Willow had been true to her word. She and Dawnie were still snug in bed when Buffy came home. Whether they knew about her later-than-late night, she couldn’t say. She’d never slept much – Mom had complained about it, laughing, that she’d been a curious baby who seemed to feel that naps were time wasted. It was bittersweet once she discovered her destiny. Even with pigtails and baby teeth, she’d already been marked. Maybe something in her small self recognized it and was determined to cram all the good in to her allotted time.

Was that the explanation for Spike?

No, no, no. *There’s no explanation for Spike,* she insisted silently, as she stepped into a steamy shower, washing away his touch. *He’s an indulgence, a decadent fling. Nothing more. Not for me, and no matter what he thinks, not for him, either.*

Buffy reached for her conditioner and realized there was nothing but dregs in the bottle. That was Dawn again, using her pricey John Frieda instead of the discount Suave. Or maybe Willow? For all that her rent money helped stretch their tight budget, her best friend was kind of a mooch. Not intentionally – she just didn’t realize how tight things were these days.

She shook her head, managing to coax just enough out of the bottle to smooth her tresses and promising herself that a grocery trip was on the agenda for this afternoon.

It has to be, she thought. You have a vampire coming for dinner.

“Now that’s a twist on the Katharine Hepburn classic,” she murmured.

***

Willow was brewing coffee in the kitchen, textbooks splayed on the breakfast bar. “I wish there was a doughnut delivery place. Like pizza, except … doughnuts.”

Buffy smiled. “You could always call Xander.”

“Except his doughnut deliveries come with strings. String quartets, actually. Anya can’t decide on ceremony music.”

“At least she’s decided to have the ceremony in English instead of Fyarl.”

“Good point.”

“Any word on the dresses?”

Willow rolled her eyes and poured two mugs of coffee.

“That bad?”

“Worse. Hey, you remember I’m going out with Amy tonight, right?”

“Yeah. I’m Big Sister Buffy tonight, all slay-free.”

“I could wait until you do a quick patrol …”

“Nah. Things are quiet right now. Might as well enjoy it.”

“Kay. Thanks.”

“No problem.”

***

Was it right to be glad that your best friend was spending the evening with her bad influence so you could spend the night with yours? Wasn’t there some Dr. Phil-term for friends who abandon friends to their darker sides? And, forgetting Dr. Phil, was it really reasonable to use her credit card for three porterhouses and a loaf of crusty French bread? If so, would a bag of Hershey’s kisses make it all that much worse a sin?

***

“Let me get this right? You invited Spike to dinner?”

“Yeah. Why shouldn’t I?”

“You never invite anyone for dinner. You never invited Riley for dinner. Or … well, okay, you’re kind of a dating pariah, but …”

“I’m not a pariah! I’ve had lots of dates!”

“Yeah, okay.”

“And this isn’t a date.”

“Buffy, you’ve got placemats.”

“Attractive table ‘scapes are against the law now?”

“Not if you’re Martha Stewart, but Buffy … you’re a vampire slayer.”

“With a keen eye for interior design.”

Dawn snorted. “Fine, it isn’t a date.”

The doorbell rang and then, as if he’d thought the better of waiting for the butler to answer, Spike swept in.

“Hello,” he swallowed, and nodded at both of them, thrusting forward a box. “Brought you this.”

“Itsadate,” Dawn coughed as Buffy accepted the pastry box.

“Spike, you shouldn’t have. Is this from that new place?”

“Yeah, Gateau. Couple doors down from the Magic Box.”

“Ooh, I wanted to try it, but they’re so expensive …”

“Saved the bird what owns it from some trouble the other morning. This was a thank you.”

“See, Spike can take gifts for saving lives. Why can’t we do a few more patrols by April Fool? Maybe they’ll pay us with that Miss Sixty jacket.”

“Dawn, why don’t you finish setting the table?”

With a big eye roll, Dawn flounced out of the dining room.

“So, uhm … ‘preciate the invite. To dinner.” Spike swallowed, his head tilted down, his eyes looking up to meet Buffy’s gaze for a quick second.

