Buffy's right arm was asleep.

That was the first thing she thought upon waking. That -- and that her back and neck hurt. In fact, she ached all over. She had not expected the floor to be *this* uncomfortable. Suddenly her eyes opened wide with surprise. Why was she on the floor, anyway? She pushed her blanket back with her free hand and leaned up a little, glancing around, a bit disoriented. Suddenly she remembered the events that had brought her here, and at the same time became aware of the cause of the numb, tingling sensation in her arm.

At some point during the night, her hand had slipped from Spike's to rest more comfortably at her side. She realized with an awkward sense of guilt that the position she had made him sleep in, with his hands over his head, was quite uncomfortable -- and Spike did not have the option of shifting his position, as she had done.

He had however, at some point, nestled closer to her in his sleep, drawn instinctively to the warmth and softness of her body -- a great deal of his weight now resting on her arm.

She glanced at the clock quickly. It was a little after seven. Everyone would be waking up soon, as Willow and Xander both had daytime jobs -- as did everyone in Sunnydale, since the nights had been stolen from them.

She wondered anxiously if the vampire, oblivious now to the fact that he was resting literally in the Slayer's arms, had awakened at any point during the night, to find her on the floor with him. At the time, it had seemed like the right thing to do, the only thing to do under the circumstances -- to provide the physical comfort that Spike needed in the midst of his haunting nightmares.

Now, she just wanted to get up and away from him before he woke up and realized what she had done.

She felt her face flush with embarrassment at the softness that she, the *Slayer*, had shown toward the soulless vampire, and it was suddenly very important to her that he never know about it. Come to think of it, she did not think that *he* would be too pleased, either, to realize that he had needed such comfort -- and that he had accepted it from *her*.

She gazed down for a moment at the sleeping form of the master vampire. His platinum hair fairly glowed in the faint light that filtered in through the drawn curtains, and his face was peaceful…almost…innocent…in sleep.

*Innocent. Hah.*

She needed to get up. Now.

She tried again, slowly and cautiously, to pull her arm out from under Spike's body while somehow managing not to wake him. If she could just make it back to her bed – or at least a few feet away from him – before he awakened, then he would never have to know anything about this.

Spike, like any creature accustomed to being constantly in peril for his very life, was a very light sleeper.

At her movement he instantly awakened, momentarily forgetting where he was and the fact that he was bound, and jerking against the chains at his wrists, as he instinctively tried to pull as far away from the unexpected presence at his side as he could, panicked and disoriented.

"Spike!" she said urgently, trying to calm him, reaching for his shoulders to still him long enough to allow him to actually see her. "Stop it, Spike! Spike, it's just me!"

The sound of her voice seemed to snap him out of the remnants of whatever dream terror had followed him into the edges of wakefulness, and he finally stopped fighting her, looking up at her with eyes wide with fear and confusion as they settled on her face. As recognition began to dawn in his gaze, Buffy found herself startled by the intense blue of his eyes, that she had never noticed before.

*He's actually kind of...* she began to admit in her mind, and then suddenly stopped herself abruptly, her eyes widening at the realization of the words that had almost formed in her mind. *No! Evil, soulless vampires are *not* cute -- not hot -- not breathtakingly gorgeous, and -- *No!* Stop it, Buffy! Bad!* she ordered herself again sternly, trying to focus on the situation at hand, and not the mesmerizing gaze of the vampire staring into her eyes.

The fear and confusion had faded from Spike's eyes, as the cloud of sleep left him, and he remembered the events of the night before that had led him to this place.

*Right...the Slayer's house...bloody bint couldn't go to sleep in peace without chaining me up,* he remembered with brief annoyance at the recollection of their argument the night before. She'd left him chained up on the floor without a second thought and gone to sleep in her nice, warm bed...

He frowned as a question occurred to him. So why was she...?

His eyes narrowed in suspicion as he continued to hold her gaze, studying her intently. The Slayer was on her hands and knees on the floor, hovering anxiously over him, trying to be sure that he was done with his little freak-out. Her hair was disheveled from sleep... and her bedspread was on the floor beside her.

If he didn’t know better, he would have thought that she had…

"What the bleedin' hell are you doing, Slayer?" he demanded, his eyes wary, his eyebrows raised as he waited expectantly for her response. *This had better be bloody good!*

"I -- you..." Buffy stammered, a strangely guilty expression coming over her face, her emerald eyes wide and trapped as she obviously struggled to come up with a suitable answer. "You -- were having a nightmare," she admitted finally. "You woke me up with all your yelling and moaning and stuff. I was trying to wake you up." There was a certain about of resentment and derision in her tone; after all, she couldn’t allow him to think that she actually *cared*.

She told him most of the truth; she only left out the part where she had failed to wake him and instead just cuddled him through the nightmare, ending up spending the entire night at his side. She also left out the fact that her attempt to wake him had been hours earlier, and in no way accounted for her presence on the floor *now*.

The image that her words painted in his head was a most embarrassing one; the memory of his vivid nightmare flashed across his mind, and he cringed inwardly. He hated the idea of appearing that vulnerable in front of this Slayer.

"I was not!" he argued defensively. "Yelling and moaning and such. You're bloody making that up, Slayer!"

"No I'm not!” Buffy was indignant. He just had to challenge the part of her story that was actually *true*! “You were too!"

"Was not!"

"Were too!"

