said, “maybe.”

Spike grinned. “Well, guess any impression’s better than none,” he speculated.

“Yeah, you’d like to think so.”

“More so than you’re ready to know.” That remark visibly confused her, and he seized the opportunity to start further into the graveyard in subtle reminder that they had patrolling to tend to.

For a few minutes, they walked in silence. Listening to branches and leaves crunch beneath their feet. The calm steadiness of their mingled breaths dancing in the cool night air. The cemetery was as still as it had been the night before, save the lack of cronies to dust. Those in themselves had been a surprise. After an embarrassingly long amount of time traipsing through Sunnydale’s numerous graveyards in the hopes of stumbling across their residential Slayer, he had finally encountered something to distract him from the thought of a girl he had been waiting months to meet.

Months. She was here at his side now.

Her voice was musical. He wagered he was the only one who heard it when she spoke.

“So,” she began tentatively, tone degrees apart from where it had been just minutes before. “Why did you…you know, turn that girl down last night? I mean, she was looking to give it to you and then some.”

A tight grin tugged at Spike’s lips. “Not my type,” he said.

“Guys have types? I thought all she had to be was willing. It wasn’t like she was asking for a long-term relationship. She just wanted—”

“Casual sex doesn’ do much for me,” he replied, enjoying the way her face flamed. She looked adorable when she was embarrassed. And at that alone, he felt the urge to press on. “Sure, ‘s nice in theory. An’ yeh, there’ve been nights when I find myself very much in the mood to oblige, but overall, I don’ see the appeal.”

Not so much in the past few months, actually. Not since he was called.

Not since her picture was shoved under his nose, and his heart was stolen by a pair of pretty hazel eyes.

Spike decided to leave that part out. It would only frighten her. And she was still so young.

“So…you’ve done it.”

Her skin was reddening even more so, and her meaning was far from ambiguous. Still, the devil in him couldn’t resist. “I’ve done it?”

A pause. “You know.”

“I can assure you I don’t.”

“You’ve…” She gestured inarticulately, looking anywhere but him. “I’ve just…it’s…I…the part about the, ummm…”

“Yes.”

She stopped at that, abandoning her discomfiture and meeting his eyes, her own wide. “You have?”

His eyes narrowed. “Li’l personal conversation, isn’t this, Summers?”

“Well, I…I don’t know. I’m…” Her face crumpled into a frown, then she burst into vivid color. “Never mind. You’re right. I…I really don’t know why I asked that.”

He did. He remembered when he first found out that his friends weren’t virgins; it was awkward. As though that line between adulthood and adolescence was suddenly palpable, and his mates had aged in years. That in itself was stupid; he knew that now, but it was the way boys thought when they were young. And likely the only thing that drove him out to find Cecily later that week and give her what she had so richly been asking for during the duration of their so-called relationship.

That was a mess waiting to happen. Not his best moment.

Buffy was pure innocence, and the knowledge charmed him. Added to her beauty in ways she wouldn’t recognize until she was older.

Spike had to bite down on the sudden impulse to touch her; grab her hand or establish some form of contact. Feel her skin around his. He had touched her tonight but received no touch in return, and touch was what he craved. Even if it was only her fingers entwined with his.

“’S’all right, kitten,” he assured her. “You never know anythin’ if you don’ ask first.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not usually that forward…especially with people that I don’t know. And it’s really none of my business.”

He shrugged easily. “Life wouldn’t be interestin’ if we kept strictly to our own business, now would it?”

A smile at that. An honest-to-god smile. A smile that reached her eyes.

It would have been the perfect moment had their Slayer tinglies not gone off at the same beat. Spike tore his gaze away from her and immediately in the direction his instincts were guiding him. Growing stronger by the second until he felt her small hand cover his, jolts of electricity sparkling through his skin.

“It’s okay,” Buffy said. “No one. Just Angel.”

Angel. Right, the wanker with a soul. Gerald had talked him up on that one, too.

Angel was enormous. More so than he looked in his pictures. Spike had spent a good few days reading up on the big git, especially after learning that he had intentionally placed himself near Buffy and that their relationship was cozy in nature. It was strange seeing him in the flesh—almost as though the Phantom of the Opera had come to life, only sans the whimsy and the talent.

He had not taken any photos as Angel. The vampire that Spike knew was the one documented in history. The one that the Watchers called the worst of them all. The sort of vampire that gained respect in a world where half-breeds were almost worse than humans in the eyes of any demon.

And yet, it was only for the way the over-sized sod looked at Buffy that Spike truly embraced how much he disliked him. A sort of abhorrence that seemed to be there from the beginning and only now realized.

“Buffy,” the vampire greeted, though his eyes were on Spike. Dark and distrusting. “Who’s this?”

“Umm, this is—”

“Name’s Spike, mate,” he all but growled. Civilized culture usually included handshakes with proper introductions. Such formalities were exempt from this meeting. “Vampire Slayer.”

Emphasis on vampire slayer.

Angel gave him a blank look. “What?”

Buffy shrugged. “It’s true. This is the guy I was telling you about last night. He showed up and evidently, there’s me plus one. Giles is making with the research. We’re just out patrolling. Showing him the ropes, and all that wonderful jazz.”

Angel was still staring at him numbly. “You do realize this guy’s a…guy, right?”

“Yeah. Weird, huh?”

Spike shoved off a grin. “Guess I won the one in a mil lotto, mate,” he replied. “Threw the bloody Council for a loop, an’ now her Watcher’s on the case. Doesn’ really seem to make a bit of difference, though. I’m here.”

“Yeah…and how is that?” The vampire finally tore his eyes away, refocusing on Buffy. “Last I heard, Slayers had to be, well, dead before another was called.”

“Yeah and I, well, was, remember?” She beamed a bright smile that slid casually over layers of unresolved pain—the same that Spike would see if he were blind. The girl was coping admirably, but her hand had also jumped from his to rub at that mark in her throat. As though tainted by mention alone. “You were kinda there.”

Angel frowned. “That counted?”

“Evidently.”

“And he was called?”

“’m standin’ here, aren’t I?”

They both threw him a look at that.

For what it was worth, Buffy seemed to catch on that he wasn’t entirely comfortable with Angel’s presence and coolly pressed onward to shift the subject away from his being called to something more neutral. “Do you have anything for us on the vamps that came in last night?”

“Ummm, yeah, I…” He cast a misgiving glance in Spike’s direction. “Can we talk privately?”

“No.” Again, he found himself the target of two wayward stares. “Well, if you have information, might as well dish for the both of us. We’re the ones trackin’ the vamps down, aren’ we?”

“I’d rather speak with Buffy alone.”

“Well, I’d rather have a load of money to go with my devilishly good looks. Don’ always get what we want, mate. Figured two centuries of livin’ would’ve taught you that one already.”

Angel stepped forward territorially. “You know, if there’s something you want to say—”

“Think I jus’ did.”

Buffy’s hand clamped down on his again and his body warmed. Granted there was still a good few feet between her and the vampire, but the knowledge that he was the one she reached for, even on such short acquaintance did a number on his heart that jarred him with its potency. Though there was every possibility that he was reading way too much into the subtle hints of her delectable body language.

“Angel, Spike’s okay,” she said. “We’re on the same team here. You got information? We want it. What’s the low-down on these vamps?”

The big sod looked at her for a minute longer before he deigned himself to answer. “Two of them…just two. The oldest is Penn…he was a Puritan who was sired in the early nineteenth century. He’s ruthless, will destroy anything that stands between him and what he’s after.”

“What’s he after?”

Angel shrugged. “I don’t know. Unless he…I don’t know. But I do know who he brought with him.” He reached into his coat pocket and unfolded a newspaper clipping. “They found a doll on the train, amongst other things.”

Buffy’s brows perked. “And it made the paper?”

“Not exactly. I just saw it in the back of the photo.”

“And this means what in vampire lingo? We got a Claudia case running around?”

The vampire looked at her blankly. Spike just grinned.

“That piece by Anne Rice,” he clarified. “The big show of vamps with those two baby-face actors who can’t act?”

Buffy scowled. “Brad can so act.”

“In your dreams, kitten.”

“Yes, he has known to star in a few of those.”

“This isn’t a…whatever case.” Angel stuffed the newspaper clipping back into his pocket. “The vampire’s name is Drusilla, and she’s Penn’s…well, lover, I guess. She was made in 1860, and as far as I know, they’ve been together ever since.”

Spike cocked a brow. “How do you know?”

He shrugged in that manner that clearly said he knew more than he was willing to divulge. “Just do. Vamps know of other vamps. It happens. Ran into them a time or two over the decades.” He turned to Buffy. “They’re dangerous, though. Whatever they’re here for, they won’t stop until they find it. And they won’t hesitate to kill whoever stands in their way. They’re not like the others you’ve faced, Buffy. Unlike even the Master. Penn is a sociopath; has been known to take on the persona of a human serial killer and string the authorities along just for kicks. And Drusilla…she’s a bit unpredictable. As far as insane vampires go…”

There just wasn’t any part of that sentence that Spike liked.

“An insane vampire?” Buffy whimpered. “I am so not liking the sound of that.”

Angel nodded stoically. “I’ll let you know if I hear anything else.”

He was gone the next minute, just like something out of the movies. A flash and then nothing where he had once stood. Not even the hint of someone walking through the graveyard in retreat.

Didn’t really matter which way Angel showed himself out. Spike released a deep breath, clutching Buffy’s hand tighter before she pulled away hastily, having evidently forgotten that she was holding onto him at all. His own immediately lamented the loss of her touch, but for the flush that flooded her skin in its stead, there was some measure of reassurance that it would not be the last.

Rather, the first of many.

“So,” he said after a long minute. “That was Angel.”

Buffy nodded shortly. “Yep. That was Angel.”

“Big brooding sort’ve fellow.”

“You noticed that, too, huh?”

A wry grin tugged at his mouth. “You’ll find that my eyes are connected to my brain jus’ like everyone else’s, kitten.”

She didn’t say anything at that, rather paced herself a step away.

Spike swallowed hard. He didn’t want to ask; didn’t even want to think about it, but the question was there. Floating between them with no sign of dissipating. Not mentioning it would likely only intensify its strength. Better to address it now. “What is it with you two?”

She looked up, startled. “What?”

“You an’ Peaches. There’s somethin’ there.”

Buffy licked her lips and shook her head. “No, there’s not.” A pause. “Okay, so there is. It’s nothing. Nothing that’s going to amount to anything. Not now, not ever. And…it’s strange. Whatever was there’s not as strong as it was. I don’t know if it’s the entire ‘I’ve been dead, and I didn’t like their men’ thing or…something else.” She shrugged carelessly. “He had the tall, dark, and handsome thing going for him. All with the mystery and the stuff most girls will typically swoon over. And yes, guilty, I swooned. But…I dunno. I just…” Her eyes met his after a few minutes. Met his and held. One single instant out of thousands. One that meant everything and nothing at the same time.

“Things change.”

Spike repressed the pleased smile that itched his lips. Instead, he nodded and turned back to face the cemetery where their night was still only beginning. “That they do, luv,” he agreed. “More often than you’d think.”

Things had changed just then. Just with that moment. One stolen moment.

The evening breeze painted colors around them. And they set off side-by-side. Two Slayers born for the night. Born for the hunt. Born for this moment.

Walking together.

[/nextpage]

[nextpage title=”Part 4″ ]

Part 4: As We Play In Life’s Ballet

Obtaining her Watcher’s approval was something that Buffy didn’t always mark high on her list of priorities. After all, if the slayage was complete and she was still not dead, what was the big in doing it by the book? Giles was all books, and Lord knew she respected him for that. Since they were constantly combating forces of death and destruction, it was always good to have one brilliant mind admirably capable of dealing with that stuff without being bored to tears. That scoff, that near-condescending-but-still-fatherly roll of his very British eyes was something that she almost depended on. It was a sign that she was doing something right, much to her stuffy Watcher’s chagrin, even though her methods were less than orthodox.

That did little to explain the tightness in her stomach that seemed to clench every time another word of praise rumbled through Giles’s mouth. Spike had been training now for about an hour; showing off the moves his substitute Watcher had taught him over the summer. And damn, he was good. He was very good. He handled every weapon that Giles handed him with grace and poise that looked as natural as anything Buffy had ever witnessed. That move that Giles had been practicing on her since last May? Spike nailed it without having to be warned.

Not fair. Buffy sat crosslegged on one of the numerous unoccupied study tables, sharpening her stakes and pretending that she wasn’t captivated with the new Slayer’s moves. If possible, that burning attraction she had felt for him since night one had swelled even more. And every time he caught her while she was not watching, she was sure her heart was coming closer to leaping entirely out of her chest.

Lousy sexy male Slayers who weren’t supposed to exist…

“Excellent!” Giles commended again, beaming through his gulps for air. “Your handle with…that is just…and you say you…and Gerald only commenced…training over the summer? You have…no previous experience?”

Spike just smirked, twirling the long staff almost as an afterthought. Giles looked ready to have a heart attack from their recent spar and he had barely broken a sweat. “I had plenty of experience, mate,” he said, gaze finding hers before her eyes darted away in a failed attempt at apathy. “Jus’ not with weaponry. Learned everythin’ ‘bout bein’ the Slayer while Li’l Miss Buff was off in Los Angeles.”

“Remarkable!”

Buffy sneered and shook her head, though more to herself as she pretended to focus on the slivers of wood that peeled off her stake with every sweep of her knife.

“Oh.” Giles straightened suddenly, wobbling over to the checkout counter. “Speaking of Gerald, I heard from him today. The Council has approved your being turned over into my…care…alongside Buffy…indefinitely. It didn’t make much sense for them to send over another Watcher when I can just as well tend to you both.”

Okay. No longer pretending not to listen. Buffy’s eyes shot upward in horror.

“What?”

Spike turned to her, a smirk ready on his face. “Seems we’re sharin’ a Watcher, luv.”

“Giles! You can’t…you…” She shook her head determinately. “No!”

The Watcher shrugged, taking a sip of his somewhat aged coffee. “Council’s orders, Buffy,” he replied simply. “It shouldn’t affect us much one way or another.”

“But he’s not even staying here!” she argued, then fell slack and eyed the offending presence ominously. “Are you?”

Spike just grinned and shrugged. “Oh, I dunno,” he replied coolly, eyes running over her. “Think I might find a reason or two to make the move here permanent.”

“Don’t you have, like, a home?”

At that, he sobered. Sobered so quickly that Buffy quickly bit her tongue and cursed herself for the manner in which the words had rolled out of her mouth. Evidently, her reaction to that alone was enough, and Spike just sighed and turned back to Giles. Pursuit of her for the day cut to a sudden and unpredictable halt.

For the past three days, they had been dancing around each other. Exchanging biting remarks that were not without innuendo, never too far from letting the other side of their repression free. The stuff that lay beneath the surface. The temptation to apologize for her words now was almost unbearable, especially since she didn’t know the nature of her offense—only that she had offended.

As if sensing the sudden tension between them—the sort that wasn’t sexual—Giles cleared his throat and set his coffee down. “I believe there was one of those dreadful teachers meetings this afternoon,” he said. “Spike, why don’t you and Buffy spot each other until I get back?”

She licked her lips, casting a wary glance to the clock. “Aren’t you, like, a half hour late?”

“Not quite. But I—erm—will be back later. Ms. Calendar had a question about something that I might be able to help her with.” He tossed his discarded staff to his first Slayer, and she caught it with ease. “Help each other out.”

Moments like this, she saw the virtue of carrying a camcorder wherever she went. Giles moving that fast was definitely something to catch on tape.

Spike pushed himself off the counter and turned to her almost immediately, tossing his own weapon between his hands. “Well then, kitten,” he said, brows perking. “Wanna show me what you got?”

Buffy slid off the table slowly, stretching her arms as she took Giles’s place in the middle of the room. It didn’t feel right, though. Facing him in a battle-like situation with this thing that she had done suddenly between them. There was a rage behind his eyes that hadn’t been there before—not anger, more a storm settling across a sea that was already disturbed by ghosts of a long haunted past.

Every day, there was something about him that wasn’t there before.

His moves in actual combat were more beautiful than she could have ever gauged watching from the sidelines. Every turn a preemptive strike of poetry, his face, his body language—everything about him twisting her insides. The wood of their staffs crackled through the otherwise still air, singing alongside heaves of breath and the guttural, masculine sounds that rumbled through his throat.

Strange. So strange. Her reaction to him since he first came in had grown more defensive, even as her self-imposed walls wobbled in loom of the impending fall. She liked him; liked spending time with him. The leer was there as always, softer than before. And her reaction of just minutes ago—news that Giles was now to be shared between them—she didn’t know if her offense was more that she considered her Watcher to be her Watcher, or that the reluctant fantasy that he wouldn’t go away was coming true. And she still didn’t know how to feel about that.

She didn’t want him to leave. She just wasn’t ready to admit that she wanted him to stay.

An indeterminate amount of time later, they were reclined side by side against the library counter, panting in the aftermath of a spar that had worn them both out. A victory yet to be called; it was impossible to choose who had won a joust so evenly matched.

“My mum died a year ago,” Spike said suddenly, jarring her back to herself. His eyes were trained on the ground, that vulnerable glimmer breaking through that she had only seen once before. The sort that left her with more than an impression of the hidden personality that he kept shoved aside. The one that she wagered was more him than he cared to admit. “Lung cancer.”

Oh God.

Buffy tentatively placed a hand over his, starting when he glanced to her in astonishment. “I’m sorry,” she said sincerely. “I shouldn’t have…with the before and everything. I didn’t mean it.”

“Yeh, well. Even if you did, you didn’t know, right?” He shrugged, not hiding as much as he would have liked. “’S jus’…still kinda sore.”

“Spike—”

“’S fine, Buffy.”

“No, I really didn’t mean it. I was just being Ms. Insensitive. I really don’t mind that you’re staying here.” She smiled best she could, edging closer. “Actually, it’s kinda fun having you around.”

His brows perked with interest, a ghost of a smile tickling his lips. “’S that right?”

“Well, you are annoying as all hell, but I think I’ve gotten used to you.”

The smile turned into a smirk in a flash. “Thanks ever so.”

A quiet beat settled between them. Companionable. Comforting.

Buffy wet her lips subconsciously. “Lung cancer?” She paused, hand tightening around his almost out of second nature. A need to comfort a man that was, by in large, still a stranger. “Feel free to ignore me for being tactless at any moment.”

Spike grinned, using his hold on her to tug her closer. “’S fine,” he said, and she believed him. There was something in his voice that would always speak the truth, regardless of how real it was. “Yeh, she died of lung cancer. Smoked for years. I started, too, when I was fifteen. Dropped it the minute she told me she was sick.” A sigh trembled through him. “Some people can’t quit cold turkey. All it took from me was word that she was sick, an’ it was terminal. Haven’t touched a bloody fag since.”

A small, proud smile crossed her lips. “Cold turkey?”

“’S not as hard as it sounds.”

She arched a brow. “My cousin smokes like a chimney. She’s tried to quit more times than I can even begin to count. Doesn’t sound too easy to me.”

“You have a cousin?”

“On my father’s side. Haven’t seen her in years.”

Spike flashed a genuine smile, hoisting himself atop the counter. She followed in seconds, missing the sparkle of adoration that flickered behind his eyes. “You really haven’t had the temptation to smoke again?” she asked. “Not once since you quit?”

“Well, the urge does come up every now an’ then,” he replied honestly. “But I do like breathin’ without the threat of coughin’ up a lung.”

“Yeah, I can definitely see that.” Buffy expelled a deep sigh and glanced down. “How did…Gerald, right?”

“Right.”

“Yeah. When Merrick first came to me, it was like a dream or whatever. Something that still doesn’t feel real, even with everything that’s happened. I just…I guess I’m wondering what happened with you. I haven’t been able to talk to anyone about it before.” A small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “And now you’re here.”

“Took you a few days to notice that.”

“Well, your personality got in the way.”

“Y’know, a lesser man might be offended by that.”

She arched a cool brow. “Are you a lesser man?”

His eyes sparkled; hand tugging at hers and coming dangerously close to his crotch. “You’re free to investigate my measurements any time, sweetheart.”

Buffy’s face flamed and she yanked her touch out of his reach. “Why do you keep doing that?” she demanded, eyes darting around the room; looking anywhere but him.

“Why? I should think it rather obvious.”

A shuddering breath rumbled through her lips. “Ummm…me slow?”

The hum of his chuckle sent small ripples across her skin. There was still nothing about him that she did not like—despite everything piled to the contrary. That self-confident poise he carried himself with. The leers, the appreciative eyefuls, even the seductive innuendoes that had inflamed her indignation for the face of her nonexistent anger that first day. She had grown accustomed to them in a matter of hours.

“Guess I have a confession to make,” he said, expelling a deep breath. “Practically all the time that I din’t spend with Gerald an’ the Watcher mates back in England, I spent pourin’ over every bit of information of you that I could find.”

Buffy froze. “What?”

“Yeh.”

“Why?”

It was amazing to watch Spike grow sheepish; their acquaintance still so new, she hadn’t seen anything so adorable. Though, for some reason, she felt that telling him that would not be received in the nature intended. “I was intrigued,” he said softly. “Everythin’ about you intrigued me. Still does. That night that you followed me back to my flat? I was out lookin’ for you. Wanted to see you after I’d spent so much time readin’ on you. Lookin’ over everything the wankers would fork over. When I knew you were followin’ me, I couldn’t bloody well help but try to make you at leas’ a fraction as intrigued with me as I am with you.”

The potency behind his gaze startled her. Buffy was suddenly aware how fast her heart was pounding. How hard her pulse was racing. The depth that he was bearing to her dragged her into a light that was still too bright for her young eyes. The thought of Spike enamored with her, even before acquaintance, both excited and frightened her in the same beat.

“I don’t understand,” she said a minute later, suddenly startling aware of his proximity. “Why? I mean, I’m sixteen years old, I live in California, I kill vampires. That’s me. That’s all there is to know. How can that—”

“You’re daft if you believe that,” Spike retorted dryly.

“Well, then I’m daft, or whatever.”

“I’ll bloody well say. You’d have to be that, deaf, an’ blind not to see how bloody amazin’ you are.” The urgency behind his voice made her redden even more so, and she again found herself unable to meet his eyes. “Fuck, Buffy, I’ve only known you for a few days an’ I can tell you that. I half-expected my fascination with you to die right off once I’d satisfied my curiosity, but God, it’s flown off the sodding charts.”

“Why?”

“You’re remarkable an’ you don’ know it.”

A nervous titter rang through her body. “Would you mind telling my mother that? She just thinks I’m a troublemaker.”

“Buffy—”

“I’m nothing special, Spike. Well, except for the killing of unspeakable demons, but that—”

“Bollocks.” An ironic laugh rumbled from his lips. “God, Buffy, you died . You died, an’ you came back stronger than ever. Most people would quit at that. You din’t. Every day I see you, you’re tryin’ harder. Jus’ a li’l harder every day; doesn’ matter what you’re workin’ on.”

“I have to. I’m the only one.”

A hand cupped her cheek, and suddenly her eyes were level with his. The softness of his touch around her. Guiding her gaze to him, drowning in his raging sea before he lowered his eyes to her mouth.

“Not anymore,” he murmured.

God, he was going to kiss her. Spike was going to kiss her. Buffy’s heart thundered even as her eyes fluttered shut. She felt his breath on her lips, could nearly taste him already. Her skin trembled against his though she didn’t know whether she quaked out of fear or anticipation. Kissing Spike would bid away whatever was left between her and Angel, and only for the knowledge that she wanted this somewhere within the recesses of her feared admittance. And if she wanted him, if she allowed herself to get lost in his kiss, there would be no going back.

She knew that without having to know anything.

It had happened so fast. It had all happened so fast. But there was chemistry here that didn’t exist with Angel; never had. Losing herself to Spike would be so easy if she let herself. And knowing just that much after only a few days terrified her beyond reason.

“Buffy,” he murmured reverently, his lips barely grazing hers before the sound of an irritated throat clearing itself rang through the air, forcing them apart with more than a simple note of loss.

Buffy expelled a deep breath and looked up.

They were no longer alone.

*~*~*

He knew simply in watching them together that she was lost to him. Granted, she had always been lost to him on some level. Buffy was the Slayer, he was a vampire, and there simply wasn’t a way to bridge that between them. No feasible future for them. They had known that much the year before after sharing that ill-fated kiss. The one that had revealed his true face to her. Revealed what she should have known, as the Slayer, from the very beginning.

There had been feelings there, though, despite their inability to be together.

And he had known. It was inevitable. Buffy was a young girl; she was gorgeous and independent, clever and resourceful. It was only a matter of time before a new guy came into the picture. Only a matter of time before he was but an afterthought, and their tease of what he could never have finally slipped completely out of his reach.

He simply hadn’t expected it to happen so soon.

He had known from that first night, though. The way she talked about a guy she didn’t know, not hearing herself as her words taunted him in foreshadowing the loss of her forever.

Three nights ago, he had seen them together and his suspicions were confirmed.

And yet, waiting as he was—there was no way he was about to watch the girl meant to be his salvation lose herself in the arms of someone else. Not while he was standing there. Not while he was made to observe them.

He had come there with the intention of telling her everything that he had omitted from his depiction of Penn and Dru the other night. Everything he wanted to tell her without the prying eyes of her new love interest watching every second of their exchange. Yet now he could see that waiting for her to have a free moment would only cost them time. And if he knew anything about his irreverent childer, time was something they did not have. It shocked the hell out of him that they had yet to make a move, being here as long as they had.

It only meant that they were here with reason.

Thus as Spike cupped the face of the girl he loved, he decided to make his presence known. Bring the Slayers back to themselves; alert them to the vampiric company that they should have recognized the minute they walked into the library.

They jumped together and eyed him wearily: Buffy flushed with excitement and shades of guilt, Spike just annoyed. Not that he really cared what Spike thought. From their haphazard meeting a few nights before, he knew that they would never be two to go out of their way in the namesake of friendship.

“Angel,” Buffy gasped. He could nearly taste the race of her pulse. “I—umm. We were just…I…what are you doing here?”

The penance in her voice reflected in Spike’s eyes, only his in the form of hurt rather than regret. And for that, Angel felt a pang of kinship. It had likely been beneath him to prevent her from reaching for something that could result in actual happiness, but what was done was done and he couldn’t take it back.

Could only hope not to be so thoroughly self-centered in the future.

“Sorry…I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just have news,” he said, turning to step down from the veranda that overlooked the foyer. “Well, just some things I should have told you the other night.”

Spike’s brows perked. “This about the vamps you say you knew over the years?” he asked drolly, head cocking to one side. His eyes sparked with knowledge. As though that tidbit about Angelus being a key role in their creation having never truly been ambiguous.

“Yes.”

Buffy frowned. “Angel?”

“Penn and Drusilla are both mine,” he said, eyes on the ground. “I sired Penn…I didn’t tell you that he tends to sign his victims with the symbol of a Christian cross on their left cheek, or that—”

“That was another thing he learned from you,” Spike accused lowly, arms crossed. That much confirmed it. “’S how he adapted that serial killer tendency in the firs’ place, right?”

This Slayer had done his homework before he flew across the world.

“Yes.”

“Angel…” Buffy expelled a deep breath and stepped forward, her arms crossing. “Why didn’t you tell us this much before? We all know that you killed before you—”

“I didn’t just kill them,” he replied sternly. “I sired them. I trained Penn to be everything that I was. What he lacks in innovation, he more than makes up for in brutality. Drusilla is just the opposite of him. She’s unpredictable and vicious…and I’m guessing that’s why they’ve been together so long.”

Spike cocked a brow. “How you figure?”

“Penn likes to be kept on his toes. He’ll go where he can reap the most damage. He rarely changes habit, though, and if he does, it’s at Dru’s urging.” A long, needless breath rolled off his shoulders. “Dru is insane because I made her insane. I killed her family in front of her…played with her…tortured them. Tested her sight so that she would see what I was about to do to her before I did it.”

“Her sight?” Buffy echoed, her voice small.

“Drusilla’s a Seer. A gift from Darla, because she knew how much I liked Seers. Like convents and virgins.” Angel shook his head in a picture of self-loathing. He didn’t want to look at Buffy now; didn’t want to see the disgust burning in her eyes. He knew the feeling of it intimately; too much so to have a firsthand glance at what it looked like on top of that. “I killed her the day she was supposed to take her vows to become a nun,” he concluded. “Darla and I. Darla didn’t want her made, but I did. It wasn’t as easy as death.”

“So the Puritan an’ the nun hit it off,” Spike drawled. “Isn’t that rich?”

“Spike…”

“Still don’ see why you din’t tell us this the other day, mate.”

That much didn’t really matter though, did it? The male Slayer already had the lead. Was already in the know. He had simply opted to keep that much from Buffy as well. Perhaps protecting her from the inevitable drop of disappointment, perhaps not. It would have come out eventually. For all the researching that Giles had been doing since the names were given, uncovering the ties with Angelus from there was just a matter of time.

“I had my reasons,” Angel replied at last, eyes on the ground. “I’ve been trying to track them down the past couple nights to no avail. I think they know I’m here…which may or may not be the reason they decided to vacation in Sunnydale. I haven’t known Penn for tracking down Slayers…it would be too much outside his norm. There’s every possibility that they don’t know that you two are players in this town.”

Buffy frowned. “But you said Drusilla is a Seer—”

“She is. She’s not omnipotent, though. And her visions tend to come in patches…sometimes she will know everything precise. Other times, she will only know pictures of what the future holds.” At last, he garnished the courage to glance up. Meeting two sets of eyes that were giving him virtually the same look. Almost as though they were of the same make. “They’re here for a reason, and they’ll tear Sunnydale apart without thought if anything stands in their way.”

“Right,” Spike said lowly, reaching for Buffy’s hand. “Guess we better be off, then.”

“Where?”

His eyes set darkly, meeting Angel’s with a vengeful fire that the vampire knew well and understood. Years ahead of the boy’s experience, even if it felt they were on the same playing field.

“Patrol. Think these gits oughta know there’s gonna be people standin’ in their way.” He squeezed Buffy’s hand beckoning her eyes back to him. “The two of us, remember? Not alone anymore, pet.”

It took a few seconds—only a few seconds. The indecision wavering in her eyes flickered once before setting with resolution, and she nodded again before the air around them fell too uncomfortably thick with silence. “Yeah,” she said. “Patrol, then. Angel, stay here and tell Giles everything you just told us. We’ll be on patrol.”

She left him, then. At the new Slayer’s side, their hands linked with intimacy that hadn’t been there before.

That wasn’t what bothered Angel, though. That was almost expected.

What bothered him was the fact that she didn’t throw him a second glance before she was gone.

Not even to say goodbye.

[/nextpage]

[nextpage title=”Part 5″ ]

Part 5: Those Scintillating Sinners

It was quite possible that with a little bit of help, Halloween could become Buffy’s favorite holiday. Aside being her one genuine night off, the idea behind the festivity was one that she had always embraced while growing up. A night that gave her an excuse to be as wild or sinful as she chose without suffering any of the repercussions. History aside, she was nearly convinced the celebration was in honor of every teenage girl harnessed by stereotype and just aching for a reason to let loose.

At least, that was what she had been trying to convince Willow all day. First at school, then at lunch, once between classes, and now at the costume store—some random place called Ethan’s that would be gone within a week.

A night of horror movie bashing and Bronzing-it cut short thanks to Snyder’s the mandatory signup for neighborhood kids making the normal rounds. It didn’t matter, though—wasn’t truly inconvenient aside the abruptness of their task. The children had to be back early enough for the night to be used to the full extent of Halloweeny goodness, just as God had intended it.

As of yet, despite the lapse of time, there had been no word from either Penn or Drusilla. Patrol had upped in vampire cronies; however, leaving the Slayers to conclude that siring a loyal legion of followers was their current modus operandi. And as far as any help that Angel might procure, he had not located his childer, nor estimated where they might be. Drusilla was a traditionalist, he said, and Penn was predictable. Yet neither had shown face.

And now it was Halloween, and they were ready for a night of actual freedom.

So here they were, shopping for dress before the witching hour began. Spike and Xander were somewhere in the back of the store, surfing through the monetarily conservative accessories as the girls debated over the remaining costumes.

The fact that Spike was here at all—that he had volunteered to accompany her with the children instead of the movie/dance fest she had invited him to with the gang—made her heart melt. Feelings for him over the past week had definitely become of the boyfriend nature. Their flirtiness notwithstanding, the almost-kiss they had shared in the library more than a week ago went unmentioned but never forgotten. She caught him looking at her sometimes with something her inexperience could only identify as longing—the heat within his gaze burning her insides with something she had never felt before.

Spike had been rather adorably insistent that she bring him along. Now he and Xander were in the back of the store, trying on goofy glasses and earning assorted glares from the other customers when their laughter grew too loud.

Buffy winced at the look on Willow’s face as her friend studied the package she had all but stuffed in her hands. “Oh, come on,” she urged. “I’m going to be wearing something just like it. You won’t be alone. Halloween’s an excuse for good girls to get wild. You really don’t know what you’ve been missing.”

“W-w-well that may be, b-b-but you can get away with it,” the redhead stuttered. “I can’t. Wild on me equals spaz. I mean, you don’t think this is kind of slutty?” She stopped at the widening of her friend’s eyes. “Not that your outfit will be slutty, but i-it would on me because I don’t wear stuff like…not that you wear stuff like this, ‘cause you don’t. You’re just—”

Oh, thank God. Spike and Xander were approaching. Lord knows Willow meant well, but sometimes her meaning well came off as rather insulting.

“Looks like the girlies are still frettin’ over their nightly attire.” Spike turned to Buffy, gaze gleaming wickedly. “You find somethin’ skimpy but appropriate to wear tonight, luv?”

A frustrated groan rumbled through her throat. “So now you both think that I’m a slut?”

The other Slayer’s eyes widened and he stepped back wisely, hands coming up. “Okay; obviously came in on the wrong end of that conversation. Tell you what: Harris an’ I’ll be over checkin’ out the plastic swords.” He paused, shaking his head. “Think the bloke has a complex…he’s spent half his time lookin’ at all the phallic symbols.”

Buffy sighed her resignation and grabbed his arm before he could move away again. “No, don’t,” she said, barely above a pout. “I’m just trying to convince Willow that Halloween isn’t a day to be self-conscious. The entire idea is to be someone else.” She grabbed the package her friend had occupied herself with during the mention of Xander and phallic symbols and shoved it under Spike’s nose for his approval. “What do you think?”

A small smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth, and his suddenly lust-filled gaze took a leisurely tour down her body. “Definitely need to see it on you before I give you my verdict, kitten.”

Buffy rolled her eyes even as her skin tinted. There were times when she was sure he only said things like that to make her blush. “Not for me, you perv,” she said, thwacking his chest with the package in question before tossing it back to the redhead. “For Willow.”

“Right. It’d look smashin’ on you, Red. Go for it.”

Perfect answer. Precise and honest, but without the lustiness that he had given her. Rather more with a short nod and a brief glance in her friend’s direction. The answer all ideal boyfriends would give.

That word—the b-word—had started floating around her mind more often than she wanted to admit. They grew closer each day. Patrolling, training, Bronzing a few times. And for as infatuated as Spike had once told her he was with her, it only seemed to grow as the days went by.

Even if he was keeping himself at a careful distance. No smoochies. Just moon eyes and flirty snarkage, which was of the good, but Buffy felt she was definitely ready for smoochies.

“What are you dressing as?” she asked, naughty thoughts featuring him in everything from togas to gold bikini shorts—thanks to Willow’s suggestion during last night’s Rocky Horror viewing that Spike would make a great Rocky—running through her head.

He held up a bandana. “Biker.”

Oh. Sadness.

“That’s it?” Buffy pouted. “Just…that?”

“Well, yeh. I have that other leather coat that’s not nearly as nice as my duster that’ll pass decently. Plus, I have no money…unless you fancy me rippin’ off Rupert.” He shrugged. “Halloween’s more for chits when you reach a certain age, anyway.”

“You’re no fun.”

“Am so.”

“Are not. I’m wearing something slutty and you’re with the bandana and leather coat? Come on, Spike.”

His eyes sparkled. “’F your ‘something slutty’ happens to be in fake leather, we’d make quite a pair tonight, pet. The big bad biker an’ his sassy li’l vixen?”

Despite her disappointment, her skin flushed again at his suggestion, and she looked away quickly. “Yeah,” she drawled, trying and failing for disinterest. “Like you could be a big bad anything.”

“Guess we’ll find out tonight, huh, luv?”

Suddenly he was gone, her eyes catching his leather-clad backside as he made his way to the register. Willow and Xander were talking somewhere, comparing costumes—her friend evidently going with the ghost, which she would rectify when they were dressing. For the moment, Buffy’s mind was thoroughly occupied.

Spike’s eyes caught hers after he made his purchase. She could see them dancing even from across the room.

Okay. Time to rethink costume.

She needed something in fake leather.

*~*~*

Honestly, little kids and all, she had not imagined that trick-or-treating could ever be fun past the age of ten. The appeal had long since lost its charm, especially after the catastrophe a few years back when she accidentally slipped away from her mother’s hold while touring a Los Angeles mall in lieu of the danger on the streets.

For the past hour and a half, however, she had been having an absolute ball. Spike was surprisingly good with children, more so than she would have ever accredited without seeing it for herself. And he was even behaving like a non-perv person, which also scored some points seeing as every few seconds, his eyes told her in graphic detail what he would like to be doing.

And to her.

Well, if she was going to be entirely truthful, the little lustful looks had been more than one-sided. For whatever reason, the casual holiday air had her feeling promiscuous…or something she hadn’t felt before. Promiscuous likely too large a step—her vibes were working for Spike and Spike alone at the moment.

Which was progression. Definite progression.

The night altogether was one for her diary.

The outfit she ended up purchasing was more than perfect, despite the state of her fake leather, and she ended up matching him rather admirably. And, more importantly, it had the desired effect. The minute he left her alone at Ethan’s, she had rushed over to the side of the store she had been trying to coax Willow into with babysteps, abandoning her quest to sexify her friend for Xander’s approval. In minutes, the ideal outfit was pieced together. A little on the expensive side, but much of the worth it to see Spike’s jaw hit the ground.

And yes, she did look like a whore.

But again, Halloween, and she had a jacket to cover herself up in front of the kiddies. A matching jacket…and knee-high boots, a mini skirt, and a hat. Her jacket hid the most revealing feature—one of those tops that could just as easily pass for an expensive bra if she cared to use it again. Technically, it was a top; just of the extremely revealing nature and something she would never have even thought of touching prior to meeting, I-can-make-aluminum-sexy-watch-me-how.

When closed, the jacket barely revealed her midriff. That plus the hooker boots had been enough to get Snyder breathing down her neck. Thankfully, he was minus a scene and she a scolding for the time being. Spike seemed to emanate a command of authority that was otherwise sorely lacking. Of course, that didn’t mean that she was out a lecture of the extremely redundant variety—she had just been handed a ‘get out of jail free’ card that would be in use until after the weekend.

Her mom was at a Halloween party with a handful of the friends she had made since they arrived in Sunnydale, which was of much relief as Buffy wasn’t too eager for her disapproving eyes at the much too revealing outfit.

Well, not revealing now. But if she opened her jacket…

All that mattered was she matched Spike. The hooker boots gave her an inch of borrowed height, which made them about proportionately even. That was one of the many things she was growing to love about him. She could look at him and spare herself a neck brace at the same time.

The look of awe in his eyes when he caught his first glance of her would remain forever engraved in her memory. That point two seconds before his gaze was overwhelmed with that lustiness she was becoming more and more acquainted with. She half expected him to lunge directly into their unfinished kiss and was more than half disappointed when he didn’t. Rather, Spike had become almost shy, swallowing hard and averting his eyes as though suddenly commanded by a gentlemanly need to enforce distance between them.

“I…uhhh…” he had stammered unintelligently, sending that customary blush up her skin, only deeper in potency for reasons she couldn’t quite determine. “You look…God, Buffy…”

“I look like God Buffy?” she had replied cheekily.

He had chuckled and sent a nervous hand through his hair, forgetting the bandana in his jumpiness. “You look amazin’,” he had told her honestly, the sapphire in his eyes alighting passionately, that lust leaking back through as he gave her another look over. “Fuckingamazin’. Jesus Christ, I din’t think you were gonna take me seriously.”

She had flashed him a bright smile at that, buttoning up her jacket and inciting a small frown when his eagle-eye view was suddenly robbed of him. “I’m serious girl. Let’s go and make with the tricks.”

An hour and a half later, here they were. Just thirty minutes from taking the kiddies back. Just thirty minutes before their night truly began.

And Buffy couldn’t help but revel in the small thrill that ran down her spine.

Tonight was a good night. She didn’t get many of those.

A truly good night.

And nothing could ruin her fun.

Of course, there was that unspoken commandment somewhere that stated anyone who believed the future, even for a matter of hours, was set in stone played the part of the fool. For at the exact moment that Buffy made her wistful wish, silent as it was, to havens that had a habit of never listening, the night took a surprising turn.

A turn that should not have been surprising on the Hellmouth, despite the day.

*~*~*

Willow didn’t know what was happening, but she knew something was wrong.

Wrong in the sense of very. At the moment, she was looking down at her ghost-clad body from a third-person perspective, and to say the experience was wigsome was a slight understatement.

There were a variety of things that she had grown accustomed to, of course. But seeing her own self lying dead on the porch of some old lady’s house? That she had not been prepared for. In a panic, she turned her eyes to herself, unknowing whether to be relieved when she found the jeans and sweater she had been wearing all day still clinging to her seemingly incorporeal body.

“Oh my God,” she said slowly. “I’m a real ghost?”

That question went unanswered for the sudden ring of fire through the air. Kids were erupting in screams, an assortment of demons crowding the street she had been standing on just seconds before. A clear shot of the normal Sunnydale landscape. Any other night she wouldn’t have been surprised. But not tonight.

Not tonight. Giles had promised.

And in the midst of it was Xander.

Holding what appeared to be a very big gun of the real nature. Oh God.

“Xander?” she muttered, more to herself as her ghostly feet carried her across the lawn to where her friend seemed to be shooting at nothing.

Nothing that was most likely a big something.

“Xander!”

When he spun around, she found herself with a face-full of M-16. It was quite possible that running up to a man holding a big scary gun was not the smartest plan she had ever conjured, but panic was the predominant emotion. She couldn’t help herself.

“It’s me! Willow!”

Well, if he knew who she was, he likely wouldn’t be pointing a gun at her.

A dark, suspicious shadow crossed Xander’s face, grip on his gun tightening. “I don’t know any Willow,” he said gruffly.

“Xander, quit messing around. This is no time for jokes.”

“What the hell’s going on here?”

Willow’s hope fell with that. He really didn’t know her. Her best friend of god-knows-how-many years didn’t know her. And he had a gun. Which was still pointed at her. There were so many ways this scenario was not good. “You don’t know me?”

Xander lifted the gun and shook his head, starting past her dismissively. “Lady, I suggest you find cover.”

“No wait!” She made a mad dash in front of him, and blinked her astonishment when it did little to impede his intention. Rather, she felt him move through her in a sensation comparable to a small breeze, and slightly pleasurable in a way her mind had always associated with sex. That dark part of her mind that she never, ever talked about. “Oh!”

In seconds, Xander had whipped around again, and she found herself at the end of the barrel once more. “What are you?”

Her hands came up neutrally. “Xander, listen to me. I’m on your side, I swear. Something crazy is happening. I was dressed up as a ghost for Halloween, a-and now I’m a ghost.” She frowned. “And you were supposed to be a soldier, and now I, I-I guess you’re a real soldier.”

Something flickered in his eyes. Something akin to familiarity, but far-placed from the Xander she knew. He didn’t lower his weapon. “You expect me to believe that?”

Her mouth opened to answer, but she never got the chance. A growl sounded from behind and her friend’s attentions suddenly took a drastic leap from her and to the demon that was approaching. A notably small demon that turned to run at the sight of the gun.

Which reminded Willow that it was probably not only them suffering from the strange metamorphosis. Rather, most of the monsters on the street right now looked to be of kid-height and mentality, despite the realness of it all.

Which in turn meant that there was to be no shooting of any kind.

“No!” she screamed. “No guns! That’s still a little kid in there!”

Xander favored her with a skeptical look. “Step out of the way.”

“No guns, that’s an order!”

And to her great surprise, he lowered his rifle. She didn’t know what compelled him to do so, but didn’t think to challenge it. No guns meant no hurt little kid—that was just fine with her.

Now it was only a matter of locating the Slayers.

“We just need to find…” She caught a glance of her friend’s profile, mostly unchanged except her hair appeared longer, her makeup more pronounced, and she was on the arm of a very dangerous looking Spike. Still, all of that didn’t make up for the initial thrill that she was here.

Slayers equaled good. They would settle this.

“Buffy!” she screamed, taking off across the street, well aware that Xander was following. “Buffy, are you okay?”

Something roared in the background. She heard Xander take aim and mutter something about a situation.

The monster was back with a friend, and they were looking to party.

Oh dear God.

“Buffy, what do we do?”

There was a disinterested snicker at that, prompting her attention back to her incredibly scantily clad friend. “Are you talkin’ to me?” she asked, brows arching pointedly.

“Buffy?”

“No, but thanks for offerin’. Name’s Liz.”

Willow closed her eyes in frustration. Oh good. More fun. “Okay, right. Liz, what do we do?”

An easy, callous shrug. “Empty your pockets and give ‘em what they want,” she retorted apathetically with an accent that was most definitely not hers. Not unless she lived in Brooklyn. Off the astonished look she received in turn, Buffy shrugged again in disinterest with eyes that didn’t know her. “Don’t go all goo-goo eyes on me, sweetheart. Tell you what I tell Vinny, I don’t care if my grandmother’s about to get mugged, I ain’t steppin’ in to help.”

Willow whimpered dejectedly, turning her eyes to Spike. “You wouldn’t be Vinny, would you?”

A disgusted sneer curled his lips, leaving her to guess an emphatic no. “Do I look like a soddin’ half-fazed prick who can’t keep his coke addiction to his bloody self? Stupid li’l shit still owes me double for the last round. Christ no. Name’s Will—that’s all you need to know.” He turned to Buffy to murmur something into her hair, which she giggled at in a very womanly, unBuffy-like manner. A way that made Willow feel uncomfortable on top of frightened in the midst of the world falling to pieces around them.

Why Buffy and Spike knew each other like this was beyond her. Maybe they were the Bonnie and Clyde of the Lower East Side, wherever their alternate personalities lived. She had no clue. Other than getting them to safety right now was the first priority.

“Vinny can’t keep his limp dick to himself,” Spike clarified nastily. “Trust me, pet, you’d know ‘im if you saw ‘im.”