“Yeah, sure, I uh … don’t get to … cook. Not so much anymore. Well, not really ever. But, uhm, Mom had this indoor grill thingie and I wanted to try it. Or maybe sell it on eBay, but I figured I should try it, first.”

“Can I help?”

“Uhm, yeah.”

He followed her through the kitchen door.

***

Ten minutes later, Buffy looked up from the grill to watch her guest vampire gracefully chopping vegetables with a kitchen knife sharp enough to hold its own in her weapons chest. A knife that she had handed him, not even thinking that it might be used against her.

*Because you know it wouldn’t,* she thought. *You’re safe with Spike, safer than you’ve ever been. That maniacal killing impulse is channeled towards anything that could hurt you. And Dawn.*

“So, uhm … I wanted to …” she wasn’t facing him, but he stopped chopping and turned to listen. “I wanted to say thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” he returned, in a voice just above a whisper.

“No, really. For everything. Since I’ve been back. And for while I was gone, especially. Y’know, with Dawn.”

“I promised you.”

“I know. I get that. Now.” She was facing him and their eyes were locked. Her heart raced. This couldn’t be … and yet, here it was. Here he was, not looking away, his eyes too bright. Tears? Was Spike so emotional about this that he’d …

“Hey, guys, we’re all set!” Dawn pushed through the swinging door. “Ooh … um, I mean, the table is all set. And I’m just backing out now, as if I didn’t burst in here at an incredibly awkward moment.”

“No, Dawnie,” mumbled a scarlet-faced Buffy.

“S’okay, Bit. Nothing to see,” insisted Spike as he returned to chopping peppers.

“Sure,” she backed out.

***

Dinner see-sawed between warm and familiar and intensely awkward. Buffy had fretted about what Spike might eat. His super-rare porterhouse was a big hit, but he also devoured salad and garlic bread, prompting raised eyebrows from both girls and a dismissive “It doesn’t work, y’know. Might as well scatter basil.”

“How come you can cook, Spike?” Dawn asked when Buffy ducked back into the kitchen for the cake.

“I can’t.”

“You made the salad.”

“I almost made salsa of out the veggies, Bit. And that’s cutting, not cooking.”

“So you can’t cook?”

“Never tried.”

“Didn’t guys cook back then?”

“Using me for a history lesson, now?”

“Maybe.” She shrugged.

“No, I can’t cook. And I don’t think many men can, ‘cept for that ponce Jamie Oliver and his mates.”

“Did you have a cook?”

Spike paused. That lifetime was a history lesson, nearly forgotten. And the man who’d lived it was all but gone, too. Dressed in Levi’s and combat boots, sitting half a world away and more than a century between him and that forgotten man, would it really hurt?

Yeah, it still would.

“Don’t like to talk about it much.”

“Sorry,” Dawn mumbled.

“Oh, what the hell?” He shrugged. “We had a girl. Called them maid-of-all-work, back then. She was my age. Grew up together, except not at all together. And then we had a nursemaid and a cook and before my dad died, a man to look after the horses and carriage. And then he was gone and we’d long since let the nursemaid go and the cook and there was only Nell again. She was a good person.”

“What … what happened to her?”

“Dru. Drusilla happened to her.” Spike grabbed for the barely touched bottle of wine and filled his glass. “Don’t like to talk about it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“S’okay.”

They were silent and staring at the table when Buffy came back in with cake and coffee.

“Oooh … this looks really good. I’m so glad you brought this, really glad,” Dawn babbled, grateful for the distraction.

“What’s with the effusive?”

“Nothing. Just lots of love for the chocolate,” Dawn emphasized by stabbing her slice with a fork.

“Did you want a piece?” Buffy offered to her surprisingly quiet dinner guest.

“Yeah, thanks.”

“So, if this concludes the dinner portion of our evening, I was gonna go see Janice – catch the 9:15 of From Hell. If that’s okay?”

Buffy looked from sister to vampire. “Okay. But only if you’re really going to the movies.”