"What I wanna know," Spike demanded suddenly, seeing the futility of that path of discussion, "is why you're down here practically on top of me while I'm sleeping and chained up and helpless! Got an explanation for that, Slayer?"

"Oh…please!" Buffy scoffed, but her voice was trembling and sputtering and a little too defensive. "Like I'm going to be sneaking around, just looking for my chance to…to *violate* you in your sleep!" she sneered. "Get over yourself, Spike!"

Spike's eyebrows raised pointedly, and his slightly surprised expression made her heart sink. "I was thinking more along the lines of your staking me in my sleep, love," he informed her, his mocking tone making her flush red with embarrassment. He gave a little half shrug, as if considering her words as he went on, "But…since that's where *your* mind seems to be focused...you *are* the one who insisted on chaining me to your bed!"

"I did not chain you to my *bed*!" Buffy hissed, her voice a loud whisper lest anyone who was already awake and getting ready for the day in the next rooms might happen by in the hallway and hear this utterly humiliating conversation.

Spike laughed in disbelief, making no effort whatsoever to be quiet about it, and nodded toward his wrists, still fastened firmly above his head to the bedpost. "Looks to me like you did, pet." He shrugged casually. "Might have slipped your mind while you were trying to decide how best to make use of me!" he went on with a smug grin, his tongue flickering out in a suggestive gesture that made her heartbeat quicken.

With anger! she told herself indignantly, trying to build up a good sense of outrage at his suggestion. Nothing else! Her racing heart and the little flutter low in her stomach had absolutely nothing to do with that little gesture of his...or the thought of "making use" of Spike...

No! It was just sheer, furious anger at the thought that he would have the *nerve* to think that *she* would *ever* want to....

Oh, God. She didn't...did she?

"You're a pig, Spike," she snapped angrily, unable to disguise the little tremble in her voice, as she stood up and moved away from him. Suddenly she was beginning to think that it was a very bad idea to continue to be down on the floor with him. "You are so disgusting!"

"Yeah," he sneered. "I'm so repulsive that the very thought of me is making you hot right now!" There was a smug triumph in his voice, a surety in his piercing eyes that seemed to look straight through her, and sent a pleasant little shudder all through her body and....

And suddenly, she remembered what she had learned about vampires' senses, how acute was their hearing, vision...their sense of smell...

*Ugh,* was her first thought.

Followed immediately by *Oh, God.*

As she saw the slow, knowing smirk spread across his face as he gave her an innocently questioning look, she was glad for the dim lighting which might serve to mask her hot flush of mortification at the fact that he *knew* beyond all doubt that he was right.

"Get over yourself, Spike," she repeated, aware that she had already said that, making it a weak response at best. But considering that she had barely been able to manage a response at all, she did not think she was doing all that bad.

Then she recovered enough to add, her tone a little bolder, putting on a smirk of her own, "The only thing about you that gets me hot is the thought of finally staking you, and making my life a whole lot simpler."

But her words lacked the impact of an actual threat, and they both knew that she would not actually do it...not at this point in the game...not unless she had to.

She strode purposefully toward the door, glancing at her clock again. "Seven thirty," she announced. "Time to go make sure the rest of the house is up so they can all yell at me at once for letting you live...and then try to convince them not to stake you themselves," she told him with a tight, grim smile.

She was not looking forward to this conversation.

Spike’s eyes suddenly widened at her words, in very real fear, the smug smile vanishing in an instant. "Wait just a second, Slayer! Let me out of these chains first!" he demanded, his voice rising a little with urgency.

"Why should I?" she asked him, her eyes sparkling with malicious mirth. It felt good to have at least a *little* power, after the way he had relished making *her* squirm for the past half-hour. Her eyes narrowed and her smile turned slightly suggestive as she added, "Maybe I like you there."

Two could play his little game.

"And what if one of your little friends decides to get stake happy before you can explain everything?" he asked her, and he was clearly not playing at the moment. He was genuinely afraid. "I ought to be able to defend myself!"

Buffy raised her eyebrows in mild disbelief and let out a soft snort of laughter. "Yeah," she said sarcastically. "I'm gonna let the vampire free so that if one of my little *human* friends comes at him with a stake, he can rip their arms off in *self-defense!*"

Spike could understand that she saw him as a much bigger threat than her friends, and did not have any intention of giving him the opportunity to hurt them, but he could just picture the little witch rushing into the room in a fury and staking him before Buffy could stop her.

It was not a pleasant picture.

"Buffy..." he insisted, his voice softer, almost pleading, "They hate me."

"They deserve to," she countered, her voice colder than it had been during the whole conversation, as she met his eyes, daring him to contradict her.

He did not.

Buffy stood there for a moment, considering. She honestly thought that her friends would better accept Spike's presence, at least at first, if they felt like he was rendered completely harmless and absolutely could not hurt them. In fact, part of her reasoning for not taking the chains off yet was for *his* safety. Yet, in spite of herself, she could understand his fear.

She had not forgotten the look on Willow’s face that night, either.

"I won't let them stake you, Spike," she told him softly, firmly. “I promise.”

He paused, searching her eyes intently for a moment before looking away in resignation and replying flatly, "And I'm just supposed to trust you. With my life."

Her eyes met his again in a question, and she commented quietly, "I thought you were *already* doing that."

And with those words, she left the room to go find her friends.