Whoever Vinny was in this deranged little universe had ties with these versions of her friends in ways she never cared to know.

“Okay, whatever,” she said. “We gotta get inside.”

“Funny,” Spike purred, running his hand boldly over the front of Buffy’s bodice before his hands slipped under the waistband of her skirt. “I was jus’ thinkin’ the same thing.”

Oh God. Not good.

“This is not the time for…” Xander sneered at them in a manner that made Willow distinctly feel like the only adolescent. “That. Ghost girl is right. We need to find some cover.” A flash; he raised his gun and fired a few warning shots above the approaching demons’ heads, sending them running yet again in a manner that the redhead could not help but find surprisingly sexy. He turned to her the next second, brows arched speculatively. “Any ideas where, Princess?”

Spike’s hand had managed to slither further into her friend’s private region despite the orders to the contrary. Not good. They needed to get inside and chained up in separate rooms.

“Ummm…Buf—erm—Liz’s house,” she said quickly. “It’s close.”

Buffy arched a brow at that. “Honey, have you ever seen me?” She stretched her arms demonstratively. “You think I can afford to live in a neighborhood this snazzy? On my salary? You gotta be yankin’ me.”

Willow shook her head. This was just one big headache.

“Whatever,” she said. “Just follow me.”

In the end, she didn’t know if it was her insistence or Xander’s M-16 that convinced the skeptic duo to follow. She was just glad they did.

Now it was only a matter of keeping them off each other until she could figure out what the hell was happening.

*~*~*

For whatever reason, it felt like years had passed since she had last had him. And for the world, she wasn’t going to let some redheaded bitch tell her what to do. Granted, there were no objections as she was escorted to some fairly richly looking place. The digs she liked; the being bossed around by two faceless nobodies? Yeah, that bothered her.

What she wouldn’t give for a gun right about now. These two would fall easy. Already breaking the cardinal rule: you don’t turn your back. Ever. Currently, after determining that the house they had broken into was vacant, the redhead and the other guy had raced to the front window, urging them along.

And they followed, however reluctantly. Rather immersed in the shadows. And in the meantime, Will was rumbling wicked things into her ear, his hand sliding up her abdomen to play with her covered breasts. His erection prominent and grinding provocatively into her backside. They needed to sneak off now.

Sneaking off. She hated sneaking off. Made her feel like she was back in Daddy’s house, or sliding away from a greasy, drugged, and sated Vinny as she pieced together her self-esteem and made her way to the only sanctuary anyone had bothered showing her.

She hadn’t needed to sneak off in years. Not after Will taught her how to shoot without flinching.

“Giles,” the redhead was saying hurriedly. “We need to get Giles.”

“Who’s Giles?” Solider Boy replied.

“He’s—” The redhead stopped short, eyes darting out the window again. “Oh God. Cordy.”

“Who?”

“Go help her!”

Liz rolled her eyes and turned to Will, nibbling at his throat as he murmured something into her hear. “I’m ready,” she drawled slowly, “to blow this popsicle stand.”

“’m ready for you to blow my popsicle,” he retorted nastily, running his long tongue along his teeth.

“No!” the redhead shrieked, whipping back to them. “There will be no blowing of any kind, all right? You guys…I know it sounds crazy, but you guys aren’t all lust-bunny in real life. Well, you sometimes look like you wanna be, but—”

Liz was about to snap her head off about knowing shit when the door opened and the soldier was back, this time with a random chick dressed in a cat outfit at his side. Another one of Vinny’s likely. The man had some twisted-ass fantasies.

It was only a matter of time before she and Will accumulated enough money to get the hell away from the psycho and start over somewhere. Somewhere far, far away.

“Wait,” Catwoman was saying, “what’s going on?”

The redhead took a deep breath and began her version of the truth. Again, Liz felt the urge to snap the soldier’s gun away and show the mousy bitch how things were settled where she came from. “Okay,” she said, “your name is Cordelia, you’re not a cat, you’re in high school, and we’re your friends.” A pause. “Well, sort of.”

“That’s nice, Willow. And you went mental when?”

“I’ve been asking her the same question since she picked us up,” Liz noted, guiding Will’s hand under the cup of her bra, gasping when his fingers automatically tweaked her nipple. They needed to find a corner or a room and fast.

Catwoman blinked at them inarticulately. “Okay, when did Buffy go ho-bag?”

“What?” The redhead cast them a glance, then winced and groaned. “Gahh! Stop that!”

Will sneered at her. “Make us,” he snarled, thrusting his hips into Liz’s backside.

“Why does everyone keep calling me that?”

“And now I’m even more disturbed than I was before.” Catwoman turned back to the redhead, eyes wide and erratic. “What the hell is going on here? Buffy’s actually being skanky instead of just annoying? Xander’s wielding a gun, you’re with the amnesia check and most importantly, I was just attacked by Jo-Jo, the Dog-Faced Boy. Look at my costume! Do you really think that Partytown’s gonna give me my deposit back? Not on the likely.”

“Hear that, baby?” Liz sneered. “Some people have real problems.”

He chuckled dryly before taking to her throat with his tongue.

The soldier placed his overshirt around the Catwoman and they shared an awkward thanks.

“Okay,” the redhead said. “You guys stay here while I get some help. If something tries to get in, just fight it off.” She turned specifically to the soldier, eyes wide and imploring. “And please make sure that they—” She gestured to them broadly. “—stay here. With clothes on? Buffy’s not exactly the type to be all with the showy in public, and I know for a fact that she’ll wig and then some if she snaps out of this in a situation she doesn’t wanna be in.”

And that was it. All Liz could take. This kid was half her age, and now she was coming across with the words of wisdom? Where was she when she finally packed out of her mother’s house sixteen years ago? Damn, teenagers annoyed the crap out of her. “Look, sweetie,” she spat. “If you think you can waltz in here, play hero, and not manage to piss me off in the process, you’ve got another thing comin’. So back the hell off before you’re made to. Got it?”

A still beat settled through the room.

“Fuck,” Will swore irreverently. “So fuckin’ hot when you’re brassed, luv.”

“B-Buffy, I—”

She shook her head. “Back. Off. And stop calling me that.”

“What the hell is up with her?” Catwoman demanded.

The redhead stared at her a minute longer before turning back to the other chick, her eyes wide and shaded with hurt. “I-it’s like amnesia, okay? They don’t know who they are. Or what they’re saying. Just sit tight. I’ll be back soon.”

The next thing she knew, the mousy little brat had pulled a Houdini and walked right through the wall; seconds later, she found herself under fire from the other bitch in the room. Someone who obviously carried herself with more confidence, but not nearly the authority she was striving for.

“Buffy, what the hell is your problem?”

“The lot of you are our problem,” Will snarled, drawing her close. “We’re leavin’ now.”

“The ghost girl said you two were supposed to stay here,” Solider Boy said, taking a step forward. “She seemed to know what she was talking about.”

“Fuckin’ bollocks to that,” her man spat. “Even ‘f the crazed bint was onto somethin’, do the two of us look like people who haven’t been doin’ each other for the past ten years?”

The solider wavered at that.

“Whoa,” Catwoman intervened, holding up a hand. “I know Buffy’s been all crazy with her new guy, but I also know how to tell when a girl gets laid and she hasn’t been getting any. Period. Xander, you can’t let them—”

“Buzz off,” Liz spat. “You don’t like it? Shoot us.”

Will snickered appreciatively at that, and they took a turn to leave the room, protests heard but ignored. He led her back through the kitchen, paused at the door they had come in through, then paused again for the reminder of where they were.

“No place in here, sweetcakes,” he drawled heatedly. “Out there’s a bloody mess.”

“Joint this big has to have some room for privacy,” she purred, running a hand up his leather-clad arm. His gaze heated at that, and he nodded before jerking away and trying the first door he came across—the one adjacent to the island in the middle of the kitchen. The one that led to a downstairs.

He closed the door behind them, locked it, and she was in his arms, smothering him with heated kisses that seemed far too long in the wait. Drawing his tongue into her mouth, wrestling with him greedily as she struggled with balance down the rickety flight of stairs. Her hat was the first thing to go and the only article that took no effort. She had his coat on the floor in seconds, rustling at his feet as he walked her into a washing machine. His hungry mouth scaled down her throat; his hands tore her own jacket off and threw it impertinently over his shoulder.

“Fuck,” he moaned into her mouth, eager fingers prying at her top. “Why does it feel like it’s been so fuckin’ long?”

“Don’t know,” Liz replied honestly. Her nails scratched his abdomen as she ripped his shirt off his body with strength that would have frightened her were she not so aroused. “Don’t really care. Just…oh, God. Like that.”

His fiery mouth had engulfed her breast, his obedient hand rolling her neglected nipple between skilled fingers. He knew her so well. So well. Had from the beginning. Knew what touches set her skin ablaze and what touches calmed the storm with the same soothing accord.

She couldn’t think of how many times they had done this. Stolen away in the middle of some gang fight or after Vinny had collapsed atop her. Will was always there; healing the wounds she inflicted upon her own abused skin with a touch that she would nearly call angelic were she none the wiser. Just always there. Not wanting money like the others; not wanting drugs or a way to Vinny’s good side. Wanting an out. Wanting a reason to not turn that gun on himself at the end of the day.

It had been years and they were still creating that reason. And the unsatisfied promise of some day was now turning real. They almost had enough money to make it on their own. Almost had enough to make these trysts more than just trysts—make it permanent and exclusive. She knew he loved her; there was never a question of that. They didn’t say it much because love didn’t exist where they lived, but they said it often enough to remind each other that it was there.

That it was real when nothing else was.

He ripped her panties off without effort, stuffing them in his back pocket before she could mewl a protest. “Love this skirt,” he murmured into her throat, plunging two fingers within her. Liz cried and arched back, some in pain—surprised pain—but mostly in pleasure. He quivered a shuddering breath against her skin, pulling back, eyes wide with awe. “Fuck, sweetheart,” he gasped, hand moving in careful but familiar strokes. “You’re so fuckin’ tight. Jesus. If I din’t know better…”

Liz moaned her encouragement, brow resting against his. “Uhhh…feels…”

His hand halted movements, eyes darting to her face. There was that consideration he reserved only for her. That reminder that even whores found a prince every now and then. “Too much, baby?” he asked heatedly, worriedly. “I dunno what the hell’s—”

“No. That…” Her arms tightened around his throat as he tentatively began exploring her again. Fingers thrusting forward—her passage growing tighter. A pain she hadn’t felt in years stirred her insides. The sort of pain one typically only felt once. “That redhead…she said there was some…whacked out thing going on. Maybe…ohhhh. I…Will…”

She winced and he pulled out of her completely, ignoring her whimper of loss and shaking his head. “Not gonna risk it,” he declared, panting and confused. “Not gonna hurt you.”

“It doesn’t—”

“Not gonna risk it.”

“Will! I need…” She jerked him back to her, fingers prying at the clasp of his jeans. “Need this. Need you now.”

“Liz—”

His cock sprang into her hands, his protest drowned out with a moan of pleasure. She slipped off the washer and fell to her knees, her tongue caressing the underside of him before she pulled back to suckle delicately at the head. “Need you now,” she repeated hotly, licking at the beads of moisture forming at the tip of his length. “Anyway I can get you.”

A whimper of surrender and she had won him over. His fingers wove into her hair, clutching her to him fiercely as her mouth made the familiar track back and forth, swallowing every time the head of his cock struck the back of her throat. Teasing little hints of her expertise, his adoring sighs and moans surrounding her in hazed encouragement. Her right hand wrapped around the base of his erection, her left squeezing his balls rhythmically before dropping abruptly between her legs to stroke herself in time with his thrusts.

“Fuck, so good!” he growled into the darkness, head rolling back. “Fuck it. Liz…oh fuck, Liz.”

She murmured around him, drawing her lips back. Her tongue enveloped his belled head teasingly, alternating between suckling and lapping at his needy skin. Her hand was pushing her further to crescendo, twisting her clit between her fingers as her teeth scraped at his foreskin.

“God, so hot,” he murmured reverently. “Liz, need to see you. Spread your legs for me. Let me see what—”

Without retracting her mouth, she did as he asked. He gasped in excitement and thrust into her mouth with renewed vigor, eyes rolling up in his head. “Fuck, so sweet,” he mewled. “You know what that does to me, don’ you? Your delectable li’l hand buried in that tight quim of yours. I—”

Something happened, then. The room fell cold imperceptibly. A draft from nowhere, and then something changed. Something changed. Within her mind’s eye, a world shattered around her. Faces of people she had known for decades washing out as a new horde of the more familiar memories claimed her in a whirlwind of recollection. It only lasted seconds in retrospect, but it felt much longer. Felt as though years rolled off her shoulders and suddenly she was the Slayer again. A sixteen-year-old Slayer just a couple weeks shy of her birthday, and it was Halloween in Sunnydale. Buffy’s eyes widened in astonishment; first at the realization that the life she had thought to have been living for the past hour was gone, the second for the fact that her mouth was wrapped around Spike’s erect penis and her hand was between her legs.

Oh God.

“Oh, fuck,” Spike gasped, eyes going wide. “Buffy? Buffy, oh God—”

She released him as though burnt, backed up until she ran into the washer, her heart thundering so loud she thought the world was falling down around her. They looked at each other for long seconds, neither sure of what to do. Caught somewhere between a rock and a hard place with nowhere to turn.

Her eyes went back to his erection, widening in astonishment. Yeah, definite hard place.

“God,” Spike mewled, his hand encircling his throbbing predicament of its own accord. “God, Buffy, I’m so sorry.”

She didn’t trust her voice with words. Rather, just watched in awed curiosity as his hand began to stroke himself to climax—something she had read about in a number of trashy romance novels but never thought to witness. Eye level with Spike’s anatomy, the intimate part of him that she had had her mouth around just seconds before.

“’m so sorry, baby,” he gasped again, voice hitching with an incursion of emotion. She didn’t know whether he was apologizing for his actions while they thought they were long lost lust bunnies or the fact that he couldn’t keep from masturbating in front of her to reach the release he needed. She suspected it was the latter, and fell short of knowing how to make it better. “’m so, so sorry.”

There was nothing to be sorry about. Her fear was gone. Her heart was still thundering, yes, but with something new. Something almost feral. Her voice still wasn’t working. She wanted to tell him it was all right, that she was all right, but the words wouldn’t come.

And before she knew what she was doing, she was edging back toward him. Dangerously close to his cock. Watching him with curiosity that begged to be sampled.

A long, tortured moan tumbled past his lips when she touched him, his head thrown back in a torrent of agonized bliss. He whimpered what sounded like a protest but did nothing to stop her. Rather, his hands fell to his sides as her own encircled him again, pumping him slowly, unsure of herself, watching his face for reaction and melting in awe when he crumpled in ecstasy.

“Jesus,” he gasped. “God, Buffy. Oh, my girl. Sweet, sweet girl. I’m so sorry, kitten. I can’t—”

She tentatively licked at his head, and he lost it.

“Sweet Jesus.”

The next thing she knew, Spike had yanked away from her and collapsed to the floor beside her, grabbing his discarded shirt. She watched in a mix of fear, shyness, and disgrace as he came, the roar that escaped his throat sending shivers up her spine. And suddenly she became painfully aware that she was sitting on the floor of her basement wearing nothing but her boots and a skirt—sans panties—and that the material was bunched around her thighs.

And that Spike had just spent himself in the cotton of his black t-shirt, and was slumped over, one hand holding him up as long pants claimed his body.

How long they sat like that, she didn’t know. The awkwardness between them stretched now in a void that seemed too large to fill. Twice she heard her friends come to the top of the room and bang on the door, and twice neither she nor Spike raised their voice to answer. They sat there in silence, not looking at each other. Not knowing where there was to go from here.

In a flash, the span was over, and Spike was crawling back to her. He didn’t say anything, just watched her eyes as he neared. Didn’t drop to gawk at her exposed breasts or gloat at the fact of what had just happened between them. Rather, he stopped when they were separated by just inches, cupped her face, and brought her mouth to his.

It was the sweetest kiss she had ever known. Tasting, teasing, reverential in the way his lips moved against hers. Whispering small adorations into her, his thumbs caressing her cheeks softly. Soothingly. His tongue tasted her mouth slowly, lustful but cautious. As if he was pouring back everything he had felt into her. Giving her more than his apologies—giving her himself entirely.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured against her lips again, a mantra that would have lost its power were it not for the feeling behind it. “This is all my fault. We should’ve listened to Red…I never—”

Buffy shook her head. “It’s okay,” she said. Her face burned with more than embarrassment. Something much larger than herself had passed through the basement. Passed between them. “It…I don’t really know what happened, but…”

Spike rumbled a light chuckle against her, reaching over for his coat to slide it around her shoulders, that gentlemanly quality that she had noted before their night began leaking through once more. “Never felt anythin’ like that,” he murmured. “Jesus, Buffy…you din’t have to—”

“I know. I was…” She was going to have to fill in something else for ethnicity on her next scan-tron test if she kept this up. “It felt…like the thing to do. Like I knew you.”

“You do know me.”

“Like I knew you…like that.”

The uncertainty in her voice ashamed her, but Spike was there, and despite the awkwardness, there was no reason to hide from him. Even now with this thing between them. With the taste of him still on her lips, her skin burning with his kisses. Thank God for him. Had she been here with anyone else, she would have died of humiliation.

“’F you’d been here with anyone else,” he growled possessively, tightening his arms around her, “they’d be in the hospital right now.”

“Did I say that out loud?”

“Little bit.” Spike twisted her slightly in his arms so that her eyes were locked with his. “I mean it, Buffy. I’d’ve bloody well castrated the fool who touched you like that.”

“You did.”

“Present company excluded.” Another awkward beat. Spike released a quivering sigh and brushed her hair away from her face, his lips caressing her forehead. “You’re amazin’,” he murmured deferentially. “So bloody amazin’.”

She sighed and wrapped herself around him, finding solace on his bare shoulder, her skin tingling with the weight of what had happened here. Regardless, Spike wasn’t going anywhere. He was here with her. Holding her in the dark as reality stepped back. “What happens now?”

“I don’t know,” he replied honestly, leaning his head against the washer. “I really don’ know.”

“I don’t know, either.”

And for whatever reason, be it the confusion around them or the sanctuary she found in his arms, that answer was good enough. For right now. For this moment. Spike wasn’t going anywhere. He would be here tomorrow. Whatever else could wait until then.

Wait until daylight came to banish away the night.

[/nextpage]

[nextpage title=”Part 6″ ]

Part 6: Sounds of Laughter, Shades of Life

It was amazing what clarity the light of a new morning could bring. Buffy awoke cold, her side aching from where she had reclined against the hard floor all night. It took a few seconds for everything to come back; namely the naked arms surrounding her middle, the masculine chest her back was pressed against. Something hard and foreign was pressed intimately against the curve of her ass, and she was snuggled firmly in the leather of an unfamiliar coat.

The incursion of memories from the night before didn’t take long. In seconds, she found herself overwhelmed with images and sensations. A flood of emotion she had never before experienced. Things she felt well beyond her realm of understanding. And yet, there was some comfort there. Some knowledge that she was waking up protected and cared for, even though she rarely found herself lacking in the protection department. None of the rest mattered for now. Spike was with her. Spike had stayed with her through the night, and he was holding her in her wake.

He was also nudging his erection into her backside, and she felt her first blush of the day warm her cheeks. She knew what he looked like. What he tasted like. How large he was, how well he fit into her mouth. How he felt around her hand. How he gasped when she ran his tongue over the tip of him. How his eyes glossed with awe when he watched her…

Okay. Really turning red.

A low chuckle rumbled against her back, and a soothing hand suddenly brushed locks of hair from her face. Her skin tingled. “Oh, she’s blushing,” he murmured teasingly. “Know she’s awake.”

“Very funny.”

“’S right. I’m a regular comedian.” Spike released a low, guttural murmur and lowered his mouth to her throat. “Guess we dozed off.”

Mmmm. Spike smoochies in the morning. So this was what she had been missing for sixteen years of living. “Yeah,” she agreed slowly, eyes rolling up in the back of her head. “Who knew this floor could be so…comfy.”

“Cold concrete. Better than the Marriott.”

“Hey, you’re the one who stayed here last night, buster.”

“Yeh. ‘S strange. Every time I woke up, I tried to move away from you but somethin’ kept tellin’ me it’d be worth the soddin’ end of the world to wake up in your arms.” He grinned. “’Course, my back is killin’ me.”

“You didn’t sleep well?”

“As romantic a notion as it is, not hardly.”

“You could’ve left at any time.”

Spike snickered, nibbling lightly at her neck. “Thought I jus’ covered this.”

“Mmm…” Buffy’s eyes fluttered shut contentedly, thrusting back against him instinctively. The moan that escaped his lips made her shiver; half these sensations were beyond her sphere of comprehension, but it felt too right to run away now. “And well.”

“You have no idea what you do to me, do you?”

A flash of his eyes rolled back in ecstasy, his mewls drowning the air as his cock thrust deeper into her mouth.

“I have some idea,” she replied bashfully.

Spike rolled her onto her back, his face looming over hers the next instant. His eyes blazing, hot and hungry. Like he could devour her whole. “No,” he replied ardently. “You really don’t. Last night? That was jus’ a peek. A li’l preview.” His head lowered to her throat again, tasting her hesitantly. “You drive me wild with a look. Haven’t been able to get you out of my head for months, an’ this…bein’ around you is a drug. A soddin’ aphrodisiac. Every day I want you more. So much it hurts to touch you without touchin’ you. Remindin’ myself that you’re still so young. An’ that no man has ever…” His breath hitched at that, a hand running down her middle, opening the lapels of the jacket to reveal her breasts to him. She was sure she was pink all over, and her heart was thundering so hard it was a miracle it didn’t break her chest, but she didn’t move. Didn’t protest. Couldn’t find it within herself to do anything but watch him with smoldering eyes. Even as he pushed her self-imposed boundaries aside.

“No one’s ever done this to you before,” he murmured, cupping her breast delicately, tweaking her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. “Touched you like this.”

Buffy whimpered and shook her head, thrusting her pelvis against his denim-clad hardness. “No one.”

Spike licked his lips and nodded, a shuddering breath coursing through his body. “I shouldn’t be,” he replied hoarsely, even as he lowered his head to lave a wet path around her nipple. “You’re so young.”

“Not too young.”

“No. Three years won’t seem like anythin’ when you’re turnin’ twenty.”

Buffy pouted. He was telling her that she was too young for him and suckling at her breasts at the same time? “Spike…”

“God, I’m a monster,” he gasped, mouth abandoning her skin, his hands returning to her. “But I don’ wanna wait that long.”

“I don’t either.”

Spike expelled a sigh and tore himself away from her slowly. “I forget how fast things can change,” he said, buttoning up the jacket again to avoid temptation. “Jus’ yesterday I hadn’t even kissed you properly.”

“Well, yesterday we also turned into our costumes and decided to go all ho-baggy over each other,” she said dryly, sitting up. “Think our alternate personalities took care of the shy touchy phase.”

He chuckled and shook his head. “An’ how.” A moment of silence; he turned his eyes skyward. “Your mum home, you think? She’ll be worried ‘f you’re not tucked in your beddy-by.”

A fleeting jolt of panic shot up her spine before she remembered that it was Saturday morning and her mother never got up before ten on a day when she didn’t have to work. “I think we’re okay,” she said. “What time is it?”

“Early still. Not yet seven.”

She released the breath she had been holding and smiled. “We’re fine. She won’t be up for a while.”

“There’s a bit of good news.” Spike paused for a moment, then climbed to his feet turning back to her and extending a hand. “I meant what I said,” he continued. “I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone. I feel deeper for you than…well, I’ve never felt like this. Never.”

Buffy licked her lips self-consciously. “Really?”

Spike nodded with a grin. “Yeh. It’s somethin’…I have no idea how to begin to describe it. You’re who you are…it’s you, Buffy. Has been ever since I learned about you. I jus’…” Another thick, heavy pause. “You want breakfast?”

The random switch of topic took her completely by surprise. Her jaw dropped open to protest, but there was something buried within his gaze that demanded patience and time. He wanted her; he had told her as much. More over, she could see it in the burn of his eyes.

They had reestablished themselves. No longer where they were just yesterday.

“Sure,” she agreed, shrugging. “You buying?”

“Not buyin’, luv. Makin’.”

“You can cook?”

“’m an excellent cook.” His eyes slid over her in a way that somehow made her blush more now, even knowing that he had seen everything there was to see. “Why don’ you pop upstairs an’ crawl into somethin’ snug? As damnably sexy as those boots are, they can’t be too comfortable.”

Buffy’s eyes dropped to her hooker boots. “I slept in these?”

“An’ well.”

“Well, that’s something.” She nodded. “Okay. Upstairs. Shower, dress, and then yummy Spike-cooked goodness for breakfast.”

He waggled his brows. “We can always omit the ‘cooked’ part, kitten. Make it a truly memorable mornin’.”

Buffy smiled and brushed a light kiss over his lips, trembling at the wealth of emotion that sparked through her skin at the contact. “It’s already been memorable,” she said softly, turning to make her way up the stairs.

The grin that spread across his face made her insides quiver.

As if he could doubt that the morning had been memorable. Every second with him was memorable.

She couldn’t wait to see what the day would bring.

*~*~*

“So is it your real name?”

Spike glanced up from where he was investigating the refrigerator for options. “’S what my real name?”

“From last night. You went by Will.” Buffy ignored the usual flaming of her face and did her best to shrug nonchalantly. If there ever were a day when she didn’t blush when near him, she reckoned she would need to be shot for over-confidence. Blushing around Spike was just something that normal people did, especially when he did that thing.

That thing being pretty much everything he did.

The fact that he was wearing nothing but jeans in the midst of her kitchen didn’t help, either. Nor did the reminder that she had effectively ruined his t-shirt the night before with her over-zealous sex-driven behavior.

“Yeh,” he answered finally, retrieving a jug of milk and some eggs. “Though I have never gone by Will a day in my life. Not unless my mum was brassed about somethin’ an’ I was at blame.”

“So you’re, what? Wilbert? William?”

He looked at her, horrified. “Do I look like a sodding Wilbert to you?”

“Well, there has to be some reason that you went from such a respectful, normal name to Spike.”

Spike cocked a brow and set the ingredients aside. “Right. ‘Cause Buffy’s a name most new mum’s give their baby girls. Haven’t we already had this conversation?”

She smirked. “So it is William, then?”

A pause. He glanced down almost bashfully. “Yes.”

“William? That’s so cute! Why don’t you go by that?”

His eyes darkened. “’Cause I’m not cute,” he retorted. “William the Vampire Slayer? Please, luv.” He gestured to his scarred eyebrow—the one she had noticed but never commented on. Facial wounds were a not, but she did think he looked unruly sexy with it jagged like that.

He’s turning me into a perv.

“I’ve been Spike ever since I got this, an’ it’s not a pretty story.”

“I don’t need pretty stories.”

“Involves me, a railroad spike, an’ some thugs from back home who are long overdue for an’ ass kickin’. Oh, right, an’ the coppers.” He shook his head. “Kids do dumb things, don’ they? ‘Specially when they want attention. ‘S jus’ one of those things I don’ talk about.”

Fair enough. Though her curiosity was hardly satisfied, Buffy knew her own personal file would never make it to the table of discussion. There were things in there between her and God, and she intended to keep it that way.

“What about you?” Spike asked a minute later.

“What about me?”

“’S Liz your real name, or was your mother daft enough to call you Buffy?”

A scowl settled over her face. “My mother did call me Buffy, yes. Though I suppose if you want to get technical, it’s Elizabeth. I’ve never gone by that, though. Not even when I was a teeny tiny Slayer.”

He waved speculatively. “So Liz…?”

“Ho-bag name of the moment? I don’t know. No one’s ever called me Liz. Or Lizzie. Or Eliza.”

Spike smirked. “Can’t really imagine you as an Eliza, luv.”

“Me, either. I’m just Buffy.”

His eyes dropped to her chest, licking his lips. “You certainly are.”

She snickered and thwacked his shoulder, shimmying past him to investigate the fridge’s contents for herself. Not passing up an importunity to have her newly showered self pressed against him in all sorts of naughty ways that were becoming less awkward and more natural. She had slipped into some swears and a camisole, forgoing a bra in the mindset that since he had paid a special amount of attention to her breasts that morning, he likely knew what they looked like. That and after sleeping in hooker boots in the basement, she was all about the comfort. So no clingy, oxygen-threatening underwire today. She was Buffy au naturale.

And Buffy au naturale was slowly emerging from her shell. She was curious and even eager to explore the significance of what had happened between them the night before. More than being turned into coke fiends with aspirations who enjoyed getting it on in random people’s basements—or rather, her basement but it had been random for them. She also wanted to know more about the spell itself; why she had transformed into her costume to begin with, and how Willow had managed to stop it.

A phone call to her best friend was likely in order as well. Apologize for the bitchy things Liz had snapped and assure her that she was still a flowered virgin while leaving out some of the less virtuous aspects of last night’s proceedings.

There were things she wanted to know about Spike, though. Even as badass biker Will, he had tended for her in ways that no one had. As though he knew who she was on some level. She didn’t think he did—she certainly hadn’t clued in any sense of recognition—but of everyone there, they had identified each other. Known each other. Not Xander, who had to be reeling in the manliness of being the one to wield a phallic symbol all night. She hadn’t known Willow or Cordelia, or even her own house. But she had known Spike, and he had known her.

And evidently, very, very well.

This morning’s breakfast would likely be prone to topics she didn’t want to revisit but needed to. Last night, he had pulled away from her when he reached his edge, and though the thought was less than appealing, she knew she wouldn’t have complained had he emptied himself into her throat.

Why she wanted answers was beyond her. She just did.

“Spike?”

“Hmmm?”

“Last night…” He froze where he was in the process of cracking eggs, casting a cautious eye in her direction. “When you…you know…”

A lengthy, uncomfortable pause. “Ummm, no luv, I really don’t.”

Okay. And blushing again. “When you…ummm…came, you…you moved away from me.” He was staring at her as though she had lobsters crawling out of her ears. “Why?”

“Are you seriously askin’ me this?”

That was it. The spot on the floor looked nice. Nice and…spotty. “Yes.”

Spike sighed and cast the empty eggshells into the sink. “If I hadn’t,” he said vigilantly, “there’s no way I’d be able to look at you this mornin’…I’d be too bloody ashamed of myself. More so than I am already.”

She glanced up. “You don’t have to be ashamed.”

A pause. “I wanted you to…when the spell was over an’ you moved away, I should’ve ended it at that. But I didn’t. You were there an’ I was…I was selfish. An’ when you came back to me an’…touched me…” His gaze fogged over with passion, so much so that she averted her own eyes back to that very nice spotty spot and hoped her face wasn’t as red as it felt. “I wanted you to. Bloody well needed you to. But when you did…the look on your face…you gave me somethin’ precious last night, kitten. More so than you can know right now. I wasn’ about to spoil it by disrespectin’ you like that.”

She swallowed the lump that had nested in her throat. “Okay. Ummm…say I were to…do it again…and I didn’t want you to move away. Would you?”

Evidently, it was not a good idea to discuss the nature of potential future blowjobs while playing with the heating dial of a stove. Spike shoved the skillet he had located into the sink before his hands grasped the edge of the counter, his entire body wracking with tension. “Jesus, Buffy.”

Okay. That had to be some residual Liz floating around in her system. She could safely go into the backyard and die now, embarrassment included. “I…ummm…forget I said that. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“You really have no idea what you do to me, do you?”

A nervous titter sang through her lips. “I make you drop cooking supplies?”

Spike chuckled wryly and shook his head, turning to face her when she was sure she wasn’t ready to meet his eyes. “This thing that’s between us,” he said carefully, “I want it more than I’ve wanted anythin’. I’ve wanted it for months. Months longer than I’ve known you, an’ it’s only gotten stronger since I got here. Since I got to know you. I guess I wasn’t ready for that.” He sighed. “What happened last night…I’ll never ask that of you.”

“…but if I wanted to?”

His eyes clouded with a smoldering undercurrent. The words coming from her mouth foreign, their implication burnt past the point of her comprehension, but it made sense to her in some form. Some twisted fashion beyond what was known in the world of frilly girly things and what the world of womanhood had reserved for her.

“If you wanted to,” he replied heatedly, “I’d be the luckiest bloke in the world.”

Better to leave it at that. Judging on his reaction to practically everything else, Buffy didn’t think it wise to confess her innate curiosity. There was a certain line of difference in Spike’s reaction and the typical male attitude her friends at Hemery had often discussed. Kimberly, whom she hadn’t thought of in months, once told her that her boyfriend expected it of her. It was just a part of their premature but very sexual relationship. Also reserved in a folder called TMI for things no fifteen year old needed to know.

Spike acted as though it was a gift. He had told her just what she had done last night was precious to him. So yeah, he was scoring major points in all realms of the field.

“Whatcha making?” she asked a minute later, surprising herself with the bubbly change of subject. Safer ground, though. They would have all kinds of time to explore the other later.

He glanced up and grinned. “Pancakes. You like?”

“I love. Mmm…blueberry?”

“You have blueberries?”

“That’d be a no.”

“Then no.” The grin turned roguish. “As flattered as I am that you seem to think I can work miracles, I can’t exactly conjure up random fruits for breakfast consumption. Though, ‘f you have chocolate chips…”

She beamed a smile and nodded. “That I can provide. You like chocolate chip pancakes?”

“I like chocolate; I like pancakes, so I’m willin’ to give them a whirl together.”

“It depends on how you make them. If you use too many chocolate chips, it gets too rich…or at least, that’s been my experience.” She shrugged. “I’m also a syrup whore. Every Slayer should have a gratuitous sugary breakfast to start the day. It works wonders.”

Spike chuckled, uncapping the milk to pour in the measuring glass. “We should call Rupert,” he said a minute later. “Find out what kinda hex we were under last night. The house looks good, so I’m guessin’ Xander an’…what’s her name?”

“Cordelia.”

“Right. Guess they kept it from fallin’ to bits.”

“I’d say so.” She frowned. “But Cordy didn’t turn into her costume. She was just…Cat Cordy. Maybe…well, what did all of our costumes have in common?”

Spike arched a brow. “’d think that rather obvious, pet.”

“What?”

“We all bought ours at the same place. If Cordelia didn’t, then I’d say that’s a fairly good lead.”

“And if she did?”

“Well, we exhausted one theory.” He paused, selecting a wooden spoon off the case that held them. Her mother liked to decorate like that; all of the larger cooking utensils were stuffed in a vase-like thing in Edward Scissorhands’s dream flower arrangement. “Din’t she mention where she got it?”

Buffy licked her lips sheepishly. “I don’t know. Was kinda—ummm—preoccupied.”

Another still beat. He tossed her an impish look. “Yeh. Everythin’ except you kinda blurs outta the picture. Well, I’m guessin’ Red reached Rupert. We should prob’ly check in after breakfast.”

“You do realize this means getting dressed, right?”

Spike smirked and cast a shameless glance at her braless chest. “I think you’re dressed enough.”

“For you, yes. For my Watcher? Umm, can I have some eww with a side of yuck?”

“’m jus’ glad you seem to think that tauntin’ me with your scantily clad self is acceptable.”

Cue blush. Buffy looked down shyly. “Well…you’ve seen…everything.”

“Doesn’ mean I don’t wanna see it again. Taste it again. Wrap your scrumptious self around me. Or—”

“Okay! Picture gotten.”

He smiled at her teasingly. “You’re adorable.”

“Am not.”

“Right. Give me the speech about how I’ve seen it all an’ you do that cute li’l blushy thing when I mention what I’d like to do to what I’ve seen.” He waggled his eyebrows, reaching into his back pocket. “’Specially when I have these to perpetuate all kinds of naughty fantasies.” Buffy’s eyes widened. Clamped between his thumb and forefinger were her panties from last night, a vastly amused and more than a little aroused look coloring his features. “You forgot I took these, din’t you?”

“Give them back.”

“No, don’ think I’ll be doin’ that.”

“Spike!” She leapt forward as he jerked his arm away, leading into a collision with his chest. “Give them back!”

“But I can get such use outta them. More than you can. I ripped them off you. ‘S not like you can wear them anymore, right?”

“What use can you—ohhh.” Her face fell. “Oh!”

Spike smirked.

“Perv!”

He arched a brow, employing his free arm to pull her flush against him. “Don’ be callin’ me black, Ms. Kettle. Need I remind you what delightful uses that delectable mouth was up to last night?” He ran his tongue over his teeth.

“Gahh! Spike!”

“Mmm, they still smell good.”

“That is so gross!”

He chuckled and shook his head, stuffing her panties into his back pocket once more before she could yank them away. “You’re so naïve, sweetheart,” he murmured, settling his hands on her flaying arms to still her against him. “That part of you is delectable. You have no idea how much.”

“Delectable?”

A grin, wicked but oddly sincere. It calmed her down, despite embarrassment. “Yes. An’ someday…someday soon…” His gaze dropped to her mouth. “I’ll show you how you deserve to be worshipped. Can’t wait to taste you.”

Buffy shivered as his lips touched hers. Soft and tentative, but also pent with the passion explored the night before. Making her skin tingle and her insides burn in a way that was decidedly of the very good. He drank her in thoroughly, his tongue sweeping her tongue, murmuring small whimpers of arousal into her mouth. It started out innocently enough, gentle, probing tastes that quickly spun out of control.

“Buffy,” he moaned into her, hands grasping her hips to pull her pelvis against his. “Ooohh, Buffy.”

“Mmmm…”

“You’re so beautiful.”

The next thing she knew, her legs were wound around his waist, the surface of the island suddenly supporting her underside. His was grinding his erection against her center, one hand slipping under her tank to cup a breast. “Fucking hell…”

It was too fast. Her body was reacting in so many ways. Her skin on fire. Her heart pounding. There was a throb between her legs that he had induced the night before—the same throb she felt while watching dirty parts of movies, only a thousand times more potent. She felt hot—wet—need scorching her flesh in pangs that only he could satisfy. But it was still too fast. This was too fast. She wasn’t ready for this.

And though it went against everything her heart was screaming, her mind had to make a stand. Wedge itself between smoldering desire with the ever persistent insertion of logic. “Spike…”

There must have been something in her voice that sliced through the haze around them. Something in her tone, perhaps. Something that seized his own judgment and brought him back to the moment. The minute his name escaped her mouth, he tore himself away, panting harshly with shades of apology flashing across his face.

It took a few minutes for either to speak.

“’m sorry,” he said when he could, his hands on either side of her on the counter. “You’re jus’…maybe I should go.”

“What?”

“Jus’ for a while. Put some space between us.” He cocked his head. “Till later. I need to…get it through my head that you’re…you’re off limits to me right now. Last night kinda muddled that up.”

“I’m not off limits—”

“Some parts of you are.” A deep, shuddering breath. “An’ those are the parts that are temptin’ me the most. I…” He licked his lips. “I need to be away for a while. Need to give you some space. Need to…” He met her eyes sheepishly. “I need to get myself back in the mindset of not touchin’ you.”

“You can—”

Spike held up a hand. “No,” he gasped. “Don’ say it. I’ll bloody lose it.” He heaved a sigh. “Why don’ we meet for patrol later? I’ll drop by Rupert’s flat an’ see if he knows anythin’ about what happened an’ you can…do whatever it is birds do on a Saturday. Call Red or what all. Get some frilly shoppin’ done.”

A shudder of disappointment sounded through her body. She didn’t want him to leave, but seeing as they couldn’t keep their hands off each other for more than a few minutes at a time; it was likely the wisest move to make. Last night had thrust them deep into something that they hadn’t yet had the time to work up to. It was an indication to pull the emergency break. Stop this now before it was too late.

“Okay,” she agreed softly. “That’s probably for the best.”

“I don’ wanna go,” he replied. “I jus’…I don’ wanna stay an’ have somethin’ like what jus’ happened happen again…only in a version that ends with you hatin’ me.”

“Wouldn’t happen.”

“You don’ know that, Buffy.”

“Well, I mean, my mom will be up around 9:30, and I doubt we’d be dense enough to start going at it like bunnies while she’s up and about.” She smiled a bit when his eyes became somewhat dreamy at the prospect of going at it like bunnies, but the same verified why being alone together was suddenly dangerous territory. They needed distance—both from each other and last night.

She would see him again in a few hours, anyway. Patrol. Massive search for Penn and Dru, as conspicuously absent as both seemed to be.

“Right,” Spike concluded with a nod. “Right. I’ll go grab my coat an’ head out.” He glanced to the beginning efforts toward breakfast and smiled awkwardly. “Sorry I made a mess for nothin’.”

“Nah. It’s okay. I’ll just explain to Mom that I decided to be adventurous before remembering that I can’t cook.”

“I should stay an’ clean up—”

Any other day, and she would agree with him. This was not any other day. “Spike?”

“Yeh. You’re right. Leavin’.”

A few awkward minutes later and they met at the front door. Spike shimmied into the leather that had kept her warm all night, aside the comfort of his presence, and smiled kindly. “I’ll meet you at Restfield tonight,” he said. “Sixish?”

“Six sounds good.”

“Good.” He paused and ran his eyes over her body, licking his lips appreciatively. “See you then.”

“Right.”

“Right.”

Another silence filled the hall. They stood just a few inches apart, their breaths mingled. She could hear his heart pounding and took some satisfaction in that. Knowing that she could unravel him with any degree of similarity to the way he unraveled her was more than a little satisfying.

Finally, Spike groaned his surrender and wrestled a heated kiss from her lips. “Sorry,” he murmured afterward, though he was obviously anything but. “One for the road, savvy?”

“Yeah.”

His eyes were on her mouth. “Think I need—”

“Spike?”

And just like that, he snapped back to himself. Underlying the reason he was leaving in the first place. “Yeh, I’m gone. Gotta be before…I’m jus’ gone.” Expelling a deep breath, he threw the door open and shot across the threshold. “I’ll see you tonight.”

She nodded. “Tonight.”

And closed the door before he could change his mind. Closed it. Turned and reclined against it, unable to help a slow smile from commanding her lips as the girly bubbliness she had been threatening to expose finally erupted over the surface. A small, ecstatic squeal tore through her throat.

With anything else, for all the confusion, the danger looming ahead—even the knowledge that things had a tendency of not lasting, she couldn’t help herself. She was giddy. She was crushing majorly, and the guy was definitely crushing back. Oh, definitely.

The things he had said to her—done to her—and all somehow while maintaining that line of suitability.

One thing was certain: she could not wait until sunset.

[/nextpage]

[nextpage title=”Part 7″ ]

Part 7: And One of These Nights

Never before had she looked forward to patrol with such fervor.

The entire day had been spent planning tonight. She routinely primped herself only to discard selected looks and outfits after god-knows-how-many treks to the mirror. There was a definite line between the teen she was and the woman she wanted to be for Spike. Thus, after much consideration, she opted to trade in the miniskirt and heels for the sweats she had worn earlier. It was unneeded. Looking good while she patrolled was habit for her life as a singleton. Never one to chance meeting Mr. Right while wearing a t-shirt and crappy short-shorts.

Spike liked her no matter what. He had already seen her at her best and her worst. He had already been there through trials that seemed larger than they were. He had already shared moments with her that no man had.

Moments that she wanted to share with no man but him. Ever.

The rate of which things had changed between them should have frightened her, but it did not. For whatever reason, the progression they had made just last night—regardless of circumstance, seemed the most natural thing in the world. That and more so. It had happened quickly, yes, but there was that rising feeling in her chest that screamed for the validity of it all.

Just a testament to how quickly the world around her could change. It was only weeks ago that she had been conflicted in her feelings for Angel. Feelings that had all but been trampled by the presence of cocky male Slayer that made her heart melt with every smile he flashed.

The rapidity of her fall astonished her. She was young and not beyond a little naïve, but the sentiment was the same. Just as much the same as it was completely different. What she felt for Spike—what she had been feeling ever since he bulldozed his way into her life—was as strong as her crush had been for Angel but more so for its potency. For the realism behind it. Her thing for Angel was in every essence as fake as her childhood aspirations of meeting an actual Prince Charming. Something that couldn’t happen, and cherished for the fact that it couldn’t happen. Now that she was on the other side of that, the glowing knowledge that Angel’s appeal resided in the absolution that he was off limits left her feeling small and shallow.

When she thought about it, really thought about it, what in the world did she and Angel have in common anyway? The fact that they both had super strength? Fine. Even if he were human, he would have still had a good ten to fifteen years on her, according to Giles’s records. He thought she was childish but wasn’t above brooding in a dark corner when she decided to be childish with someone else. He told her when the baddies came; she beat the baddies, and didn’t see him until something new hit the Hellmouth. And yet, until just a couple weeks ago, he remained her excuse. Her reason for avoiding relationships with others. Her ideal man that she didn’t know.

She knew her ideal man now, and he wasn’t Angel. He was so far placed from Angel; it astonished her that she had ever mistaken one for the other—even though Spike had been in her life less than a month. The way he looked at her…she had never had that. Not once. Never felt she was precious. Never felt she deserved the worshipful glances he gave her, the sweetness buried within his cynicism.

Last night had changed things in more ways than the one expected. The minute that Will faded from view and he was Spike again, the look that clouded his eyes had reflected the most torn, agonized bliss she had ever witnessed. Horror of what they were doing, dread of what would happen if they stopped. And when she had approached him again out of her curiosity—out of her need to see him make that twisted, euphoric expression once more, the astonished affection in his eyes had warmed her in ways she didn’t know existed.

It was strange, but she felt it. That tugging nag that warped her away from ideals previously established and introduced her to a new light.

Spike was the one she wanted. And she was seeing him tonight.

And soon. She had already made two sweeps of Restfield to little avail. Fashionably early, though slightly concerned that she would look too eager. She had been hoping to find him here already waiting, as impatient as she was for the sun to go down so they could pretend they hadn’t spent all day looking forward to patrol.

It wouldn’t be long now.

Buffy expelled a deep breath and rocked a little on her heels.

Wouldn’t be long.

*~*~*

Buggeration, he was running late.

Well, not entirely late. He had left his motel fifteen minutes before he needed to. Fifteen minutes earlier than required if he wanted to be on time. It had taken all of his nonexistent patience for that alone. His patience and the knowledge that she wouldn’t be there three hours, two hours, one hour early, and all that would be accomplished by leaving was a new place to be impatient.

It was that stupid sod’s fault that he was running late. Wanker had no business interfering with his life as it was; were it not for the agonizing knowledge that Buffy would be hurt, he would’ve staked the prick where he stood and been done with it.

But no. Oh no. Angel had needed to talk. Wanted to express some things that were already bloody obvious to Spike. Stood there and yapped his ear off for twenty sodding minutes about the inherent dangers in Buffy’s life and how she was still very, very young.

To which the stake idea started sounding better and better.