“Come on … I would blow off a Johnny Depp movie for what?”

“Alright. I can walk you there.”

“Janice’s mom is picking me up. In like, five minutes. So it is okay, right?”

“Yeah.”

A car horn sounded from outside.

“I better get my bag.”

“Bag?”

“Well, yeah, I’m gonna stay over. No school tomorrow – in service day, remember I brought home that memo? Anyway. You said okay, right?” Dawn cast a conspiratorial look at Spike.

“I … alright, yeah.”

***

“So much for a family dinner,” Buffy shrugged as Spike gulped another mouthful of wine.

“Sorry, pet.”

“Y’know what always cheers me up?”

Spike didn’t answer.

“Violence.”

At that, he broke into a wide smile.

“Right you are. Let’s go find something to kill.”

***

As it turned out, something to kill was out of stock again. After two hours and three graveyards, a stray cat in Restfield was the most action they found. The cat, or possibly Buffy’s raised stake and Spike’s near pounce at the kitty, did at least serve to break the tension.

“Forget it, Slayer. The only things going bump in the night are us.”

“Yeah,” Buffy tucked her stake away. “I should get home. Maybe do some dishes.”

“Yeah, that would be a laugh riot.” Spike moved closer.

“It would be … fine.”

“Sure.”

“Yeah.” He edged closer, and Buffy found herself backed against an elm.

“So I’ll just go now.”

“That would be best.” His hands were on her hips, eyes locked.

“Yeah.”

And then his mouth was on hers and her legs twined with his, molding against his frame just like every time he came near her, as if by instinct.

She’d gone patrolling in the same skirt she’d worn for dinner, long and almost demure but loose enough to do what she sensed they were about to do.

What she wanted to do.

Her hands left his shoulders long enough to unfasten his button, unzip his jeans. And then she was grabbing his cock, too rough for foreplay, and Spike was moaning, biting his lip at her force. She’d helped him slide inside of her just seconds later and, with a little bounce on her toes, buried him deep and anchored her legs around his waist.

“Too much fabric …” he murmured, pulling back just enough to push his jeans lower, only his duster covering his bare ass now. He thrust quickly, unevenly, setting a ragged pace. Buffy struggled for breath and pleasure, failing at both. Almost as quickly as it started, she felt him shudder and spill inside of her.

For the first time, leaving her completely unfulfilled.

And then he dropped to his knees, burrowed beneath her skirt, and in a matter of seconds had her gasping, surprised, as his fingers and tongue took her from annoyed to delirious in mere seconds.

“Come on, pet.” He smirked, wiping his hand across his mouth. “Let’s get you inside.”

***

The rough crypt stone left scrapes on his shoulders as she forced him back against the wall, kissing him, scraping her nails down his arms, pressing her slight weight to his body. They’d shed their clothes mere minutes after getting inside, and if Spike had his way, they’d stay wrapped up in each other for hours.

“Baby likes to play …” he growled.

“And you don’t?”

“Now, pet … not trying to discourage you. The opposite, really.” He tumbled her onto the carpet.

“Careful!”

“Right.” He pushed himself against her, grinding against her mound without attempting to slip inside. He missed her clit, missed every truly sensitive spot until Buffy was squirming, dissatisfied.

“Problem, love?”

“Don’t tease!”

“It’s the best part and you know it, pet.” He flipped over on his back, pulling her to straddle his hips.

“You’re twisted, Spike.”

“Yeah.” He maneuvered her until she was poised above his erection. When she stayed still, he grabbed his cock and brushed it against her lips in smooth strokes, hitting her clit and forcing a gasp from her lips. “So what if I am?”

On his next pass, Buffy arched forward and took him inside, riding with a slow, determined pace.

“So what if I am?”

***

Couples dotted the balcony. Most were making out; one pair was set on making mischief.

“What if …” Willow gestured and the same frat guy Amy had put in high heels was now also sporting long, auburn locks. The girls giggled. Amy ate the cherries out of her madras as she attached a long, scaly tail to the back of a very pretty and rather mean former classmate. “Take that, Jacqueline,” she murmured as the girl tripped over her new appendage and spilled across the dance floor.