“Of course there are dangers in her life,” he had snarled, three seconds from losing his way from diplomacy and snapping off the leg of the nightstand to end the insufferable conversation. “She’s the soddin’ Slayer, you patronizin’ prat. An’, might as well mention it, so am I.”

“Yes,” Angel had replied. “And you smell of her.”

“Point bein’ what, mate? You’re jealous? Got that message loud an’ clear.”

“Well, yes. But other than the obvious, you’re older than she is.”

“Last I checked, so are you. By a much larger margin, I might add.” Spike had sighed and shaken his head, chuckling wryly to himself. “Look, ‘f your motive is to come over here an’ scare me away—”

“It’s not. I think…I think you two would be good for each other.”

That had honestly surprised him, but not to the point of reducing his indignation. Buffy was waiting for him in the cemetery, and her big sodding hunka vamp love—that would never come within ten feet of her unsupervised if he had anything to say about it— was chatting him up about the compatibility to the girl he…this was ridiculous. “Right. Good on you. Smart thing to move on, ‘specially since I’m never lettin’ her go ‘f I’m the lucky one she chooses.” He shook his head again. “Ever. Don’ wanna scare the girl, but my feelings aren’ exactly negotiable. She’s not the only young one, here. I jus’ know it when I feel it. I’m…”

He trailed off at that. No way was he going to say the words to some wanker he’d just as soon dust as look at, especially when he was so far away from admitting it to Buffy herself. They hadn’t even worked out what was between them.

What he felt for her rooted back months. There was something about being the only one. Or better yet—one of two. Two Slayers. And the months he spent pouring himself over everything he could find on the girl had stolen his heart.

It was nothing compared to meeting her, though. Knowing her. Chatting with her. Laughing with her. Holding her. Kissing her. Feeling her lips around him. Feeling her body against his. That flash of innocence behind her eyes. She was so willing, and were he a lesser man, he would have taken advantage of that.

But he wasn’t. He was a man who was in love with her. Had been from the beginning.

That much, evidently, was more than obvious to those around him.

“You’re in love with her,” Angel had said quietly.

Bloody prat. Spike knew he wore his emotions on his sleeves—it was just what he did. He was never taught how to reel everything in; most of what he knew now came from the friends he had made growing up. There was something about not having a father that affected every boy. He couldn’t draw himself in if he tried.

“Yeh,” he had replied self-consciously. “I am.”

“And that’s why I’m worried. She…I think she…” Angel had held up a hand and shook his head. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen her in a while. Not up close anyway—”

Spike’s eyes had flashed of that. “You son of a bitch, have you been followin’—”

“—but she feels something for you that I’ve never seen her feel. Not when I was following her before we met, not since we met…not until you came into the picture.” He had flinched slightly. “And I’m glad…I’m glad she has someone who can be there for her. Someone who can be in the daylight. Someone…so she’s not alone. It’s just…I’m worried about you two blindsiding each other. If you become too enamored…the world—”

Spike had chuckled sardonically. “Right. So, you think it’s great that she’s found a new man, but the fact that she has might get her killed, so I have to stay away from her. Look here, Forehead, the fact that I love the girl means I’m not gonna let her get herself killed. Not while I’m standin’.”

“And in the process of trying to save her, you get yourself killed. In her grief, she becomes weak and—”

Oh, what insufferable ego. “You really have no faith in her stamina, do you? You think she’s some weepy chit who’d spend the rest of her days pinin’ after me? As romantic as the notion is, won’t happen. The girl’s stronger than that. Stronger than you. Stronger than any of us. My dyin’, yeh, might make her cry, but it wouldn’t kill her.” A sigh. “Even so, it’s not happenin’. I’m not dyin’ anytime soon.”

“You can’t—”

“Yeh. I can. An’ you’re wastin’ time that I could be spendin’ with that girl we both established that I love. So, respectively, bugger off.”

Which led him back here. To the part where he was running late. Thanks to a big brooding sod who didn’t know when to quit. God, just one excuse.

Didn’t matter. Nothing in the world could keep him away now.

*~*~*

Damn.

Damn damn and more damn. Just damn all over.

Buffy released a deep breath, eyes widening while she flexed her arms and double checked her weapons status. Okay. Stake where it was supposed to be. Cross around her throat. Slayage-conscious attire. All of the good.

Because the vampire that was approaching her right now had an ‘I’m older than most’ feel about him. Spiked brownish hair, glasses, and a freakishly eerie gleam in his eyes. Something more dangerous than most. Something she had only felt when in the presence of Darla and the Master. An old world sensation that would not be compromised.

“Let me guess,” she said airily, brandishing her stake with a quirky perk of her brow. “Penn?”

The vampire chuckled, his arms extending diplomatically. “My reputation precedes me,” he declared proudly. “And you—you—you must be Buffy.”

She shrugged. “What? You want a cookie?”

“No. Wouldn’t pass up a sample of your neck, though.”

“Not happening.”

Penn grinned and returned her shrug just as easily. “Can’t blame a vamp for trying.” He hopped a bit and ran his eyes up and down her body in a manner that was in no way sexual and in every way predatory. “So, you’re the Slayer. Hmmm. Interesting. Thought you’d be bigger. Little more butch. Maybe taller. I mean, you hear ‘Slayer’ and you get this picture in your head of someone who’s a little more…I dunno…intimidating.” He grinned impishly. “You’re just cute.”

“Thanks. But I’m not one to date vamps.”

A long, feign-tortured sigh rolled off his shoulders, and he shook his head. “You see, that’s just disappointing. This day and in age, you can’t pay a girl a compliment without having some sort of angle.” He frowned disapprovingly. “That’s just tragic. Truly, you have to stop and ask yourself where the world went wrong. We lost the morals, but we gained the indignation? Society plays jokes on itself, really. It’s something you have to be paying attention to notice.”

“I’m sorry, do you have a point to all this, or are you just trying to bore me to death? ‘Cause really, it’s not that I don’t appreciate the originality. But most vamps? Less with the chatty and more with the chompy.”

“Yeah. See, here’s the thing…I notice that most of my brethren who decide to leap in right for the kill tend to get dusted.” He grinned and cocked his head to the side. “See. Two hundred years and I’m still here.”

“I’m sure that’s just a glitch. Hey! If you stand real still and close your eyes, I’ll have it fixed in no time.”

Penn just chuckled as though she was very amusing and took a coy step to the side. While he quite obviously did not view her as a threat, he still did not allow her to leave his sight. Not even for a second. “You’re interesting,” he said again. “I’ve never met a Slayer before, though I have heard tale.” He stopped suddenly, pivoting back to her, his arms crossing behind his back. “And you. For being such a small, young thing, have certainly made an impression in the world. Killing the Master, conning Angelus into killing Darla—oh and then falling for you. That was a good one. Real classic. I mean, one of you comes around every generation…well, let’s be honest, Slayers hardly live for an entire generation. There’s always some nasty creature or some apocalypse to avert by means of martyrdom. You Slayers and your hero complexes. But still, that doesn’t answer why, out of all the Slayers I’m sure Angelus has seen—and will see—it was tiny little you who stole his nonbeating heart. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not without my own sense of poetry, but really…from Darla to…” He grimaced and gestured at her broadly. “I’m not seeing the attraction.”

Something inside her ticked in resentment, but she brushed it off just as easily. “Doesn’t really matter,” she replied, raising her stake again. “For someone who’s as up on the dealings of my life as you are, I’m surprised you’ve missed the memos that have been coming in since you got here.”

“Oh, I haven’t. You are a coy little thing…and the prospect of two Slayers in the same town is most intriguing.” He burst out laughing; long, hard, artificial chuckles. The sort that ran dry against the air, mocking her for their alleged authenticity. “How good is my timing? I mean, showing up on the Hellmouth just as the new guy arrives? Fantastic!” A pause. “And I do mean guy. There has to be some prophecy or something there.”

Buffy could feel cold spreading through her body, and she honestly didn’t know if it was due to the agonizing presence in front of her or accredited to something larger. “We’re looking into it,” she replied blandly.

“Yes, as all good Slayers do. You’ll have to keep me posted. Or, here’s a thought…” Suddenly, he was right in front of her, a maniacal grin spread across his face. She didn’t see the arm until it had struck her, stake flying out of her hand as she whirled face first into the nearest tombstone. “Not.”

Pain spread through her skin like a disease; scraped against stone. Blood oozed through her broken tissue, but she rebound up again just as fast. Fast enough to witness the rapacious flare of Penn’s nostrils, his eyes flashing yellow as his true face shifted into view.

“Don’t get me wrong,” he continued conversationally, advancing for her in slow steps. “I think you’re really, really fascinating. If I were more in the position to, I’d draw this out and see where the mood takes us. As it is, though, I’m kinda running on a timeframe here. I just can’t have you running around and messing up all my fun.”

Buffy’s fists came up and she glared at him through her pain. “Sorry to be an inconvenience.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not like you knew.”

Her eyes darted once to the discarded stake nestled in the grass just a few feet away. Her heart was thundering and temples were pulsing. Penn caught her discretion, of course, and he titled his head curiously, as though the comings and goings of her injuries were of great interest.

“Oh, now, here’s an interesting dilemma,” he began. “Do you dive for the stake, knowing that I know that’s exactly what you’re gonna do, or do you stand here and try your chances based on strength alone?”

“Or do I kick your overly-philosophical ass, save myself more of a headache, and add you to the pollen count. Yeah. This is a tricky one.” A flash of movement; Buffy’s legs shot out from under her, propelling the vampire across the lawn with a good more measure of force than he had even begun to exercise on her. She dropped to the ground the next moment, rolled in a hasty retrieval for her stake, and prepared to take her shot as Penn struggled back to his feet.

What she wasn’t prepared for was the impact of a heavy branch as it smashed against her head, sending her crashing through the headstone she had cut herself on just minutes before. A pile of rubble and a cloud of smoke.

And then everything hurt.

“Naughty Slayer.” That was definitely not Penn. Her voice was drawn, British, and more than a little insane. For everything that the other vampire’s had done to annoy, this one did to run her blood cold. “Mummy doesn’t take to when pretty little birds steal cookies and milk from the children. All the kiddies need their treats.”

There wasn’t an inch of her that didn’t hurt.

“Dru!” Penn exclaimed in delight. Not a scratch on him. “What impeccable timing.”

“Miss Edith told me the moppet was being a bad girl,” she informed him, the branch in her hands all but dwarfing her in size. If she squinted, Buffy could make out dews of blood where her body had become intimately acquainted with the bark. “She said the circus would be cancelled and all the acrobats would go home without their toys. Is my dearest hurt?”

Penn shook his head, brushing dirt off his shoulder. “Nah. I was just telling the Slayer here that we would love to chat, but there are things to do, people to…well, not people, really. Unless you call Angelus people.” He thought about it for a minute, then shrugged. “Well, I guess you could. You are what you eat, and all that.”

The entire left side of Buffy’s body was numb. She knew she was bleeding, but couldn’t feel anything to gage how badly she was hurt. The dust-cloud from her collusion with the gravestone had yet to dissipate. And now Drusilla was here. Drusilla. The one that had ordered her vampirism with an extra side of insanity.

Where was Spike?

Drusilla turned to her then, her ebony hair flawless despite her recent exertion. There was a haunting quality to her eyes. Something that chilled Buffy’s insides—more so than anything she had seen yet. “She’s all sunshine,” she rasped, the word rolling off her tongue as though it were poison. “All flowers and goodness. Ooohhh, makes my stomach hurt.”

Penn sighed regrettably, shaking his head. “Well, there you have it,” he said, turning back to her. “You made my girl hurt. I guess I’ll just have to kill you.”

Buffy was in the process of crawling back to her feet, utilizing the side of her body that she could feel. Wobbling. Her heart had never pounded so hard. Never had she truly tasted adrenaline. Every inch of her felt bitter. She knew she was better than this.

Get up you idiot, get up!

“No hard feelings, or anything,” Penn continued, walking up to her slowly. “But I really can’t have you going around and hurting my girlfriend. That is just rude. And here I thought we were having a nice conversation.”

“Ooohh,” Drusilla said from behind, her voice suddenly very far away. The Slayer barely heard her. There was a tightness around her throat that she couldn’t identify. Air suddenly denied. Her eyes widened in desperation. “The wolf is coming, my sweet. Running for us. Running right now. I see such pretty fire. It follows him…glowing and…ooh, he’s angry with you. Angry for hurting his lamb.”

Penn quirked a brow, not tearing his eyes away from Buffy. “Would this be Angelus? Well, I think it safe to say things are about to get interesting.”

The next few minutes passed in a blur. No sooner had Penn hissed into her ear, and suddenly Spike was there. A blaze of black leather and fiercely pissed off blue eyes. His face a mess of agonized concern, overwhelmed with fury the next instant when his gaze landed on the vampire holding her down.

Then she was free. Released. The pressure at her throat relieved, an almost primordial Spike giving Penn the beating of a lifetime. Buffy commanded her legs to work but they didn’t listen. She needed to get up…needed to help him. Needed to kill the vamps now before—

Another wave of movement. Angel. He had Drusilla pinned against the nearest mausoleum, the vampiress writhing with evidential euphoria at his commanding grip. A flash; he jerked her away the next minute, and found himself with an armful of Penn. And Buffy watched it all. With her side that ached and her legs that wouldn’t move. The vampires fighting amongst themselves. Snarling and clawing and game-facey and…

God, where was Spike?

No sooner had her panic released the question to the cosmos did he appear at her side, the tormented worry in his eyes twisting her heart. “Buffy,” he rasped, tugging her into his embrace. “God, where are you hurt? Where did they hurt you?”

She was surrounded in warmth. His arms were around her, his face buried in her hair. She felt his body trembling against hers. Felt every ounce of his fear as it rolled off his body in a barrel of relief.

“Spike…the…Penn and—”

He cast an unworried gaze over his shoulder and she followed suit. Angel was dealing with them. Only they weren’t fighting now. They were talking. About what, she neither knew nor cared. Spike was here.

“’m so sorry, baby,” he gasped, turning back to her. Peppering her face with loving, worried kisses. “Stupid wanker dropped by. Decided to gimme a talkin’ to. I tried forever to get…god, this is all my fault.”

“Spike…”

A voice rose from behind them. Penn’s voice. If she lived a thousand years, she didn’t think she would ever forget that sound. “You see!” he cried, and she saw him gesturing to her and Spike in disgust. “This is exactly what I’m talking about. You let human emotions get in your way, and you wind up dead. This isn’t you, Angelus! It never will be! It—”

Angel cut him off at that with something she could care less about.

“Spike,” she murmured. “Take me…somewhere. I…my side—”

“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” he assured her, lifting her into his arms. “I’ve always got you.”

When he turned, it was just Angel. Penn and Drusilla were gone. Just Angel standing against the mausoleum, his eyes wide and empty. It took a few minutes for his attention to reach them again.

“Buffy?”

Spike pulled her tighter against him. “No. You don’ get to do that. If you hadn’t stopped to give me that life changin’ speech of yours, I’d’ve been here an’ she wouldn’t be hurt ‘cause of some wankers you sired back in the day. You don’ get to do that. You don’ get to come near me or her. You understand?”

Buffy bit her lip, unwilling to counter his argument. Any other day, perhaps. After all, Angel was Angel. He was hardly responsible for things he did as a soulless creature. But tonight, tonight she would hold him responsible. Tonight with her head spinning and her side hurting and blood spilling out of her—yes, tonight he was at fault. Just tonight.

More over, he had ruined her date with Spike, and that was unacceptable.

And right now, she wanted to go curl with her Slayer-shaped boyfriend until her own super strength kicked in to heal all her achies.

“Spike,” she said softly, “can we go?”

“Yeh,” he agreed, eyes not leaving Angel. “We’re goin’ pet.”

Then he turned and walked away, brushing a kiss against her forehead when it was just the two of them again. He didn’t put her down even when they reached the edge of the graveyard. Even when she told that her side was beginning to feel better and that she thought she could walk. He simply wouldn’t let her out of his arms.

“Where are we going?” she asked when she noticed they were far from Revello Drive. The answer seemed obvious, given the direction and the neighborhood, but her dazed mind refused to provide it.

“My flat,” he said. “Gonna clean you up.”

“Spike—”

“God. I felt somethin’ was wrong. I was on my way an’ I felt somethin’ was wrong.” He stopped abruptly to nudge her head with his, mouth caressing hers softly. “Never wanna feel like that again. Nearly had a bloody heart attack.”

“You came. That’s the important thing.”

“Too late.”

“You still came.”

A hint of a grin tickled his lips and he nodded. “Always will, sweetheart,” he promised. “Can’t do anythin’ but. Not where you’re concerned.”

The words ‘You’re too important to me’ floated around her head, dressed in his voice, but she didn’t know if they were authentic or a projection of her imagination.

Something conjured by wishful thinking. Something that was there without being there at all. She just knew that was how he felt because she felt the same. And that was that.

“Call your mum,” he murmured, setting her down reluctantly when they reached his door. “I don’ want her to see you like this an’ get worried. Call her an’ tell her you’re stayin’ with Red.”

Buffy paused, a lump leaping into her throat. “…And where am I actually staying?” she all but whispered.

He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. The next instant, he kicked the door open and took her hand, guiding her over the threshold. Into his room. Into the room that was Spike. Into his sanctuary.

That was the last thought that crossed her mind before he closed the door, shutting the world away. Shutting themselves inside.

And they were together. Closed off. Alone.

But together.

[/nextpage]

[nextpage title=”Part 8″ ]

Part 8: Another Kiss Goodnight

She had never noticed the harsh sound water made when it hit the bottom of a tub. Not consistently, but that initial splash smacked the surface hard, and she jumped out of nerves that were already on the border side of overworked. The night had taken a surreal turn that she had not prepared for. A few hours ago, primping for a slayage date, and now aching in ways she hadn’t ached since she was called.

Perhaps it would not have affected her so much were Spike not standing behind her. His chest was pressed to her back; his arms wrapped around her middle. Just minutes before, he had led her into his motel room; waited as she phoned her mother with the Willow alibi—and Willow consequentially thereafter to let her know about it—and now he was with her in the lavatory. Drawing her a hot bath, his arms trembling around her. She could feel his heart thumping against her back. Not calming. Terrified. As though the reality of what had just transpired had yet to diminish.

“Your side is bleedin’,” he murmured, hands fisting the material of her top. “Gonna get you cleaned up, sweetheart. See what damage was done.”

Buffy released a deep breath. “I’m okay,” she replied softly. “I mean, kinda woozy and all, but I guess having your head smashed against a headstone will do that to you.”

“You’re not sleepy?”

“Nope. No concussion.” She smiled and twisted in his arms so that they were face to face. “Think it would’ve hit me by now, anyway.”

He smiled nervously. “Yeh, guess so. Jus’…can’t help but worry.” A sigh tumbled off his shoulders and he rested his forehead against hers. “Don’ remember ever bein’ that…I dunno. I don’ even know why I felt you were in trouble, I jus’ did.”

“And Angel was the reason you were running late.”

“I’m going to kill that sod,” he swore. “Another bleedin’ second an’—”

“You don’t have to be there to save me. Slayer, too, you know.”

“I know.” He pulled back slightly and brushed a tender kiss across her forehead. “Tonight, though. Those vamps meant business. An’ Angel—”

“It wasn’t his fault.”

A small, irritable growl tumbled through his throat. “Yeh. Right. The wanker has a soul. Bloody well get-out-of-jail-free card.” He shook his head. “I know you have a thing for him, kitten, but—”

“No.”

“No?”

She smiled slightly. “Once. You see, there’s kinda someone else now.”

Spike looked at her a minute before a slow smile crossed his face. “Really, pet?” he drawled, lips grazing hers. “Is that so? Anyone I know?”

“Well…” Buffy’s eyes twinkled cheekily and she wrapped her arms around his throat. “He’s about your height. Blonde hair…bleached, kinda like yours.” A giggle at the petulant look that crossed his face, though his features lightened at the harmony of her amusement. “He wears black leather…like your coat, actually. He has a scarred eyebrow…right here…” She trailed her fingers over the jagged disfigurement above his eye, the same that added to the bad boy exterior. The bad boy exterior that covered his soft sweetness. There just wasn’t anything about him that she didn’t cherish. Especially when he tilted his head into her touch and caressed her palm with a loving kiss. “His eyes are gorgeous. He has a drop-dead sexy accent…and you can bounce coins off his ass.”

That was it; he cracked into warm chuckles. “Minx,” he accused affectionately.

“Yeah, well, never said I was talking about you.”

“Bloody well better be.”

“Did I mention he looks hot when he’s all growly and possessive?”

“I am not growly an’ possessive.”

“Again, never said I was talking about you.” She smiled when his eyes flared with faux-indignation, jerking him down into a gentle kiss that quickly exploded into a frenzy of need. One simple touch was all it took. His tongue swept hers with guised desperation, his hands busying to the task of whipping her top over her head. That was as far as he presumed to go, fingers settling provocatively near her breasts as her pelvis thrust instinctively into his.

“Gahhh.” Spike tore his mouth away from her, judgment battling arousal that was on immediate reserve where she was concerned. Looking for any reason to show itself. “Bloody hell, Buffy…”

She smiled through her own needy pants, eyes flashing with apology. “Maybe I was talking about you.”

A small chuckle rumbled through his lips. “Bloody well have better been. Never lettin’ anyone else touch you.” He shook his head. “God, but we gotta stop doin’ this.”

Her bottom lip poked out. “Why?”

Spike’s eyes clouded, unable to resist the temptation of her mouth. “Minx,” he growled again, pulling her tightly against him. “Saucy, irresistible minx.” Their lips met once more in another rage of impassioned kisses, hands exploring all sorts of naughty places before the sound of overflowing water hit the floor, bringing the drawing bath back to their attention.

“Make me lose myself,” he said a minute later, laughing shortly at their folly. “Is your side the only place it hurts, sweetling?”

“My head, too.”

“Yeh.” His lips caressed the prominent bruise on her brow. “I’ll get that when you’re through in here.” Then, despite the rakish lust in his eyes, he made the gentlemanly turn as her hands took to the waistband of her sweats. The rustling of her clothing was enough to make him hard; the visual that his mind conjured of Buffy in her unclothed glory almost more than he could bear.

Then her hand was on his shoulder, beckoning him back to her. “It’s okay.”

Spike swallowed hard, his body as tense as he could remember. “Buffy,” he all but growled. “You really don’ want—”

“It’s okay. You’ve seen everything and…you wouldn’t do anything to…you just wouldn’t do anything.”

“How do you know?”

“Because…you…you care. And if you were going to do something, you would’ve done it already.” He heard her take a step forward, and suddenly her naked breasts were pressed into his back. The warmth of her skin radiating in glorious waves off her body. “I trust you, Spike.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“I do.”

“Why?”

“Because you…you care about me. Or at least you seem to.”

Spike’s eyes rolled shut and a sigh trembled through his throat. “Care about you? Sweetheart…you have no idea. But that doesn’ mean I can be a gentleman with you wearin’ nothin’ an’ me wantin’ you as fuckin’ badly as I do. God, Buffy…”

“It’s okay. If you…I just don’t want to be alone right now.”

If anything could have convinced him, it was that confession alone. Spike licked his lips and sighed again, nodding more to himself. He turned to her slowly, hooded eyes unable to stop from running down the blushing length of her. God, she was so beautiful. Somewhere between adolescence and maturity, that was where he found Buffy. A bright ray of purity. And he was the lucky bastard who got to stand here. Stand with her.

Her side was swollen and purple. With a slight groan, he caressed her bruised skin gently, his strokes as delicate as they were heartfelt. The idea that he had allowed this to happen by listening to that stupid brooding wanker sent sharp pangs of self-loathing down his spine that were almost as strong as the burning need to stake all vampires responsible.

“Get into the tub,” he murmured, walking her backward slowly. “I’ll be in the other room.”

A frown crossed her face. “The other room?”

“Buffy—”

“It’s okay.”

God, she had to stop saying that. He had this horrible impulse to see exactly how many things were okay according to her. Just that afternoon, she had pushed him away when she should have. She had pushed him away because she was not ready. She couldn’t be ready now, just hours later. And if she wasn’t, then either she was being deliberately cruel, or his previous assessment that she did not know what she did to him was becoming more and more evident.

“Buffy…” He was trembling hard but she didn’t seem to notice. “You either think me a eunuch or drastically underestimate how much I want to stop bein’ a gentleman an’ shove you against the wall.”

“I trust you.”

“You keep sayin’ that.”

“Because I do.” She took his hand and brought it level with a breast, shuddering when the back of his touch glided over her hardened nipple. “What do you want to do now?”

The fact that he could even form words was admirable. “I…Buffy, the fact that…you even have to ask…ask me that…” Spike’s eyes fell closed, fighting free of her hold to palm her breast fully, flicking her nipple with his thumb. “God, I want you so much. I can’t…”

“I trust you. And I want you with me. Here and…” She released a deep breath. “I haven’t come that close to losing since…well, I lost and…I was alone then. I know it’s a sappy girl thing, but—”

No, it wasn’t. Just mention of what had nearly happened tonight brought Spike full circle, and he understood everything with perfect clarity. The striking fear that had seized his insides when he felt that she was in danger—the horrible sight of the vampire leering over her with his fangs bared. The thought of what might have happened had he been just ten seconds too late made his blood run cold.

Before he knew it, he had tugged her into his arms, holding her to him as her bath water chilled. Simply cherishing the feel of her within his embrace, swimming in her scent. “I don’ know what I would’ve done,” he murmured. “God…Buffy, you’ve been…I don’t even know how it happened. You’ve become so…important to me.”

“You said that outside, didn’t you?”

“Yeh.” He smiled gently and drew her hair out of her face. “I was bloody terrified when I thought…I was jus’…” His voice trailed off with a tremulous sigh. “You better get in the bath, luv.”

“And you’ll stay here?”

“Won’ go anywhere. Not if you don’ want to be alone.”

She shook her head, eyes flooding with emotion. “I don’t. Not right now.”

The water rippled almost self-consciously as she submerged, shivering at its lack of warmth. She sat there for long minutes, staring ahead, her body tightening with goosebumps. Spike swallowed hard. Wet Buffy would definitely star in his fantasies tonight.

“How did they get this close?” he asked when he trusted that his voice would not betray him. He dipped a washcloth into the tub before turning his touch to her wounds. “I’ve seen you fight before. You’re spectacular when you’re in your element, sweetheart. I jus’…how did this happen?”

Buffy shuddered. “I don’t know,” she replied honestly. “I was…Penn, he was talking to me and I didn’t let my guard down, but…I don’t know. He’s just…all I know is that I was watching him…he was talking about how unusual I am, and then…he hit me. I mean really hit me. Most of the vamps I’ve dusted get revved from a fight. This one didn’t need a fight. He just wanted me dead. He said he wasn’t here for us…for me, really. And then his girlfriend was there and everything went…I’ve never been as happy to see anyone as I was you when you showed up.” A long breath rolled off her shoulders. “When the Master killed me, it wasn’t even in a fight. He just grabbed me and it was over. I swore to myself I’d never let that happen again. But Penn wasn’t interested in a fight. He just…wanted me out of the way. Like the Master. I wasn’t even worth killing. I was just there and he needed to get around me.” She turned to him slowly. “If he and Dru are here for a Slayer…it’s you.”

Spike shook his head. “No reason for them to be after me.”

“Other than you being a Slayer while there’s already a Slayer, plus—you know—having a little something extra—”

He cleared his throat and arched a playful brow. “Little somethin’ extra?”

A blushing grin spread across her lips as he ran the washcloth over her wounds before his hands took chart down her body, exploring all regions of her. Feeling her shudder under his touch. Wanting so desperately to dip his fingers between her thighs and explore the secrets of her femininity.

“Well,” she said a minute later. “Not little.” A pause. “Though it’s not like I’m in a position to judge. Your’s is the only…” Her blush deepened as he grinned unabashedly at her. “Didn’t feel little.”

The mention of her touch sent a moan through his body. “God, Buffy.”

“Well, I’m just saying…but I really can’t judge.”

“If we do this all the way, kitten, you’ll never get a chance.”

“You think so?”

The thought of another man touching her the way he was, sharing with her what they had shared the night before sent a cold shudder through his body. And in retaliation, Spike’s hand slid beyond the established borders, delving skillfully between her legs. Watched in awe as her eyes rolled shut and her body arched beneath his touch. Eager fingers found her clit in seconds, rubbing while his greedy, heated gaze drank in every ounce of pleasure that flittered across her face.

God, he was going to embarrass himself. Touching her intimately. A schoolboy once more, seeing a naked woman for the first time. He was painfully hard, and this—doing what he was doing—another strain on his torture.

“Spike,” she whimpered. “More.”

He was seconds away from ripping off his jeans and saying goodbye to etiquette.

But no. No, she didn’t really want this. And he couldn’t push it. Even as his fingers massaged her clit, he knew this was too much. The night was surreal enough. Her experience with the vampires had pushed her into something she wasn’t ready for. And he wasn’t going to take advantage of that.

Not when she trusted him. She trusted him.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped, flinching at the mewl of loss that spilled through her lips. “Buffy, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have. I…”

It took a few seconds for her eyes to clear. A few more for that prominent blush that he thoroughly adored to intensify. As though only realizing what he had been doing. What he could barely keep himself from doing with every second that he was near her.

“Makin’ a wanker outta myself,” Spike muttered lowly. “You see what you get for trustin’ me?”

“Spike—”

“I—”

The next thing he knew, Buffy had tugged him to her and plundered his mouth with her tongue. He sank in a mixture of hunger and relief. That border had yet to be crossed. And God help him, the taste of her was intoxicating. The feel of her arms, wet as they were, wrapped around his throat. Her breasts pressed into his chest. Her hair was wet around his fingers. There was nothing about her that he didn’t worship. A man lost so simply for the face of a pretty girl that would surely be his undoing. He was intoxicated with her, and for everything, the knowledge did nothing to prevent drinking his fill.

They pulled a part after a few endless minutes. Panting together. Clinging to each other.

“Is it safe to call you my boyfriend?”

His head reeled at the question. “What?”

“Well, I’ve been wondering…and if not—”

“Buffy, I’m yours. You have to know this by now.” His casual demeanor was deceitful; inwardly, he was screaming in ecstasy at the sudden brandishing of a relationship-defining title. So little time had passed, and now she was naked under his ravenous gaze, allowing him to touch her in ways she wouldn’t have dreamed of a short forty-eight hours before.

“So…boyfriend?”

She was so fucking adorable. He wanted to lick her from head to toe.

“Bloody well better believe it.”

“Good.”

The word was so perky that he couldn’t help but grin like a loon. “Y’know, this means that no other git can touch you now.”

“Good. ‘Cause you’re the only git I want touching me.” Her nose wrinkled in confusion, and he found it cute beyond words. “Whatever a git is. I accept no naughty touching from anyone who is not in this room.”

Ooohh, there was a thought. Spike smirked and waggled his brows.

“What?” A beat—then she caught on and flushed. “Well, I mean…obviously—”

A chuckle rumbled through his throat and he decided to desist her embarrassment just this once. It had been a long day, and he was ready to curl in bed with the girl he loved in his arms. Safe and nestled. Her boyfriend. He was Buffy’s boyfriend.

“Lemme get you a towel, sweetling,” he offered, climbing to his feet. “I have some boxers an’ a shirt you can sleep in.”

“You wear boxers?”

A devilish smile itched across his lips. “Well, not usually, as you’ll recall from last night. But I do think ahead. There might come a day that I need them.”

“Have you yet?”

“Well, you’re gonna make them your nightie, so yes.”

The thought of her wearing his clothing was almost sexier than the image of Buffy rising from the bathwater. Almost. His eyes ran the length of her. Not quite.

A few minutes later, he was turning down the bed and she walked out of the bathroom. Her hair damp but as dry as the towel would get it. Her goodies covered in the black cotton of one of his many custom t-shirts. He had only worn his boxers once before, but he couldn’t remember when; was only sure that he definitely didn’t do them the justice that she was giving them now.

Spike had the feeling that she would do wonders for the sackcloth look if she ever decided to model for it.

“Did you talk to Giles about the spell?” she asked as he flicked on the nightly news, settling with her into bed.

His arms were around her the next second. Her head resting against his chest, leg draping over his. Jeans again tonight. He didn’t trust himself to sleep in repose, as was his custom. For all the good faith that Buffy had placed in her conviction of his character, he knew just as well that he wanted her too much. Too much to have tempted himself in simply having her with him now. In doing what they had already done.

The primal Spike would allow for nothing else. Despite what all had passed between them since they arrived, he was never far from the memory of what had nearly happened tonight. It would take Hell and all the Heavens to tear him from her side right now.

There would be days when he couldn’t control everything. Days like today. Days when his only reassurance would be the promise of holding her in the end. Days when the chance of losing her to death was upped by real stakes and not a mishap by vampires that didn’t play by the rules.

As though vampires ever played by the rules.

“Yeh,” he replied, kissing her forehead in a manner of such domesticity that it completely slipped his notice. “Seems the bloke who sold our costumes is an old mate of his. Conjurin’ up demons sort’ve guy.”

“Giles told you all this?”

He shrugged. “Reluctantly. I could tell he wasn’ tellin’ me the full truth of it an’ I wouldn’t stop proddin’ till it all came out. Apparently, the Big Brooding Wonder made it there before Red an’ the two had already gone off to stop the git. ‘S why the spell broke so fast after she left.”

Thank the bloody maker for that.

If he had stolen Buffy’s virginity in the heat of some spell, he would never have forgiven himself.

“You…didn’t tell him what happened…did you?”

Did she honestly think he had a death wish? Giles might have been conned into the position of Watcher for both of them, but he most definitely belonged to Buffy. That man was as protective of her as any father he had ever seen. And despite the training they had done in the past couple weeks since he arrived, there would be nothing to change that.

And as a cardinal rule, men typically didn’t tell a girl’s father that she had given him a blowjob, even if it was under circumstances beyond their control.

She had touched him of her own freewill afterward.

“’Course not,” Spike admonished, stroking her arm gently. “Aside not wantin’ to find myself incredibly dead, that was a private thing between us. Somethin’ I wouldn’t share with anyone.”

“Oh. Good.”

“Why? Did you tell Red?”

“No. I…I called her to let her know I was all right and to apologize for being a bitch. She understood and we’re okay…but we didn’t talk long.” A small sigh. “I…you’re right. It was a private thing.”

“Bloody right it was.”

“We should see Giles tomorrow…tell him what happened with Penn.”

“We’ll worry ‘bout that tomorrow,” Spike replied, snuggling her closer. She was right, of course, but he didn’t want her fretting over her impending duties at the moment. He needed her to rest. Heal for him. Enact that Slayer strength to help them both forget what the night had nearly taken from them. Responsibility would return tomorrow. Now there was only rest. “Sleep now.”

“Okay,” she agreed. “Goodnight, Spike.”

She was asleep in minutes. Surrounding him in her warmth.

“’Night, Buffy,” he murmured. A confession of love on his tongue, but he refused to voice it. Not now.

Too soon for that, no matter how real it was. How fast it had happened.

Tonight there was rest. All else would wait for the sun to rise.

[/nextpage]

[nextpage title=”Part 9″ ]

Part 9: Till The Stars Fade From Above

He knew he was no longer alone without needing to glance up.

Such was simply the way of things.

“I would suggest you leave now,” Angel said quietly, eyes trained on the page he was reading. “One more step and—”

Penn held up a hand, swinging the door of his sire’s apartment shut without tearing his eyes away from the brooding slack on the bed. “Lemme guess. ‘It’ll be my last?’ Please, Angelus. At least without a soul, you had some originality.”

“Originality might have gone. The threat remains the same.” Angel placed his book aside with a sigh and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “I gained a conscience; didn’t lose anything else. Didn’t lose speed or strength, or the ability to end your sorry existence the same way I extended it. So when I tell you to leave…” A flash of movement; he had the younger vampire by the throat in a second, his feet off the ground. “I mean leave.”

Penn wrapped his hand around his sire’s wrist, chuckling in amusement with no shades of fear. “Let’s not meddle around with empty threats,” he retorted, feet clashing with Angel’s chest and propelling the elder vampire across the room. His release was immediate, and they both toppled to the ground. It took a few seconds for either to speak again.

“This is so sad,” the younger spat contemptuously. “You are so sad. Living with them? Above the ground? Palling around with the Slayer as though she’s one of us.” He shook his head in disgust. “I still can’t believe you killed Darla. And for her. ‘No way,’ I said. ‘Not Angelus. He and Darla get miffed and screw around on each other, sure, but he’d never stake her.’ Then I remembered you and your…” He grimaced distastefully. “Your soul. Your self-made humanization.”

“Are you getting to some sort of point, or are you just wasting my time?”

“Oh, there’s a point. A big point.” Penn clapped his hands together and shifted his shoulders reflexively. “See, if you remember, Drusilla has this tiny ability to see the future in flashes. Comes in handy from time to time. Got us out of that jam in Berlin.” He frowned. “Well, she was hit by a brilliant idea a couple months ago. Really, fantastically brilliant. See, we’ve found out that feeding on those of the more magically inclined variety…” He bobbed his head from side to side speculatively. “Well…it’s sort’ve a rush. A subliminal rush. More so than feeding on crack fiends. None of that disorienting crap. Just pure high. So Dru had a vision, led us to a coven, and we had a feast that would make the Romans jealous.”

Angel just stared in blank astonishment.

“Then, and this is really, really great…one of the witches started begging for her life. I mean it—on all fours, hands clasped as though she was praying. Really would’ve given the Virgin Mary a run for her money…if the Virgin Mary wasn’t so much a virgin as she was a witch that I had fun sullying several times over.” He flashed a nasty grin. “So Drusilla had this idea…yeah, we’ll let the little witch live. She just has to do a little spell for us first.”

“A spell.”

“Yeah. Little spell.”

“Penn—”

“You can’t honestly expect me to believe that you’re happy like this, Angelus. Living with them. It’s made you even weaker than before. Since the last time you crawled back to us.”

“You see me crawling?”

The younger vampire shook his head. “It doesn’t have to be this way. We can fix it. Drusilla and I have figured out a way to fix it.”

“So this is why you came here?” Angel growled. “You and Dru…and this girl you’ve kidnapped and tortured…you’re here to…”

Penn extended his arms, a mock innocent look overwhelming his deceptively soft features. “Take care of your problem. We figure it’d be fairly simple, and Dru and I have had such fun playing with her. Figuring out new ways to…wrangle information from her. Punishing her for her failures and…punishing her for her victories, really. We just like punishment.”

“I—”

“And you can, too. We’ve found it, Angelus.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Why not? It’s your real name. Your true name. And I’m here to tell you it can be you again.”

“It’s not…no, Penn.”

“No? Doesn’t sound too convincing.”

“That’s because you don’t know what having a soul does to you.” Angel stepped forward, eyes flashing dangerously. “I can’t let you do this. I won’t.”

“See, this is the part where you don’t have a choice.”

“I’m thinking my choices will heighten with the killing you that will begin here in about two seconds.”

“Won’t. I’m not the one to kill. And even if I was, you’ll never find Dru and the witch.” He shrugged simply. “Cloaking spell. Nice. We had to have a few of our lackeys test it out to make sure the girl wasn’t saying one thing and doing another. In the literal sense. And she tried. Ohhh, she tried. Lucky for us, the Slayers were too preoccupied with themselves to hear her call, right? Couple crazy kids. The girl’s a pistol, I’ll give you that. Not much for personality, but her moves are something that I’d—”

“Go near Buffy again and I’ll kill you.”

“Yeah. See, your threats? Not so much threatening as they are redundant.” Penn shook his head. “You can’t kill me, Angelus. You know that as well as I do. If you wanted to, you would have in the graveyard tonight. But you can’t, can you?” He shrugged. “Understandable. ‘Cause if you kill us, you’re alone. Really, really alone. No Darla. No childer. Just big old Angelus minus the ‘us,’ lacking even a Slayer to mollycoddle. So really, how are you better now than you were a hundred years ago when you begged Darla to make you the vampire youused to be?”

“So, what. You expect me to take the easy way out. Become Angelus. Go back with you and Drusilla? The big happy family because you two can’t take care of yourselves?”

Penn shrugged again. “I don’t understand what’s holding you back. You’re not living here. You’re trying, but you’re not living. And more over, you’re miserable. You’re more miserable now than you ever were as Angelus. So you take everything you are now, ditch the moping—and really—where are you worse off?”

“No. I’m not going to let you do this.”

“Again with the not having of any choice.”

“Penn—”

“You want to kill me?” He spread his arms again, eyes flickering intently. “Go ahead. Kill your son. Kill one of the last of two family members you have left in this world. Just one body closer to being completely alone.”

“You think I won’t do it?”

“I think if you were going to, you would have already.” He turned to head for the door. Slow. Not caring that the elder vampire could stake him at any time. Be through with it at any time. Knowing that despite all else, despite the want of good, he would not do it. Because Penn spoke the truth.

He was family. So was Drusilla. And without them, he was truly alone.

“I’ll give you some time to think about it,” Penn said, throwing the door open casually. “The perks. The good ole times. I’ll be back in a few days for your answer.”

“You know what it will be.”

“I’ll be back all the same.”

“Penn…if you hurt anyone, go near anyone, I will kill you.” A pause. “Regardless of the consequences.”

“Yes.” The unthreatened grin that spread across the younger vampire’s face was chilling, even to one who knew him so well. One who had created the world for him. One so wholly responsible for what was happening now. “I imagine you will.”

He was gone without a second thought. The door shutting behind him with a lone, empty click.

The room was empty. Angel left alone.

As he had been for what seemed like lifetimes.

*~*~*

It was the first night since his mother died that Spike awoke feeling loved. The first night that he had slept through without waking, and it wasn’t difficult to figure out why.

Buffy was in his arms, holding him to her as the sun chased away the night. The morning before, he had rested beside her in the basement of her house. Now she was with him. Her body pressed against his, her hair still damp from the previous night’s shower. She was pure radiance lying beside him. Her eyes closed, her chest moving against his with every breath she took.

The comforter was bunched at the foot of the bed, leaving them covered by nothing but a white sheet. A white sheet against her tanned skin. Reminding him. Always reminding him.

Buffy was not only radiance. She was innocence. She was the epitome of innocence.

Though his sins were ambiguous, Spike was certain there was something in his past etched specifically in reason to deny himself this. Deny himself the joy of waking next to her. Of watching her while she slept. Knowing that beneath the rest was that golden innocence that he cherished. The same that he had already begun to tarnish. The same that she tempted him with simply looking at him.

He didn’t believe, though, that any other man would appreciate heaven when held in his arms. He didn’t believe that anyone else could feel for her what he felt. He didn’t believe anyone else could refuse her temptation, especially when she trusted him as she did. Lying in his embrace. Snuggled against his body.

Waiting for the sun to greet them.

His breath hitched when he felt the change rush through her skin, her eyes fluttering open sweetly to meet his in early wake. It took a few seconds for everything to come rushing back; that initial waking haze settled over her beautiful face until she was smiling at him. Recalling everything that the previous night had given them.

“Hey,” she said softly.

God, she was so fucking adorable. He could gobble her up.

“Mornin’, kitten,” he replied, stretching luxuriously. “Sleep well?”

He bloody well hoped so. He planned on making these sleepovers as frequent as possible. Whether or not he deserved it.

“Yeah. Really, really well.” Buffy smiled and his heart melted. God, he was such a sap. “I don’t remember sleeping so…well, I usually have nightmares. Prophetic dreams or whatnot. Or if not, some sort’ve flashback to the massive dying that was me not too long ago.” She licked her lips. “I haven’t told Giles that. Or anyone.”

“That you still dream about…”

“The Master’s fangs introducing themselves to my throat? Yeah, I do.” She shivered and he clutched her tighter without realizing it. The thought of any vampire doing that to her made his insides twist. The presumptuous prat who tried would end up dust and then some. “Though, I also dream good dreams. Not everything’s dreary in the Land of Buffy.”

A small smirk quirked his lips. “Any chance I could take a tour of this land you speak of?” he asked rhetorically, running his tongue over his teeth just to see her skin flush. “Think there might be some rides there I’d enjoy.”

“I’m not an amusement park, buster.”

“Wasn’ talkin’ about those kinds of rides, pet.” He smirked as her blush deepened, and suddenly lying beside her without worshipping her body with his mouth struck him as the worst possible offense. “You should know somethin’…”

“What?”

“I’m about to kiss you.”

“Not going to complain.”

“Mornin’ breath an’ all?”

“We did this scene yesterday, remember?” She frowned. “Unless you want me to—in which case, yes, I totally understand. I mean, major gross-factor in the—”

“Buffy?”

“Yeah?”

Spike’s mouth caught hers in a flurry of indulgence, sufficiently condemning all her objections for the more important feel of their lips dancing together. He supposed this was the final test—finding her so completely delicious at all times of the day. Yes, he was in love. He was in love with the Slayer. The only other Slayer. Buffy’s arms were around his throat; small mewls scratching at her own. The sounds she made drove him wild. Drove him beyond the point of rationality.

As though she found him as luscious as he did her.

They pulled apart with some difficulty. Spike graced her with a warm smile, running a hand over her cheek. “So gorgeous,” he murmured, dropping a kiss across her forehead. “See what you do to me? You wake up an’ I can’t keep my hands off you.”

“Again…not complaining.”

“We can’t keep doin’ this,” he replied, cursing himself for the ceaseless repetition of a mantra he had no intention of following. Instead, his lips found her throat, his thighs capturing her legs as he rolled her over. And suddenly she was under him. Buffy was under him. “Can’t keep on…”

“Why not?” she gasped, spreading her legs so that he fell between them. Spike’s eyes widened. His erection was suddenly pressed against her sweet pussy, guarded as they were by barriers that he had forced them to implement the night before. His jeans painfully tight at the hinted promise of what was waiting for him through a few mindless millimeters of fabric. “I told you last night…”

“You told me you trust me.”

“Spike…when it happens…” Her hand was suddenly pressed against his cheek, guiding his eyes back to hers. “I’ve pretty much already made up my mind.”

“What?”

“I’m not saying I’m ready, ‘cause really, I’m not. But I think I will be soon.”

“Buffy—”

“And when I am, it will be you. You’re the one I want.”

Gahh. Was it possible that just two days ago, he had been teasing her about fake leather in a costume store? It seemed lifetimes away. The full effect. Buffy was under him, moving seductively against his denim-clad cock even if she didn’t realize it. And now she was telling him that she was his when the day came. When she decided to cast aside the lessons of childhood and embrace the fullness of her sexuality. That part of her that he kept stealing samples of. That part of her that he had touched without tasting.

“Buffy,” he gasped reverently, clashing his lips against hers. Drawing her tongue into his mouth, his hands taking chart down her body. Skating over her breasts, tweaking her nipples through the fabric of his t-shirt. “God, you drive me wild.”

A low whimper hissed through her lips. “Ditto.”

“Every time I try to prove to you that my attraction isn’ purely physical, you turn the tables on me.” He lowered his head to nip at her breast through the shirt. “Incorrigible she-devil.”

“Purely physical?”

“Don’ jus’ want you for this.” A naughty hand had slithered between them, cupping her mound deferentially. “You need to know that. My hands an’ mouth aren’ too skilled at conveyin’ it.”

Buffy moaned and thrust her pelvis against his touch. “You’re wrong.”

“Am I?”

“If this was all you wanted, you’d’ve taken it already.”

Spike looked at her for a long minute, wondering why he was so surprised at her insight. And to that, he had nothing to say but to kiss her, his vagrant hand rubbing her sensually. “Buffy…”

The crotch of the boxers he had given her was seeping wet. Her scent floated around him, his hand pushing at her teasingly. The lust that clouded her eyes nearly did him in. She looked older at that moment than she ever had. More so even than when his cock had been in her mouth, and the name he had known her by was one so far placed from who she was.

Another mewl tore at her lips. Her back arched off the mattress and into his touch. “Spike, please.”

“Please what?”

“I…I don’t know. I just…I need…”

She needed. He had done this to her last night. Aroused her with his touch, then pulled away when he realized he was overstepping his boundaries. And now he was doing it again. Touching her as he shouldn’t. Feeling her warmth beneath his fingers. Feeling her arousal dampen the fabric separating them.

If he was smart, he would end it.

His disobedient hand pressed into her. A small sob wrangled through her throat.

“Spike…”

Hell. He was not known for his smarts. If this proved anything, that would be it. He stole another heated kiss from her lips, his touch abandoning her mound to clutch at the fabric of her shirt.

Buffy’s eyes went wide. “Please!”

“’S all right, baby,” he murmured, drawing the shirt over her head. Watching in awe as she let him. No fear. No embarrassment. Her arms lifted over her head, and suddenly her breasts were bare to him. Spike swallowed hard and lowered his hands to her chest. “I’m gonna make it better.”

And likely go to Hell as a result.

She gasped in need and tugged his head down to her breasts, and he figured Hell was worth it. Teasing her nipples with his teeth and tongue, a hand tending to her neglected globe of flesh before trading off to give the other the same treatment. His other hand dipped between them, fingering the waistband of her boxers. “Gonna take these off,” he murmured into her skin. “’S that all right?”

“Yes! God, please.”

Small shivers of anticipation sprouted across his skin. It took some reluctance to pull his mouth away from her tantalizing breasts, but the scent of her growing arousal convinced him without much sway. He had to taste her. Had to bring her over that edge. Needed to hear his name on her lips, screamed in the heart of euphoric release.

He needed to be the one that did that to her.

Just seconds later and she was bare to him. Completely bare. Her pussy glistening with desire, her breasts pert. Her pelvis moving in slow, womanly strokes that did him in simply at a glance. A low, shuddering breath wracked his shoulders. “God,” he rasped. “You are so fucking beautiful.”

“Spike…”

“’m here, baby.” He shook his head, brushing a kiss at the tip of her nipple before his mouth took chart down her body. Sampling her skin with slow strokes of his tongue. Her scent drowning him with potency. When he was finally perched between her legs, a sharp, self-conscious gasp sounded through her throat and her thighs clenched with the instinctive need to cover herself from him.

It didn’t last. Spike’s hands pried her legs apart without much struggle. “You’re gorgeous,” he repeated heatedly, caressing her inner thigh with a heartfelt kiss. “Here. You’re so gorgeous.”

“Really?”

“God, Buffy, you have no idea. You have absolutely no idea.” He buried his face in her neatly trimmed curls, inhaling deeply. “Knowin’ I do this to you…” He pressed a finger against her opening, smiled when she whimpered, and pulled back so that she could see her juices shimmering on his hand. “This is nectar of the gods. Don’ let anyone tell you different.”

Then he licked her arousal off his hand, his eyes rolling up inside his head.

“Jesus, Buffy.”

“What?”

“You taste so good.” And that was it. No more words. No more telling without showing. He couldn’t resist her now if he tried. With a moan of surrender, he delved back into her sweetness. Unsure of how far to go. How much was too much. Despite his past sexual endeavors—the same that paled in comparison to every experience with the goddess writhing under his touch—he had never made love to anyone who was not already well versed in the comings and goings of physical intimacy. Buffy was special in so many ways. Her innocence was so precious, and the fact that he was the one chosen to be here with her touched him beyond compare.

He doubted he had ever truly made love with anyone. Boyish fantasies and the like. There had been no feeling before. Not like there was now.

“You taste divine,” he breathed into her, his tongue stealing a long lap up her slit. His eyes widened when she cried out and threw her head back. “Fuck…”

“Oh god, Spike, oh god.”

“Shit.” His mouth clamped around her clit, suckling her intently. Worshipping her in ways that were still so new to him. He sank two fingers into her pussy, pushing forward cautiously. Not wanting to hurt her. Unable to keep his eyes from rolling back at the tightness that engulfed him.

Jesus Christ.

“Spike!”

“Mmmm,” he murmured, tongue swirling around her hypersensitive bundle of womanly nerves. His fingers thrust deeper into her slowly, a moan tumbling from his lips. God, he was drowning in her. Her virgin tightness, the implication behind the gesture; everything he surely didn’t deserve.

“Spike!”

“Bloody hell,” he gasped, scraping his teeth over her nubbin. “You’re so fucking tight.”

“Is that…” A low moan coursed through her body, and she thrust her hips into his touch. “Is that…good?”

His heart tore at the uncertainty buried in her voice.

“There isn’t any part of you that isn’t perfect, Buffy.”

She murmured some low form of disagreement that went unheard for the persistence of his fingers, thrusting into her rhythmically. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend it was his cock. Could nearly feel her vaginal walls clenching around him. Could nearly believe that taking that innocence would make her his for as long as they had on this miserable planet. He ground his erection into the mattress, fingers withdrawing from her pussy and his tongue plunging into her before she had the chance to whimper in complaint.

“Oh God!” she cried, arching off the bed. Her fingers tunneled through his hair, holding him to her. As though he could pull away now. Now that his mouth was discovering her body’s secrets. He lapped at her, indulging in her juices with enthusiasm that betrayed his own need. His own fingers found her clit and massaged her roughly, free hand traveling north to capture a nipple. She was arching against him, parrying in time with every thrust of his eager tongue.

“Spike!”

He could have stayed here forever if only to hear his name tumble off her lips like that. He felt her thighs clench around him, and then she was coming fiercely. Tumbling over that last edge and drenching him with her release. He drank everything she gave him, losing himself all over again in her taste. Nectar of the gods, he had said: that barely did her justice. Buffy was purity. Ambrosia as he had never thought to be allowed. Not forever ago when he had first learned of her existence. Not even when he watched her fighting off vampires outside his window. Never.

The impact of her orgasm washed him over. His denim-clad cock thrusting wildly into the mattress. Needing to share her release. Needing to feel her surrounding him. Burning him up with her heavenly warmth.

But no. No, he wouldn’t allow himself to take that much. Not now.

Not when she had no idea what she had given him with this alone.

“Oh god,” she gasped, slowly coming down. Blinking. Spike rested his chin at her pubic bone, watching her through hooded eyes. “God…that was…”

“Delicious.”

She blushed. God, he hoped she never stopped blushing.

“I…”

“Delicious,” he said again, prowling up her body, unable to keep himself from thrusting his hardness against her sodden center. A predatory growl rumbling through his throat at the whimper that scored through her. “You’re a goddess. A hot, fiery goddess. God, I—”

She tugged him down for a fierce kiss, drinking in his taste that was now spiced with her own. And he melted against her, unable to help himself. Moaning into her when she thrust her hips against his, her hand—wise now—slipping between their bodies to cup his erection delicately.

He tore his mouth away from hers with a gasp. “Jesus, Buffy! God, no, we can’t—”

“Can’t,” she agreed breathlessly, even as her hands pried open the clasp of his jeans. “Want to feel you.”

“Buffy—”

“Like before.”

His cock was in her hand before he knew it, and she was stroking him to that perfection he had known just two days before. Knowledged. Refined. He sat up slowly, bringing her with him. Settling her in his lap and trying to ignore the fact that there were no barriers now. That her hand was pumping him slowly, experimentally, thumb brushing over his head at every turn.

Trying desperately to disregard the knowledge that if he thrust forward just a bit, positioned himself just right, he would be inside her.

It didn’t take long. He felt the pull of his orgasm in seconds. Worked up so much from simply tasting her—there was no way to make this last. “Buffy,” he gasped, “God, I’m—”

He didn’t know if she deciphered his meaning from simply that or was overwhelmed by a need to do what she did next. Suddenly, he was on his back, head barely on the mattress, and her lips were around him.

“Buffy!”

She released his cock with a long plop, meeting his eyes with an intensity that looked new on her. Mature. Womanly.

“No pulling back,” she said, mouth engulfing him again. “Wanna taste.”

God. That was it. Those five words did him in. Spike screwed his eyes shut and cried out a mixture of obscenity and praises as he emptied himself into her willing throat. He felt her swallowing around him, felt her muscles moving to take him in as far as he would go.

Left over expertise from Halloween. It had to be. Christ, it bloody well better be.

Buffy released him when she was sure he was spent, placed a nearly chaste kiss at the head of his penis, and dropped her head to taste his sac with curiosity.

That was it. Spike growled something fierce and pulled himself up, yanking her into his arms and kissing the life out of her. Warring his tongue with hers. Tasting every inch of her. The musk that mingled now of their mutual orgasms. Swallowed her moans and pressed her back to the head of the bed, even as he deftly zipped himself up to wane off any further pleasurable temptations.

This alone was bliss purer than anything he had ever known.

“God, Buffy,” he gasped against her.

Amazingly, she was back to blushing. After that—after turning all dominatrix on him, her skin was tinting with embarrassment. “I…don’t know, I—”

Spike didn’t know, either. He only knew it was spectacular. “’S okay,” he murmured, drawing her into his embrace. Eyes falling shut at the splendor of her resting against him in recovery. The air around them spiced with their fused scents. “God, you’re amazing. You’re absolutely amazin’.”

“So that was…all right? I really don’t know what came over me. I—”

“All right? Sodding all right? Buffy, if you can’t tell how absolutely crazy I am for you, for everythin’ you do, then I think we have a problem.” He wanted to tell her how much he loved her, but feared that might drive a rift between them. Might place something on the table that she wasn’t ready to face. “I’ve never felt anythin’ like that. You’re…god, you’re jus’…what did I ever do without you, honestly?”

Her face reddened even more, but she smiled at him happily.

Happy. He had made her happy.

Buffy was in his arms, her head against his shoulder. Their hearts thundering against each other in the aftermath of what they had just shared.

She was in his arms. If he loved her any more than he did, he would burst for the feel of it.

Words kept to himself. Words that would know voice one day.

One day soon.

Words like this could not wait forever. Not when they had changed his life.

Not when he needed her to know so desperately. Needed her to know, yet feared the response his confession would merit. It was so soon. So fast. But she was here. She was in his arms.

And someday soon, she would know just what that meant to him.

[/nextpage]

[nextpage title=”Part 10″ ]

Part 10: In Search of Good Times and Good News

“So, you’re Mr. Giles’s son?”

Buffy flashed Spike an apologetic look and nodded that he should go along with it. She had officially been home for an hour and a half after spending an imaginary day with Willow, and had been dreading this moment ever since she explained to her mother that she would be out late again tonight. Presently, it was around four in the afternoon; she and her boyfriend—insert ecstatic shriek—had decided to keep up appearances by making the formal introduction which included a feigned history and an equally feigned promise to remain good children.

The explanation that she was dating Giles’s son had simply popped out of her mouth. It worked for her. Spike was British, so was their Watcher—what were the odds that they both lived in Sunnydale if they weren’t related, really?

“Ummm, yeh,” he said awkwardly, stepping into the entryway. “’m Spike…Giles. Spike Giles is my name. Spike Giles…that’s me. Spike Giles.”

It would have been cute were he not trying to make an actual impression…well, no, it was just cute. Spike was so helplessly nervous, and it showed. He flinched every time the conjoined names tumbled from his lips, trying to get used to the sound. Buffy had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing; she had never seen him look so uncomfortable.

And given the questions she had taken to asking him, the way she had tested his resolve with nakedness and, well…okay, she was blushing again.

When she glanced up, Spike was smirking at her wickedly. A brief look that he risked on the knowledge that her mother was not looking at him, but a wicked look nonetheless. That I know what you’re thinking look.

“Yes,” she said abruptly. “Spike Giles. That would be Spike plus the Giles part of his name.”

His smirk intensified. From nervous to confident in two seconds. She wished she had that sort of resolve. “Yeh,” he agreed again. “Anyway, I’ve been in town for a while an’ since Buffy’s always in the library, we kinda hit it off.”

“And now we’re going over to Giles’s for supper,” she concluded with a nod.

The fact that they had rehearsed this speech while taking a co-ed shower didn’t help much. Rather, they had been somewhat distracted with naughty parts that were becoming more and more accustomed to being frequently explored. Just how well his hands knew her body was enough to make her ashamed to be in her mother’s house.

Almost. Not quite. They still had a rather serious step to take together. And though they hadn’t spoken of feelings beyond deep-rooted affection and desire, there was something in his caress that stood out from any other touch she had ever experienced.

“So you two are dating?” Joyce deduced, frowning. That instinctive disapproval that was universal among mothers everywhere. “That’s…great.”

Cue ‘I’m-The-Perfect-Boyfriend-Ask-Me-Why’ speech. They had practiced this one as well, looming on the knowledge of her mother’s objection. Spike held up a hand. “Mrs. Summers,” he said, “I know you prob’ly don’ approve. An’ I know it won’ help to tell you that I care about Buffy more than…but I do. An’—”

Something surprising happened, then. Something sudden and unplanned. A warm smile broke across her face and she shrugged. “You kids probably think I’m a prude,” she replied, earning two uncertain grins. “Really, you’re much younger than the other man my daughter brought home, and seeing as it’s only been two since we arrived in Sunnydale, I suppose I should be counting my blessings.”

Spike shot her an inquisitive look, not without the certain flare of jealousy.

“Angel,” she explained. “And…that was for help in history. We were never dating.”

Joyce shook her head. “Maybe not, but mothers know that look.”

Immediately, Spike’s eyes averted to the ground as though it was the epitome of fascination. A little delayed, perhaps, and not at all avoidable. There was nothing he could do to kill that look. Hell, Buffy wasn’t even a mother and she knew that much.

He had been giving her that look since the day they met. Before everything else happened. Before he became the one.

Granted, sixteen years old…the one wasn’t exactly a simple concept to mastermind. And yet with the slayage came a decent amount of untimely maturity. While the imminent sense of ‘I could die at any minute’ had never really been one to haunt her—not even after the Master had killed her, despite the frequency of her nightmares—it was all but nonexistent with Spike at her side. He gave her security. Security that she had needed desperately since the day Merrick approached her with this thing. This huge bombshell of a thing and then proceeded to tell her that the world and all its fatey goodness rested on her shoulders and her shoulders alone.

Spike made her feel. He tapped into a part of her that was new and terrified, but similarly wise and excited. And yes, it was fast, but she was rapidly approaching a line of wondering what she would do if he were to suddenly disappear from her life. Disappear in a manner as quickly as the one he had appeared in. It wasn’t going to happen; today they had discussed the need for a job and a place to call his own. Sooner or later, the money his mother had left him would run out and he would be homeless, and she hated the idea of him spending it all on a motel room and take out.

He was making the move here permanent. He would be a Slayer at her side. Her boyfriend. And from the way he looked at her, she had the feeling he would be one to never take that for granted. One who would catch her if she allowed herself to fall just once, as clichéd as it was. The concept of love was still a little over her head, but if there was one, he was it.

“So you two are going to see Mr. Giles?” Joyce asked, snapping her back to the present.

“Yeh,” Spike answered, reaching for her hand. His gaze was still avoiding her mother’s at all costs. “’Cause he’s my pap an’ he wanted us over for supper…’cause he’s my pap.”

“We got that much,” Buffy muttered to him, mirth dancing in her eyes. “Mom?”

“Yes. Just be home before long. It is a school night.” She turned to Spike, the finality in her voice ending his fight with her motherly intuition in the knowledge that he needed to politely bid his farewell. “It was nice meeting you…Spike.”

“You can call me William, if you like.”

Buffy stared at him. And, amazingly enough, he blushed and shrugged self-consciously. “’S my real name. Spike’s jus’ a nickname I got back in the old country. Jus’ figure you might be more comfortable with your daughter datin’ a William instead of a Spike.”

There was a moment. A long, uncomfortable moment.

Then her mother was smiling again, which was somewhat unheard of—especially in matters of Buffy plus boys. “That’s very considerate of you,” Joyce noted. “But if you go by Spike, I’ll call you Spike. Don’t want to confuse myself and start thinking that Buffy is juggling two boyfriends at once.”

A shadow crossed his face at the suggestion, even though in the presented scenario, the aforementioned boyfriends would both be him. “Lemme know if she—”

“There will be no juggling,” Buffy assured him, before turning to her mother. “I kinda like this one.”

“I gather.”

“And I’ll be home later. Early, even.”

“Yes you will,” Joyce agreed, turning to retreat into the living room. “Have fun, you two.”

Buffy caught Spike’s eye at that and they shared a private moment that extended even as they stepped outside once more, alone. A sort of closeness between them that could not merely be accredited for last night or that morning’s tantalizing play. While she was very much on the eager path to exploring what more they could do with each other, she similarly recognized that her boyfriend’s steady plan of one step at a time was the foundation of the trust she regarded him with.

Still, the thought of what he could do to her, reduce her to simply by the melting power of his touch, made her insides go gooey.

“You told your mum that Rupert’s my father?” he asked her lowly, arching a brow.

“It sort’ve came out,” she replied self-consciously, eyes glued to the sidewalk. They were walking slowly toward the high school, hand-in-hand; indulging in closeness that had somehow gone missed in the simple hour and a half they had spent apart. More so than she had felt in the past weeks when they had gone a couple of days outside each other’s company.

Granted, that hadn’t happened often.

Well…once. And that was only because she had ditched class one day to kill some sluggo demon on the other side of town. It had been during that ‘why is there an incredibly hot, male Slayer honing in on my territory’ phase, and she had gotten an earful from Giles afterward on the principle of going alone.

“Came out, huh?”

“Yeah. Well, I mentioned that I sort’ve had a boyfriend—”

Spike quirked a brow, hand tightening domineeringly around hers. “Sort’ve?” he replied. “There’s nothin’ sort’ve about this, pet. You’re the one who made it all official last night…an’ I bloody well warned you that I’d take it to heart.”

Buffy grinned. She would have thought possessiveness to be constricting, but from Spike, it made her insides warm. More for the thought that he cared for her so much that the thought of her with anyone else drove him to that growly, primal state. The same that made her legs weak and that warm, moist sensation between her thighs become even more pronounced when around him.

“Sorry,” she replied, leaning into his shoulder. “You’re definitely a boyfriend of a permanent nature.”

He drew silent at that, though his eyes found hers, burning with something she hadn’t seen before. As though she had said something highly significant and hadn’t realized it.

“Anyway,” she continued, “I also happened to mention that you’re British and then she remembered that Giles is British so I decided to make you relatives.”

A wry grin tickled his lips and he swung her hand slightly. “Yeh,” he agreed, brushing an impulsive kiss over her temple. A small token of affection that made her feel truly cherished. “Let’s not even mention that Rupert an’ I have different accents. An’ that—”

“Mom won’t notice that.”

“What?”

“Well, we just don’t notice that sort’ve thing. British is British.”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Uh huh,” he retorted drolly. “Since you’re gorgeous, I’ll let you get by with that jus’ this once.”

“Since I’m gorgeous, huh?”

He smirked teasingly. “Pretty girls don’ need smarts.”

“Hey!” Buffy pulled away from him with mock indignation. “You…take that back!”

“An’ pretend you can get away with stereotypin’ me with an entire country? What ‘f I called you a racist Right Wing whack-job?”

“That’s not based on dialect!”

“’S the same principle.”

Buffy pouted. “But I’m not a racist Right Wing whack-job.”

“Exactly. Don’ go stereotypin’.”

“Don’t call me stupid.”

A frown crossed over his face and he turned so that they were face to face. “You’re not stupid, Buffy,” he said, his voice serious. “I was only teasin’.”

“I feel stupid sometimes. I don’t understand what Giles talks about half the time and if I graduate with my class, it’ll be some kind of miracle. Seriously, if brains are what you’re looking for, you—”

The next thing she knew, Spike had tugged her into his arms, his mouth at her ear. “’m sorry, baby,” he murmured sincerely. “I din’t mean it. You’re far from stupid. You’re one of the cleverest people I know. Brilliant an’ witty. An’ if you’re havin’ trouble in school, it’s only because you already have so much on your plate.” He pulled back slightly, brushing a tender kiss across her lips. A kiss that tingled through her skin and touched her heart in ways that she doubted would ever stop surprising her. “I’m a git. I never would’ve said it ‘f I knew you felt you were anythin’ less than incredible. Here…” He placed a tender hand over her brow, brushing away loose strands of hair before sliding down to cover her heart. “An’ here.”

Buffy licked her lips self-consciously. “Really?”

“Yes. Oh yes. Never let anyone tell you otherwise, all right?”

A smile tugged at her lips. “Okay. If you say so.”

“I know so.” He grinned back at her lovingly, the wealth of feeling burning his eyes doing a number on her heart. There was so much there. So much waiting for her to claim beneath the surface. He always seemed on the verge of a great confession, and she knew when he finally mussed the courage to say whatever it was he wanted to say, it would rattle her world. “Come on, then. We better be gettin’ on. See if Rupes has dug up anythin’ new, right?”

Her smile broadened, and she nodded. “Yeah.”

Spike brushed a final kiss over her lips and tugged lightly on his hand. “Let’s go, then.”

They were walking again. Closer now.

Closer in just seconds.

The forbidden thoughts that had been swimming in her head were bubbling slowly to the surface. Something that had first flashed in front of her two nights ago when Spike held her in the moments following their instance of intimacy, when their feelings had been given center stage. It had occurred to her then; more so the night before. She feared its potency more than anything, second only to how fast it had all happened.

She had never felt anything like this. Not for anyone.

She was almost sure she was in love with him. And it terrified her.

But at the same time, it was wonderful. It was so wonderful.

She just didn’t know how to tell him.

*~*~*

Buffy suspected Sunnydale High was the only school in the world that wasn’t as creepy empty as it was when classes were in session.

“I have something,” Giles said the minute they arrived. If he was surprised to see them so close, he did not mention it. Rather, he glanced up, greeted them with a nod, then turned back to his studies. “I believe I have uncovered the prophecy detailing Spike’s emergence as the first male Slayer.”

Well, that was quite the bombshell.

“What?” they asked in unison.

“Yes, it is here,” he replied. “In the Nyazian Scrolls. Granted, this is a far cry from the original translation…no one knows quite where that is, but it is here all the same.” He lowered his eyes to the text once more. “It says here, ‘In the last years of the century of the number twenty, a Slayer of Adam will be called. And he and the Slayer that lives will be one. Fight with one arm and live with one heart. And the world, because of the Slayer of Adam and the Slayer that lives, WILL live.” He glanced up excitedly. “See? It is right there.”

“Okay. Well…do we have any ideas why the Council was a blind mouse in this?” Buffy asked. “I mean, Spike was with them all summer and no one thought to check the Niagara Scrolls?”

“Nyazian,” Giles corrected, “and I suppose not. The Nyazian Scrolls are thought to deal specifically with the vampire with a soul…and something about a birth. Really it was luck that I thought to look at it. After you killed the Master, I thought it best to research over everything that we had on Angel…just in case. I remembered this passage gave me trouble because it started speaking of the Slayer with masculine pronouns, therefore it seemed the logical place to begin.”

“Yeh, an’ what does it have to say about the enormous wanker?” Spike drawled, crossing his arms. His entire disposition soured by the mention of the vampire at all. “‘Will brood, will annoy, will intervene in the business of others an’ not stake childer when the life of the Slayer is threatened?’”

“Spike…”

His hands came up neutrally. “Jus’ statin’ a fact is all, luv.”

Giles looked at them for a minute longer, confused, but shook his head and turned back to his translation. “I have yet to determine what the future holds for Angel,” he said. “Right now, you and your relationship to Buffy are my priorities. ‘In the last years of the century of the number twenty, a Slayer of Adam will be called. And he and the Slayer that lives will be one. Fight with one arm and live with one heart. And the world, because of the Slayer of Adam and the Slayer that lives, WILL live.’ I believe this means that together, you two will save the world…repeatedly. Your bond strengthened with the Powers because there are two of you. Like the mythical Adam and Eve, there to be one of the human race instead of simply half.”

Spike shrugged easily, though she could tell he was moved by the notion. “Sounds like fun.”

However, being that her mind had been occupied predominately with one concept all day, it was hard to detour from a specific line of thought. “Be one?” Buffy repeated, tossing a cautious glance to her boyfriend. He waggled his brows. She flushed and nudged him. “It really says that?”

Giles cocked his head in confusion before his eyes widened in embarrassed discomfort. “Oh. Oh! I—well, erm—I believe the text refers more specifically to fighting and not—erm—other things. Also, that the two Slayers will be of the same birthdate.” He arched a brow. “Have you two compared birthdates?”

They exchanged a semi-startled glance. It hadn’t even occurred to them.

“Mine’s in two weeks,” she said.

“Mine, too.”

“Well, that’s…” Two weeks. In two weeks, she would be seventeen. And he would be twenty. He would no longer be a teenager. Buffy frowned and glanced to the ground. For whatever reason, that thought made her uncomfortable. As though realizing the gap between them for the first time. The sort of gap that was real—not frozen in time like a vampire’s. Three true years.

Spike caught it just as easily and smiled to dispel her concerns. “Doesn’ really matter either way,” he said, speaking to Giles but looking at her. “Doesn’ change anythin’. Not for me.”

She looked at him quizzically. “Really?”

“Why should it?”

“I dunno…just seems.”

He shook his head. “Remember what I said, right? Mean it now. I’ll mean it in two weeks, an’ for a long, long time after.” The words made her smile, but felt incomplete all the same. As though there was something equally important that he was keeping from her. Either way, it didn’t matter. Minor crisis averted; he squeezed her hand as they both turned back to Giles, who had watched the display with interest.

“Any idea of why Spike’s not of normal Slayer age?” Buffy asked, coming back to herself.

“No. None yet.” Giles frowned and shook his head. “I was focused more on the reason for his presence than worrying about his age. My guess would be some form of balancing the powers. The passage referred to Spike as the ‘Slayer of Adam,’ and according to biblical text, Adam was created prior to Eve. Perhaps he was meant to be older than you.”

“Doesn’ really matter, does it?” Spike retorted. “’m here. I’m the Slayer. We have the prophecy. Now that that’s settled, we have a lead on Penn an’ Drusilla.”

The Watcher’s eyes widened. “Oh. Did you spot them on patrol? I was thinking things had been far too quiet, considering the warning that Angel provided. And—”

Buffy frowned again and rubbed her brow. The bruise was covered in foundation and otherwise completely healed; at least enough that it was not noticeable to anyone who didn’t know it was there. Her side would likely take another day to mend; she was still a little sore, but ready to face anything that might leap out on patrol tonight.

That hadn’t stopped Spike from thoroughly inspecting her tender skin several times that morning.

“Penn attacked her last night,” her boyfriend said, hand tightening around hers. “Would’ve taken a good chunk outta her—”

“Do we really need to talk about this?”

“Buffy, if you were hurt—”

“I’m fine. What happened last night won’t happen again. It was just…I guess I wasn’t prepared for Penn to be there, so he caught me off guard. And then he was all Mr. Chatty and—yeah, my bad. I should’ve staked first and asked questions later.” She shuddered. “It won’t happen again.”

“Bloody right it won’t,” Spike agreed. “You’re not goin’ on patrol without me.”

“I can handle myself.”

“I know you can, sweetheart. But I’m goin’ with you all the same.” He smiled sheepishly and shrugged. “’S for me. Think I’d worry myself somethin’ awful if you were out there without me.”

There was a heavy pause. Giles was studying them curiously, his eyes strained but not surprised. “Right,” he said a minute later, drawing their attention awkwardly back to him. What had happened between them was so natural, seemed so long in the making, that it was startling to Buffy that anyone who had seen them interact would be stunned at the fact that they were together now. “Well, yes that would be proper. Yes. You should report back here after patrol. Until then, I have Willow and Xander on the way over. We’re trying to dig up as much information on Penn’s history as possible.”

“We need Xander and Willow for that?” Buffy repeated skeptically.

The Watcher shrugged. “I arranged the research party after Willow arrived the other night concerning the disaster at Halloween. I suppose I thought the prophecy involving Spike would take longer to decipher. As it is, I believe it is better for everyone to work at uncovering as much information about Penn as possible. None of the text I have researched thus far involving his past has been too detailed; we need to know his hunting patterns. His modus operandi. Any potential weaknesses he has developed over the years.”

“Sounds reasonable,” Spike offered with a shrug.

Buffy met his eyes and grinned somberly. “Guess I’m gonna be home late tonight after all.”

Not that it really mattered. Though any more of these late nights and she would eventually be forced to come clean about her secret identity with her mother. They both would.

That alone seemed an inevitability. One that she would shove aside as research commenced.

A nice, safe, boring subject.

*~*~*

Willow and Xander had been there for ten minutes when the latter declared he was not in a studying mood and invited Spike to join him for a game of basketball. And not being one to bypass an opportunity to ensure further bonding between the only other male of age that was close to his girlfriend, he had readily agreed. If not to avoid the research itself, but the girls had looked as though they wanted some time to catch up without prying male ears honing in on their discussion.

Though he would never quite understand Americans and their affinity for basketball. Still, his Slayer prowess ensured that his inexperience in the sport did little to hamper his ability to thoroughly wipe the floor with the younger man. And he would not deny that he had a hell of a time doing it.

“Wow,” Xander said, hunched over, palms resting on his knees. “You’re a fast learner.”

Spike shrugged, catching his breath. They had been playing for about ten minutes awkwardly; it was more than obvious that Harris had dragged him out here to do anything but actually play basketball, but he had entertained himself by proving that he could dish whatever the boy gave. Still, better to get to the point than dance around it all night. They had patrol soon. “’S nothin’, really. Jus’ watch enough of your telly, an’ you have an idea of what the sport’s about.” He quirked his head curiously. “Though somethin’ tells me that you din’t invited me for a game of hoops ‘cause you enjoy the bloody game so much. What’s on your mind, mate?”

Xander chuckled inelegantly and glanced down. “Wow, you caught on to that quick, too.”

“Well, it’s not like you’re a keen player, yourself.”

“Yeah. I’m not much of a basketball player. Or any type of sports player, for that matter.” He shrugged. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about Buffy.”

Spike froze. “Yeh?”

“Yeah. We haven’t had a chance to talk about what happened on Halloween.” Xander shrugged self-consciously. “Look, it’s not like I was born yesterday. I know that you two…went downstairs to do something. Something that makes the big brother in me want to pummel you, but the rational man in me realize that I would not be the pummel er as much as the pummel ee . And yeah, it’s not just Halloween. The looks you two were giving each other were not so much with the ambiguous; I’m cool with that. Really, I am. And you’re not a vampire, so that’s at least one step up from her previous love interests.” A wry grin at that. “I just wanted to make sure that…Buffy’s important to me. And I don’t want to see her hurt.”

“She’s not gonna get hurt, mate. I’d never do anythin’ to hurt her.”

“Really? ‘Cause, and I don’t mean this to come as a slam against my respective gender, but guys? They can be bastards. You haven’t been in town all that long and—”

“’S this about me, or because you have an itch that only Buffy can scratch an’ I’m standin’ in the way?”

Xander’s eyes darkened. “Is that how you see her? ‘Cause, buddy, you might be stronger than me, but—”

Spike held up a hand. “No,” he replied sternly. “Look…god, I seem to be tellin’ everyone but her this, but if it makes you feel better, I love the girl. I love her more than I’d wager anyone could. An’ I’m takin’ it slow with her…or tryin’ to. We didn’t do anythin’ in the basement that…’s between us, all right?” He drew in a breath, grinned wryly to himself and shook his head. “Look, Harris. I like you. You’re a bit of all right. An’ because I know you’re jus’ lookin’ out for her, I’ll swear this right now on my mum’s grave: I’m in love with Buffy, an’ I’ll never do anythin’ to hurt her. May I gouge my eyes out if I do so I don’ have to see her in pain. All right?”

A long minute passed between them. Resigned, but closer than before. As though they had reached some understanding.

“Your mother’s dead?”

He sighed and nodded, eyes meeting the floor. “Yeh. Last year. Lung cancer.”

“Oh man. I’m sorry. I—”

“’S all right. ‘S not like you knew.” Spike glanced up. “Are we all right?”

Xander nodded fiercely. “Yeah. We’re all right. I just needed to be sure, you know? Buffy’s one of my best friends…I’d be grilling you just the same if it was Willow you were making eyes at.”

An appreciative grin tugged at his lips. “You’re a good man, Harris,” he said, taking a random shot with the all-but-forgotten basketball that he was holding. “I’d’ve done the same, ‘f I were in your shoes.”

“If you were in my shoes, you’d probably be dating Buffy then, too.”

“Well, yeh. She finds me irresistible.”

Xander smirked good-naturedly, catching the ball as it bounced off the rim. “Rub it in, why don’t you?”

“Bloody right, I will.”

It was good. Out there. Much better than the other version of this conversation. The one that could have ended with a rift between his girl and her mates. There was never any telling on how the male best pal would take one of his girls finding someone else to date. To be close with and share a part of her that he would never touch. Xander had handled it well. Very well. More so than he would have ever accredited, given their brief acquaintance.

Spike was more than relieved. Parental blessing and now the best friend. It had been a hell of a day.

Not that anything could have kept him away after what she had told him last night. After what they had shared that morning.

He was a man lost. And every second, he came closer to telling her.

*~*~*

She should have been surprised, but she wasn’t. Rather, a small, heady gasp pried through her lips as he yanked her into the janitor’s closet, his lips on hers almost instantly. His hands cupping her face, drawing her into a frenzy of heated kisses that she had been craving since their passionate wake that morning.

Still, that did not dispel the fact that it was officially dark and they needed to be heading outward for patrol.

“Spike—”

“Mmm,” he murmured. “Been waitin’ for you to come after me for ten minutes now, luv. Harris’s already bolted for the night.”

“What can I say?” Buffy replied between kisses, her disobedient hands curling around his throat. “Giles wanted…training after…passages Willow found.”

He rumbled a chuckle against her, and she felt her insides do that melty thing. “Once more, with coherency?”

“Shut up. Am being distracted by sinful Spike lips.”

“The best sort’ve distraction.”

“Well, yes…” Buffy whimpered as his wandering mouth found her throat. “But we…uhhh…need to patrol.”

“Yeh, I know. Jus’ needed to get this outta my system, is all.” He smiled warmly and drew himself away with a muttered oath. “Harris gave me the grill on my intentions.”

“He did?”

“Yeh. Told him you were crazy for my tight, hot li’l body an’ had shagged me brainless this mornin’.”

“Judging by the fact that you’re all unbruised and Xander’s still alive, I’m going to go on a limb and say you’re lying.”

“Good limb.” Spike smiled and opened the janitor’s door, ushering her outward with a small air of regret that they could not extend their tryst. “Better be off, I guess. No rest for the wicked.”

“Tell that to your tongue.”

Buffy’s eyes widened. Had she just said that out loud?

“You saucy li’l—”

Yep. Apparently.

“You’re gonna get it.”

Better to save the embarrassment with misdirection. Buffy flashed a quick grin and shrugged. “Have to catch me first.”

And then she was off. Tearing through the otherwise vacant halls of Sunnydale High, a horny male Slayer hot at her heel.

Whom she thoroughly adored.

Her giggles tickled the sky when he finally reached her, arms around her middle and whirling her around once for good measure before he assaulted her mouth with his.

It was strange—this sort of bliss. Made her feel wonderful. Wonderful and terrified at the same time, though the latter could be her imagination. After all, she hadn’t really been happy since she arrived in Sunnydale. It was natural to fear it abandoning her.

Spike was with her now, and they were off to face the night.

Hand-in-hand.

And that was what mattered.

[/nextpage]

[nextpage title=”Part 11″ ]

Part 11: Whatever Will Be, Will Be

Spike’s birthday was coming up, and she had no idea what to get him. She had never really needed to buy a gift for a boyfriend, not a serious one, and was completely drained of ideas on how to best express how much she loved him without, well, saying that she loved him. There was at least some comfort in knowing that he was likely doing the same, since they shared a birthdate. If anything, the upcoming Saturday would be a memorable one for both of them.

“What do you think about this?” Buffy asked, holding up a watch from the fifth store they had hit in their thirty minute excursion to the mall. The same that had somehow turned into three hours. She swore she had never seen Willow look so bored, and had the circumstances been a little different, she might have cared.

But really. Birthday bash with her boyfriend? The first significant exchange of presents, and she wanted it to be memorable.

Especially since she had the idea something very bad was on the rise. Since their night in the cemetery with Penn and Drusilla, the resident evil vamps had been conspicuously absent from the limelight. She and Spike had toured a number of graveyards, followed dozens of leads, tried beating up Willy the Snitch a couple times, but there was simply nothing. As though they had fallen off the face of the earth.

Only not, because the number in vamp lackeys had most certainly increased.

Yeah, something bad was coming. She just wanted one last party before it hit.

“Does Spike wear watches?” Willow replied.

“I…no, I don’t think so.”

“Well, maybe he needs one. Or maybe he doesn’t like knowing what time it is. Or maybe this gift is just as good as the shirt you liked at Mel’s. Or the book you didn’t buy at Walden’s. Or the CD or the…” The redhead’s brow furrowed before she collapsed in frustration. “Okay, I don’t remember anything else. Shopping has officially fried my brain. Buff, I’m sure he’s gonna love whatever you get him. Especially after I tell him the hell you went through to find the perfect something.”

“Will!”

“I think he’ll like that just as much as what you get him.”

“But what if you tell him I went through all this and then he’s like, ‘Oh, bleedin’ chit went through all that an’ all I got’s this soddin’ ticker?’” She held up the watch miserably. “God, I suck.”

Willow quirked a brow. “You talking about your knowledge of your boyfriend’s hobbies or your tragic impersonation of his accent?”

“Quiet you.” Buffy sulked and placed the watch back on the counter. “This is important. If I can’t figure out what to get Spike for his birthday…then how will I deal with, you know, everything else? This is just one present. I’m the Slayer. I should be able to handle this.”

“Well…just think. What does Spike like?”

She puffed out a deep breath. “He likes punk music, leather, comedies with a point, poetry—”

“Poetry? Really?”

“Yeah, but that’s nothing he wants getting out. Evidently what he’s tried to write was made fun of pretty bad when he was in school.” Buffy sighed and cast a hand through her hair. “And really? From what he’s told me about them and what they said, I would gladly hand out free ass kickings to each offender. Not only does it make him uncomfortable when I mention it, but he won’t let me read anything.”

“Well…who’s his favorite poet?”

Buffy shook her head. “I don’t want to get him poetry. He has poetry. Once when he was getting food and we were getting ready to watch a movie, I opened one of the drawers in his dresser and there were a ton of poetry anthologies. He doesn’t need any more.”

“He actually keeps stuff in the motel dresser?” Willow frowned. “Spike really needs to get, you know, an actual place.”

“I know. He knows. It’s just money and stuff. Right now, paying a little amount of money and keeping more is better than paying actual payments when he has no steady source of income.” She sighed. “Granted, his mom’s money’s going to run out sometime. Gah, things would be so much simpler if he could just move into our basement or something.”

The redhead arched a brow. “Yeah, ‘cause your mom’s really gonna go for that.”

“I know she won’t. God, I’m about to turn seventeen and he’ll be twenty. My mom probably thinks it’s some high school thing that I’ll grow out of.” She glanced up. “It’s not. Before you ask me, it’s not. What I feel for Spike is…really scary, but really real. And I know it’s cliché and you’ll tell me I’m too young to know this and chances are you’re right about the too young part but—”

“You love him.”

Sigh. “Yes.”

“And you think he might be…you know, of the oneness?”

“I know it’s crazy. I mean, only seventeen. But—”

“Yeah, I think it’d be crazy if it was anyone else,” she replied. “Or anywhere else. If we were regular kids who lived in a regular town and basked in our regularness. But we’re not. More specifically: you’re not. You’re the Slayer…or, a Slayer. And he is, too. Besides, prophecy? Kinda permanent like.” She shrugged. “Furthermore, Spike adores you. You know, in that undying sort of way? Just enough to make a girl swoon.”

Buffy smiled. “Yeah. He does, doesn’t he?”

“Uh huh.”

“Speaking of hotties and how they’re gaga over, well, us.” She grinned and nudged her friend teasingly. “What about that cutie that’s been making eyes at you all week?”

“Oh! Oz?” Willow’s temperament took a sudden turn, and she was beaming the next instant.

“Ooh, you know his name, now?”

“Well, you remember career week? We both kinda scored off the charts and now we’re working together on this thing.” She giggled. “He’s sort’ve just…well, amazing. He has this certain quality about him that’s just…ohhh…Oz.”

“Why haven’t I heard of this? Career week was last week! You’ve had days to tell me and—”

The redhead’s eyes narrowed. “Ummm. I think the reason might be about five foot ten, platinum blonde hair, blue eyes, accent? Oh, and the fact that he’s always around you and vice versa? Buffy, this is the first time we’ve gone out in three weeks. And it’s to get Spike a birthday present.”

The blonde glanced down self-consciously. “Sorry.”

“No. Don’t be. I see you at school and you have the slayage and the…slayage. And, hey! We even talk on the phone.”

“A lot,” Buffy agreed. “So why didn’t you tell me about Oz?”

“I don’t know. I guess things are going slow but promising right now, and I just didn’t wanna jinx it. I mean, Oz and I aren’t dating, but we’re clicking. We’re all with the click.” Willow shrugged in that way that clearly stated it was a bigger deal than she was making it out to be. “We talk, he uses an Oz-ism and I giggle and say, ‘Hey, that’s another Oz-ism.’ But I don’t know how to get from here to the part where we’re actually, you know, doing more than flirting. I suck at this.”

“And again, with the calling me that you should have done? I’m totally with the advice.”

“Yeah, but…your advice? More for girls like you. Shy girls like me aren’t comfortable talking like…confident girls.”

Buffy frowned. “Will, he makes eyes at you when you’re not looking. At lunch? He’s all with the staring at you and he doesn’t get embarrassed when I catch him. If you would, you know, look back, there would be actual eye contact.”

“Actual eye contact that actually lead to something…” Willow nodded speculatively. “I see where you’re going with this.”

“Good. Now tell me what to get Spike.”

The redhead grinned. “Well…think about it. Spike wears those necklaces and he has death’s head rings that he always has on. Face it, your boyfriend’s kinda girly.”

“Ummm…no.”

“Okay. This is what we call denial. Buffy—”

“Trust me. Not girly. Very not girly.” Rouge stained her cheeks and she turned away. Ever since that night that he took her to his motel, they had become more and more acquainted with that sort of intimacy. Spike truly enjoyed bringing her over, and every orgasm he gave her seemed more explosive than the last. And more so, his reaction to her? Definitely nothing girly there.

She was becoming more and more comfortable with their growing explosive sex life. With everything except the actual sex, of course.

“Yeah, okay,” Willow replied dismissively. “Well, there was that place we passed that looked kinda Goth. Maybe there’ll be some necklace or something there. Something stake-shaped?”

“You think he’d like that?”

“Honestly, I think if it comes from you, you couldn’t go wrong with a used Kleenex.” A pause. They both grimaced in disgust. “Okay, well, maybe not.”

“Yeah. Gross.” She shook her head. “I like the stake idea. Let’s just hope this place you saw can deliver.”

“Yeah.”

“And you should bring Oz to my surprise party.” Buffy laughed at the widening of her friend’s eyes, shrugging innocently. “Hey. It’s your fault for not being more inconspicuous.”

Willow pouted. “At least pretend to be surprised?”

“Sure. Was planning on it, anyway. Come on. Last stop. Promise.”

“That’s what you said four stores ago.”

“Yeah, but this time I mean it.”

“That’s what you said three stores ago,” the redhead retorted, but she was smiling in spite of herself. And they left to trek the familiar gray of the mall, heading for their…almost last stop.

Life in Sunnydale was good right now. Which naturally meant something was up.

*~*~*

“You didn’t go to them.”

Angel didn’t bother turning around. He had known Penn would come tonight. Nothing overly remarkable. Nothing to write home about. He had known for a reason that remained ambiguous to him—not even his vampiric ties on his childe could account for it.

Just one of those things.

“No,” he replied shortly. “I didn’t go to them.”

“Why not?”

A pause. Still, he did not turn. “I don’t know.”

“Don’t play coy with me, Angelus. Of course you know.”

“Penn, if you value your nonexistence, get out of here. I’m really not in the mood to do this tonight.”

“What’s the matter, honey, have a headache?”

“Goddammit.” With an animalistic growl, he pivoted fiercely, eyes blazing yellow but not quite ready to topple over the edge. Not ready yet to be the vampire that his childe was attempting to aggravate. “So you made your grand point the other night, right? You’re my vampire offspring. I stake you, I’m alone. Do you really think that will stop me? You really think I’ll stand blithely by if provoked?”

“Why not? You have thus far.”

“I mean it, Penn.”

“Yeah. Getting that message loud and clear.”

The next happened in a blur of motion. Angel standing next to his bed; a flash forward and he was holding the younger vampire against the door, game face bursting through with more menace than he had shown in what felt like years. It was a tad disconcerting when his childe refused to reflect even a smidgeon of fear. Anything that would have suggested he recognized a threat when issued one by a senior vampire.

Issued one by his sire.

That only served to fuel his anger.

“I am not going to take this lying down,” Angel snarled. “You can’t just threaten to unleash my demon and expect me to stand here and accept it. Things are different now. You and Dru have made it a fucking century without me. Do yourself a favor: go home, get her, let the girl go, and get out of here.”

Penn blinked at him dumbly. “Oh, I’m sorry. Are you talking to me? ‘Cause see, here’s the thing. I’ve been watching you for two weeks, and you haven’t told a single soul—pardon the pun—of our little chat. If you were really looking to stop me, even knowing that you can’t, I’d assume you’d at least go to the Watcher, of all people.”

“Because I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying right here.”

“You seem sure.”

“Told you my answer wouldn’t change.”

“And I told you that your answer didn’t matter—I just wanted to give you a heads up. More importantly, though, I wanted to know what you’d do with the information.” That was it; Penn had kicked his sire away the next second, landing comfortably on his feet and shrugging dust off his shoulders. “And yet here we are. Singing the same old song. You did nothing. You could’ve had the Watcher ward you. Make you infallible to magic. Could have told the Slayers; had them hunting me and mine out, even though I told you it was impossible. But no, Angelus. You just waited. You’ve been waiting for me to take your soul away for two long, sad weeks.”

“You’re wrong.”

“No, I’m not. And that’s what bugs you, right? The fact that you want to be Angelus. The fact that your life would be so, so much easier if you could just forget all this earthly pain and go back to kicking the fun out of it like you used to.” He cocked his head. “Have an excuse to do in that Slayer that took your girl away.”

“This is not about that!”

“Really?” Penn spun around in a kick that was as surprising as it was powerful; Angel flew across the room, body smashing through his dresser with a defying crash, fortunate when a wayward slab of wood did not puncture his heart. Sawdust sprinkled the room, and the younger vampire did nothing but cock his head with interest, eyes flickering when his sire glanced up to meet his gaze. “Let’s find out.”

Angel looked at him in horror, but did not move.

Not even when the door flew open in a manner that was overly theatrical, and Drusilla walked into his room. A girl, bound, gagged, and bleeding at her side, a leather leash around her throat. Her eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep, red and swollen from crying. And she was looking at him for help.

Oh God.

“Time to begin this party,” Penn cackled, rubbing his hands together. “Fire burn, cauldron bubble, and all that jazz.”

“Hello, Daddy,” Drusilla said slowly. That low ring of dementia sounding through her voice. The sort of insanity that could make a vampire of his repute shiver in fear. “We’ve brought you something.”

“Dru…”

“One last out, Angelus. You’re sitting in a haven of makeshift stakes.” Penn spread his arms jovially. “And we’re right here.”

Angel did nothing. It was as though he was watching himself from a distance. Watching that cloud of resignation that had followed him for the past few weeks seize hold and wrangle him from his self-awareness. That darkness that had been dancing around him ever since the light of his salvation was stolen. And his was given the wonder of evil in the world, and if it would take eliminating everyone to eradicate it completely.

Penn was here to steal his soul. And he did nothing.

Just sat there. And let him.

*~*~*

Really, patrol was becoming synonymous with gratuitous make out session.

Tonight at least. Usually, they had to stake a few baddies before leaping into the more pleasurable aspect of touring the graveyards together. But all was quiet tonight, which meant they had an evening to themselves.

They had taken the first half hour to give the respected cemeteries a breeze through, ever mindful of the impending presence of the resident vamps that had yet to make an encore to the disastrous encounter two weeks prior. There were no vampires out. No human sacrifices or allusions to the next apocalypse. The air was sparkly clean with that good Hellmouthy feel, minus the Hell part. There wasn’t a demon within a ten-mile radius.

If one excluded Spike from that scenario, of course. Though his demony aspects were in no ways superficial and in everyway what he did to her without doing anything at all. Presently, her back was pressed against the stone of a mausoleum, her mouth engaged in much heated kissage, suckling wantonly at his evil tongue as his hands skated over her body. Exploring naughty places to which he had exclusive right.

“Mmm…” she murmured into his mouth before his lips took chart down her throat, his pelvis grinding provocatively into hers. “I’m beginning to love nighttime.”

“’S a good time,” he replied enthusiastically, a hand slipping under her shirt. “A very good time.”

“Except when there are vampires.”

“Right.”

Her teeth found his earlobe. “Or demons.”

“Nasty buggers,” he agreed, cupping a laced breast reverently. Her own hand, wise now, had slithered between them to stroke him through his tight denim, earning a strained gasp. “God, have I mentioned how much I love it when you do that?”

She squeezed him teasingly. “You don’t have to.”

“Fuck. Gonna make me embarrass myself.” Spike smiled and reached down to grasp her wrist, his own touch abandoning her breast and respectively readjusting her shirt. “You don’ have any homework, do you?”

Buffy arched a brow. “You’re making me stop for homework?”

“No. Jus’ wanted to make sure before we go somewhere to finish this privately.” He waggled his brows, and she flushed. These nightly excursions grew more and more intense following each encounter. Her own patience notwithstanding, she was beginning to realize how much self-control he had shown her since he arrived. That gentlemanly restraint that was never too far from breaking. Her teasing merriment of seeing how far she could push him while secretly waiting for the day that his resolve broke.

They had talked about this, though. The actual having of the sex. Even with all they had shared, she was still nervous. It was a huge step. Granted, he had all but banished her self-consciousness, but there was still something so much more intimate about actual lovemaking that bypassed all the fooling around they had done. And Spike understood that. More over, he wanted her to be ready. Wanted it to be something she would never look back upon with regret. Wanted her to be sure before she crossed that boundary and it was too late.

The fact that she was in love with him had pretty much convinced her. But she hadn’t said that yet. And neither had he. It was getting to the point where she nearly expected to say it by accident in conversation. Something like, “Did you see that demon? He was carrying the big I love you.”

That would be bad.

This alone was what she lived for now. Spending time with him. Watching him smile. Hearing him laugh. Flushing at the assorted innuendos he sent her way. Relishing in the whimpers and moans she could elicit in just seconds with hands that now knew him well.

Her body wanted to know him as well as her hands did. And that day would come. Soon. Sooner than she likely knew now, knowing already that it was imminent.

For now, though, there was this. And this was wonderful.

“We have time,” Buffy whispered against his lips, smiling at the smoldering look that flashed through his eyes. “Mom’s not expecting me home for another hour or so.”

“Which means you’ll be sneakin’ in…”

“In about three hours.”

He shot her a grin. “Bloody fantastic.”

Buffy smiled winningly and hugged him, clasping his hand as he tugged her away from the mausoleum. Thank God for vamp-less nights. Made patrol much more fun. Made the week speed by for the promise of what the weekend held.

If only every night could be like this.

[/nextpage]

[nextpage title=”Part 12″ ]

Part 12: Here Comes the Rain Again

Her mother was actually out of town all weekend. Buffy didn’t know how she had managed that, but there was a note waiting for her on the counter when she arrived home from school on Friday with a check that she needed to get to the bank before it closed. Something about a convention in Los Angeles—she really hadn’t paid attention. Only that the words ‘away until Monday’ and ‘no parties’ had appeared. Which was fine, as throwing a party was the last thing on her mind.

But three nights with her boyfriend? In a nice, comfy, non-motel capacity? Very much of the good.

Thus after a quick patrol and a few anticlimactic stakings, Spike suggested they rent a film, get some food, and curl up on the sofa for a quiet night to themselves. A proposal that was more than fine with her. He even suffered through her perusal of the romantic comedy section before dragging her to drama and convincing her that Pleasantville was worth a watch.

So here they were, mastering their choreography in the kitchen to avoid catastrophe while holding something hot.

“You know,” Buffy said, closing the fridge and setting a couple cans of soda on the island. “When you suggested we go grab a bite to eat, I figured we’d just get some takeout. Kinda like normal people?”

Spike arched a brow. At his urging, they had stopped at the grocery store and picked up a pre-prepared pasta dish that required an hour or so in the oven before ready for consumption. The idea had intrigued him, he said, on one of his routine visits to the store, and he had been looking for an excuse to buy one.

Really, Buffy found his insistence absolutely adorable. She just enjoyed giving him a hard time.

“Y’know, most girls would kill for a bloke willin’ to spend some time in the kitchen.”

“We’re heating up pasta.”

“Yeh. Next time, I’ll make it from scratch, if that’s what you want.” Spike grinned and tugged her close for a quick kiss. “’Sides, since when are we normal people?”

“Yeah, yeah. Us and our prophecies and sacred birthrights.” Buffy grinned and wrapped her arms around him. Such was the consequence of having a cuddly boyfriend—she couldn’t be near him without wanting to touch him in some fashion. Not that Spike minded, of course. Rather, with as bad as she was, he always found ways to outdo her. Touch her just right, even when he was at his most chaste of intentions. “I can’t believe I’m finally getting you in my bed.”

His eyes smoldered with that familiar look. That look that told her if they already made love, she would be on the counter with her legs over his shoulders. “Doesn’ take too much, baby,” he promised heatedly. “Jus’ say the word…”

She blushed and smacked his shoulder. “I mean…no motel. Comfy bed. Big house. No thin walls…”

“With other people fuckin’ on all sides, you mean.” Spike smirked and brushed another kiss over her lips before regrettably untangling himself from her hold. “Yeh, I hear you, luv. ‘Sides…I’ve been waitin’ for a reason to tour that bedroom of yours.”

“Well, if you had really wanted to, Angel used to climb up to my window. We have this big tree in the back and…” She trailed off when she noticed the look in his eyes was no longer ardent so much as it was infused with jealous anger. “Not that that’s important or anything. In fact, really, I don’t even know why I brought it up.”

“He doesn’ do this anymore, does he?”

Buffy’s eyes widened. “What? Of course not! Angel knows about us. He—”

“Have you told him?”

“Well, no. I haven’t exactly seen him to tell him. He hasn’t been around for a while.” She frowned. “Really, I haven’t seen him since that night in the cemetery with Penn and Drusilla. He hasn’t…have you seen him?”

“No. An’ I haven’t been lookin’. Figure a day without a run-in with that wanker is a good one.” Spike tossed her a look as he slipped on oven-mitts to draw out the pasta. “Well,” he said a minute later, thoughtfully, “Every day since the cemetery’s been a good one.”

A smile itched at her lips. That sentiment was most definitely shared. “Yeah,” she agreed. “Really has.”

Spike flashed her a grin. “Glad you agree.”

“Very, very.” Buffy sighed. “But…it’s strange. Angel and I were never dating, but over the past few months, he hasn’t gone more than a couple days without trying to see me. Well, until two weeks ago. I…what if Penn staked him?”

The other Slayer shrugged apathetically. “What if he did?”

“Spike—”

“You don’ need the wanker hoverin’ over you every five minutes. Have you missed him at all?”

“Well, no—”

“There you go.”

“But I don’t want him dead!” She sighed again in aggravation. “Look, I know you have this thing with him because of…whatever—”

“Because of you.”

In spite of herself, she flushed at his bluntness. “Okay. Because of me. But I’m with you. Not Angel. I will never be with Angel. Furthermore, if I could be with Angel, I wouldn’t be. Because you’re who I…” His eyes went wide suddenly with expectation, and Buffy—for perhaps the millionth time—felt herself on the edge of a catastrophic and random confession of love. She knew she loved him…the prospect of admitting it was still more than daunting. “You’re who I’m with. Who I want to be with. Okay? That doesn’t mean I want Angel dead.”

“Well, maybe he knows we’re together an’ has been avoidin’ you ‘cause of that.” Spike shrugged. “The wanker might be an all right guy for a vamp, sweetling, but he’s still a man. An’ from the way he was lookin’ at you before we…’m jus’ sayin’, it could be that he’s decided to stay away.”

That could be true. It seemed logical enough. However, there was something about Angel that slipped through the cracks of comparison. Even when she went on dates in the months prior to Spike, it hadn’t stopped him from a weekly update on the things that could kill her. No, it didn’t make sense. Something had happened; it must have.

She didn’t want to share that, though. Didn’t want to rouse Spike’s jealousy any more than she already had, even though the thought of him going nuts because of her was not without its drool-worthiness. Instead, she merely opted to smile and nod in agreement, though her mind had far lost itself to the foray of possibilities.

Perhaps Penn had killed him. Perhaps that was the reason he was here. That night in the cemetery, he had told her that she was just in his way. It would make sense for him to avoid her if that were the case. And he had known about her brief relationship with Angel, or at least the feelings the vampire seemed to harbor for her. Perhaps he had thought she would get in the way, stop him from doing what he came here to do. Be around his sire to such a degree that killing him would be impossible.

A few vamp lackeys tonight. No Penn. No Drusilla. No Angel.

There was every possibility, were her theory anywhere near accurate, that the damage had already been done, and the two vamps had fled the scene.

Of course, there was just as large a possibility in her being utterly wrong. And in the meantime, she was here with her boyfriend and she shouldn’t allow vagrant concerns to meddle with their time together. Especially with the knowledge that there wasn’t anything she could do right now. Not until she had some answers.

Spike scooped a hearty amount of noodles, melted provolone, and Alfredo sauce with a mixture of assorted peppers onto a plate and scooted it in her direction. “Smells edible,” he said, grinning.

“Did you just give me half the pan?”

“You din’t eat anythin’ today. Told me so yourself.”

“I had an apple for lunch. Was kind of hurrying to do the homework I didn’t do last night in lieu of much more appealing diversions.”

He frowned. “You told me you din’t have any homework.”

“No. You asked. I never answered.”

A scowl at that. “Technicalities,” he retorted, waving a hand. “You should’ve told me. I woulda helped.”

“Well, I got it done regardless, and I kinda liked the way we ended up spending our evening.”

Spike grinned at that, leering suggestively. “Yeh. Can’t exactly complain, myself. Still, luv, you should’ve eaten lunch.”

“I ate! I told you—”

“An apple is not lunch. It’s hardly even a snack.” He gestured to the steaming plate of noodley goodness in front of her. “That’s a meal, an’ you have to be half-famished. Eat up.”

She pretended to scowl and fished out a fork from the nearby cabinet. “Okay, Mr. Bossy,” she retorted. “I’m doing this under protest.”

“Yeh. People usually starve themselves outta protest, not eat. ‘Sides, you can cut bein’ coy. I can hear your tummy growlin’ from here.”

“You can?”

“Better bloody believe it. ‘S got quite a mouth on it, too.”

Buffy cocked a brow. “Is that right?”

“You should hear the things it’s sayin’ to me.”

“My stomach.”

He nodded, face serious. “Quite the li’l pervert, ‘f I don’ say so myself. All the ‘put it in me,’ ‘come on, you know you want to,’ ‘it’ll be a party in your mouth that gets even better down south’—”

That was it. She burst out laughing, her giggles enticing a warm, playful smile to his lips. “Was that the head of William the Bloody?” she asked mirthfully, her eyes dancing.

“As much as I ever want you to see,” he agreed in earnest. “Come on, pet. Eat up. Got this flick to watch…then that nice comfy bed waitin’ for us upstairs.” That comment was naturally sealed with a suggestive waggle of his brows. And she, just as naturally, blushed from head to toe.

“I think this might be the reason my mother didn’t want me to have any non-Willow friends over while she was away,” Buffy reasoned, treacherous hand guiding a fork heaped with pasta to her mouth. “Granted, she didn’t come out and say that, but the implication was there.”

“As long as she din’t come out an’ say it, we’re all right.”

“You’d like me to believe that, wouldn’t you?”

“With every male bone in my body.” He glanced down in an overly evocative manner that made her blush even more. “One in particular.”

“Pig.”

Spike chuckled and sent her one of his patented adoring but simmering looks. The same that melted away any restraint she might have put up had he made any inappropriate advances, given the prescribed boundaries of their relationship. “There’s an oldie but a goodie,” he drawled. “Thought you’d gotten to the point where you liked my more piggish tendencies.”

Yes, his piggish tendencies were quite lovely. Not that he needed to know that. Him and the general maleness that was him. That would go straight to his head.

Both heads, come to think of it.

Gah. She was becoming as bad as him.

Becoming? Girl, who are you kidding? He’s turned you into an all out perv.

“Back to the enormous poofter, though,” Spike said, voice full of self-aimed ire at the mere suggestion that he was the one to drag the conversation back to Angel. “If you wanna phone up Rupes before we get cozy, I’m sure the Watcher’ll dig around in some books an’ find out if Penn’s the kinda vamp that would off his sire jus’ because he could.”

Buffy smiled gratefully. “You’re the best.”

“Bloody right, I am.”

“And you’re so cute when you’re jealous.”

Spike’s eyes darkened. “I am not jealous. I’m the one that gets to touch you, right? Snog you? Taste you? Be with you when no one else is. I’m not on the bloody outside lookin’ in.”

“So if I were to platonically meet Angel somewhere—”

“I’d stake the wanker before draggin’ you to the nearest dark corner to make damn sure you know you’re my girl.”

Buffy flushed. “And that’s in no way jealousy?”

“No. ‘S my alpha male.” He looked at her as though the answer was obvious. “There’s a difference. An’ once I got you in that dark corner, I’d do things to you that would eradicate any memory of any other prats that mistakenly try to fumble into your good graces by flashin’ a li’l fang.”

She nibbled on her pasta, skin flaming with the sudden rise of heat in the room. “Okay,” she agreed, earning a wicked leer.

And even that was not enough. Spike stalked forward and jerked her into his arms. “Bloody right,” he growled, covering her mouth with his. A swift invasion of his tongue and dinner was forgotten. The feel of his hands skating over her body; hands that already knew her so well. The hardness that greeted her stomach screaming at her warring hormones that mock-fighting was as much a turn on for him as it was for her, and that wanton image she had formerly banished of wild kitchen sex arose again from nowhere.

“Christ,” Spike murmured into her mouth reverently, hands sliding to her hips, encouraging her legs to find their way around his waist. “What you do to me…drive me outta my mind.”

The feeling was more than mutual. And she told him so. He grunted something primal in return, twisting her around so she was sitting on top of the island, nearly knocking the neglected plate of pasta to the ground. His hands were everywhere, his pelvis moving rhythmically against hers, the bulge of his arousal grinding against her clit, and she felt it as though there was nothing at all between them.

Buffy tore herself away from his kiss with a cry, gasping at the suddenly stymie kitchen air as his mouth took passage down her throat. This was different. There was something different in his touch. Something needy and primitive. How she had managed to work him up that much simply by talking—and, granted, provoking his inner quote ‘alpha male’—was beyond her.

Then again, they had been dancing around this for weeks. Spike’s patience notwithstanding; his near decree that they keep some measured distance between fooling around and that final physical step had been edging at him every day. She saw it without needing to know exactly what it meant. How much she tested him simply by being with him. By touching him; sampling him when he needed more.

“Spike…”

“I know, I know. Gotta stop. Gotta…please, jus’ a li’l more,” he pleaded into her throat. At some point, his hands had darted under her shirt, and he was exciting her nipples with skilled fingers. “God, Buffy, I want you so much.”

She wanted him, too. In all senses. Right then—there—her decision made for her. It was inevitable after all, right? She had told him she wanted him to be the one to take that step with her. She wanted him to be her first—her only, really. She wanted to tell him she loved him and she was ready. That they could forget supper and the movie and go upstairs to her bedroom and make love until the sun came up.

And she would have. The words were right there on her tongue, ready for release. Whether it was fate or bad timing, the phone shrilled through the air before they could know voice, and the heated kisses she had been enjoying came to a reluctant halt.

“Leave it?” Buffy whispered hopefully.

The temptation was there. Somewhere between his lust and the burn of his affection, he very much wanted to ignore any interruptions. However, there was that sense of responsibility that he carried without fault. The knowledge that came with conscientiousness through three advanced years of experience in not listening to an inner Jiminy Cricket. “Might be your mum,” he murmured, lips brushing tantalizingly over hers. “Or Rupert.”

“So?”

The phone was still ringing.

“I’ll be right back,” Spike promised her, moving away before she could protest. And her body felt the slam of cold he had been guarding her from. The heat of his skin scorching hers still, conflicted with the sudden blast of being left alone. Awkward on top of the kitchen island, next to her plate of forgotten pasta.

So much for love. When he came back, he would remember his earlier quest to quell her stomach’s growling. And then it would be movie time.

“Buffy?”

She jumped and whirled around. Spike was standing in the doorway, phone resting against his shoulder. There was severity in his voice that she hadn’t heard before, and it almost matched the void in his lifeless eyes. “What?”

“’S Giles,” he said. “Coppers jus’ found the remains of a girl. She was strung up jus’ outside town, hangin’ from a tree. Raped, mutilated…she has a cross in her left cheek.”

She understood the implication. “Penn’s signature.”

“Yeh.”

The room was suddenly very cold. There was something he wasn’t telling her.

“What else?”

“There’s an A carved in her thigh. That’s not…it’s not Penn. Not just him. At leas’ Rupert doesn’ think so.” Emotion stormed his voice and he had to look away. “He wants us at the library.”

Buffy nodded, numb, and slowly slid off the counter. “Okay.”

Spike looked at her a second longer before raising the phone to his mouth again. “Yeh. We’re on our way.”

*~*~*

“The A doesn’t mean anything.”

“Only it could mean everythin’.”

“I know what you’re thinking, but it can’t…” Buffy shook her head furiously; barely aware of how tightly she was squeezing Spike’s hand. “It could mean…I dunno. Penn just might be playing with us.”

“Yeh,” he agreed. “Or Angel might’ve decided to join in the fun.”

“He wouldn’t do that. He staked Darla for me…he wouldn’t just turn his back on that!”

The platinum blonde all but growled in frustration. “You’re unbelievable.”

“What?”

“This bloody blind spot you have for the big brooding wanker. There are certain things that are innate, you know. Vamps kill. ‘S what they do. What they know an’ all that. They’re a sodding breed apart.” An incredulous, humorless chuckle rumbled through his throat. “They’re not us. ‘S like lions an’ zebras. Maybe Peaches finally realized that. Realized he can’t be us.”

“So he tries to kill us? Angel cares about me, regardless of…whatever. He wouldn’t just randomly start killing.”

Spike rolled his eyes, hand constricting possessively around hers. “Unbelievable,” he spat again.

“We shouldn’t jump to conclusions.”

“We also shouldn’t exclude conclusions that are more probable than others.”

“Angel never signed his victims. Giles would’ve told me—”

“Maybe he wanted you to know it was him.”

“Spike! God, is there even a shadow of a doubt in your mind, or are you ready to take him to the gallows?”

The other Slayer frowned as they cut the corner at Sunnydale High. “Of course not, luv.” A pause. “You don’ take a vampire to the gallows. You stake him; jus’ like all the rest.”

An alien voice broke through at that, as presumptuous in intrusion as it was confident in poise. Somewhere from the shadows, where eyes had been watching them in their advance. Eyes that were slanted and yellow, subhuman, but familiar in their malevolence. “He’s got a point, you know.”

The Slayers jumped to like trained dancers; their synchronization earning nothing more than a long, mocking chuckle as Penn stepped out of the darkness, his gaze sparkling. “I’ve had the same problem,” he continued conversationally. “Annoying vampires honing in on my territory…it is a predicament, but sometimes you just gotta stake them.”

“As I was sayin’,” Spike snarled, reaching into his duster and retrieving a stake. “Only one bloody way to deal with them. ‘m gonna rip your innards out an’ stuff ‘em down your throat.”

“Well, that’s rather brash.”

Buffy gasped; her boyfriend was suddenly across the way, his fists curled in Penn’s shirt, lifting him off the ground as though he meant to rip him limb from limb right there. The vampire merely chuckled, backhanded him, and jumped a good distance away. He brushed himself off with deceptive flippancy. “I only meant since Angelus is inside, likely ripping your friends to shreds.” He tossed a slow, malicious glance in Buffy’s direction, quirking his head curiously. “Rather violent, your boyfriend. I’m glad you see something in him. He looks rather unremarkable to me.”

Spike was on his feet in seconds. “Singin’ a tune now, are you? Jus’ jealous my girl grew out of her affinity for blokes with bumpy foreheads.”

“Angel’s inside?” Buffy asked softly.

“Yeah. Only, he’s outgrown that pesky Angel phase. You know you could catch him and say hi if you ran really fast.”

“Spike. Inside.” She didn’t draw her eyes away from the vampire; unwilling to let him go if this was a rouse. “Go check on the others.”

“Buffy—”

“I’m okay.”

“Yes, Spikey,” Penn cooed, sending the elder Slayer a teasing wink. “I’d like a few words with the real Chosen One. If you remember, you interrupted our evening a couple weeks ago. We were having a nice…chat.”

“Spike, go. I’ll be fine.” And she would. She wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. Wouldn’t let the vampire in front of her distract her with words. Wouldn’t let anything of the sort go down. Not when she had everything she could want right now. She wasn’t the type to make the same mistake twice, and he would have to trust her with that. “Go!”

The pained reluctance in his eyes nearly ripped her in two, but he nodded fiercely and disappeared the next instant, tearing toward the school. And then she was alone.

“Good,” Penn drawled approvingly. “Angelus was hoping your boy would be the one to run inside. Has a few words to share with him.”

“What did you do to Angel?” she growled, stake at the ready. “I swear to God—”

The vampire shrugged. “Freed him. What else? You weren’t giving him what he wanted, so I gave him what he needed. Now he can go through the universe without all that useless baggage. Really, if it weren’t for you giving him the big brush, I would likely be dust in the wind. So thanks. Couldn’t have done it without you.”

That was it. Buffy lost all sense of time and reality; all she knew was that she was standing still one minute and rushing toward him at the next minute. Ready to impress her weapon in his heart and have it over with then. This waste of a thing in front of her. Penn didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Only regarded her with calm amusement, sidestepping her advance without much thought, his leg finding her back as she soared at him and sent her promptly to the ground.

“See. That was rash, too. You’ve been spending too much time with that new boy of yours.” He chuckled ironically, strolling toward her with casual ease. “Then again, not complaining. Made Angelus lose his will to carry on. Stealing his soul? Easier than I thought. And I have you to thank!”

Buffy’s leg shot out, connecting fiercely with his face as he hovered over her; granting her enough time to roll back to her feet, eyes glowering. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Nope, and that’s the problem, isn’t it? Just let the new guy walk right on in and take you away. And to think, my sire actually thought of you as his salvation.” Penn shook his head sadly. “Hate to think what might’ve happened to him if I hadn’t come along and shown him the light…so to speak.”

Her next projected attack was a blur of motion. She was in the air one second and colliding with him the next, sending him to the ground in a flurry of punches and kicks. She didn’t know what made her angrier: the idea that he would cast blame for anything related to Angel on her shoulders, or the notion—the implication—that somehow, Spike was involved. That detracting attention from someone she had absolutely no future with for the man she loved would have driven him to such a point where killing was all right, and the soul he had claimed plagued him ripped away voluntarily.

For what Penn had done to her, she felt no shame. The voice she would remember, the face would fade over time. But she meant to kill him now. Right now. Plunge the stake through his chest and then rush inward to face a vampire she had never thought she would confront in battle. If he spoke the truth, then that nagging sensation that had been bothering her for the better part of the evening—ever since she realized the lapse in time between her last visit with Angel—would have come full circle.

She would kill him. She had to.

And if he so much as touched Spike, she would give back to him whatever he dished tenfold.

“Little touchy tonight, aren’t we?” Penn speculated with a pointed brow, wiping blood from his cracked lip. “I see someone’s ready to play with the full deck.”

“Sorry I’m not Miss Chatty,” she spat. “I don’t socialize with vamps who piss me off.”

“I didn’t realize I had offended.”

“You have.” She perked a brow, her skin shivering and her stomach tightening in the familiar caution that another vampire was nearby. Not familiar, not entirely. She knew Angel’s presence. Reckoned she would know him forever. This vampire was different, but she had felt it before. And she knew what to expect. With a wry grin, she arched her brows at Penn, squeezing her stake in reassurance. “And I think it’s time you sat down in a corner and thought about that.”

Not exactly the puniest of her puns, but that transgression would go unmarked. Buffy projected herself into the air the next second, twirling aerial as her eyes landed on the advancing Drusilla. Her hand shooting forward, the stake aimed well. A perfect arch across the black sky, timed in well with Penn’s infuriated roar of protest. The next thing she knew, the elder vampire had kicked her to the ground and rushed forward to shove his insane girlfriend out of the way.

The Slayer hit the ground the same second that the stake found its way into Drusilla’s side. Detracted by the attempts to stop it, but not well enough to avoid collision entirely. The agonized cry that split the ebony vampire’s lips nearly incited a pang of kinship, but not quite. Buffy was at the ready for an angered attempt at retribution, but Penn had gathered Drusilla in his arms, and was glaring at her as though envisioning her in a shallow grave for the first time. Seeing her for what she was, and not some pissant distraction to toy with.

That much gave her a sadistic rush of pleasure. Small, but noted.

“She’s spoiled my milk!” Drusilla wailed. “See how it stains the ground? She has spoiled me, my prince!”

The calm conversationalist within Penn was gone. The ice that fogged his eyes was the coldest she had ever seen. More so than the Master. More so than the Anointed. Even Darla, who had true reason to hate her. The death he promised was no longer empty. She knew then that it would be one of them. Not tonight, perhaps; he would see her dead, or he would die himself.

Such was the natural order. She had simply never seen it so clearly.

In the end, he said nothing. Didn’t waste his hatred on words too small to convey. Penn tore through the night like a disease. There one second and gone the next. And then she was alone.

Alone, and bolting toward the doors of the high school.

She didn’t make it. Naturally, there would be something to interfere. In this instance, it was Angel. Barreling through front of Sunnydale High, his eyes as distant and cold as she had ever seen. Tingling with malevolent mirth. Birthed into something higher than her understanding. She knew simply by looking at him that his childe had spoken the truth. This was not Angel. Angel didn’t look at her that way. Angel barely looked at her.

“Wow,” he drawled. “Talk about impressive. I really thought they’d keep you busy longer than that.”

Buffy did her damndest to ignore the sudden thundering of her heart. Her stake was discarded on the ground somewhere; Penn had yanked it from Drusilla and consigned it to the grass. She was weaponless, and though that had never mattered before, there was dread spooling in her stomach. God, where was Spike? If Angel was here, then—

The sound of glass shattering answered that much for her, and suddenly Spike was there. His eyes stark with concerned outrage, a stake in his hand prone and ready. He screamed her name in a twist of exerted terror, leaping at the vampire out of more instinct than knowledge; found himself on the ground the next second, holstered by a heavy boot.

Angel quirked a brow and glanced up at her, tsking his disappointment. “Honestly, Buff, what do you see in this guy?”

Buffy rushed at him before she granted herself time to think.

“Whoa, down girl.” His hands came up neutrally. There was no threat, though. Nothing in his eyes to suggest he considered her even worth draining, let alone fighting. As though she was nothing more than an amusement to keep him on his toes until he became bored. Emptier than Penn’s. Something much more horrifying lurking there where no one else had voyaged. “Just having a little harmless fun. As I was telling your friends before Wonder Boy showed up…” A slow smile drew across his lips, and he took a small bow. “Things are about to get very interesting.”

He still hadn’t let Spike up. He hadn’t let Spike up, and his foot was slowly sliding to her boyfriend’s throat. And that was it. Reality stopped. Her heart stopped. She didn’t care what he said. Knock him off his feet, retrieve her stake; be done with it. There was only one logic. One drive. He was going to kill Spike.

She lunged.

“Buffy!”

And the connecting blow that met her face answered her presumption nicely. Angel chuckled and shook his head as she fell, rubbing his hands together. “Yes,” he concurred a minute later. “Very.”

He was gone, then. Gone like Penn and Drusilla before him. Left them like that for reasons beyond her comprehension. And Spike was above her, his blue eyes stark with petrified concern. Pulling her into his arms, and holding her as reality collapsed around her.

God, what had happened tonight?

“’S’okay,” he murmured. “’S’okay. You’re okay. God, I was so worried.”

“Giles? Willow? Everyone, they’re—”

“Fine. Rupert’s girl knew, somehow. She had it under control when I came in. Nearly so.” He brushed a kiss over her temple. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” It was half true. She was trembling. Couldn’t stop. Knowledge buried way down deep that refused to be recognized. Something she hadn’t been prepared for, in spite of all else. “He’s not Angel.”

“No. Penn an’ Dru…there was a spell. Delighted in tellin’ us all.”

A trembling breath escaped her lips. “We have to get them all home. Get them somewhere safe.”

“There’s nowhere safe,” he replied softly, but nodded all the same. “Get them some place safe, an’ I’m not lettin’ you outta my sight.”

Buffy barely heard him as she stood. “We have to kill him.”

Spike refrained from saying anything to that, and wisely so. Just wrapped an arm around her and guided her back through the doors of the high school, where her friends were waiting.

“Not letting you out of mine, either,” she murmured a minute later, surprising him. “He came here to kill you. Not me. He wants you dead.”

“He wants us both.”

“Wants you more.”

“Naturally. Always thought he was a bit of a poof.” Spike smiled humorlessly and tugged her closer. “’S fine. We’ll get them home. I’m willin’ to bet there’s some anti-invite spell lurkin’ in one of Rupes’s books. We’ll take care of it, sweetheart.”

Yes. That. That they would take care of.

The fact that Sunnydale had just breathed new life into one of the most dangerous vampires to grace the history books was a different matter entirely. But Buffy was oddly resolved. Sound in the knowledge of her duty. Settled somewhere north of her astonished fear and regret was something else. Something dark and dangerous.

Angel had tried to kill Spike tonight. This had been set up for him. She didn’t know how she knew, beyond what Penn had told her; she simply knew. Why he opted to not in the end was an entirely separate concern. It didn’t matter. That knowledge alone was enough.

Tonight was as close as they came.

He would be dust before she saw him so close to her boyfriend again.

[/nextpage]

[nextpage title=”Part 13″ ]

Part 13: This Love of Mine Will Never Die

There was a spell. Two of them, and Jenny Calendar had them translated in less than an hour.

The first was in one of her darker books. Black magic that she kept guarded and, by self-made promise, rarely looked at. There she located one of three spells she believed might have played a part in Penn and Drusilla’s success of ripping away Angel’s soul. Something she said could be performed virtually by anyone; one of the tempting draws of darker magic to young, impressionable minds.

The girl hanging from the tree was the witch that had performed the ritual. Angelus had, evidently, taken sadistic pleasure in detailing her final minutes. How they had killed her. How he had enjoyed using her body. And how Buffy could look forward to more of the same.

That alone—the suggestion, the hint of what he wanted to do to her made Spike quiver in rage. Standing in the library in the calm aftermath of revelations made new. Buffy in his arms, trembling still. She had not yet released him since coming to the conclusion that Angel’s plan tonight had been to see him dead; her insistence was more than fine with him, for he felt forever and a day would pass before he let her out of his arms again. He would not be so jilted as to believe the vampire only had his death in mind, but nothing short of the end of the world would persuade him to let her out of his sight.

It was foolish, he knew. On some level he had to know that. After all, Buffy was the Slayer. She had been the Slayer much longer than he had. She had already faced death and won. To worry for her was a hapless feat; he could not prevent anything, nor could he truly protect her. There was nothing to do for someone who did not need protection. He would be here for her—that much was ingrained. He couldn’t help himself in that if he wanted to. He loved her too much to do anything else.

And though it was clichéd, he wanted to protect her. Keep her from the horrors she had been born to face. Provide a sanctuary that no one else could give her. Something worthy of her. Of what she had given him.

The wealth of what she had given him.

But Spike could not protect Buffy. She would resent him if he really tried. She was strong—as strong as he was, if not stronger. And tonight she had shown more of the same: her need to protect him. The thought was warming, even if her attention in that regard was equally unneeded.

The second spell that Jenny Calendar found was the one that banished vampires already possessing an invitation. She translated it, printed out copies, and instructed everyone who had ever had Angel in their house to go home and enact the spell before anything else was accomplished.

Spike did not need to be told twice. When Buffy’s mother came back from her trip, his stay in the Summers residence would be at an end, and there would be no quiet leave until he knew that her home was warded to all vampires in town.

“I am going to begin research tonight on the sire/childe relationship between Penn and Angel,” Giles said as the group prepared to take their leave. “If it was Penn’s intention to bring Angel’s demon back to the surface, they must have been very close. Or…” He frowned. “I don’t know. Angel staked Darla…from what we know…”

“He’s had more than one opportunity to stake the wanker,” Spike growled, arm tightening around his girl’s waist. “He was there that firs’ night when Penn an’ that nut-job of a vamp he totes around firs’ made with the introductions. They stood an’ chatted while Buffy was bleedin’.”

Giles blinked. “He made no attempt to harm Penn?”

“He fought off Drusilla a little,” Buffy offered numbly. “But…no.”

“We told you this much, Rupert. When you firs’ shared about the prophecy?”

The Watcher looked at him strangely for a long minute before shades of recollection fell over his gaze. “Oh. Oh! Yes, right. Well, I suppose I disregarded it as a tendency among vampires. Perhaps it was different with Penn because Angel felt responsible for him. He had no reason to feel responsible for Darla, as she was his maker and not the other way around.”

Spike arched a cool brow. “An’ that’s s’posed to make a difference?”

Xander shook his head in disgust. “Difference, schmifferance. I don’t see what the big is. Angel is a vampire. He had a get-out-of-stakage pass before because he was all with the soul-having. Guess what? No soul-having.” He turned to Buffy. “You can’t tell me you’re gonna let him get away with what he did tonight, right? He came here to kill us.”

Her eyes hardened. “No.”

“No? Buffy—”

“No, I’m not going to let him get away with it.” A sigh rippled through her, and she glanced down. “I don’t like it, but he…you’re right. He came here to kill you.” That last bit was whispered with a slight inclination in Spike’s direction. He reckoned he was the only one who caught it. “And the way he looked at me outside…as though he just expected me to…no. No. I have to kill him. Before he kills one of us.”

The way she said it was so determined, so void of emotion, it was hard for Spike to believe they were speaking of the same vampire she had been so adamant about defending just two hours ago. So much could change in a simple matter of minutes.

If nothing else, her acceptance of the simple fact had Xander effectively floored. He looked at her as though she was a pod person. “Oh,” he said, shoulders slumping at the loss of a good throw-down with logic. This was one area where his prejudice against vampires was working to his advantage, and evidently he was disappointed at the missed opportunity to scream his common sense over her feelings for the big brooding sulk. Spike was amused and proud at the same time. Buffy knew what had to be done.

“We’re leavin’ now,” he said suddenly, running his hand up his girl’s side. “Gonna go cleanse the house an’ rest. ‘S enough excitement for tonight, right?”

Giles nodded his agreement. “Yes. Quite. I will drive Willow and Xander home. Jenny?”

The very obvious object of the old man’s affections glanced to him in surprise before shaking her head. “I’m fine. Angel has never been to my house. I can put up wards if that helps. Don’t worry about me.”

Though it was clear he didn’t like it, the Watcher nodded again, turning his eyes upward to the Slayers. “And you two are staying together tonight?”

Even if he hadn’t been planning on it before, he sure as hell was now. Spike tugged the other Slayer even closer and nodded. “Yeh. We’ll be at her place. I’ll give you a ring in the mornin’.”

He turned at that without another word, enjoying the way Buffy molded herself against him. Her arm around him, her head resting against his shoulder. It was an awkward way to walk, but he wouldn’t pull away for the world. If she was feeling even a smidgeon of what he was, there was no way they would stop touching until someone pulled them apart.

They walked mostly in silence. Shared a few words here and there; saving the rest for when they arrived at Revello Drive. When they felt it was safe to assume their night was over.

“I don’t know what I would have done,” she murmured as Spike locked the door behind them, now in the entryway of her house. It appeared different somehow. The weight of what they had shared changing perception all around. “I was…the minute I saw him…he was going to kill you.”

“He din’t.”

“He was going to.”

“He din’t.” Spike brushed a kiss across her temple. “I’m right here. Not goin’ anywhere.”

Buffy shook her head, her arms tightening around him. “I’m so sorry,” she murmured. “For everything I said before. You were right. God, you were right about everything.”

A wry smile itched his lips. “I wish I wasn’,” he replied honestly. “I know how you feel about this.”

“This?” Her eyes widened and she pulled him to her. “No. Angel tried to kill you. I…I didn’t…Spike, I—”

He nodded, unable to keep his lips from stealing a loving caress from hers. A shudder rippled across his skin at the contact. His body responding in the manner that was more than familiar—that recognizable tingling in the bottom of his stomach that shot southward at the tender promise hidden within her innocent touch. No longer the fumbling fondles of two people linked by mission alone; his love for her, his knowledge of what gentle strokes drove her wild. He knew her so well now.

“You have any idea how worried I was?” he demanded her, drawing her mouth back to his before she could respond. “Leavin’ you to Penn? Knowin’ what he’d done last time? How bloody close he’d come? Christ…an’ then Peaches turned around to hightail it back to you…”

“Spike…”

He nudged her brow with his. “Yes?”

“I want…” She ran her hands up his chest; he felt her heart pounding against his. The light reflecting in her eyes familiar; he had seen that look before. Granted, not often, but enough to know what it meant. And all at once, the bundle of nerves that had singed his insides started flaring again. The knot in his stomach tightened. “I want you,” she whispered.

Spike’s eyes hazed with desire. Were the circumstances different, were it anyone else, he would have been surprised at how effortlessly she could entice his hormones from temperate to flaring with passion. “Buffy,” he gasped as her mouth found his throat, his back suddenly at the door. God, wasn’t he supposed to be the experienced one, here? “Jesus…”

“Don’t tell me no,” she pleaded softly. “I know it seems…but I—”

No? She really thought he was going to say no? Tonight when they had come so close to losing everything? Once perhaps, he might have been satisfied with sampling her. Rolling her taste in his mouth and drinking her for everything she had to offer. Not tonight. Where he would have obviously refrained from making any move so wholly presumptuous, the notion that she wanted him now in the way he had wanted her from the moment he had heard her name mentioned in correlation to his duty…everything brought full circle.

He had wanted this for as long as he could remember. Wanted to make love to her from the beginning. Longer than he had known her, it seemed. And yet, though it all, Buffy had been there all along.

“Buffy,” he murmured reverently, sweeping her lips into another kiss. Drawing her taste into his mouth. Savoring in the purity she had to offer. That innocence. That mindless grace. It was all his. His for the taking…and she wanted him to take it tonight. “God, I’ve wanted you forever.”

“Me, too. I’ve wanted you, too. I was just scared and—”

“Are you sure?”

“Spike—”

He nodded and tugged her mouth back to his; nudging his pelvis forward so that she could feel how desperately he wanted her. And just as instinctively, she slithered a hand between them, rubbing his erection with expertise that she had not known before he came into her life. A mewl rumbled through his throat; he pressed himself against her needily, his own hand darting under the hem of her shirt to caress her laced breast; his other wrapping around her waist to pull her even closer.

It could have easily gotten out of hand. The sudden burn of his very real desire acknowledged. Ready. He wanted her so much. But they could not get carried away here. Not when the house needed to be warded. Not when this was the first time. He would not take her against the front door of her house.

He would show her how much he loved her through his touch. Through tenderness. Despite his own want for a good animal rutting, he also needed it to be real. To mean something. This was not just anyone; it was Buffy. And he loved her so much—tonight would be the first of many nights. A gateway of new passion that would last them the rest of their lives, if he had anything to say about it.

Enacting the full of his humanly restraint, Spike withdrew his lips from her mouth, indulging in the moan of complaint that tumbled through at the loss. It took a few seconds before he could summon words, his forehead resting against hers. The intimacy of this alone was enough to do him in. He was in Buffy’s house. Her body was heated, welcoming, and aroused against his. Her arms were around him. The warmth of her womanly center pressed intimately against the bulge of his own need.

The promise of her purity sent shudders down his spine. And he tried so hard to feel worthy.

“Buffy…” he murmured.

“Don’t tell me no,” she whimpered again, pressing her lips to his cheek. “Please, Spike.”

“Upstairs. Not here.” He gasped against her needlessly. As though he had just completed a marathon. “An’ I have to do the disinvite thing.”

“I’ll do it with you.”

He shook his head. When he could barely keep from touching her now, there was no way they would make it through the entire disinvite spell without his desire taking over and manifesting in a need to shove her to the ground. Tonight would be special. He would make it special. More so than it was simply for her first time. Tonight was his first time, too. First time with her. First time with the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. That elevated the significance to a plateau he wasn’t ready to discuss. Still so afraid of frightening her with the intensity of his feelings. They would have other nights for that. Tonight, in the face of what they had, there was only the expression of what could not yet be voiced. “Toddle on upstairs,” he said again. “It’ll make me go quicker.”

Buffy’s eyes went wide at that and she nodded her accord. Stealing one last kiss from his lips and giving him a heated look that would forever burn itself in his memory, and then she melted into the darkness of the upper hallway. Leaving him alone below.

Spike fumbled out the disinvite enchantment that he had pocketed at the library and gave it a quick look over. There couldn’t be much to it. The lighting of a few candles, the recitation of a few sacred chants. Perhaps garlic around assorted doorways. Crucifixes and the like. He knew Buffy kept a box of stuff in her room, but he did not trust himself to follow her upstairs with the intention of emerging successfully. Perhaps she kept a spare box in the basement. Lord knows there was too much down there for her mother to go snooping with any measure of success.

That thought proved successful. There wasn’t much in the basement, but he knew Buffy well enough to determine where best to look. What he found proved to be more than enough. And after a few minutes of cleansing the downstairs, he swallowed hard and began the journey upward.

He reached her room and expelled a deep breath. The lamp was on and she was sitting on the bed, having changed into one of his t-shirts. The few times they had snuck away to his motel, she had occasionally swiped an article of clothing, as he had a similar affinity for stealing her panties. She wanted something that smelled of him, and vice versa. And while he always thought she looked gorgeous in wearing anything that belonged to him, the way she looked now stole the air from his lungs and sent his heart straight to his throat.

“Buffy…”

A pretty blush tinted her cheeks, enchanting him. How she managed to remain so modest yet portray all the makings of a sex kitten at the same time, he would never know. Only hoped she always remained like this. That stealing her virtue would not compromise anything else. He adored her so thoroughly. A whipped sap if he ever knew one, and he could not care less.

And yet, he felt obligated to tell her one more time. Once more before he threw caution aside and allowed his alpha male to burst through. Shades of William the Bloody Awful Poet that would never die. She made him want to compose verses to make the heavens sing.

Though, knowing his work…

“Buffy…” he said again. “We don’ have to do this tonight, ‘f you—”

The next thing he knew, she was in his arms. Her warm body pressed against his. Her mouth on his. Her hands grasping the material of his shirt and whipping it away in seconds. “I’m sure,” she murmured. “I want you, Spike.”

“God, I want you, too. I’ve wanted you so long.”

“There’s something else,” she said softly, her fingernails lightly scraping against his chest. Sending shivers across his skin. Then her touch had moved to the clasp of his jeans. “I told myself a thousand times I would tell you…I just never knew how. It’s been there…I’ve felt this for what seems like forever. I just wanted you to know…before we…” She gestured awkwardly, and he found it adorable. “This…okay, here it goes. I love you. I’m in love with you, and I have been for a while. And I know this is something that usually scares guys away, but I wanted you to know that—”

Honestly, Spike couldn’t be held accountable for what happened next. His entire body flooded with bliss. His heart expanding to a point where he was sure it would burst, and rain out the ecstasy that was buried inside her confession into a brilliant display of color. He smashed his mouth to hers, clutching at her with newfound desperation that he had never felt before. God, she loved him. Buffy actually loved him. He hadn’t thought it possible. Not for all his wanting; but there it was. She loved him.

Jesus Christ.

“I love you,” he gasped between kisses, walking her back to the bed. Watching her eyes widen in astonishment at his return. “Have forever.”

“Really?”

“Bloody hell, Buffy, is there any doubt?” He shook his head, turning his own hands to his trousers, kicking his shoes off impatiently. “You stole my heart that firs’ day. I was jus’…I din’t wanna scare you off. Din’t want…I thought ‘f you knew how serious my feelings were about you, you’d—”

“Break it off?”

“Yeh.”

“Yeah, me too.” She chuckled and drew him down for another kiss, her skilled hands closing around his erection once it was free of its denim confines. He whimpered into her, his own touch cupping her face reverently as she settled back on the bed, trapping his body between her legs. “Hmmm. Quite a pair, aren’t we?”

“’ve had the patience of a bloody saint,” Spike retorted, one hand dropping to her center. A tormented mewl tore through his throat when he encountered nothing underneath the t-shirt. No bra. No panties. Just Buffy, nude under his clothing. “Everythin’ you do drives me outta my mind.”

As if on suggestion alone, she ran her hand up his length slowly, thumb brushing over his belled head. “Like that?” she asked.

A growl sounded through the air, and he pushed her back to the bed, his hand massaging her folds teasingly. Eyes wide at the way she arched into his touch. She was so bloody responsive. The scent of her, the sounds tumbling through her perfect mouth; everything. It was too much and not enough in the same measure.

“Yes,” Spike gasped. “Like that.” He kicked off his trousers where they had bunched at his ankles, enjoying the customary widening of her eyes. She had seen him naked now on a number of occasions; her reaction was always the same. Stared at him wantonly. Made him harder for the sense of her scrutiny if nothing else.

He was on her the next second, face buried in her throat as his fingers pressed into her. The warm gush of fluid that mingled with his skin taunted his tastebuds. He had to make sure she was ready. For his naïveté with virgins, he knew through tale that the first time for girls was painful…and the last thing he wanted to do was hurt her. Ruin what was supposed to be an earth shattering experience at the cost of his eagerness. Releasing a deep breath, he pulled himself away from her neck and stole a heartfelt kiss from her lips. “You’re gorgeous,” he murmured, drawing his touch away from her pussy. Buffy’s eyes flew open and she moaned in protest. Spike quirked a brow and suckled his fingers into his mouth. “An’ delicious.”

“Spike, please…”

“Gonna taste you now. Gonna eat you up. Make you explode with ecstasy till you think you can’t come anymore.”

She gasped. “Want you inside!”

The thought alone drove him out of his mind. As though even now, the immediacy at what they were about to do was still a nonreality. “Gotta make sure you’re ready firs’, baby,” he replied. “Don’ wanna hurt you.”

“Hurt?”

“It hurts the firs’ time. Jus’ the firs’ time, I promise. Gonna make sure you don’ hurt too much.” He dropped a kiss to her pert breast; sliding southward until her womanly scent fogged his senses, and he could not help himself from indulging in one, long lap. “So that means…I get to do this for a while.”

“Gahh!”

Spike chuckled, nibbling lightly on her inner thigh. “You’re delicious,” he sighed, tongue tickling her moist flesh. “Here…your sweet skin is spiced with your ambrosia. Gives me a sampler before I get to the main course.” Methodically, his attentions altered to her quim, licking her outer lips teasingly. The womanly moan that rushed through her body fueled his arousal, struck his nerves with the realization that he was really here. Buffy was really beneath him, and they were really taking this step. No more playing. No more dancing around it. She was his now, and he would never let her go. Not now—never.

“Spike…”

“Shh, kitten. Gonna make it all better.” He swallowed hard, guiding two fingers into her pussy as her pelvis arched off the bed, his tongue sliding sensually across her sweet flesh until her clit was in his mouth, her pleasured cries tearing through the haze around them. His eyes kept trained on her face, tongue flickering over her bundle of nerves, reveling in every moan he earned in turn. He stroked her pointedly at first, then in long laps. She drenched his hand with her juices, her gasps painting livid pictures in the heavy air. And when he abandoned her clit to his fingers, the pliable organ in his mouth plunging into her, the throaty scream that tore through her throat struck his inner symphony. Then she was tugging him up and attacking his mouth with hers. Her hand wrapping around his cock, pumping him with ferocity he hadn’t expected.

God, this was going to be over embarrassingly soon if she kept that up. “Buffy!”

“Stop teasing me.”

Spike panted harshly, forehead collapsed at her shoulder. “I need to get…” His mind was fogged with desire. “Protection. Safety. Gotta—”

“No.”

“Buffy—”

“Pill. On it. Got a prescription the day…” Even like this, her hand cradling his erection, she found enough humility to flush. “Went on it right after we were…that first night in your motel.”

Somehow in that state, he was able to backtrack how long ago that had been. “Two weeks? Is that enough?”

Buffy settled back, releasing a deep breath. “The doctor said to use something the first week. We should be safe now.”

“You sure? I don’ wanna—”

“Want to feel you. Please. Don’t want anything between us.”

The thought of her warm flesh surrounding him was all the convincing he needed. He had never had sex without the security of a condom; and the thought that there would be nothing artificial separating them only served to charge his passion. He nodded vigorously and brushed a heartfelt kiss over her lips, slipping a hand between them to position himself at her entrance.

Spike entwined a hand with hers, his other splayed across her lower abdomen. His heart was thundering so wildly he felt it a miracle when it did not explode. The head of his cock slipped over her wet flesh, sending anticipatory shivers down his spine.

It felt he had waited forever to get here.

“Buffy…look at me, baby.”

She blinked steadily as though only realizing her eyes had welded shut.

“I love you. I love you so much.”

He melted when she smiled at him. Gods would go to war for that smile.

“I love you, too.”

“This is gonna hurt jus’ a li’l.” He squeezed her hand, heart clenching when she nodded. And then he was sliding into her; slowly at first, then quickly when he reached her barrier. Wanted that part over fast. Wanted her to forget that he had ever caused her to hurt, even in this.

Her pained gasp tore at him, but the worst of it was over. He was inside her. God, he was inside her. Her heat was scorching him alive. Burning him in a way he had never thought to experience. She was so tight. So fucking tight—strangling him with the promise of her haven. Her warmth. Her purity. All there around him. It was like touching Heaven and living to tell the tale. Looking into her eyes, watching as her ache turned to awe, and then her face melted into a womanly moan.

“Are you all right?” he asked, nuzzling her throat reverently.

“Yes. Oh, yes. G-good. Spike, please—”

That was all the coaxing he needed. Lifting his head to kiss her, he withdrew slowly, then sank into her again. Allowing her to get a feel for the rhythm. A feel of him inside her. He moved steadily, slow strokes betraying his need. Watching her eyes sparkle to life beneath him. Trying to ignore everything else and focus on making this the most memorable night of her life.

“Christ,” he gasped. “You’re so fuckin’ tight.”

“Uhhh…”

“You feel so good.”

“You too.” Buffy arched back, clutching at his shoulders. Lifting her hips experimentally every time he withdrew. The slow slide of his flesh from hers doing him in. He had never felt anything like this. Never thought he would be able to touch such virtue without having it consume him whole.

He was being consumed now on an entirely different level. Burning him alive. Losing himself so fully he didn’t care to ever be found.

Burning him so fucking good.

“Spike…I…” She tugged him down for a kiss. “I’ve…I…”

“’S’okay, sweetheart,” he murmured, clenching her tighter with every thrust. “You’re so beautiful. You feel so wonderful. Takin’ me in. All the way in. God, you’re amazin’. All mine, right? Mine. God, Buffy, tell me you’re mine.” His mouth abandoned hers and ventured southward, drawing a rosy nipple into his mouth. “Please.”

“Spike…” She threw her head back in euphoric bliss, her inner muscles squeezing the life out of him. “Oh God, yours!”

“No one else.”

“God…no. No…no one else.”

“Bleeding fuck,’ he gasped rapturously. His thrusts remained slow. Agonizingly slow. His eyes focused on hers with every inward plunge. The feel of her juices coating his length, her pussy swallowing him over and over again. Her nails embedded in his skin. He released a trembling sigh, squeezing his eyes shut as instinct prevailed over need, and his thrusts gained momentum. He was drowning in her scent, his senses driving up at the heady gasps tumbling through her throat.

“I’ve never felt anythin’ like this,” he panted, teasing her nipple with his teeth. His other hand skated between them, found her clit and began massaging her roughly. Enjoying the widening of her eyes, the surprised moan that shot through the air. Sensory overload. He needed to bring her over the edge. She was so tight, so hot and wet, and he wasn’t going to last.

Especially with her muscles squeezing him with every thrust.

“Spike…God…”

He grinned in spite of himself, and raised his head to kiss her lips. “You can call me that, if you like.”

She scrunched up her face at him in something that was supposed to be a scowl but struck him as thoroughly adorable. Especially for the way her features dissolved in pleasure the next second. He was moving more rapidly within her now, need prevailing over all else, her muscles squeezing his cock with every plunge.

“You’re a goddess,” he told her, suckling intently at her throat. “My fiery goddess.”

“Uhhh…”

“I love you so much. Fuck, you feel so good. You’re so tight. So bloody hot.” His fingers were stroking her clit faster now. Her whimpers growing more intense, her nails digging deeper into his skin. She was close. She grew tighter and wetter with each thrust. Faster and faster until she arched back and screamed her release, her orgasm washing over him in crashing waves far from anything he had ever experienced. The full knowledge of what she had shared. What she had given him. A bloody opus as his hips surged needily into her, her explosion sending small sparks through his skin. And when he lost himself, it was the sweetest liberation he had ever known. A sodding deliverance all in itself. Her muscles milking him for everything he gave. Her eyes on his face as he shared the effects of her pleasure. Watching as he came over with her. His body moving still against hers. Taking as much as he could. Stealing as much heaven as he was allowed before the reprieve rushed back. And they were left in the aftermath of their bliss.

How long he remained within her, he knew not. It seemed forever passed. Buffy around him. Surrounding him. Her wet heat pulling him under. He did not pull away from her; wanted to keep this as long as possible. Remain buried within her as long as she permitted him. He rested his head against her shoulder, enjoyed the feel of her delicate hands sweeping artless patterns across his back. Waited for reality to return, and the effect of what they had just shared to sink in.

“Spike?”

Her voice was hoarse. He had done that to her, and the knowledge couldn’t help but fill him with male pride.

“Oh God, Buffy,” he murmured, brushing a kiss against her throat. “Please tell me you don’ regret this.”

“No. God, no. I just…” Drawing in a deep breath, he summoned the courage to look at her. Read her eyes for everything she was and was not telling him. “I just…wanted to…I love you.”

His entire body warmed with relief. “I love you, too.”

“That was…”

“Amazin’.” He nuzzled her reverentially. “Bloody amazin’.”

“Really?”

“Never felt anythin’ like that. Never.” Spike shook his head and caught her lips in a kiss. “Are you all right? Any pain?”

“A little at first, but—”

“Now?”

She smiled kindly. “No,” she replied, squeezing her inner muscles to remind him of the compromising position she had him captured in. A moan tumbled through his lips, and he thrust forward instinctively. Hard still. Her eyes widened in surprise, and he answered her tacit question with a wicked grin. As though he could be anything less around her. “Now I feel wonderful,” she gasped.

Emotion stormed him, and he pulled out a little before sliding inside again. “Jus’ wonderful?” he asked teasingly, enjoying the soft glow of her eyes as they began to move together once more. “Think we can do better than that.”

“Yes. I’m sure we can.”

“Gotta try firs’.”

“Practice makes perfect.”

Spike shook his head and kissed her, muffling a whimper into her mouth when she squeezed him a second time. “God, I love you.”

“Love you more.”

“Do not.”

“Do too.”

“Prove it.”

A wicked smile tickled her lips. And he got the distinct feeling that he had rediscovered Eden. That secret place where bliss lived unthreatened, and the worries of tomorrow could not touch them.

Tomorrow could wait. Tonight was for her. For indulging the love they had discovered.

Their night in the garden. Their night in the place where paradise lived.

[/nextpage]

[nextpage title=”Part 14″ ]

Part 14: Cast Me Gently Into Morning

Sunlight sprinkled into the room through thin slivers of blinds, kissing her skin sweetly in the midst of a warm rouse. Never in her life had Buffy known a morning where she felt so cherished. It was there in every pull of her being. In the way he held her, his head cradled against her stomach, his arms around her body. His steady breaths tickling her sweetly. When they had finally fallen asleep, she did not know. Only that she had never awakened with such a bubbling of pure bliss.

Nor the feel of heat flooding her cheeks, even with everything they had shared before. His body curled around hers, inside hers. She had not known what to expect, truthfully. Not with last night. With what he had given her. The gentle harmony of what they had shared, alight with passion that outmatched anything she had ever experienced, or had thought to experience. He had done things to her that she had only read about. Things she thought fiction until last night. Things that shoved the bar of their previous relationship to new heights.

She had only been awake for a few minutes when Spike shifted and yawned into her belly. And inexplicably, her body tensed with newfound bashfulness. There had been many mornings where they awoke in each other’s arms, nude, even, from a night spent exploring the many ways to achieve the type of closeness they had obtained just hours earlier without crossing that line. Oh yes, her boyfriend very much enjoyed teasing her with his hands and mouth. Just knowing what sins his fingers aroused was enough to inspire a need to confess to the nearest priest, despite her lack of faith.

Spike raised his head the next instant, smiling eyes finding hers and filling her body with warmth. “Mornin’,” he purred rakishly, rubbing his cheek against her skin.

“Hey,” she replied, berating herself for her self-consciousness as she burrowed further into the pillows. “Did you sleep well?”

He looked appalled that she would think anything less. “With you? Of course.” He released a deep breath, quirking his head at her curiously. “An’ you? Did you sleep well?”

There was an underlying question buried in his voice. Buffy sat up, allowing the girlish grin that had been itching at her mouth since last night to finally break free, dispelling all his doubts. “I slept fantastically,” she assured him, drawing him upward for a kiss. The way he melted into her was something she hoped never changed. It seemed he was always starving for her, and the notion that anyone could ever want her so much was thoroughly beyond her line of comprehension. The fact that he was with her at all, being as young as she was—as notably inexperienced as she was—shook her world in ways better left to the imagination. “No regrets, remember?”

Spike smiled brilliantly at that and kissed her again. “No regrets,” he agreed, slipping a leg over hers. “I woke half a dozen times, bloody terrified I’d dreamt last night. Had to resist the temptation to wake you up, too.”

“Thought you said you slept well.”

“Did. When I actually slept, I slept like a bloody baby.” He was swelling against her. She felt him, the hard length of him, suddenly very there and very much against her thigh. Stroking upward until he…oooh. That was very nice. When she had gotten so familiar for the feel of him massaging her senseless between her legs, she didn’t know. Only that suddenly, in the early stages of wake, the tip of his erection was nudging its way past her moist folds as his fingers excited her clit with cool expertise. “Is this all right?” he asked, voice suddenly raspy. “Don’ wanna hurt you. Last night, I kinda lost control—”

“Last night was incredible, and you know it.”

Spike smirked, cock sliding fully within her. The pleased look on his face melted into a pleasured gasp and easily marked itself down in her internal book of the top five sexiest things she had ever seen. The feel of him inside her was incredible. As though she understood every cliché she had ever heard with perfect clarity. He was stretching her until she thought she would break, but the hurt was too sweet to stop. A slow kind of death that she never wanted to forfeit.

“God, you feel so good,” he murmured reverently in her ear, pulling out just slightly before sinking again into her warmth. “Like losing myself in the sun, that’s how you feel. Soft an’ silky. My goddess.”

“Spike…”

His hands slid up her sides, cupping her breasts as she arched into him. His thrusts were slow and indulgent; his eyes glossed over as he watched her parry into his touch. “How does this feel to you?” he asked, brushing a kiss over the nape of her throat.

“Good,” she moaned, scratching at his shoulders. “So good.”

Spike smiled and laved a wet path around a nipple, his movements increasing just slightly. Touching places within her that she didn’t know existed. “Just the tip of the iceberg, sweetling,” he assured her. “It only gets better from here.”

Buffy mewled and flexed her inner muscles, grinning when he moaned again. “Better,” she agreed breathlessly. “So deep.”

“Mmmm…”

“So good.”

“Only me. I’m the only one who gets to do this.” As if threatened by the notion that she would turn him down, the ferocity behind his thrusts increased. The sound of their flesh smacking together sounded odd against a room so unused to anything intimate. Her eyes rolled up, fixed on a New Kids poster and she shuddered around him. A woman in a girl’s room, with a man that she would never let go. Mr. Gordo was on the bed with them, bouncing merrily near the foot and coming dangerously close to toppling over the edge. And Spike only had eyes for her. Slammed into her with need that had spiraled from nowhere—need that surpassed physical demands and transcended something that was still so new to her.

“Only me, Buffy,” he rasped, tugging at her earlobe with his teeth. “Say it. Please. I need you to say it.”

She whimpered softly, vaginal muscles squeezing his cock again. How could he think that she would ever let anyone else touch her like this? Would ever let another man get so close to her to even tell what shampoo scent she favored. There was no man after Spike. Not for her. This was it. She had found it at seventeen years old. Her it.

“No one else,” she replied gutturally when she felt she could. “God, you know that.”

“Bloody.” Thrust. “Right.”

“Ooohhh…”

“You drive me wild. Fuckin’ wild.” At that, he pulled out of her completely; his eyes wide and fixed on her. The tip of his erect penis deliberately brushed against her sensitive folds, gaze dancing when she gasped and tried to draw him back inside. “You undo me at a look. A sodding touch.”

“Spike!”

“Jus’ thought you needed to know it was serious.”

Buffy’s nails dug into his forearms. Stupid man-shaped man and his teasing. Her legs shot up and wound around his waist, using her leverage to flip him under her. Positioning his cock at her seeping entrance and sinking rapturously down on him again before he had the chance to react. Watching his eyes widen in surprise, then close in euphoria as a long, wrangled moan tore through his throat.

“Serious,” she replied, surprised at the conversational note in her voice when her body began moving sensually over his. “Yes, I’d say it’s very serious.” She slid down his length until her pussy was brushing against the base of his erection, their soft curls mingling together, her hands pinning his arms to the bed.

Then she enacted those muscles she had discovered the night before, and began squeezing the life out of him.

“Oh fuck.” Her hands strengthened the hold on him as he tried to sit up, his pelvis bucking into hers. “Jesus, Buffy.”

“Mmmm. Like that?”

He was going cross-eyed. “Fuck!”

“Only me, right?” She grinned and shrugged when he looked at her, perplexed. “Hey, turnabout’s fair play.”

At that, he seemed to have nothing else to do but nod. Fervently. “Only you,” he babbled, a long mewl rumbling through his mouth when she squeezed him again. Tighter. “Only you. Now an’ forever. Never anyone else. Mine. My Buffy. God, I love you.”

Her smile melted from indulgent to adoring at that, and she slowly lifted herself off him, then back down again. Regulating her rhythm against him as he had the night before. Teasingly allowing his cock to slip from her warm wetness, one leg holstered to the bed, the other around him. She navigated his belled head so that it brushed against her clit, her eyes going wide at the contact. “Oh God.”

“Oh God!” Spike agreed breathlessly, hands wrangled in her sheets. “So bloody hot. Fuck, what you do to me.”

She rubbed him against her mercilessly, eyes closed. God, where this hoe-baggery had come from, she did not know or care. All that mattered at that moment was the sensuous feel of him against her as she teased herself. “Uhhh…”

And when he spoke again, his voice was wrangled. Throaty. Pleading. “Buffy…God, please.”

Her eyes flashed open at that, and she nodded before navigating him inside her once more. Collective groans sounding through the air already heavy with their combined scents. Buffy threw her head back and began moving again slowly, her hands finding purchase at his hips, steadying as she rode him to a slow gallop. He watched her through hooded eyes; watched the slow bounce of her breasts that taunted him with their taste. Watched her face contort in ecstasy. Combed his fingers through her hair as his other hand sought out her center. Found her clit and rubbed furiously. Her gasps clawed at the room around them, and suddenly she was coming. Her hips crashing over him as she screamed his name in a twist of jubilation. Spike’s hands flew to her thighs with a grunt, propelling himself deep into her as he sputtered his release. Growling something fierce as her muscles milked him for everything he had to give her. Her name a whispered prayer on his lips.

Years later, Buffy collapsed wearily onto his chest, harsh pants clawing for freedom. She felt his heart thundering against his chest, his gasps ringing alongside hers. A hand coming up to brush her sweat-laced hair off her back. Spike held her to him in the midst of their recovery, his brow pressed against hers. Their mouths close. Breaths intermingled. Still locked in intimacy. Fastened around each other as though of the same make.

“Where,” he finally said, looking at her in awe. Long gone was the virgin he had made love to the night before. The woman astride him was completely different in a way that was both wondrous and confounding. There was no way she had learned any of those tricks from him. Not last night. “Where…did you learn that?”

And incredibly—incredibly—she blushed. “I…don’t know. I…was it okay?”

Spike blinked at her dumbly. “Okay? Sodding okay? Bloody well killed me! Fucking Christ, I never felt anythin’ like that.” He shook his head in wonder. “You’re incredible. God, I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Buffy released a trembling sigh. “I really don’t know what…I don’t know. Maybe leftovers from Halloween?” Her flush deepened and she glanced down self-consciously. “Liz…ummm…knew a few tricks. I guess I…I dunno.”

He shook his head again, brushing loose locks of hair away from her face. “Bloody amazing,” he murmured. “Fuck, I love you. Love you so much.”

“You keep saying that,” she observed, head ducking almost shyly.

“I’ll never stop sayin’ it. You’ve got yourself a willin’ slave, sweetheart. I’m putty in your hands.” He stopped, waggling his brows teasingly, thrusting his hardening cock deeper within her. “Though in your hands, I doubt anythin’ would turn to putty.”

“Uhhh…”

Spike slid his hands up her arms. “You’re tremblin’,” he mused. “My sweet girl. Is this too much?”

“No. No.” As if to berate him for thinking so, those wondrous muscles of hers wringing him in a long, agonizing squeeze. “Never too much. Uhhh…feel so good.” A whimper. “So good.”

“You too.” He hauled himself up considerately, cradling her in his arms. She was still shaking hard. Despite what she said, he knew she had to be sore. Slayer or no Slayer, her body wasn’t used to this. Not from last night or that unbelievable shag she had just shared with him. It was all new to her. These sensations. These feelings. He didn’t know how it worked with people like them; only that last night had been the best of his life. Her love, her body—knowing that she was his now…all of it. The best of his life for so many reasons. So, so many reasons. And he wasn’t about to ruin it now by exhausting her while these feelings were so fresh. When she wasn’t sure what her body was capable of. When even he wasn’t sure.

He didn’t want to push her. Didn’t want to push anything right now.

Not when this part was new to both of them.

A small murmur of complaint rumbled from her lips when he pulled out of her. “Spike?”

“Gonna draw you a bath, kitten.” He ran a tender hand up her leg, caressing her inner thigh in a way that was more sensual than it was sexual, despite all the tasty implications. “Make sure you’re not achy.”

“I’m not. I thought I might be but…Slayer strength?”

He smiled kindly and brushed a kiss over her lips. “Indulge me.”

Buffy’s eyes widened and warmed, and she did not refuse him. Could not. Merely nodded and climbed to wobbly legs. Her arms wrapped around him as he led her from her room. Stepping into the rest of the house a different girl. A woman. A woman curled in the protective embrace of the man she loved. The world being seen through new eyes.

“Would this be a co-ed bath?” she whispered as he began to draw steamy water into her previously virtuous bathtub. The same tub that looked a haven now for new explorations of the doorway he had opened the night before.

“Oh yeh.” Spike’s gaze raked over her body appreciatively, and he licked his lips. “Definitely.”

She grinned and hugged him with a note of spontaneity. “Thank you.”

“For what, sweetling?”

“Everything. Last night was perfect. And this morning…I dunno. Feels like a dream.”

An ironic smile tickled his lips, and he caressed her cheek gracefully. “Know what you mean,” he agreed. “An’ there’s one more thing.” He dipped his mouth to stroke hers into an intense kiss, tasting her fully as though he did not already have her flavor memorized. “Happy birthday.”

A pause. Then she pulled back and giggled. “God, I’d forgotten.”

“Me, too. Nearly.”

“Happy birthday, Spike.”

His smile broadened, and he nuzzled her hair with reverence. “Do I get my prezzie now?” he asked, pulling her against him. “Or later?”

“Hrm. Well…how about…the prezzie our friends don’t see now? The one that involves the bathtub.”

“There’s a prezzie that involves a bathtub, huh?”

She nodded. “I’m unpredictable.”

“Baby, you don’ have to explain that to me.” Spike smirked and shut off the water, leading her into the bath first before sinking in behind her. His arms around her waist, his persistent arousal caressing her lovely backside. “An’ the other prezzie?”

“Tonight. At the surprise party I’m not supposed to know about, where you have to pretend to like it even if you hate it.”

The thought that he could hate anything she gave him was preposterous. “I’ll love it.”

“You don’t know what it is.”

“’S from you. I’ll love it.”

“You know how lame that sounds, right?”

He shrugged. “’m a lame sort’ve bloke.” He reached for a poof ball that sat at the edge of the tub, appraising it with a cocked brow but deciding not to ask questions. “An’ you…you’ll get yours tonight, too.”

“Tonight?”

“In front of the others.” Spike grinned and sank his teeth playfully into her shoulder, prompting her to twist in his arms so that she was straddling his lap once more. “Where you have to pretend to like it even if you hate it.”

“I’ll love it.”

“How do you know?”

A pause. “It’s from you.”

“Lame.”

“Yeah. I’m lame, you’re lame. We’re all lame.” Buffy giggled, and the music behind it made his heart tighten with all those poncy notes of poetry he couldn’t help but want to sputter every time she was around. “We can be lame together,” she decided, wrapping her arms around his throat.

“There are worse things,” Spike agreed heatedly, stealing an impassioned kiss from her lips. Trying to ignore the way he was sure she was deliberately moving over his erection. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“An’ you’re doin’ that on purpose.”

Buffy smirked. “You betcha.”

“Minx.”

“Perv.”

“Kettle.”

“Pot.”

Spike curled his fingers around her hair, pulling her down for another kiss as his cock pressed against her pussy, and she sank down on him again. “Mine,” he breathed blissfully.

“Yours.”

And they settled at that. Wrapped in each other. The day singing its morning song around them.

Today. Just one day locked in rapture. One day to explore the feelings and vibrations claimed the night before.

Just one day.

It wasn’t too much to ask.

*~*~*

Drusilla’s wails finally subsided with the coming of dawn, and she fell into a deep sleep, curled snugly into Penn’s side. He had promised her when the pain was at its peak that he would stay with her, but couldn’t abide her whining any longer. Damn woman was giving him a headache, and there was too much to address. Angelus’s coming out party had not gone as he had envisioned. There were no bodies littering the floors of Sunnydale High. The Slayers they had aimed to kill and be finished with were probably screwing each other’s brains out. By their scent the night before, he knew their prelude to the mating dance had all but ended. It had been tempting, though more so for Angelus, he imagined, to soil the slip of a girl before the other could have a go at her.

For what she had done to Drusilla, she would suffer as none ever had.

“I don’t remember you caring this much for her back in the day,” Angelus drawled as he strolled luxuriously into their chamber. “Seems to me you offered to compensate me richly if I took her off your hands every now and then.”

Penn snickered bitterly and wiped his mouth. “Wanna hear something just as funny? Don’t recall you complaining. You always enjoyed her more than I did.”

“And yet, I’m not the one coddling her now.” His sire shrugged easily, collapsing into the nearest chair and kicking his feet up in a manner of subtle impertinence for everything his childe had claimed. The gesture was not lost on Penn, and he had all but forgotten how much the little things like that could irritate him. “Dru’s had worse. More over, she typically enjoys it. Bend over now and you’ll never have any self-respect.”

“This coming from the eater of rats? I’ve been with her for a century and a half. I know how to take care of her.”

“A hundred and fifty years. Wow. Now there’s something to be proud of.” Angelus rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Dru was never monogamous, my boy. And neither were you, come to think of it. Suddenly Daddy’s back and you’re building a fortress around her. What gives?”

“Not suddenly. You don’t think I know she’s yours? I knew that in bringing you back, which—by the way—you’re welcome.” A pause. “Dru likes playing with stakes, I’ll grant you, but she never has had the pleasure of actually feeling one. I’m thinking your girlfriend’s stunt last night opened her up to more than she was ready for.” Penn’s eyes narrowed at that and he clapped his hands together, bounding to his feet. “Speaking of which, I can’t help but notice that she isn’t dead yet.”

Angelus cocked a brow. “Oh come on. You know me better than that.”

“Well, how about this. Neither is that mockery of existence. You know, the one you were gonna leave on her doorstep, preferably mutilated beyond recognition?”

Another easy shrug. “Things change.”

“Yeah, well, things change back. Why don’t you do something about that?”

“The girl got in my way, Penny. It’s no fun to kill them right in front of each other. So already been there, done that.” He shot a pointed look in Drusilla’s direction. “With this one, it’s the aftertaste you have to savor. Killing him when she half expected it? Not so much with the creativity. Killing him, oh say, when she’s blissfully happy? Sure nothing can touch her? Not looking for me around every corner? Has a bit more impact, I’d say.”

Penn glared at him. “Yeah, impact. Feeling it. How about we lose the impact, and just kill the kids? Forever’s a long time to live while relishing in the destruction of two measly Slayers, Angelus. How about this…you focus on Buffy, Dru and I will have fun with the other one.”

The elder vampire regarded him quietly. As though he had said something particularly dangerous. “You certainly are taking initiative,” he said. “There was a time when my word was as good as the word of God. And, you being a Puritan and all…”

“One time. Not anymore. You haven’t been head vamp around here for a while, Angelus. And me and Dru? Not so sure your heart’s in this.” Penn shook his head in disgust. “See what having a soul does to you? Building excuses like this won’t get anything done. I thought I’d take care of those Slayers before we brought you back. They weren’t what I was after. Guess what. That’s changed. And you’re gonna like it, or we’ll stuff that soul back up your ungrateful ass and stake you before you can start weeping your amends.”

Angelus looked at him as though he had said something highly entertaining. “Well, well, well,” he mused. “Someone became a man while I was away.”

“You think I’m not good for it?”

“No, I think you are, and that’s what’s so funny.”

Penn snickered. “Yeah. Eat it up all you like. Just remember, you made me into you. All your tricks? All those moves you think are so unpredictable? Know them. Know them and well. We’re gonna do this my way, or we’re not doing it at all. Got it?”

His sire extended his hands diplomatically, shrugging. “You’re the boss.”

It was a tone that carried everything but sincerity. And they both knew it.

Such had been this way between them for centuries. This way, or some form of it. And what was more; Penn had known it when he arrived. When Drusilla first presented the idea of bringing their sire back into this. In dragging Angelus out of the baby-faced package he came in. He had known it, but he hadn’t cared.

Beneath that, there was respect. Respect that the elder vampire had never had for any of his childer. Respect he would never confess. Especially now, torn away from his crucifix and back into the body he was meant for.

None of the rest mattered. They had Slayers to kill.

He had always wondered what it would be like to taste one. Just once. And now he had his chance.

Provided his sire didn’t get in the way.

[/nextpage]

[nextpage title=”Part 15″ ]

Part 15: Starving For Mercy

Two long weeks had passed, and nothing.

Only there wasn’t truly nothing. Not where Angelus was concerned. And there was no end to the string of lackeys the legendary vampire procured. The dead were mounting, more and more that the Slayers had to put down. Such to the point where days were lost to sleep, school missed for the need of rest in preparation for that night’s patrol.

Of course, Joyce knew none of this. It was at Giles’s urging. Angelus’s reemergence had brought several seemingly unrelated issues into the limelight. Spike moved into his Watcher’s house the day after their birthday celebration, and it was decided after this mess with the vampires was over that he would take up employment in the Sunnydale High library. Something that satisfied everyone for practicality. A Slayer with his Watcher all day, and conveniently near the other Slayer to steal away for passionate trysts.

For now, though, with the graveyards crawling with vampires—not to mention the regular assortment of demons that they faced—Buffy and Spike had wasted away days sleeping in each other’s arms. Giles provided a cover for Snyder, despite the weasel of a principal’s outlook, and so they rested.

Which in itself presented a minor problem. After five days of consecutive absences, the school had finally phoned home to inform Joyce that Buffy had not touched school ground in over a week. Furthermore, the librarian, who really had no authority in issues involving student attendance, thus far had accounted for the matter. Offered slips to the office in explanation for her daughter’s conspicuous nonappearance in every class.

It didn’t much help when Buffy phoned home to remind her mother to sign her midterm report, and by the magic of the Caller ID, was found out to be at Giles’s flat.

The fact that she was there with her boyfriend was immaterial. Logic flown out the window, both by motherly concerns and the prompting insinuations of Principal Snyder, Joyce stormed to Sunnydale High on a particularly cloudy afternoon and found the man in question dusting some covers in the abandoned library.

Giles glanced up in surprise. It being during class and habit telling him that none of his makeshift demon hunters had a free period right now, the presence of someone in the library was a little daunting. True, Spike had phoned earlier to inform him that he and Buffy had awaken and were on their way to talk about that night’s patrol strategy, but he knew by now that ‘on their way’ likely meant anywhere between now and the next two hours. It had become rather impossible to ignore the very real sex life his surrogate daughter had discovered since the new Slayer had started taking residence in his home.

He tried to make peace with that by convincing himself that since it was prophesized, interfering wasn’t in anyone’s best interest.

Though Buffy was the closest thing to a daughter he would ever have—the looks the two shared when they thought no one was paying attention were more than he ever wanted to consider. He took some refuge at least in Spike’s consideration; to his knowledge, nothing inappropriate had been done in his house. With as fatigued as the two were from nightly patrols, sleep was the only thing they could accomplish in the day.

Again, or so he tried to convince himself.

That did not account for the presence of a very livid Joyce Summers in his library.

“Mrs. Summers,” he said diplomatically, flashing a welcoming smile as he set his feather duster aside. “What can I do for you?”

The woman was not in a mood for diplomacy. Had it not been evident on her face, he certainly knew it for what she said next. Ire mounting and all, the implication in itself enough to make his stomach curl in revulsion.

“Are you sleeping with my daughter?”

Giles squeaked and fell abruptly to the ground, his mind suddenly filled with both astonishment and a foray of things he needed a demon’s help to banish. Where on earth had she ever received such a disgusting, hideous, absurd notion?

The next minute, he was on his feet again, glasses swimming in handkerchief.

“Wh—pardon?”

“My daughter. Buffy. She talks about you a lot. More so than any of her teachers, whom I know she is required to see by law every day. Speaking of which, she hasn’t been here for a week. And it’s you who has signed her out of class. Every class. Every day.” Joyce was fuming, hell-bent on his guilt. God, the look in her eyes was enough to make him doubt his innocence. All at once, he felt very, very unclean. “But the real kicker? She called to remind me to sign something earlier today. And she was at your house.”

“I…I…Good God, that is just appalling!” He would need new lenses for his glasses if he didn’t set them aside. “Mrs. Summers, I assure you, Buffy is like a daughter to me. I would never—”

“Am I to assume there’s a perfectly logical explanation?”

“Yes. Yes! Of course.” Oh thank God. If ever there was a day for the two to be prompt, it was today. And prompt they were. Buffy and Spike strode through the library doors the next second, and relief rolled off his shoulders, sweet as any he had ever tasted.

“Mom?”

“Buffy, tell your mother we are not sleeping together.”

The Slayers stopped in their tracks, their faces scrunched up in mutual disgust.

“Okay, how many times can I say ewww?”

“Not enough,” Giles readily added. “In fact, just stand there and say ‘ewww’ for an hour or so. That’s your exercise for the day.”

Joyce’s determination wavered at that, her eyes settled on Spike. “Oh. Oh. Right. The boyfriend.” She shook her head. “Who’s Mr. Giles’s son.”

Giles’s gaze widened at that, but one look at his Slayers was more than enough convincing he needed to go on. Better she think Spike was his son than something lewd and awful and disgusting and there just weren’t enough synonyms to describe with Buffy.

His housemate smiled awkwardly at Buffy’s mother and waved a little. “’Lo, Joyce,” he said, tense. For as innocent as Giles was, he knew damn well his—erm— son was not. “Doin’ all right?”

Thankfully, he went ignored.

“Well…” The woman was thoroughly confused. “I don’t understand. Principal Snyder said that Mr. Giles had been signing her out of classes. And he…well, he made some suggestions that…” She shook her head. “Okay, I’m sorry. I lost my head a little. But that still doesn’t explain why you’ve been excusing her from class.”

No. No, it did not.

But something else did. And it was beyond time that she was told. If not for her safety now in a time where three very dangerous vampires with vendettas were loose in town, then to avoid a situation like this for the rest of eternity.

The visuals her accusations had spurned would need to be burned from his retina.

“Ummm…please sit down,” Giles said awkwardly, motioning to Buffy and Spike in a manner that he hoped conveyed what they needed to do. Now more than ever.

And so they had sat down and come clean. There. That afternoon. Giles and his Slayers, and Joyce.

Two days had since passed. Joyce was coming to terms slowly, which was progress from the mess she had made of it when the words ‘vampire slayer’ tumbled carelessly from his lips. It had taken some convincing to be considered seriously, and it was not all for naught. She now knew that her daughter was a Slayer as was Spike, and that, no, he was not related to Giles in any way. He was, however, staying with him indefinitely. And Giles was their Watcher, and that was why Buffy spent so much time with him.

More importantly, she knew that Angel was a vampire. A recently turned evil vampire. And to never be outside after dark. Ever.

She also knew why Buffy was missing school. And after the initial period of motherly objection and a long, tedious explanation as to the virtues of saving the world above an education from Sunnydale High, she agreed to start making the calls herself. On the provision that Buffy would ask Willow to help her through makeup work…and that she stay at home to sleep rather than going to Giles’s house where she would be unsupervised all day with her boyfriend.

If the understanding woman had noticed the dueled embarrassed looks that refused to dart anywhere near her proximity at the hint of what they might do together, she didn’t say a word.

That Friday morning before she left for work, Joyce left some money on Buffy’s nightstand with a note that she should treat herself to lunch whenever she awoke. Then she brushed her hair out of her face, kissed her forehead, and went out to face the day.

And no sooner had the front door closed, the Slayer’s eyes popped open. She listened for a moment to make sure her mother hadn’t forgotten anything, then crawled over to unlatch the window when she was satisfied. As she had suspected, Spike was there, smiling drowsily against the light of a fresh day.

“Mornin’ sweetheart,” he greeted sleepily, meeting her lips for a quick kiss. “Mum away?”

Buffy grinned as his arms came around her. “As always,” she agreed, equally exhausted. “Did you get to talk to Giles?”

“He was gone by the time my alarm clock went off. ‘S not like we have anythin’ to report.”

Her drowsy eyes sparkled. “You know, sweetie, I love having you here, but if you wanted to stay back at Giles’s, I wouldn’t hold it against you.”

Spike shook his head, catching the boxers he had lent her forever ago as she tossed them in his direction. Since her mother’s declaration that staying unsupervised at Giles’s was a no-no, they had taken to relocating at her house. She hadn’t known he was going to take that measure; had merely stirred the day before at the sound of him rasping at her window. She had smiled knowingly and risen from sleep, let him in, and then fallen again onto bed, dozing the day away. “Can’t sleep without you,” he replied, slipping into the boxers, his jeans pooled on the floor. “Not well.”

“Me, either. Just wanted to let you know that it wasn’t necessary if you didn’t want to.”

He flashed a tired grin and shook his head. “I’ll always want to be near you, baby. Now get to sleep. You had a busy night.”

“Mmm,” she agreed as they settled back onto her bed. His chest pressed to her back, an arm draped protectively over her waist. “You, too.”

Spike murmured something she couldn’t decipher and pressed a kiss against her throat, nuzzling her hair adoringly. “Goodnight.”

Buffy cuddled against him, happy. “’Night.”

“Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

And they slept.

*~*~*

It had started innocently enough. Drusilla wandering aimlessly in the foyer of the factory, a dazed look on her face. Angelus was no stranger to her bizarre mood swings. Rather, in the early days of their acquaintance, it was what had drawn him to her. And truthfully, it had seemed harmless begin with. Singing in the imaginary sunlight, twirling around vampire lackeys that now knew better than to ask questions about their bizarre mistress.

When she had gasped, though, in that fashion that always foretold a vision, the entire house had stilled with foreboding.

“Tick tock,” she had moaned. “Tick tock, tick tock. The little gypsy has the clock. Come for you, come for you, and bring our family back to two.” She had glanced up, horror flashed across her eyes. “She’s going to do it, my sweet. She’s going to move heaven and earth and bury you back into ground.”

“Gypsy?” he had snarled. “Now, now, Dru. I don’t care for that kind of language in my house.”

“Nasty girl. Swimming in science and equations. Picking them out like strawberries. Giving crackers to all the acrobats and leaving no crumbs for the kittens.”

It didn’t take much to patch through her riddles, and really, this conclusion had always been inevitable. With one such as Buffy, parlor stunts were called upon with unhealthy dependability. The presumptions alone were almost too infuriating for words…which brought them where they were. Penn had taken the threat seriously; he had gone to great extents to get his sire back. And there was no way the family would allow some two-bit trick reensoul him, regardless of their very notable differences.

The Slayers themselves were out. Angelus had made sure of that. With as busy as he had kept the little darlings these past two weeks, there was some measure of reassurance that they would get right to patrol without asking questions. Without coming by the library first.

Which really? Fantastic. The little runt was working from her desk, like all naïve humans would. What honestly kept her from taking her precious word processor home? Not that it was of any consequence, or anything. He was going to kill her dead either way.

Well…he supposed Penn could try and tag along. Really, the boy was getting on his nerves. That was the chance one took when you made a protégé to be exactly like oneself. And with as grateful as he was, killing the whelp was out of the question. Penn was family: straight from the horse’s mouth. He was family, and he had been the head of the house for a century. It really wasn’t his fault that he naturally assumed that role would remain his once he had his way.

That they would have to deal with later.

Right now, he had a teacher to kill.

Blood straight from the tap was delicious. Blood from those who thought they knew you? Priceless. The cunting gypsy was currently typing away in the dark of her classroom. She hadn’t even noticed him slip in.

Not that anyone noticed Angelus when he didn’t want to be seen. The sheer capacity of foolishness among humans, though, was something he would never cease to call upon for matters of amusement.

A notion that only increased when she finally noticed that she wasn’t alone, screamed, and jumped out of her chair. Moving predictably toward the door. As though he would let her out. “Angel…” she said, the sound of his humanized name on her lips inciting a small growl. Another shortcoming of humanity; they simply didn’t know how to tell oranges from apples. “How did you get in here?”

Well, first off, schools? Not exactly vampire proof.

He would give her the stupid answer. It was more appeasing in the mind. After all, the poor dear was about to be torn limb from limb. Might as well relax her confusion. Manners first.

“I was invited,” he replied nonchalantly. “The sign in front of the school. Formatia trans sicere educatorum.”

“Enter all ye who seek knowledge.”

For fuck’s sake, when did everyone in town become a Latin scholar?

“What can I say?” He leapt up and began toward her. “I’m a knowledge seeker.”

Predictably, Jenny gasped and edged back even further. Her eyes wide and pleading, even as her voice attempted to remain calm. Points for creativity, but she wasn’t going to get very far. “Angel. I-I-I’ve got good news.”

“I’ve heard. You went shopping at the local boogedy-boogedy store.” He grinned unrepentantly at the look on her face, scooping up the paper-weight-like object resting on her desk. “The Orb of Thesula. If memory serves, this is supposed to summon a person’s soul…from the ether…store it until it can be transferred.”

As though inspired by his words, the small sphere sparked to life. Jenny was still backing up. Banking on speed and agility to save her from the claws of Heaven’s rejected angel. It was a sweet thought, really. The chase was what he craved. The chase in the midst of all else. “You know what I hate most about these things?” A scream tore through the air as the orb soared into the chalkboard behind her, shattering brilliantly as tiny, lost pieces scattered to the floor. “They’re so damn fragile. Must be that shoddy gypsy craftsmanship, huh?”

“I’d certainly agree.” That was Penn. In from the other door. Angelus smiled but didn’t turn to him, kept his eyes directly on the teacher. Even so, he felt his childe moving forward, evidently in even poorer spirits than himself. “’Course, the art of soulling and reensouling is sort’ve something I wouldn’t leave to gypsies anyway. They’re almost certain to fuck something up.”

“Such a mouth,” the elder vampire chided, shaking his head with fake apology. “His mother never taught him any manners.”

“No she did. Must be that rotten religious upbringing,” Penn retorted, stepping forward. “Guess I never outgrew that pesky teenage rebellion thing. Though really, was well above a teenager when I died.”

That was it. Jenny was about to make an honest attempt at the door. Not that she would get far. Two vampires in the room, and an equally irate Drusilla outside. The poor woman was just, well, in a word, screwed.

“Wouldn’t try that,” Angelus warned, not quick enough to drown out her shrill scream at the sight of yet another demon crowding her exit. “Can’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Angel—”

He shook his head, walking her slowly into the far corner by the window as Drusilla entered the room. Now with two childer on either side, targeting prey in the midst of darkness she had never attempted to alleviate. “Now, now, Jenny,” he said softly. “Let’s not call each other names.”

Her eyes widened as his face shifted, a silent scream frozen in her throat.

A silent scream that never knew life, which was a little disappointing. He would admit that much.

He enjoyed it so when they screamed.

*~*~*

If he were one to look at results based on patterns, Buffy and Spike’s patrol would consist of another traffic jam of demon attacks. They were beginning to slip from the habit of reporting in at the end of the night. Not that there was really any motivation for panicked concern—not yet. Despite the severity of the looming conditions, he trusted that together, the two Slayers were practically unstoppable. The way they looked out for each other was more than simply a little uncanny. Such to the point that the days before Spike’s arrival were shady and misleading. His memories seemed to be rewriting themselves.

He couldn’t remember what that time must have been like. A time filled with endless worry and late nights, dreading the conversation that Watchers had had with parents of dead children since time began. And granted, he wasn’t so settled that the notion did not remain front and center; just that Spike was with her now.

He was far too protective of her to let her go.

Giles knew well the feeling.

He was in a really fantastic mood, and the knowledge astounded him. There was every possibility that Angelus and Penn and the others were plotting something terrible. Something horrible that might even range on the scale of apocalyptic, but everything aside seemed to be falling into place. Joyce now knew that her daughter was the Slayer; knew about the creatures that went bump in the night. Knew everything. And all things considered, she had taken the revelation with surprising understanding.

As it was, he had some researching he wanted to further. Thus far, none of his books had stated that Penn had any particular hunting patterns…but there were a thousand texts out there. A thousand places in his own library left to search, and a wealth of knowledge he couldn’t even begin to comprehend should he contact the Council. Regardless, they would have everything they needed in due course.

Bringing in the Council now would just make things messier. He wasn’t ready for that. Wasn’t ready to say he didn’t trust his Slayers to get the job done, because he did. He very much did. They were nothing if not efficient.

Though tonight, the rules would change. Everything would change.

The weight of Giles’s merriment dropped the second he crossed the threshold into the Sunnydale High library. He knew it before he saw it. A sort of premonition that slammed into him just seconds before his eyes fell upon her lifeless face. Then everything else was gone. Dropped. Snapped. Vanished. Coldness filled his body, and his books tumbled to the floor.

“Oh God.”

*~*~*

It was a cosmic reminder to never underestimate how quickly the world could fall to pieces. The next few hours demonstrated that sentiment with perfect clarity, and left the realm of rationalization somewhere in the wastelands of neglect. Somewhere between police reports and phone calls to those he knew and loved, Giles had snapped and flown off the deep end to the place the sane never came back from.

A reasoning with Buffy and Spike as they studied the scene at the library. Not listening to the prattle of Xander and Willow behind them. There was only one conclusion to draw. Weapons were gone, yes, but he would have gone home. The better weapons—the weapons reserved for situations where the world was ending…that’s where he kept those.

Not at the library. Not where just anyone could find them.

The Slayers had glanced grimly to each other, turned, and walked out as Harris went on about Angel and how no one had killed him yet. Seeming to ignore the fact that they had been looking for him avidly every night for two weeks to little avail. Whatever the master vampire had planned, it definitely fell outside the territory of his typical modus operandi.

But Angel knew them. He knew where to twist the knife. And he had murdered Jenny Calendar. Murdered her; that was Angel. He had done that. She knew it. But there were too many signatures here. Her body was displayed in an upside down cross, pinned into the wall at the far side of the library. That was Penn. She knew that, too. Didn’t know how she knew, but she did. Jenny’s eyes were scratched over as well. Nails. Female. Drusilla.

There was a pile of books beneath her body. Pages open to historical accounts of hunting patterns of Angelus, particularly when he was unaccompanied by his childe. They were saturated in blood.

That…that was Angelus.

And Giles had seen it. Giles had found her.

At the Watcher’s house, they found a small ritual that Willow identified as a location spell. Something that none had thought of prior to tonight.

They had a location now. A place to go.

A place where Giles had gone.

He was going to get himself killed.

*~*~*

It was not good to distract a man facing three dangerous vampires and surrounded in a foyer that was slowly being swallowed by the flames of a climbing inferno. Really, Buffy didn’t know what she was thinking. All she knew was her Watcher had trapped himself in a death pit and for the look on his face, she didn’t know whether or not he cared.

That thought alone was what terrified her most of all.

Particularly when Penn seized the opportunity to leap at him, fangs bared.

“Giles!”

Stop. Doing. That.

The next thing she knew, Spike was no longer at her side. A flash of platinum blonde hair and he was gone, lunging himself at Angelus, who looked more amused if not a little scathed from the old man’s failed attack. Buffy expelled a deep breath, cursing herself for the way her eyes watered.

She didn’t even really know how she got to him. One minute, she was standing at the entryway, stupidly still, her muscles evidently forgetting that they served a purpose and had been known to move on occasion; the next, she had propelled herself against the room. Twisting the snarling bastard away from her Watcher, regarding him with as much hatred as she had ever felt for a vampire when his golden gaze settled on her. Amused. Dismissive. “Well,” he drawled nastily. “Looks like someone’s finally getting serious.”

Once again she felt a familiar stirring in the bottom of her stomach. Her eyes fixed on the vampire in front of her. Watching him as he watched her. Watching him as the fire spread through the factory and everyone with any sense about them scattered. Flew out any exit available. She could see Spike and Angel throwing and blocking punches behind him. Her grip around her stake tightened, and she knew then that there would be no victory here today. Not from Penn or Angel. No victory.

She had to get them out.

More over, she had to make them hurt. A lot.

Thus, with precision she knew inherently to be accurate, Buffy hurled herself into the air and twirled, the stake launching from her grasp. It spun in slow motion, gravity tugging her back to the earth. Back to the room filled with fire. Back to where the vampires were.

Back, watching in triumph as Drusilla’s eyes went wide, the stake lodged securely in her heart. She barely got to scream. Barely sounded a cry before her skin peeled off into clumps of dust, rotting away as her corpse was robbed of animation. Watching the greedy flames claim her in their name.

The inhuman scream that tore from Penn’s throat was only outmatched by the fury she saw in Angel’s eyes. Still airborne—still in slow motion. Similarly, she saw Spike lunge at the eldest of the vampires, tugging him back into their struggle before he advanced even two paces.

Her return to the ground came hours later, it seemed. Hours after Drusilla had vanished. Hours after that horrible cry had erupted from Penn’s tortured mouth. Even as it rang around them still, it remained beyond the sphere of believability. She landed harshly on her feet, automatically reaching for her other stake, sensing the scorned lover’s attack without having to rely on any of her predatory skills. It was just known. Just accepted.

The fire was growing thicker around them.

“I’m going to make you wish you were never born,” the vampire spat, eyes gleaming.

The line itself was cliché, but she saw that he meant it. If it reduced him to dust, he was determined to see her curse her own existence before he ended it. And that, perhaps, was the single most frightening instant of her life. Standing there as hell burned down around them, a bereaved vampire fueled with rage; she was his target. His reason.

He would see her dead. He would put her in the ground before making her beg for it.

If she let him. And she would not let him.

The next thing she knew, Penn’s body lurched upward, his slamming against the nearest wall. She started in twisted astonishment, relief consuming her when she saw Spike standing behind him. His ocean-blue gaze filled with the most gut-wrenching sorrow she had ever seen, tied in there with the same in concern and relief. He released a breath and rushed for her, seizing her hand.

“We gotta get outta here.”

“Giles?”

“Outside. I made sure he got out.”

“Angel?”

“Don’ know. Don’ fuckin’ care.”

Buffy didn’t realize how badly she had needed to breathe until Spike gave her back the night. She choked on clean air until she thought perhaps it would kill her. Then her eyes fell on Giles, sitting at the edge of the pavement, his expression vacant. His mind far from them.

God, she wanted to be so mad at him. What would have happened if they hadn’t come here tonight? What would have happened?

There were two men in the world that she couldn’t live without, and they were both with her right now. Standing with her. Spike holding her hand tight enough to hurt anyone of lesser strength. Panting harshly enough that she nearly didn’t notice the building behind them collapsing under the weight of its firestorm.

“Giles?”

She didn’t recognize the sound of her own voice.

He glanced up dimly, looking at her as though he had no idea who she was or why she would know his name. “You should not have come here,” he said softly. “Not your fight.”

“It’s always my fight.” Though it killed her, she tore away from Spike and knelt beside her broken Watcher, face crumpling at the lost void behind his eyes. And it was as though her tears were all that he needed to rupture himself. Father and daughter, comforting in the midst of their wracking fears.

She felt Spike behind her just before he joined her on the ground, his arms trembling and around her. Protective. She felt the dampness of his tears against her back, and her body shook with the tenfold of that knowledge.

Then they were holding each other. The three of them. Next to a building that burned.

Held each other as the sky came tumbling down.

[/nextpage]

[nextpage title=”Part 16″ ]

Part 16: When The Road Gets Dark

Buffy would never forget the day of Jenny’s funeral. It was the first she had been to, the first time someone close had died. The first time the strain of mortality was brought front and center. Sure, there had been assorted instances in the past; her mother reminded her that her grandmother had passed when she was five, and that distant uncle that she had never met succumbed to liver disease just before they moved to Sunnydale. People she knew by blood but didn’t care about. Had no past full of memories to share with those she loved.

The hollow ground of the Hellmouth was home to many—death had simply never seemed real until now. Until she was standing at Spike’s side, the sky predictably overcast, watching her teacher’s lifeless face as she was given to the earth that had killed her.

Death was made real that day.

They had lost someone they loved.

Weeks had passed since then. Since that horrible afternoon when she watched her Watcher cry in the daylight. He didn’t break down as she would have expected of him; rather, silent tears had danced down his cheeks. Nearly stoic. He didn’t look at her. Didn’t meet Spike’s eyes. He gave his eulogy and left. As though they had buried him with her, and left his body above to fulfill his duty.

Patrols had slowed again, and that thought terrified her. Buffy found her nights lonely and dark. She talked with Spike on the phone and saw him when she could, but aside for their sweeps of the cemeteries and whatever training sessions Giles set up for them, she hadn’t wrangled away time to simply be with him. He wasn’t too thrilled with the notion of leaving their Watcher alone when he was breaking, though the looks he sent her when they were in the same room read for all the pangs of longing that she felt pulling at her stomach.

Death had brought them closer together even as circumstances forced them apart. It wasn’t anyone’s fault; she could go to Giles’s if she wanted, but she didn’t want to disrespect him by making out with her boyfriend right under his nose…or other things. She also agreed with Spike’s observation that leaving the man alone was one of the dumber things they could do now.

Penn wasn’t dead. She was almost certain he wasn’t dead. There was no way he would allow himself to be taken down so quickly. Angelus wasn’t dead, either. The factory was in ruins, yes, but they had both gotten out. One with the help of the other. And the thought of what they would do when they were strong enough—the retaliation for killing Drusilla that they would enact—only strengthened Buffy’s resolve to have it over with.

Killing Angelus wouldn’t be enough. He needed to be eradicated completely from their lives. His memory erased, the Aurelius lineage reduced to nothing but dust. For what he had done to Giles, there would be no mercy. No point of reckoning. She didn’t care how it happened or when; only that he would be dust. She would do that for him.

It didn’t help that Sunnydale High was preparing to throw a Sadie Hawkins dance—some stupid thing where the girls were supposed to ask the guys out and pay for them and everything. That sort of precursor to Valentine’s Day that seemed far too premature to establish now. Then again, she remembered Christmas parades in the early weeks of November back in Los Angeles. The actual holiday was still a ways off, but the dance designated to be in its honor was booked for that weekend, and she didn’t know how to feel about that.

Well, beneath the surface she did. She very much did. After so much time of obligatory distance apart, she wanted to burrow herself in Spike’s arms and forget all the bad that had happened since they explored their feelings on a night that seemed so long ago. She missed him. His companionship. The way he made her feel better with simply by being there. With his arms around her. The subtle touches he stole when he thought she wasn’t paying attention. The way he nuzzled her hair and kissed her forehead simply because he wanted to.

Which was why she decided to bring up the dance as soon as possible. It was more likely that Spike’s views on high school dances were similar to her own, but still, it was nice to go somewhere and dance away tension, especially if you had your honey at your side. Besides…sweetheart dance. He was her sweetheart, and Willow was going with Oz and Xander was going stag. Her friends were going. She didn’t see why she couldn’t.

Or why Spike couldn’t be her date.

That was one good thing that the weeks had brought on. Willow and Oz. The cuteness that was Willow and Oz. Ever since her birthday party, the two had been nearly inseparable. She was happy for her friend beyond words…and very much of the pleased that her advice had been taken. The two were adorable beyond adorable. So adorable it would’ve made her writhe with envy had she not a hot Slayer-shaped boyfriend who reduced her to liquid heat with a look.

“You’re droppin’ your shoulder,” Spike said, jarring her from her reverie. They had been sparring for the past half-hour, waiting for Giles to show but secretly hoping he wouldn’t. With as awful as it was, the Watcher was coming out of his loss slowly. Buffy just didn’t want a reason to feel guilty for being in love today. “Sweetheart, we’ve talked about this.”

“Maybe my shoulder works better when dropped.”

“Yeh. Certainly turned out well for that Ryzorjk demon we ran into earlier this week, right?”

“I knew that one was going to come back to haunt me.”

“Well, if you hadn’t dropped your shoulder then, we wouldn’t be havin’ this conversation.” Spike grinned rakishly at her, tossing her the staff she had dropped in lieu of his attack. “Come on. Again.”

“Mr. Drill Sergeant.”

“Baby, I’ll drill into you anytime you’d like.” He waggled his eyebrows, and she felt a familiar flush warm her cheeks. Even now, after everything, he still had the ability to embarrass her profusely and make her love every second of it.

Still, material point, here.

“Not of late,” Buffy replied, pouting.

“My girl’s feelin’ neglected,” he replied, sighing. “Sorry, sweetling. You know how much bein’ away from you has killed me. I jus’…” He licked his lips and glanced down. “I don’ know how to…be around him when he’s so bloody miserable an’ I’m so happy, you know? An’ then I think of what I would’ve done if it had been you an’ I…” A shadow crossed his eyes. Dark. Dangerous. And did she mention hot? It was definitely hot. “I miss you.”

“I miss you, too.”

“Been goin’ outta my mind. ‘S jus’…Rupert…” He shook his head and cast a hand through his platinum locks. “I don’ know how to be around him anymore. How to be a bloke who’s…I can’t imagine what he’s goin’ through. But at the same time, it makes me wanna take you some place an’ shag you silly to reassure myself that you’re still here.”

Buffy licked her lips and set her staff aside. “Well…your idea doesn’t sound too bad,” she offered gently.

He smirked. “Doesn’, does it?” A pause; his eyes fell to the ground, confidence evaporating. “Feels like it’s been forever since I touched you. Believe me, baby, this hasn’t been easy for me. Have to bloody well nail myself to the ground every time we get back jus’ so I don’ drag you off to the nearest dark corner.”

“Well…did you…we could…there’s this thing at the end of the week. Didn’t know if you’d heard or—”

“The Sadie Hawkins thing,” he replied with an enthusiastic nod. “Bloody flyers all over the sodding building, luv. Kinda hard to miss.”

She scowled. “Well, why didn’t you say anything?”

“Well, I was under the impression that chits ask the blokes out to this thing, right?” He grinned and began toward her predatorily. “Been waitin’ for you to ask me for the past two bloody weeks.”

Suddenly, talking was something that required a manual. God, he could reduce her to nothing so effortlessly. “H-have you?”

“Imagine how many offers from very willin’ girls I had to refuse?”

The idea of any female of any species going near him was enough to have her hissing and clawing at the suspected culprits. “Spike…”

He chuckled, against her now, and nuzzled her hair. Mmm…swoonage. “You’re adorable when you’re jealous,” he murmured. “’Specially since the idea of another girl’s almost as repellant to me as it is to you.”

“Almost?”

“Buffy, I love you so much I’d move the heaven an’ earth to keep you. You know this.”

More swoonage.

Her flush deepened, and she glanced down almost shyly. “Yeah…”

Spike brushed a kiss across her forehead. “We gotta date then? This thing?”

“Better believe it. Tell your admirers to back the hell off or else your girlfriend’s likely to open up one of those cans labeled ‘ass-kicking.’”

“Don’ have any admirers, sweetheart.”

“You’re gorgeous, you’re British, you’re here all the time…I’d say you have an admirer or two.”

He shrugged easily. “If I do, haven’t noticed. ‘Sides, you can’t tell me you don’ get leered at by every soddin’ male within a fifty mile radius.”

“Well…”

“See? If there’s anyone to worry here, ‘s me. What, with how neglected you’ve been feelin’ lately—”

Buffy rolled her eyes, wrapping her arms around his throat. “I’m kind’ve a social outcast.”

“And? Your classmates still have eyes, don’ they?”

“Plus with the being crazy in love with you and everything…”

“See, you should mention that part more often.” Spike grinned as his mouth dipped to capture hers. The feel of his lips moving against her was almost more than she could take. Just that. The simple sensation of being kissed by the man she loved. Not that the past few weeks had been without their kisses, but this one was more like the kisses she has grown to cherish. That lusty where’s-the-nearest-broom-closet kissage that he wrapped her in so effortlessly.

His tongue stroking hers; yeah, this was the good stuff. She’d missed this.

Badly.

“Mmm…” Spike mused, pulling away before the taste of each other could send their frustrated hormones into even more of a frenzy. “This mean I’ll get to see you in a li’l black dress?”

“You want me in a little black dress?”

“I want you on top of the counter an’ squeezin’ me till I pop, but I’m willin’ to settle.” Spike’s eyes twinkled as she was sure her blush deepened. “So…li’l black dress, or are you gonna surprise me?”

“Well, since it’s the week before, I guess I’ll get whatever’s left.”

“You’ll look gorgeous.”

“Uh huh. Think happy thoughts.”

“Impossible not to,” he assured her, kissing the corner of her mouth in a manner that struck her as unexpectedly intimate. Every touch from him was intimate in its own way, of course. He was just a pro at surprising her. “So…’s this thing a formal?”

“Translation: ‘Do I have to wear a bleedin’ tux?’”

Spike winced. “Maybe not in that accent.”

“My accent’s fine, thank you.”

A sigh rolled off his shoulders and he retrieved her staff. “Again, one of those things I’ll let you believe ‘cause you’re the light in my dreary li’l life an’ I adore every inch of your badly-accented self.”

“Hey!”

“Well, when you try to pass for British, you’re badly accented.” He grinned. “’S’okay, baby. You don’t wanna hear me try to sound like a Yank. Believe me.”

“You know I do now that you’ve said that.”

“Believe me.”

“What if I don’t?”

“Then learn to live with disappointment.”

Buffy arched a brow. “With you? I don’t think that’s possible, Mister.”

Spike’s eyes flashed, genuinely pleased, and he brushed a quick kiss over her lips before forcing the makeshift javelin back into her hands. “Let’s do this again,” he suggested, putting some distance between them and assuming position. “An’ try not to drop your shoulder this time.”

“Meanie.”

He frowned in protest, but shrugged with a similar hint of amusement. “Bint.”

“Jerk.”

“Over-bearin’ chit.”

“Peroxided moron.”

“Bitch.”

“Ass.”

“Wench.”

“Pig.”

“Trollop.”

“Prick.”

“Brazen li’l hussy.”

“Delinquent.”

“Strumpet.”

“Strump-what? I mean, jerk!”

Spike chuckled and deflected another blow as she hurled herself in his direction. “Second time you’ve called me jerk, luv.”

Buffy smirked and tossed her hair. “Question.”

“Yeah?”

“Are you as turned on as I am?”

A pause at her brazenness, then he leered appreciatively. “More.”

And she heard it. Felt it in his voice. All that passion he kept bottled up just for her. It was enough to make a girl swoon. And being the girl who loved him, she thought she did herself proud in the way her knees didn’t buckle.

He sensed it. Of course he did. In the general maleness that was him, he would sense when she was undone by his slow, seductive voice. And furthermore, he made no attempt to hide that he sensed it. Rather he waggled his brows and used the shot to his advantage. “Distracted, luv?”

“What? Perfectly fine.”

“Yeh. Watch it.” She had no time to accurately deflect his next attack, and landed appropriately on her butt for her fallacy. “You dropped your shoulder again.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Spike flashed her a brilliant smirk. “In many, many sinful ways.” He extended a hand and pulled her up, jerking her close for a fierce impassioned kiss before releasing her again to reassume position. “Once more. An’—”

“I know, I know. You’re worse than…you’re a jailer or some professional torture person or something.”

If he caught what she was about to say, which she was sure he had, he did not mention it. Rather, he shrugged and grinned, all too pleased with himself. “Love you,” he replied, words drenched in sincerity despite the casualness in his tone. If not his voice, his eyes spoke volumes for every underlying note that could be claimed.

“Love you, too.”

“Good. Now knock me on my lickable ass so I can say we accomplished somethin’ before I drag you outta here.”

She grinned. “You’ll never know what hit you.”

“With you, I never do.”

That notion pleased her. And she made a mental note to tell him so.

Right after she knocked him on his lickable ass.

*~*~*

The dance was moved to the Bronze at the last minute, namely because the staff didn’t want to lose money because their customers were at a dance and Snyder didn’t want to deal with the clean up at Sunnydale. And really, it was a change all the students had been rooting for all week. Dealing with school for, well, school was hard enough. Dealing with it during times of recreation with the overbearing principal breathing down their necks at every second? Not of the fun.

In the end, though it was tempting beyond words, Buffy opted to forgo formalwear for the night. She wore stylish slacks and a sensible party-top, but was ever mindful of the impending retaliation from Angelus and Penn. They were waiting for their moment, and she was determined to be ready.

They wouldn’t catch them off guard again. They wouldn’t.

Spike wasn’t much of a dancer unless the song was slow; despite all her attempts, he wouldn’t give her a sample as to why he wasn’t much of a dancer. They partied and mingled, talked with Oz and Willow and made idle gossip as to why Xander and Cordelia were getting cozy on the dance floor. Not too cozy, of course, but the fact that they were touching voluntarily was something new.

Buffy was sure she was the envy of every girl there. After all, Spike was the hotness.

“You wantin’ to stay here long?” he murmured after they had been there for an hour. “Thought we could go for a quick patrol…then…”

A smile tickled her lips. “My mom’s not out of town, William. Not this time.”

He slid a hand over her ass and nudged her forward until his arousal was prominent against her. “Please?”

Words were suddenly hard to come by. She didn’t know what did it for her most: the look in his eyes, the soft need to be together tonight, or the urgency in his voice. They had enjoyed stolen moments of forbidden ecstasy throughout the week; making love was difficult now that he didn’t have his own place. They had to be so damn careful.

Whatever it was, though, she wanted him, too. Desperately.

“Okay.”

Spike smiled and kissed her, pulling her close as the band finished up one of the Beatles more meaningful songs. The ones that always got to her when she was in the mood to be pensive.

“I love you,” he murmured into her hair.

Those words. God, she loved those words.

“Love you, too.”

There was a sense about the night. Something that didn’t sit well with her. He felt it just as sure as she did.

The calm before the actual storm. They had buried Jenny Calendar but the bad guys were still out there. Waiting. Counting the minutes until they attacked again. The knowledge was terrifying.

Especially since the attack on the horizon would be one of retribution and not mere torment for the sake of torment.

Tonight she wanted Spike. Wanted to forget the past few weeks. Wanted to forget everything for the warmth of his arms around her, his mouth on her body. Making her feel things that she only felt when she was near him.

There was tonight. They had time.

Time to steal one more day.

[/nextpage]

[nextpage title=”Part 17″ ]

Part 17: Just Stay All Through The Night

The house was dark when they arrived, and there was no sign of her mother. Buffy didn’t know whether or not to start counting her blessings or listen to that inner warning that reminded her incessantly that there were two very dangerous vampires with vendettas running around in the shadows. Spike’s grip on her hand remained strong, but he didn’t say anything to enhance or sooth her concerns. Rather, he drew in a breath and tugged her close. Knowing the only way to dispel her fears was to confront them.

It proved beneficial. There was a note on the counter that explained she was with Giles because she similarly didn’t feel he should be alone, and wanted to give them a night off from worrying about him. Buffy read the message once and handed it to him, wondering if perhaps this was a tacit acceptance of all levels of their relationship. She didn’t know; it didn’t seem likely, but she was hopeful.

She didn’t want to hide from her mother. That didn’t mean she was willing to hide, or deny herself what she wanted.

Especially when she loved Spike so much. And they were doing anything but simply fooling around.

There was a neediness behind her boyfriend’s touch tonight that she had never felt before. The way his hands trembled as his wandering fingers slid down her arms had a grasp on her heart that she would never relinquish; nor would she give up the shudders that his tender kisses evoked. It had already proven to be wondrous with him. He had shown her things she would never have trusted with anyone. Taken her places she thought buried in myth and devoured in an endless plain of wishful thinking.

“Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?” Spike murmured, planting wet, needy kisses up her throat. “Like a bloody sprite risin’ from a crystal lake.”

“I didn’t dress up,” she replied. As though that meant something. His chest was pressed to her back, his hands dancing up and down her sides, cupping her breasts reverently. His mouth active at her neck. “I didn’t…I look like a lawyer or something.”

“Sexy lawyer,” he murmured. “Power’s sexy, an’ you wear it so fucking well.”

“What if I don’t wanna be a lawyer?”

“Good. Bloody hate lawyers. Nothin’ but trouble.”

“Will I still be sexy?”

“You’ll be sexy in anythin’ you wear.” He turned her gently in his arms so that they were face-to-face. “You feel it, don’ you? Whatever’s gonna happen’ll be soon.”

There was no sense denying it. Angelus and Penn had been quiet for so long. Perhaps recovering from the fire, but more likely devising a way to make her hurt for what she had done. Penn had suggested she would beg for death before he gave it to her. And true, she had received similar threats before; none had ever seemed quite as serious. Quite as sincere.

She needed Spike tonight. Needed him to take away the loom of everything that had happened in the past few weeks. The events that had overwhelmed them since he stormed into her life were too magnanimous to consider. She didn’t know where she would be without him; didn’t want to think of what would have happened had he never come.

If he had never opened up her file some boring day in England and decided she was someone worth having in his life. Something that amazed her still.

“Soon,” she agreed softly, touching his face. Her heart thundering when he murmured and leaned into her touch. “They’ve been quiet.”

“Bloody quiet.” Spike released a trembling sigh and closed his eyes. “An’ I won’t lose you.”

“I—”

“Slayer, I know. An’ you can whip my arse any day, despite your tendency to drop your shoulder.” She grinned and he stole a kiss from her lips. “I jus’…what Rupert’s goin’ through…I din’t know Jenny all that well. She an’ Rupert could’ve been serious if they’d given it more time. He’s achin’, but it won’ be forever. He’s a tough bloke.” He shook his head. “’F it was me…I don’ think I’d ever recover.”

“Spike—”

“Slayer thing,” he replied, sweeping her mouth into his. “We’re prophesized, you an’ I. But even if we weren’, it’d be the same. I love you so much.” His trembling hands cupped her face reverently, thumbs stroking her cheeks. “You’ve brought me to life.”

“I have?”

He smiled, hand dropping to hers and tugging her in the direction of the staircase. “From the edge of death, baby. I don’ know what I would’ve done with myself if you hadn’t popped into my drizzly li’l world.”

“You technically popped into mine.”

Spike took her arms and wrapped them around his throat, walking her slowly up the stairs. Ever mindful that she didn’t fall. “’S that a bad thing?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Absolutely, huh?”

“Well, I kinda love you, too, you see. In fact, I told you first.”

He scoffed. “Did not.”

“Did too.”

“An’ I let this happen?”

“Well…” Buffy smiled kittenishly as she stopped on the landing, his mouth dancing up and down her throat. “I didn’t give you a chance, sweetie.”

He grinned. “Love it when you call me names like that.”

“Well, that’s because you’re a big softie.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

His grin broadened. These were the moments he lived for. Buffy in his arms now, exchanging inane banter that was old school but too delicious to pass up. “Woulda told you that firs’ day if I hadn’t thought it’d send you screamin’,” he replied. They were at her door now. Her bedroom. Her refuge. The place where she first welcomed him. Her body flush against his; his so hard he was sure the flimsy zipper on his slacks would pop. Were it anyone else, he would have been surprised at the depth of his reaction. But it wasn’t anyone else; it was her. It was Buffy. His golden goddess. She could smite him with a look if she wanted. So much power in her small, capable hands. It unnerved him to think himself so easily rattled.

There had been no such thing as love in his life before he came here. Sure, he loved his mother. Missed her to pieces, but that was different. That wasn’t this.

A bittersweet pang struck his heart at that. His mother would never get to meet Buffy. Never get to love her as he did. Wouldn’t be there on the day that he made her his forever.

Of course, any sort of ceremony was too far in the future to even visualize, and he felt like a ponce for even entertaining the notion. Still, the thought of her dolled up in white lace and marching toward him down some aisle made the part of him that his mother had always called old fashioned surge with hope. Someday, perhaps. He was still so bloody terrified of scaring her off with the intensity of his regard. He felt if she ever knew just how much he loved her; there would be no more of this.

No more of her guiding him into her bedroom and closing the door behind them.

“Buffy…”

Her hands were already busy at her top, revealing the satin of her black bra to his hungry eyes. The cream of her skin against the contrast of the material was surprising in its effect. Spike liked fancy cacique and scantily-clad women as well as the next hormone-infused male, but he had never truly envisioned himself being so turned on by something that simple. Logically, he knew Buffy wore bras. Hell, he had snapped her out of practically every one he knew to be a part of her wardrobe, always eager to feel the weight of her breasts in his hands. He had never known her to wear black. Never known her to go out of her way to look so delectable in her undergarments. She had a rather adorable fixation on her assumption that her panties and other unmentionables were, as she called them, ‘plain and boring.’ All this despite the fact that seeing her so bare fogged his eyes with lust to the point that she could be wearing a doormat and he wouldn’t notice.

His thoughts must have run away with him, for when he blinked, Buffy was wearing nothing but that black bra and a pair of matching panties. And he, like a big git, was still fully clothed; unable to do anything but gawk at how gorgeous she was.

Buffy shifted uncomfortably. “I…I made Will come with me to Victoria’s Secret while we were shopping for Sadie Hawkins stuff.”

“You’re beautiful.”

Her blush enchanted him. She was his seductress, his only temptation, and she somehow didn’t know it. “I was hoping you’d like.”

Spike released a deep breath, fighting his desire to growl something primitive and throw her on the bed. Instead, his eyes glazed over, and he stepped toward her predatorily, a lump forming in his throat. “Beautiful,” he murmured again, fingers entertaining themselves at her left strap. Then his mouth couldn’t stand the torment of being parted from her flesh, and his lips descended once more upon her neck, tasting her sweet skin as his arms curled under her shoulders and pulled her against him. “You’re killin’ me.”

“I didn’t…” A heady gasp tumbled through her throat as his nimble fingers worked the front clasp of her bra, trembling with the knowledge that she wouldn’t like it if he ripped something she had just bought. Then he was tugging at her nipples, mouth sweeping her mouth as he explored her face with soft, sweet kisses. “I wasn’t doing anything.”

“You unmake me with a bloody look,” he growled, encouraging her own hands to the buttons of his top. He hadn’t gone with a suit; rather a dressier shirt and dark slacks. They had looked tonight, in his opinion, as though they were fashioned for the purpose of being together. More poetic whims that brought out the traditionalist in him, but the notion was warming nonetheless.

Spike seized her mouth in another kiss as his shirt fell to the floor. He turned her in his arms so that her back was facing the bed and walked her to it slowly, his hands massaging circles into her hips. She sat when her legs met the mattress, looking up at him as he gazed down at her, his touch moving to her hair as she lifted nervous fingers to the clasp of his trousers and slowly drew him out.

God, he nearly melted then. Her small hand cradling his cock with veneration, stroking him to further hardness as his pants pooled at his ankles before joining his shoes on the floor.

“Fuck, Buffy,” he gasped, releasing her hair. With as much as he wanted to hold her in place, there was something about the gesture that struck him as wrong; wholly disrespectful, and miles a part from the place that his love for her began. He had told her once that he never expected anything, and it remained true. Whatever she gave him was enough. “Jesus.”

Her other hand dropped to his balls and squeezed him lightly. “You like?”

Was she actually expecting him to talk?

Her tongue flicked over the head of his cock, and a small murmur of approval rumbled through her throat. As though she actually enjoyed this. The few girls that shared his bed had done this for him based on principle alone; he gave, so they gave. None of them had enjoyed it, and Cecily had taken it upon herself to tell him so with a few choice words. The notion that Buffy did—could—was touching but impossible. He never wanted her to feel that she had to do this for him…though he was not such a git that he would tell her to stop if she didn’t want to.

“B-Buffy—”

Her tongue took to the underside of his erection, laving him in long, wet laps. Lifting her hand just slightly so she could taste his sac with her tongue. Suckling gently and just barely teasing him with her teeth.

“Fuck!” Spike snarled something unintelligible and shoved her back on the bed. “Drive me outta my bloody mind, you know that?”

“Well, you drive me out of mine more.”

“Don’ think so, sweetheart.” His mouth surrounded one rosy nipple, his right hand caressing her neglected breast as his other skated down the length of her. Stroking her gently through the satin of her sodden panties. “So wet.”

“Uhhh…”

“So sweet.”

“Spike, please.”

He scraped the tip of her nipple with his teeth before pulling back to draw her panties down her legs. His eyes transfixed on her dewy center that glistened at him even through the darkness. “So fucking gorgeous,” he murmured reverently, a hand skimming up her leg to tease her soft curls. “You have any idea how delicious you are?”

“You have any idea how often you ask me that?”

A smirk quirked his lips. “Sassy.”

“No.” She lifted her hips in offering, eyes wide with need. “Horny.”

“Well, at least you’re honest.” He edged a finger into her slowly, eyes twinkling when her own went wide, her pelvis leaping into his touch. He carefully avoided her clit even as his other fingers took to exploring her; rubbing her folds, edging into her warmth, feeling her warm juices run onto his skin. Tempting him with her taste. “Honesty’s a quality I love in a woman.”

“Gah.”

“You disagree?”

“No other women.”

“Well, I’m sure you’re not the only woman who—”

“Spike!”

He smiled. “Baby, I promise you. You have nothin’ to worry about.” He withdrew his fingers from her carefully, ignoring her answering whimper of complaint. He licked her taste off his skin, then lowered his hand to her mouth so that she might have a sample herself. Her nose wrinkled in complaint before his answering look reminded her that she had done the same with him, and it would be no different to taste herself than it had been to drink him down.

“Samson spoke of the honey in the lion,” he told her softly. “Think he had it wrong, though.”

“Oh?” He couldn’t tell if she was just aroused beyond words or oblivious as to the reference. By the look in her gaze, hazed with desire though clouded by confusion, he decided it was a combination of both.

“You’re the bloody honey, honey,” he replied, prowling up her body slowly. “Thank God I’m not a Nazirite. Can drink you all I like without fear of punishment.”

Her eyes flickered as though inspired by some distant memory, and her cheeks flushed. “Ahhh…Spike.”

The head of his cock was teasing her folds, slipping over her wet skin with the promise of the haven that awaited him. He loved looking at her like this. Loved watching her pant with need, aroused beyond words at the hand of his touch. Sweat already rolling down her forehead. Her body warm and pliant, welcoming his. Needing his. Her nails dug into his forearms, her head lifting to steal a kiss from his lips. His own hand between them, rubbing himself against her until it was too much for both of him, and he sank into her with a blissful groan.

“Shit,” he gasped. “Feels so good.”

Buffy whimpered, her eyes falling shut. “I’ve missed this,” she said softly, her muscles clenching around him. “It’s been too long.”

Spike smiled tenderly as he began to move within her, eyes on her face. Drowning in the feel of her around him. The warmth that she offered, scorching him alive and drenching that thirst in the same beat. “Not too long,” he replied, pebbling a nipple between his fingers, watching her hungrily as she panted and squeezed him again. “But yeh. I’ve missed this, too. Every bleedin’ second apart. Been starvin’ for you.”

“Me, too. I’ve…uhhh…” His thrusts were gaining momentum; her hands at his shoulders, nails embedding in his skin as he moved to strike that perfect angle within her. “I once spent…ohhh…an entire history period trying to…to decide if I could oohhh…could grab you and…break in the janitor’s closet.”

He chuckled, dropping kisses along her throat as he edged a hand between their entangled bodies. His fingers dancing over her slippery skin, fingering her teasingly before capturing her clit. Enjoying the way her face melted into a pleasured, throaty gasp. Her nails even digging deeper into his skin. Hurting him sweetly. Propelling his cock deeper within her. Needing as much as she would give; giving as much as he could, despite his knowledge that it would never be enough.

“Oh GOD!” she screamed, her muscles clenching him so tight he was genuinely surprised when he didn’t pop. “So good.”

“Fuck yeah.” He didn’t know what it was; the atmosphere of the night was too restrained, too heavy with the weight of what could come crashing down around them at any moment. The overbearing loom of two vampires that could bring their paradise to an end with a simple lash never far from the limelight. They had evaded fate for weeks now. Had captured moments of intimacy; stolen looks, hours, and kisses in little glances of what was so close to being theirs. He needed her so much. Was so entrenched in his love for her; the hint that it could be taken away from him sent his urgency to catastrophic levels. This connection, feeling her beneath him, being allowed inside her…it was all too much. Tonight.

And Christ, he needed to send her over that edge before he found his release. His body warred as he forced himself to pull out of her, ignoring the sharp gasp of complaint that tumbled through her lips. He pressed a quick kiss to the corner of her mouth, then slid down her body, lips caressing her sweat-laced skin until his mouth was level with her sopping pussy. Her scent flooding his senses.

“Spike!” Her hips arched off the bed. “Stop torturing me!”

“You first,” he growled, plunging his tongue into her. Buffy slapped her palm across her mouth and arched back, a muffled scream tearing through her throat. He smiled against her skin, left hand lingering at her breasts to tug at her nipples; his other joining his avaricious mouth to caress her clit deferentially. “God, your taste drives me wild.”

“Uhhhh…”

His tongue delved deeper inside, his fingers massaging her nubbin as her body trembled around him. Thrust his erection against the mattress, desperately needing friction. “So fucking good.”

“Spike!”

“You taste so good. My honey in the lion.”

“Oh God. Ohmigod, ohmigod!”

He gave her one last lick before pulling away and crawling back up her body, capturing her mouth with his as his cock teased her folds before thrusting again into her depths. Swallowed her whimper and muffled his own. His fingers massaging her clit still, quicker now. She grew tighter and wetter with each plunge. The slippery slide of his flesh from hers against the air that ached with the slaps of their sweaty bodies. A long shudder ran down his spine as he shoved off the immediacy of his orgasm. The hand between them pushing her closer to that edge. Watching as her eyes went bright, then finally she cried out and went over, sinking her teeth into his shoulder to stifle her scream of completion.

That was it. Her body spasmed under his, clenching the life out of him. The feel of her biting into his skin was more erotic than he would have dreamt. And he couldn’t help himself—lost. His hips thrusting madly against hers as her pussy swallowed him whole. Her walls tightening around him, milking him for everything he had to give; as he came, he touched the heavens. Within his lion he found that ecstasy, drank it full until honey dribbled down his chin. Buffy’s body open, welcome; her arms clutching him to her as she held him in his fall. Cradled there until he saw they were in her room again. Alone. The lights still out. Her chest heaving against his, her skin damp with sweat. Her eyes wide and looking at him in awe. The air around them was thick with the scent of their lovemaking. Her hands tunneled reverently through his hair, her lips caressing his brow as his eyes found hers. Found pools of reflected love shining back at him. Felt his heart expand until he didn’t know if he could take it. The power of what they had shared. Something manifested beyond himself. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. The gorgeous creature in his arms was really his. Buffy was really his. And for the first time, he truly understood that.

Truly believed that he could be so lucky. That she would choose a wreck like him. Prophecy or no prophecy; there was no cosmic map in the eyes of actual love. Words on an aged page knew nothing of emotion. Knew nothing of the wealth that he felt for her. Knew nothing of the power of what they had just shared.

God, she was really his. He felt it. She loved him. Really.

Buffy encouraged his head to her chest, his arms around her. Hugging her to him as the night settled around them. Still inside her, still clinging to that intimate connection. Listening to her heartbeat. Relishing in the power of such intimacy.

“Buffy,” he whispered into her hair. Words were there that she already knew, burned within him. Needing to find release. He would tell her every day—every time he could. Whenever he could. For the rest of their lives, however long. “I love you.”

“I love you.”

Releasing a trembling breath, Spike brushed a tender kiss across her forehead and rolled them to their sides. Still within her, cradled in her wet warmth. As close as he could be. Needing this tonight.

Needing her as long as the Powers let him keep her.

Some part of him knew that he could not fall asleep in her arms. Her mother would be home eventually, and wouldn’t much like the sight of a naked older man in her equally naked daughter’s bed. But for now, he cast petty concerns aside and simply held her in the silence of a new night.

He would risk fire and brimstone to keep this. He would risk everything.

This sanctuary. This bliss.

This honey in the lion.

[/nextpage]

[nextpage title=”Part 18″ ]

Part 18: Night Breezes Seem To Whisper

It wasn’t intentional. Rather, with everything that had happened, finding the disk—the curse—was the last thing that Willow wanted. Since Ms. Calendar’s death, she had been promoted to a makeshift substitute; something she felt oddly prepared for, despite her fear of public speaking. The experience in itself was giving her all sorts of crazy aspirations for life past college, and her wide selection of possible occupations. Especially now, seeing how her peers treated her when she was in a position of authority. Students that had given her nothing but grief when she was growing up. Students that now looked at her with respect. It was an amazing transformation, and the admiration she earned in turn was more than daunting.

Angelus had destroyed Jenny’s computer after murdering her. For whatever reason, that thought had remained with the redhead, nagging at her over the past few weeks. Not too far from the knowledge that Penn and Drusilla had been there as well. The entire Aurelius clan gathered together to kill one teacher. To kill one of them.

Buffy hadn’t questioned it. Neither had Spike or Giles. They left it to the needs of the family to demonstrate their wickedness—to lash out where it hurt.

Three vampires after one of them. Three vampires here to make sure Jenny did not see the light of a newborn day. It wasn’t a surprise, then, when she found the wayward disk that had somehow gone initially overlooked. She discovered it at the bottom of some drawer from the remains of the desk that had previously occupied the classroom.

A ritual that explained Angelus’s rage. Explained Penn and Drusilla’s presence that night when she was murdered. Explained their need to put Jenny into the ground. Explained everything.

Jenny had died because she was going to return Angelus’s soul to him. She was going to make him Angel. How she possessed this knowledge, Willow did not know. Only that there was a curse and it was on this disk, and somehow the vampires had known. And they had killed her for it.

Willow licked her lips. Okay, so now she knew.

What was she supposed to do with this? Giles wouldn’t want Angel back. Xander would look at her as though she was crazy and mutter something about going vamp soft. She didn’t even think Buffy wanted him back after what he had done. Sure, before all this, she had been righteous when it came to Angel’s penance; not now. The look in her eyes whenever she spoke of her rage when she knew Angel had come to kill Spike was some of the coldest that the redhead had ever seen. Buffy did not want Angel back. If anything, she wanted him dead.

It would be easier to kill him if he was souled, though.

It would make it easier to get to Penn as well. God, she didn’t know what to do. Return his soul to him and suffer through the knowledge that the monster behind Angel was not the man who wore his face, or leave it be and risk the lives of others. Together, Angelus and Penn were quite possibly invincible…and they had a grudge that could easily bury the town.

If they brought Angel back into the picture, there was every chance he would kill Penn and solve their problem. Even if he couldn’t before, she couldn’t imagine him refraining now. And then his fate would be left up to the Slayers. To kill or to forgive. Personally, Willow was leaning more toward kill. She didn’t like admitting it, as she thought soulful Angel was a good guy, but he had murdered Jenny. In that, there was no forgiveness.

Similarly, in her heart of hearts, she knew that refraining from an attempt on the ritual simply because the alternative might not rest well with her friends was selfish. Soulling Angel could save lives—could save their lives. What happened in the thereafter was a different story. They had to do it. She had to do it.

She had to give Angel his soul back.

Willow expelled a deep breath and shook her head. She was fairly certain she could pull the spell off. True, she was a rookie, but the occult fascinated her. And since she took over Jenny’s job, she had been researching every aspect of the teacher’s life…and dabbling very carefully in small spells.

Giles wouldn’t be thrilled about that, but she didn’t care at the moment. Right now, there was a spell to put together.

A spell that would change everything.

She just didn’t know how.

*~*~*

He was in one of those moods that practically demanded a spontaneous musical number. There was a spring in his steps that hadn’t been there for what seemed like weeks; it felt he practically flew to Revello Drive. Today had been an overly good day, start to finish. Giles had provided the first paycheck for his work as a librarian’s assistant, merrily ignoring the fact that no actual work had been accomplished. A back payment, perhaps; Spike was under the impression that these would continue biweekly at a fixed amount rather than clocking him for hours.

That offer had shocked the hell out of him, but he was no idiot. Being paid enough to settle in his own apartment—with the initial help of the rest of his mother’s money—was more than he could have hoped. The apartment itself was furnished with a bed and a refrigerator; everything else would be bought on his own dime, which was more than fine with him. A bed and a fridge was all he needed at present, and more than he thought to be offered. All that mattered was that he had a place where he and Buffy would be assured some privacy.

That was something they had been lacking for the past week. Somewhere simply to be left to themselves without worrying about who might intrude. Now he had a place. And the property values being what they were in Sunnydale, his landlord was fairly insistent that he move in as soon as possible.

It had been a good day. A very good day.

And now he had the night, and the hours following patrol would be spent with Buffy. In the bliss commanded in her arms. He couldn’t wait to see the look on her face when he told her. When they could finally stop sneaking around and have an actual place to relax after an evening battling the baddies.

It would be, then, that just as he was passing the cemetery on his way to pick up his girlfriend, a shrill scream pierced the black night. Panicked, nearby, definitely feminine. She sounded as though held captive in an inferno, and he found himself tearing after her on instinct alone. It had nothing to do with being a Slayer and everything to do with being a human being. One did not turn away from a cry for help, especially one that carried hell with it.

Spike had long since decided that the civilians of the Hellmouth were beyond idiotic. Midnight strolls through cemeteries in any town did not demonstrate the utmost in foresight, let alone a place with the reputation of Sunnydale. More than once, he had considered going to the Mayor and suggesting an implemented curfew, though the thought was more than a little distasteful. It would save a few lives, however, and that was what was supposed to matter.

Perhaps just for now. Just until Penn and Angelus were dust.

Why he hadn’t killed the wanker when he was in the factory was beyond him. That was one thing he had kept to himself these past few weeks; one confession as to his faults that he could not forgive himself for. The night relived over and over again. He saw the bastard clearly. His back was to him, sure, but deciphering his body language didn’t exactly take a rocket scientist. Buffy had just killed his lover, after all. And the place they lived was burning to the ground. Penn wanted to be sure that he took Buffy with him when he made his voyage to Hell. Would use whatever unearthly pull vampires had simply by being, and would hunt her down through dimensions if it meant she suffered for what she had done.

One move. One bloody move. Had he been a little less primal and a bit more conscientious, the wanker would be dust. Something had snapped, though, when he saw that his girl was in danger. And she had been—even if she didn’t want to admit it. Penn had her at that instant, and for Spike, that had blocked out all rationale. He had knocked the bastard out and grabbed the woman he loved with only a thought for getting out before the world collapsed around them. If he had stopped, if he had listened to his Slayer rather than the get-the-girl-out impulse, they would be short one Big Bad to face.

He had failed that night because he let his emotions dictate his Slayer senses. It should have been one in the same but it wasn’t. It wasn’t. He had seen Buffy in danger and all thoughts except getting her out had abandoned him.

Prophesied. He and Buffy were prophesied to save the world by being one. One force. One instrument of humanity. No longer just the right arm—the full body had bound together. Giles suggested they would save the world countless times. Truthfully, Spike didn’t know how much to believe and how much to chalk up to the incoherent babble of dead monks and their equally dead language.

What he knew was simple: the way he felt about her, the wealth of what he felt, was stronger than his ties to the Slayer lineage. There was no real way to define it without overstepping his bounds; Giles had made the comparison just a few nights ago to a vampiric claim. A sense of belonging, of knowledge, putting the safety of the other above all else. Spike had rebuked it at first, disgusted with anything that associated him with the non-slayage side of vampires, but the thought refused to die simply because he didn’t like it.

The more his mind wrestled, the more sense it made.

Which was why he wouldn’t be surprised if Buffy leapt out of the shadows now, having sensed the immediacy of an attack. The screams faded the minute he saw the girl. Her mop of brunette hair pulled back so that the outline of her vampiric deformity was not guised by the deceitful guise of night. A vampire.

For one horrible second, he thought it was Drusilla. That second passed, as most do, and the stab of fear died with it; he had seen Drusilla crumple to dust. That was the one certainty that night had given him. The Order of Aurelius was reduced to two.

This vampire was a fledgling. And she served one purpose.

And now, having carried out that purpose, it was no surprise when Angelus stepped out of the shadows behind her, an ironic smile playing on his lips.

“Silly me. Here I thought you were supposed to be perceptive,” the vampire drawled, impaling the fledgling through the back with a stake that seemed to manifest from nowhere. The girl did not scream. Did not cry. Did not even blink as she was reduced to dust. Rather stood there, knowing what her purpose was. She had been selected to lure him here, and death was her reward.

Angelus wouldn’t want any interruptions. And he wouldn’t want to share his conquest with anyone. Took the fun out of it.

Spike outstretched his arms. “So, what? You draw me out here for a good talkin’ to?”

“Hrm. Tempting. No, I drew you out more to kill you.”

“See, here’s the thing…haven’ seen much from you on the killin’ front. Go around murderin’ innocent teachers an’ what all. Chits who don’t fare a bloody chance. Every single time, you’ve stepped away from those who could make your life very interestin’.” A small bell sounded in the back of his mind that he was being a moron, but he ignored it, as he had most of his life. There were some pieces he would love to tell the great poof; things he wagered he would never have another opportunity to divulge.

And for a second, he hated himself richly for using the death of Jenny Calendar to antagonize her murderer. Just for a second. Another one of those moments that tend to last only as long as the bearer allows. It was gone again just as fleetingly.

“You don’t kill off the hero in the first act,” Angelus replied, shrugging nonchalantly. “You kidnap his girl, make with the threats, strut your stuff and establish a name for yourself. Thing is, since we didn’t know which one of you Slayers was the girl, we decided to skip that part and kill someone who doesn’t really play into this at all. Only enough to cause a stir.”

“Fancy that. Lost one of your own in that pitch.”

The vampire cocked a brow. “You think Drusilla is the reason I’m here?”

“Well, no. That’d be predictable.”

A grin at that. “See, I know it sounds like you’re trying to flatter me…”

“Actually, I’m tryin’ to get you to get to the bloody point. Have a date to keep, you see.”

“I wouldn’t worry myself with that.”

“What? This the part you tell me that I’ll see her real soon, seein’ as you’ll be killin’ us jus’ as quickly?” Spike snorted. “Please. Balls an’ swagger aside, that’s jus’…lame.”

“Ah, the Achilles Heel of every demon. Being found lame by his enemy.”

The next was a blur of movement; Angelus was standing several feet away, then he wasn’t. Suddenly, he was right there beside him, a metal fist smashing into the Slayer’s jaw. Spike wobbled in surprise but did not collapse, rather channeled his pain into fury and sent a punch back with equal fervor. The vampire staggered in surprise, his body cracking the stone of the nearest mausoleum on impact. He did not appear hurt so much as impressed, grinning as he wiped the corner of his mouth.

“See, that took balls!”

“No. It took a brain an’ a sodding fist. This, on the other hand…” Spike threw him another punch, relishing in the force behind contact, in the crack that sounded through the air as the vampire’s head crashed again into the stone. The Slayer’s knee jerked upward and connected squarely with the body part in question; something he never thought he would resort to, regardless of the situation. After all, he was a guy, and guys just didn’t do that to other guys. “Bloody will.”

The scream that tore through Angelus’s throat gave Spike the sort of satisfaction one gets from watching a particularly ugly spider die slowly under influence of some powerful bug juice. The sort not meant for killing spiders, but just as effective. No matter that he was propelled a good fifteen feet away the next second; the damage was done. The big lunk was pulling himself together quickly, eyes flashing in pain clouded with anger. He delivered a sharp kick to the blonde’s chest. “Shouldn’t have done that,” he spat. “Now I’m going to make you live longer.”

“Oh for bloody…” Spike heaved in a deep breath and shoved the ache aside best he could, rolling once more to his feet. “Perish the thought.”

“See, here’s the thing. I’m done. I’m done waiting for Penn to get his act together. Hell, I was done before your Watcher decided to become a pyro. I’m finished.” He spread his hands almost diplomatically. “You’re gone first. Buffy’s gone last. Save the best, and all that. Besides, she’ll be too busy weeping and wailing over her poor lost wuvvy that taking her down? Not much of a challenge.”

Spike’s eyes darkened but he did not rise to bait. “Don’ think so, mate,” he growled. “I have a bad penny complex.”

Angelus winced. “God. Don’t tell me Buffy eats up this drivel?”

“More so than she did when you were the one sproutin’ sonnets.”

“Yeah. Good old Buff. It’ll be nice to see her again. Especially with the you part out of the equation.”

“Thought we established that that’s not gonna happen.”

A shrug. “Just saying. It will be fun to rape her to death. See how well she’s learned all those tricks you taught her. Hey! I even hear Slayer’s blood is an aphrodisiac. I’ll bet if we feed off you before we get started, we’ll be revved to keep ourselves entertained for hours.”

That was it. That was the end.

Everything went red. A fiery, dark red that was haunted with shadows of lesser fury. Every nerve in his body overwhelmed with rage beyond rage. Rage that sparked a flame that had never before known life, rising within him until the hows and whys no longer mattered, and there was only Angelus.

And he knew it then.

One of them would die tonight. Him or the vampire. Only one would walk away. One or neither. Blood or dust. It didn’t matter.

If he had to die to keep this bastard’s filthy hands off Buffy, so bloody be it.

There were worse reasons.

*~*~*

It hadn’t taken much to convince them. Really, once Willow provided her argument, both Giles and Xander arrived at the same conclusion without much of a struggle. It made the most sense. Give Angel back his soul now before more people died. Before things got worse. Give it back to him when he had the potential of doing real good with it.

Or something to that very muddled effect.

The only objection she had encountered from the two came in the decision of who would perform the ritual. Willow felt she was prepared, but was the only voice in that regard. In the end, she won because there was no one better; and Giles didn’t trust himself to perform a ceremony that would give a reason for redemption back to the vampire that had murdered the woman he loved.

Vendettas had a nasty way of surfacing at the most inopportune moment. And while the redhead didn’t believe the Watcher was capable of succumbing to something like that out of spite alone, she wasn’t willing to gamble any chances.

Jenny was killed for what they were about to do. And yes, while they were in the comfort of a private residence, that wouldn’t stop the vampires from igniting a bonfire outside.

“Who was that?” Xander asked, wiping his hands nervously. They were at Giles’s duplex, setting up the spell as the ritual suggested. Oz was in the back, searching through old board games to find dice. The translation itself mentioned rolling something in a game of chance before the ritual took place; dice seemed to be the most logical solution.

The Watcher, meanwhile, had finished lighting the appropriate candles and was fishing out the book he thought might be beneficial. Giles’s behavior through these past few weeks had been remarkable. She didn’t know how he did it; only that she had never been prouder of him than she was now. Shoving all else aside for the greater good.

It was a strange feeling…being proud of someone old enough to be her father. Still, it didn’t make the sentiment any more or less so. She was proud.

For what he had gone through, there was no reason to ever agree to this. And yet.

“Buffy,” Willow replied, hanging the phone back on the receiver. “Spike hasn’t shown up yet and she was wondering if he had called or dropped by here.”

Xander frowned. “When was he supposed to show up?”

“Fifteen, twenty minutes ago. Patrol and whatnot.”

Another pause. “You think something happened?”

“I think we better get on with this thing before something does.”

As if on cue, Oz peered into the foyer from the second floor, rattling the discovered dice in his hand with a small, Ozish grin. “Found some.”

“Good. Giles?”

“Erm—yes. I am ready.”

Willow nodded, expelling a breath. “Okay. Okay. I can do this. I can.”

“You can,” Oz agreed. She couldn’t tell if he was being sincere or just trying to calm her down. It didn’t really matter; the sentiment was appreciated.

“I can. I can.” She paused and licked her lips. “We should do this now.”

Giles glanced up and nodded his agreement. He paused, then reached into his pocket and withdrew a small booklet of hotel matches, striking one to life against the wall. “Yes,” he said grimly. “No time like the present.”

There was something about his tone that she didn’t like, but Willow brushed it off without thought.

Nothing else mattered now. They had a spell to cast. A soul to return.

All else could wait.

[/nextpage]

[nextpage title=”Part 19″ ]

Part 19: Make Me An Instrument of Your Peace

Something was wrong.

She didn’t know how she knew. It was just there. Something known. Something burning the pit of her stomach. Something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong, and Spike was at the heart of it. Spike was in trouble. There was nothing but that knowledge. Spike was over a half hour late, and it was because something was wrong.

This was not panic. This was knowledge. She felt it. He needed her. He was screaming for her without words, without being there at all. Screaming at her that he was in trouble but also to stay away. As though Spike himself was divided into two entities; the Slayer calling to her Slayer, her boyfriend screaming at her to remain where it was safe.

It was unlike anything she had ever felt before. Just knowledge. And she couldn’t stop herself. The minute the feeling struck her, the minute her premonition went from the girlfriend worry to the Slayer worry, she was on her feet and tearing through her weapons chest. A stake in her hand and another in a strap around her ankle. Two. That was all she needed. Two stakes for two vampires. Two exactly like any other that she had killed. They would dust just as easily. Quick maneuvering, flash of a stake, and it would be over.

It would have helped if she actually believed that.

For the first time since she was called, Buffy found herself divided evenly between what her head told her and what her blood told her. There was no way she could have known where he was, but her blood was linked with his somehow. And while there was absolutely no telling where it would lead her, she had no choice but to follow.

Her heart was thundering. Her pulse racing. And this, this not knowing, was more terrifying than anything she had ever experienced.

If a single inch of Spike’s skin was bruised, she would make sure they tasted dust. There would be no clemency. No hesitation. No second-guessing.

Just vengeance. And she wouldn’t look back.

*~*~*

“Okay, so phase one is sitting in a circle while I wave around smelly herbs. Sounds soul-enhancing.” Xander laughed lamely and glanced up. No one smiled back at him. “Wow, tough crowd.”

The redhead flashed him a grateful smile and expelled a deep breath. Giles was moments away; in the meantime, the atmosphere among them was tight with unwanted tension. Directly before they began the ritual, the Watcher realized he had left the Orb of Thesulah at the high school where he had evidently been using it as a paperweight.

No matter. He had phoned just a few minutes before. Paperweight obtained. The rush in which Willow had thrown this thing together had everyone strung on nerves. The night was hazy in its outcome. Buffy had not called back to verify that Spike had arrived safely, and while she had absolutely no way of knowing it, the redhead was convinced something bad was happening. Right now. Without anything but this wrenching feeling in her gut, she somehow knew that the confused jumble of the past few weeks was winding down to tonight.

“You’re sure you’re all right, Will?” Oz asked softly, patting her knee.

She sighed again and nodded. “Yeah. I mean, the translation’s here, right? And I’ve been surfing through Ms. Calendar’s spells and stuff and…the other day I almost made my book levitate.”

“Wow,” Xander replied. “Almost?”

“Well, my hand kinda spazzed and I lost my focus, but it was close to levitating.”

He frowned. “You do realize that putting someone’s soul back inside his very dead, evil body is slightly different than almost levitating a book, right? Or is there some different form of magic between spell-casting and thingy-floating that slow people like me can’t understand?”

Damn him. Damn him and his doubt-casting. She felt cold all over, and the weight of what rested on what she was about to do wasn’t helping. Neither was her friend’s jaded support. That sort of backhanded compliment that left one fuming for days, even if he didn’t mean it.

“No. It’s very different.” Willow sighed again, unwilling to admit how hard she was shaking. “It’s…gah, you suck, Xander Harris!”

Oz, on principle alone, felt moved enough to smack him upside the head.

“Ow!”

“Sorry. Contractual boyfriend obligation.” He turned back to the redhead and offered a warm smile. “You’ll do fine, Will. I think the gravity of the reensouling thing is slightly on the up of levitating a book. It’ll be fine.”

His faith in her was a wondrous thing. Willow smiled and released the breath she was holding, impulsively kissing him even if it did feel strange to initiate such random displays of affection. From the expression on Oz’s face, he far from objected. Rather, he was giving her that adoring look that made her feel all gooey inside. The same that told her that finally, she, Willow Rosenberg, was in a relationship. She finally understood all those things Buffy talked about. Understood the goofy smile that illuminated her face when Spike was mentioned. Understood the glowy look in her eyes when he walked into the room. Understood it all.

“You’re the best,” she told him.

“I think I can live with that.”

Xander frowned again. “What about me?”

“You need to be more like Oz in the reassurance giving as opposed to the doubt giving.”

A pause. He grumbled. “You’re only saying that ‘cause he’s your boyfriend.”

“No, I’m saying that ‘cause I just saw Giles’s headlights through the window which means I have a vampire to reensoul, and it’s nice to have a little support.”

“I support you! I’m all with the Willow support.”

“Yes, well…still, you should be more like Oz in the reassurance giving.” Off his look, she caved and smiled. “Sorry. Playing favorites is a contractual girlfriend obligation.”

“I’m noticing this relationship thing has a lot of contractual obligations.”

Oz shrugged, brushing a kiss over the redhead’s cheek. “It’s worth it.”

Ohh, swoonage. Major swoonage.

But now was not the time. Giles was here with the Orb of Thesulah. She had a ritual to perform. A vampire to curse. Nights to give back to her friend so that Buffy and her boyfriend could enjoy in this warm, wondrous bliss that Willow had come to cherish.

Reservations cast aside. She could not afford to doubt.

It was time.

*~*~*

The soft glow of the moon kissed the darkened grass and made shadows dance across aged stone. The grounds seemed dark despite the light, as though every stereotype had come to life to shake her to her core. Make that fear consume her until there was nothing left. The cold surrounding her was likely imagined; it was nearing spring in Sunnydale, and the temperature was never anything less than perfect, regardless of the weather.

The night’s cold bit at her skin in firm defiance. She followed the pull of her blood through the grounds of a familiar cemetery. One she could tour blinded and know exactly where she stood. One that she had never feared when alone.

Not until now. Not until this night.

She had never understood the cliché poetry in motion; not until she saw them moving. The blinding light of a Slayer in his element, fighting one of the most revered vampires in history was, in the midst of her panic, one of the most moving scenes she had ever witnessed.

Spike was there. He was alive. The look on his face was a twist of gorgeous outrage. As though the sins of the world fell on Angel’s shoulders, and he was the one to reap justice. She knew the second that he sensed her presence; a half beat before her scent hit the vampire’s nostrils. There was a familiar flicker in her boyfriend’s eyes, that warmth he only gave to her. Warmth powered with love, and stricken with irritated concern.

Fury pumped her blood. Angel was going to know the taste of dust.

It ended tonight.

It was like something out of the movies. She was within a stone’s throw of reaching the mêlée, and then Penn was there. Casually stepping out from behind one of the mausoleums, his face aligned with gleeful malice. “Ah,” he greeted, hands clasped almost formally at his front, “right on time.”

“Buffy!” Spike screamed, tearing himself away from Angel’s soaring fists. “Buffy!”

The panic ringing through his voice jarred her from reality. Her eyes widened at a sudden stab of terrified urgency, and the vampire in front of her was almost forgotten.

“Ah, how sweet,” Penn spat, chilling her with a look. “Really, you two would warm my heart if it weren’t dead and, well, set on killing you.”

Angel snarled and leapt forward, grabbing Spike’s wrists and locking them behind his back, pretending it was no small thing to contain a Slayer as pissed as her boyfriend was. Pretending the tugs and the jerks Spike offered were nothing more than small annoyances. “No, no,” he berated softly. “Your girl’s occupied. It would be rude to interrupt.” He smirked and slowly dragged his gaze up to Buffy. “Hello, sweetheart. We’ve got so much planned for you.”

“Go to hell.”

The elder vampire tsked disapprovingly. “See, this is what I get for making polite conversation.” His grin deepened. “Don’t worry, Buff. We’ll make it relatively quick for your boy. Relatively. Oh, you’ll have to watch every second of it, of course, but we’re saving our best tricks for you.”

It was quite a thing to watch rage manifest. The look on Spike’s face was something she had never seen; pale, fused with fury, warped into something ugly. The mask of the Phantom; Angel had pushed him across some inner boundary, and now anything was game. The next second, he had torn away from the vampire’s grasp and thrown himself into an animalesque fracas. A mess of limbs and snarls, and Buffy’s heart dropped. Left there. Alone.

No. Penn.

It was a strange couple of seconds. Logic abandoned her for the instinctive need to protect Spike. Spike, whose strength was equivalent to hers. Spike who had a calling. Spike who needed no protection.

She needed to kill Penn. Her thoughts were for Spike.

His body language told her the same.

“Forget about me, sweetheart?” That was Penn. Right behind her. Not touching her. For whatever reason, the fact that he was there and doing nothing terrified her more than a quick flash of fangs. When she saw him, he was guising his demon. Looking at her as a man. A murderer through human eyes. “I think I made a promise that I need to keep.”

The cold attacked her again; a chilled blast from nowhere. He meant what he said.

And yet there was this stirring in her gut that she couldn’t ignore. A shadow crossed her face and she regained control of her senses, almost surprised that they had abandoned her to begin with. Her fist came up with a quick pop to his nose, then she was tearing across the lawn toward her boyfriend. Following her blood. Following what had brought her here tonight.

Without flinching, Angel twisted himself away from another punch to the jaw and caught her just before she reached them. His arms on her shoulders, his neon eyes dancing with sadistic merriment. “Ah, ah, ah, darling,” he berated, shaking his head. “Not our time, yet.”

Then something repugnant smashed against her lips. Bruising. Callous. The iciest kiss she had ever received. Pouring all his unfeeling, his impiety into her mouth. Making her a part of him for that horrible instant. The touch was brief in retrospect but felt like it lasted hours—too quickly grabbed and released to put up any sort of struggle. Though when he finally released her, she swore her hands were stained red.

Spike screamed his rage and leapt at the vampire again, arms latching around his throat and tearing him back. Tearing him away from her even as Angel thrust her into Penn’s waiting embrace. Immediately, the younger demon’s hands clasped around her arms, twisted her so that she was facing him. Human still, regarding her impassively. Angel spoke big words, yes, but they could not compare to the deadness behind this vampire’s eyes.

He didn’t care if she was tortured. She saw that. Just as long as she died. Painfully.

Angel wanted her alive. Penn didn’t. And the thought of immediate death, for the first time, scared her more than the possibility of being tormented. Not for any reason she could pinpoint; rather, it was terrifying that anyone out there, vampire or not, could hate her as much as the one holding her now.

“You remember what I said?” Penn hissed, the venom behind his voice freezing her blood. There was no doubt in her mind—nothing so far placed from that night burned away in weeks. The night she had killed Drusilla. The night she had been waiting for him to repay her for every night since. “Well,” he continued, running his hand across her face in a manner that mocked her for his feigned gentility. “Start wishing.”

Buffy drew back an arm in a brute slam across his face with the full of her strength. The vampire snarled but refused to release his hold on her. He gave back as good as he got, smashing her against the nearest mausoleum. “It’s not that I don’t admire your spirit,” he barked. “You’ve completely disproved all my theories on Slayers.” He backhanded her again after deftly dodging a wild swing, hand wrapping around her flailing wrist and pinning her ruthlessly to the catacomb once more. “I came to this town thinking we’d be friends, Buffy. Well, maybe not friends, seeing as I intended to have you long dead and buried by now. But really, after everything we’ve been through together…” He hurled another punch to her face. “I guess I should thank you. I wanted you dead before because you were in my way. Not anymore. Two hundred years, and you finally gave me a reason to hate.” Another punch. She shot him one to answer it, and he took it without flinching. “A reason to kill that I never thought I’d need. Vampire here, right!” He grasped her by the shoulders and pulled her to him again, ignoring her struggles. Holding her as Angel had held Spike. As though the strength of a Slayer meant nothing to him. “I don’t need a reason. I don’t need a motive. I could snap your neck and no one would wonder why. Just another demon, right? You gave me a reason, Buff. A reason for the first time in two fucking centuries!” His leg shot up and met her gut, forcing her to lurch forward, into him, so that his mouth was at her ear. “So thanks.”

The next thing she knew, he had tossed her back to the ground, his eyes flickering yellow but not changing. Not changing still. He was still the man in front of the demon. As though he wanted her to know that her death meant more to him as a person than him as a vampire.

Buffy didn’t register how hard she was panting. How much her body hurt from the impact of his blows. She ached almost to the point of numbness. Her muscles were sore; she was bleeding somewhere, she knew, but there was too much hurt to decipher where her skin was broken.

Stake. Somewhere, she had dropped her stake. Immediately, her shaking hands went to her ankle where she had latched the spare, eyes never leaving the face of the approaching vampire as he indulged his long steps toward her.

“You really think that’s going to work?” he drawled, sidestepping her evenly as she lunged for him. “You have no idea who I am, do you? No idea what I’m capable of. How many sniveling little girls like you I’ve killed over the years. You think your calling intimidates me? You’re nothing. You’re worse than nothing. You were born with a warrant to die.”

“Last time I checked, everyone was.” Buffy heaved deep breaths, refusing to take her eyes away from him. Even though her senses were warring, even though she felt the compulsion all over again to leave him and race to where Spike and Angel were fighting. Fighting still. She felt her boyfriend’s pain as though it were her own. Felt where he was bleeding even though she could not gauge the extent of her own injuries. “Being born is the first step to dying, isn’t it?”

“Cute.” He prowled forward, adroitly averting her when she lunged again. His hand wrapped around her wrist once more, coiling her in his arms so that her back was pressed to his chest, and she was staring ahead at the seemingly vacant cemetery. Her body wrenching against the grasp of a vampire to no avail. Oh, he faltered a bit. Grunted when it was appropriate, but refused to release her. Anticipating every move on the offense she could take. Spike was behind her; behind them. She could hear him—hear his screams for her as though he had given up on himself for her sake.

“It’s been fun,” he murmured. “There’s no denying that.” And finally, she felt the sting of his fangs at her throat. “All good things.”

It was over then. Over in the next second. It was an odd sensation, feeling the body around hers crumble away as though the earth had just then decided to correct a horrible wrong. She was standing there, stake aching to be used, and before she could wrestle herself away, her moment had past. Her skin tingled as his dust danced over her, and she was suddenly standing alone.

Buffy gasped and whirled around. Spike was looking at her with love and relief; pinned under Angel, his arm still outstretched from where he had thrown the stake. Saved her life then even as the other vampire’s fangs nearest his throat.

“Well,” Angelus drawled, tossing her a lazy glance. If there was any sense of loss at the sudden nonbeing of his childe, he did not reveal it. Nothing more than a flicker of annoyance. A furthered reason to kill the Slayer beneath him, as though creatures such as he were bound by motive. “That was either very heroic or very stupid.”

“Buffy!” Spike gasped.

Spike.

“I’m leaning more towards stupid, myself,” the vampire continued, his grip on the Slayer’s neck tightening. “How about you?”

“Oh God.” There was no thought in her mind. Her hand tightened around her stake and she rushed at them.

Stupid man saving her life when he should have been concerned with his.

She was not going to lose him. She was not.

“Spike!”

With Penn’s dust still sliding off her skin, Buffy broke for her lover, rage empowering her veins all over again. Something inhuman tumbled through her lips, her fingers digging into Angel’s arms as she ripped him away from Spike, stake arched high over her head. Ready to have it over with, even as his inhuman gaze danced at her in the height of mockery.

Something changed, then. Just as she was ready to have it over with, a shrill gasp rang through the air, and his eyes flashed. His body slouched over, the sin wracking his shoulders crashing down with sudden burden, and he collapsed.

“Buffy.”

Oh God. She knew that voice.

“Angel.”

Spike, from where he was stretched on the ground beside the vampire, panting, his eyes finding hers. Her own body ached with the weight of his wounds. She felt herself bleeding where he bled, even if there was no mark marring her skin. She hurt where he hurt, and the vampire before them was responsible.

The vampire before them had murdered Jenny Calendar. Had been seconds from murdering the man she loved.

The same vampire that looked up at her suddenly with eyes that matched the voice. Eyes that she knew. Eyes she had once swooned over to match the man with the angelic face. The fiend that had killed, and shown no mercy with those he tormented.

He had killed Giles almost more than he had killed Jenny. Her death was for him. The set-up. The books drenched in blood. The crucifix. Her eyes slashed shut so she would see no evil. Killing her had really been a milestone. She had died to torment Giles.

If he was back, she did not want him. There was no penance for that. And before she could doubt herself, Buffy’s arm came crashing down, stake breaking through his chest. Touching his heart and sending a chain reaction through his long dead body, melting him away until he was part of the earth. The rest, she shut out. Not caring to see his face. See his surprise or the hint of betrayal. Rather watched him dust as though he were any other vampire. Any vampire on any patrol, gone now because she was the Slayer.

And then there were two.

Spike. Her Spike. Buffy looked at him for a long minute, unwilling to admit how hard she was shaking. The mass of what she had nearly lost tonight still miles away; for now, she was just there with him. Looking at him. Her eyes lost in a blue ocean, drowning with no want of survival.

“Oh God.” She was in his arms before she could release another breath, whispering kisses across his face as he held her to him. Her face was wet with tears, only a few shed by her eyes. “I was so worried. I felt something was wrong…I—”

“Shhh, baby, it’s all right.” His mouth swept hers needily, tasting her as if to reassure himself. Holding her to him. There in the cemetery, lost in each other’s embrace. “It’s all over now.”

There was something in his voice that she could not identify. As though his love for her had expanded in seconds, and was more powerful than ever for some reason that she could not comprehend.

“I love you,” he whimpered. “So much.”

“Love you.” She clutched him tighter. “Don’t ever scare me like that again.”

“You, either. Nearly had a bloody heart attack.” Spike tugged her back to him, burying his face in her hair. “’S over now,” he murmured again. “’S’all over.”

“Over.”

And it was. An odd peace settled across the cemetery. And they held each other on the dark grass, sprinkled with the dust of two fallen. There under the glow of the night’s full moon. Relishing in the aftermath of the battle. Relishing in the solace the other offered in a touch.

The dance was over. And they held each other through the curtain call. There in the silence of the cemetery.

There in each other’s arms.

There in their haven of peace.

[/nextpage]

[nextpage title=”Part 20″ ]

Part 20: Music From Another Room

It didn’t really register until Spike absently jingled his newly acquired keys that he actually had his own place. She had heard him say it back at the cemetery. Had known that the stop at the convenience store was to buy shampoo and other essentials that one took for granted unless denied such small luxuries. Even the call to Giles made from a phone booth because he lacked a phoneline had escaped her notice. Everything had fallen unacknowledged until he led her through an unfamiliar hall of an equally unfamiliar building, muttering something about the lack of furniture. It struck then. Spike had an apartment. A real apartment.

The space was his. His. And he had gotten for them.

“’S not much,” he said over his shoulder. “Jus’ has the fridge an’ the bed. It’ll be a while before I can afford a telly…not to mention all the bloody rot that comes with it. But we have the basics, right? Food, indoor plumbin’, an’ a place to sleep.”

“It’s great,” she said automatically, overwhelmed still by the fact that he had his own apartment. They had somewhere to go when they wanted to be alone. A place where she could see herself living even if it turned out to be the world’s biggest dump. It was theirs—well, his—and that was more than enough for her.

Spike drew in a deep breath. “Was I wanker to bring you here?” he asked.

Buffy blinked at him dumbly. “What?”

“I wanted you with me tonight…’specially after what happened. Din’t ask, was jus’…I assumed you wanted to be here.”

“I do!”

Relief poured into his eyes. “Oh thank God.”

“Of course I want to be here. Why would you think I—”

Spike grinned. “You said the place was great an’ you haven’t even come in yet.” He gestured at the vacant hall. “Thought maybe I was…I dunno. Thought you were—”

Buffy smiled wryly and crossed the threshold, placing the bag full of goodies on the floor. “It is great. It’s great that you have this…I’m so…” She sighed and shook her head. “It’s just been a long day.”

“That’s one way to put it,” he agreed, moving to brush a kiss across her forehead.

“Believe me…here with you…there’s no other place I’d rather be.” She pulled back slightly and kissed his lips. “Especially after tonight. I never want to feel anything like that again.”

“Like that?”

“I felt you. I was sitting at home waiting for you, and then I felt something was wrong. I don’t know how or…” She frowned, glancing up at him helplessly. “This isn’t the first time, either. I don’t…”

Spike’s hand dropped to hers, their fingers entangling as he drew her further into his new home. He shut the door behind her, releasing a deep sigh and snatched up the abandoned sack with his free hand. “Rupert has a few ideas,” he said. “’S somethin’ I’ve been feelin’ for a while.”

“Where are we going?”

He smiled gently, squeezing her hand. “Shower. Feelin’ a bit…grizzly after…” A trembling sigh hissed through his lips. “I jus’ wanna…stay with me tonight. I don’t…” He glanced down. “I was so bloody angry when I saw you’d come for me. I was so terrified. I’ve never been that terrified. Don’ even know why. Somethin’ about tonight that I…”

“You can’t keep doing this. I’m the Slayer, too, remember? I—”

“I know that, sweetling. Tonight was different.” He shook his head. “Somethin’ about tonight was different. I needed to get to you more than I’ve needed anythin’. I think it’s somethin’…somethin’ else has started here. Somethin’…” Spike looked at her a minute longer, tugging her again toward the bathroom. “Let’s get clean, okay? Then I’ll run across the hall an’ use one of the neighbor’s phones to order us up somethin’. Sound good?”

She smiled. “Sounds perfect. I’ll need to call Mom and let her know that I’m…staying with Willow tonight.”

“She was with Rupert. I told her you were stayin’ with me.”

Buffy’s eyes went wide. “You did?”

“Baby, you were standin’ right there.” Spike smiled and brushed a kiss across the back of her hand. “I told Joyce that I’d take care of you an’ not to worry.”

“Yeah. I can imagine that going well. Put me and you in an apartment, unsupervised, then telling her not to worry?” She smiled even as he flicked on the bathroom light and set the bag of goodies onto the lavatory counter. “I think I can look forward to having a very uncomfortable talk with my mother when I get home.”

Spike smirked and fisted the worn material of her chemise, encouraging her with his eyes to raise her arms. “Think it’s a li’l late for the birds an’ the bees talk, don’t you?”

“Well, the actual talk, yes. The part where I’ve experienced it…”

His eyes twinkled.

“…we’ll omit that for now.” She shared his humor, her own hands busying themselves at the hem of his t-shirt. The cool marble of his chest was marred with bruises, the bleeding she had felt in the cemetery having stopped and already well on the way to healing. There were patches of angry skin that he could not conceal from her. Dried blood crusted over wounds that would require more than mere hours to mend. Places that Angelus had hurt him before he had known dust.

The weight of what had nearly been lost tonight refused to release its hold on her. Why tonight more than any other, she did not know. Only that Angel and Penn had gone to the cemetery tonight with the purpose of killing them. Killing Spike first so that his death would cripple her, and she would not put up a fight when she became the blunt of their attention.

“Rupert thinks it’s because we’re mated…or somethin’,” Spike said, surprising her. His eyes fixed on her intently. “What you were sayin’ before. I felt you, too, sweetling. Felt everythin’.”

“Mated?”

“He’s only seen it with vampires, an’ he says it’s not as common as it used to be. Times change for the undead, too, it seems. ‘S their way of marriage, or what all. At leas’ that’s how I understand it. Guess vamps don’t have it in them to remain faithful to one over any period of time.”

“Were Penn and Dru…were they mated?”

He shook his head. “I don’ think so. If they were, I think Penn would’ve died the minute you staked her. Vamps mate, pet, but they don’t tend to claim one another all that often. It’s even less common now, with as bloody promiscuous as society’s gotten. But, accordin’ to our Watcher, it did happen on occasion.”

“And Giles thinks it’s happened…to us?”

“As far as I can tell.”

“How? Last I checked, you and I very much have a pulse and are above room temperature.”

His eyes were still dancing. “Care to check again?”

Buffy flushed and whacked him very lightly across the chest—not wanting to do anything to aggravate any of the wounds acquired tonight. “Hot head.”

“Which head you talkin’ about, luv?”

“Gah! Pig.”

“No.” He pointed to himself. “Guy.”

“Same diff.”

“You wound.”

“You love it.”

“That’s beside the point.” Spike cupped her cheek reverently, nearing to caress her brow with a kiss. “Anyway, as I was sayin’, Rupert seems to think that since Slayers an’ vamps are made of the same mold…the bloody Ying Yang or what all, that we share properties.” He released another trembling breath, quivering hands dropping to her front clasp of her bra, moaning slightly when her breasts were bared to him. “When we’re called…” he continued absently, losing his thought as his mouth dropped to her throat, planting wet, needy kisses over her skin as his fingers pebbled her nipples with awed reverence. “Mmm…when we’re called, we’re told that we’re s’posed to stop the vampires. Not the bloody demons or other things that go bump in the night. Jus’ vampires. Rupert says that indicates that we’re linked to them. Share properties…share…all sorts of…mmm, but you’re tasty.”

Buffy grinned, running her hands down his sides. Fingers itching toward the button of his jeans, deftly resisting the temptation to cup him through the denim. She could feel his hardness, prominent against her. “And now we’re…we’re mated?”

“Somethin’ like,” Spike agreed, drawing a nipple into his mouth. His arms tightened around her when she gasped and arched into him, her hands abandoning their task at his jeans to clutch his shoulders. “’S that all right with you? No bloody objections, no—”

“I love you, you big idiot.”

He chuckled into her skin. “Such affection.”
.
“Well…way I see it…” She tilted his chin upward so she might taste his lips again. “Since we’re mated, Mom can’t complain about me and you and our affinity for naked, sweaty goodness.”

Spike grinned at her unrepentantly, turning his own hands to his trousers and relishing in the small murmur of complaint that tumbled through her throat at the loss of his touch. “Yeh,” he replied, tugging her back to him so he might make quick work of her jeans. “There’s a point to be made. If we’re prophesied, there’s no point in objectin’.”

“Absolutely none.”

“An’ if we’re prophesied and mated in the ways of Slayers an’ vamps, well…” Spike clasped her hands tightly as he began walking back to the shower. “There’s jus’ no winnin’ a fight with the bloody Powers.”

The sound of the water smacking the tub hit her again like it had that night so long ago. That night after her first encounter with Penn when Spike had rushed her back to the motel he was staying in. That night when she had to ask him to stay with her as she bathed. Their first night spent together, if she excluded the Halloween ignominy that had, in itself, opened up so many doors. And here she stood. Naked in another bathroom with Spike, this time as he led her under the nozzle. His hands no longer afraid to explore her. His body familiar to hers. Not guised by ambiguities of character. She loved him wholly, with everything she was or could be. The past was where it was.

Angel was dead and gone, an answer to her fatal blow. And as they had when the vampires came to town, they were washing the past away. Both under the nozzle this time; no longer divided. No longer was he on one side of the tub as she immersed herself in water. They shared this baptism. Her head against his shoulder, her hair growing damp under the small deluge, his arms around her.

There was never a time with him when she did not feel absolutely cherished. Her boyfriends in the past, insignificant as they were, had never, even at their sweetest, made her feel like this. Not for one second. Always after something that she had reserved rightfully for the man holding her now. Spike made her feel as wanted with a touch as he did when he was inside her.

Some part of her had always assumed that affectionate caresses and sexual caresses would differ in feel. Spike’s hands on her skin felt as genuine as the hardness of his cock against her. The nearly hesitant way he explored her feminine folds, his lips caressing her cheek, her throat, whispering little hints of affection against her skin. “I love you,” he murmured. “So much.”

“I love you.”

His thumb pressed against her clit, his mouth swallowing her whimper. “So sweet,” he whispered. “You have any idea what you do to me?”

Buffy licked her lips, her hand wrapping around his erection, guiding him to her entrance. She gasped at the feel of his belled head teasing her moist folds, her eyes glossing over at the look of euphoric bliss that colored his features. “I have some idea,” she replied softly. “Seeing as you ask me that every other day.”

Spike smirked and lifted her a little, his mouth dropping to her shoulder. “That’s because you have no idea,” he retorted, moaning when she dug her nails into his skin, his cock sliding within her. “God, I don’ think that’ll ever stop surprising me.”

“What?”

“How fuckin’ good you feel. Gets better every time.” His hands skimmed under her thighs, encouraging her legs to wrap around his waist. “You’re so gorgeous. My girl. My bloody water sprite.” She squeezed him tight, eliciting a long whimper. The cold tile pressed against her back, Spike moving in slow, languorous strokes. His hands on her hips, thrusting into her with small mewls of adoration. His mouth at her neck, his hands on her thighs. Cradling her against him. Her arms around his throat, lost in his feel as he moved within her, water cascading down her skin.

There were so many things he was introducing her to, seemingly by accident. She had read about couples that enjoyed lovemaking in the shower, but she had never thought of herself as that adventurous. Granted, there were some girls back at Hemery who would laugh at the thought of shower sex as adventurous, but it was for her. Everything Spike did with her was adventurous.

“Oh, God…”

“Love you,” he swore ardently. “I love you so much.”

“Love you.”

“Feels so good.” Spike met her eyes adoringly, his thrusts deepening. He stole a kiss from her lips. “I still don’ get it,” he murmured, wrapping one arm around her waist to hold her, his other hand scaling up her damp skin to cup her breast.

She squeezed him again, head falling to his shoulder. “Get what?”

“How in the hell you chose a mess like me.”

“I love you.”

“Don’t understand that either.” He pulled completely out of her, his cock sliding against her moist skin, between them. He had that look on his face that she adored; like he was just seconds from losing himself. He was so considerate of her, so desperate that she obtain release, though not in a way she would have expected. As though he took more pleasure in her orgasm than he did in his own. “Christ, there’s not one part of you that doesn’ bloody undo me.”

“You, either.” Buffy gasped and clutched him tighter. Her skin was tight, hot. Like a fire in the pit of her belly was spreading through the full of her body. And even here, drenched away in their waterfall, burning away to the point where tears stung her eyes. Tiny pinpricks tickling her insides, blazing so unbearably, so sweetly, that she didn’t know if she could take it. “God, Spike, please.”

He nodded urgently and sank within her warmth once more. “Don’ get it.”

“Spike—”

“You’re a goddess. My hot, fiery goddess.”

His touch dropped to her pussy, sliding over her wetness, massaging her where they were joined. Rubbing her clit in speedy, torturous circuits. Pushing her closer to that edge as he slammed into her. Her body curled into his, wrapped around him, her thrusting hips meeting his every plunge.

“So sweet.”

“Oh God.” She had to bite back her cry of frustration when he pulled out of her again. Teasing her so sweetly. So mercilessly.

“Love you.” With a cheeky swirl of his hips, he slammed into her again. Her head flew back against the tile and she mewled, her muscles contracting to gratifyingly agonizing depths. Watching him as he watched her, the smoldering look coloring his features a palpable touch of its own. Drawing forward sensations she would have denied existed were it not for the man in her arms. The man that reminded her every day of what they had. The blissful beauty of what they shared. If not with a touch, a look. A whisper. The curve of his seductively elegant smile that he flashed whenever he found something ironic or outrageously funny. Everything rolled into one.

Their pants mingled as his thrusts grew frantic. She became tighter and wetter with each plunge. His fingers edging her closer to climax, his mouth busy at her throat before dropping to her breasts once more and suckling her nipple between his teeth.

“Guhhh…”

“Mmmm.”

“Spike!”

His blue eyes met hers heatedly before his mouth plundered hers, tongue exploring every inch of her cavern. Drinking her fully. His fingers edging her closer to climax. “Come for me, baby,” he gasped. “You’re so close. I can taste it.”

“Spike—”

“Love you. I love you so much.”

“SPIKE!”

It hit her from nowhere. A dash of sensory overload, her body exploding around him. The tile against her back, the water washing over her body, his arms steadying her, his cock thrusting into her, his mouth dancing over her skin. All of it compiled into something she had never experienced before. Not with anyone. Not even with him. Not until tonight. Crashing over her in waves, rippling through her in a blaze, little jolts of pleasure that touched every nerve in her body. Her name spilled through his lips the next second, her muscles wringing him, milking him for everything he had to give. His brow collapsing against her shoulder, rough pants tumbling through his throat.

How long they remained there, she did not know. Only that the shower was running cold now, cooling them in the peace of their afterglow.

When she thought she could trust her voice with words, Buffy clutched him tighter and muffled a giggle into his shoulder.

“Not the most flatterin’ reaction I’ve received…”

“That was amazing, and you know it.”

Spike pulled back, his eyes dancing. “Yeh…” he agreed slowly, drawing her lips close for another long kiss. “What’s so bloody amusin’, then?”

“Well…showers are typically thought to encourage cleanliness. You made me even more dirty.”

“Ooohh. Say that word again.”

“What word?”

He smirked and thrust forward slightly, enjoying the way her eyes widened at the feeling of his cock expanding within her. “You bloody well know what word.”

“We need…shower.”

“We will,” he agreed, nuzzling her hair as he began to move again. “There’s no rush.”

An indeterminate amount of time later, collapsed on the bed that was composed of borrowed sheets and one lonely pillow, they rested. Buffy curled into her boyfriend’s side, dressed simply in his t-shirt. Full on the Chinese he had rushed out to get at last minute before all takeout restaurants closed business for the night. He had adorned a pair of sweats of his own accord. There was something about the intimacy of clothing that she felt many people took for granted. They were both wearing something from his wardrobe; a complete outfit if put together. And for whatever reason, that provided the strangest sense of comfort.

There was a fine line between crazy and overjoyed. Buffy didn’t know which one she was, and presently she didn’t care. She was with the man she loved. In his arms in the aftermath of battle.

The future was hazy at best. She didn’t know what it would bring. What repercussions she would suffer for the decisions made tonight. Spike relayed that Angel’s reappearance there at the end was at the whim of Willow enacting a curse that Jenny Calendar had evidently been researching the night she died. And really, Buffy didn’t know why she had made the decision she did. She didn’t regret it as she thought she might. It felt right. Justifiable.

For whatever else, there was this. The simple bliss of Spike’s arms. They were prophesied. The Slayer holding her now. And yet, it was not the Slayer that had rushed out to save him tonight.

That provided comfort as well. There were things that could not be prophesied.

She did not love him because he was the Slayer. She loved him because he was Spike. And she knew, simply by his touch, that the sentiment was shared.

There was so much left to explore. So much left to discover. So much.

Not tonight, though. Tonight they had ended it. Tonight it was time for rest.

Curled in Spike’s arms in the dark of his empty apartment, Buffy murmured something sleepily and shifted her head from where it rested on his chest. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“Always?”

“For bloody ever. As long as you’ll have me.”

“I like always.”

“Good, ‘cause I’m not lettin’ you go.” She couldn’t see his face in the dark, but she knew he was smiling. He pulled her closer and dropped a reverent kiss at her temple. “That entire ‘as long as you’ll have me’ thing was jus’ a smoke screen.”

She giggled and raised her head, seeking out his lips. Sharing a heated kiss that remained loving and fueled with that hint of lust he couldn’t help but give. And there were no more words. Just smiles through the dark.

Curled in her lover’s arms, savoring peace after a long fight. Heedless of what awaited on the horizon. They had earned tonight. Tonight and a thousand others. And for now, there was this. This period between yesterday and tomorrow. Time rewarded.

And they slept.

---

Conclusive Notes: Much thanks to everyone who gave this one a shot with me. It was an absolute blast to write.

I did leave several things unresolved intentionally…I felt this plotline was over, but I also wanted to leave room for a possible continuation waaaay down the road. The reensouling/staking Angel thing pretty much was me having fun in my world: wanted Buffy to kill Angel…just once, voluntarily, while souled…but leave a gateway for the PTB to magic him back so he can go off to Los Angeles and become the star of my other favorite show. Heh.

Another world of thanks to Megan and Yani. You gals are the best.

Again, thanks to everyone who gave this one a shot. Here are the challenge guidelines…hopefully I followed them all relatively faithfully. (I did have a Spike/Giles training scene…wasn’t too detailed, but it was in there, dammit)

The challenge was swiped from Sweetie’s website, Beyond Surrender. She has since removed the challenge section from her website…thankfully I had the foresight to save this somewhere.

Challenge 9

Story
An AU of Season 2. Spike shows up, but he isn’t a vampire. Buffy spies on Spike for a while after she accidently see’s him fighting off a group of vamps, while on patrol. Spike shows up at Gile’s Library. Buffy freaks as Spike identifies herself as the Slayer. They realize that Spike was summoned as the new Slayer when Buffy died — temporarily drowned, that is. Buffy starts developing feelings for Spike.

Requirements
– Rated R or NC-17 rating (Preferable NC-17)
– Must take place during season two, before School Hard – Yes I know that a slayer has to be a girl, but this is a fanfic so you can do whatever you want. Come up with some propecy or something,
just make Spike the slayer, how he became the slayer is up to you.
– Spike is a good guy, he can be as cocky or annoying as you like but he has to remain on the side of good (ie he’s not like Faith)
– Gile’s also becoming Spike’s Watcher, some sort of Watcher/Slayer trainning scene
– Buffy starts to fall for Spike
– Spike helping Buffy on Patrols
– Buffy loses her virginity to Spike, not Angel
– Spike/Xander bonding (in a non slash way)
– Must remain S/B…it can start off as B/A but has to become S/B by the middle of the story

Must include 3 of the following:
– Angel getting jealous of Spike spending time with Buffy
– Spike, Giles and Xander get drunk together
– Someone getting hurt (physically)
– Buffy and Spike become best friends
– Angel loses his Soul, not by Buffy but by some other reason..(Dru?)
– Xander/Cordy or Xander/Willow romance
– If you do a X/C or X/W, Spike has to somehow help Xander get the girl
The End.

[/nextpage]