Amy was still laughing hysterically when Willow paused mid-spell. “Something isn’t right.”

“Should I add horns? Oh, no, I know … webbed feet!”

“No, Amy … look at that guy,” Willow gestured insistently. “The one in the suede jacket, by the bar? He moves all wrong.”

“Is he a …”

“Yeah! And over there, the corridor to the ladies’ room, those two girls?”

“I’ve never seen them before.”

“But look what they’re wearing.”

“Yeah, pretty freaky. The steampunk look is soooo played out.”

“Duh, Amy, they’re …”

“…oh! Three vamps in the Bronze? Is that a lot?”

“There are more than three.” Willow scanned the crowd. Suede jacket guy, the Victorian girls, a blonde older woman looking out of place by the pool tables … or maybe she was just a blonde older woman out of place, it was hard to tell with the smoke … and there were more. “I have to get Buffy.”

“Just call her!” Amy fumbled for her phone until she was ringing Revello Drive. “Damn it – isn’t anyone home?”

“I thought … alright, listen, I’m going to try to do a locator spell and find her. You keep the vamps occupied.”

“How?”

Willow glared at her friend, then glanced back at the floor. Stiffler’s Mom was about to make a move on the pool players. Without thinking, Willow dropped a light fixture on the table and spooked the ghoul. “Like that!”

“Alright, alright,” Amy agreed as Willow raced for the stairs. “But hurry! There aren’t that many lamps.”

***

In the quiet of an alleyway, Willow focused her will and conjured an orb. “Buffy,” she murmured.

The orb zig-zagged out of the alley as the witch raced after it.

***

From her perch on the balcony, Amy was warming up to the chaos. It was like what they were doing before, only with a little bit of strategy thrown in. A spell helped two drunks bump into each other, and then alcohol led them to the pushing match that persuaded some of the club goers to call it a night. She fried the band’s amp, forcing them to bring up the house lights and taking away the distraction the vamps were banking on. Amy even managed to take one out, when kind of-sort of-on purpose she persuaded a frat guy vamp to lean too close to a pretty potential victim while she lit up a cigarette. The immolation sent Pretty home for the night, and a few others, too.

“And for my next trick … day-plah-say!” A table skidded just a few inches backwards, spilling a potential victim’s drink and thwarting the vampire stalking her and her friends. “That was close. Hurry, Willow!”

***

“Restfield? But Buffy promised no patrols!” The orb paused for only a few seconds, dancing under the iron gates. And then it was soaring again and Willow hurried to follow.

She didn’t have far to go, though. The orb gracefully figure-eighted in front of a crypt door. It took Willow a second to realize it was Spike’s crypt. “That’s strange …”

Willow would later insist that she kept quiet because she thought Buffy might be prisoner. Maybe not Spike’s prisoner, but what would she be doing there without coercion? She said that she figured there was no real harm in not calling out, but maybe some danger in speaking. After all, she was all alone in a Sunnydale cemetery well after dark. That had never led to good.

The door pushed open without a squeak, and Willow stepped over the threshold. The orb zoomed inside the crypt and paused over a trap door.

If Willow had been hesitant before, she was really worried now. Spike’s crypt looked like it had taken a beating – furniture was overturned, clothing spilled everywhere. Without thinking, she pulled the door opened and climbed down the staircase, calling her friend’s name.

“Buffy?”

Her eyes refused to work.

Speaking of eyes, Buffy was ungluing her lids after the rude awakening.

“Buffy?”

Her brain didn’t want to add two and two and get four, but really, there they were. Two legs belonging to Buffy and two attached to Spike, tangled up in each other and the bedsheets. The room even smelled like sex.

Buffy sat up, pulling the sheet over her bare breasts.

“Oh, God, Wil … it isn’t what …” she glanced at Spike, who cocked an eyebrow and waited for her to finish her thought. “Okay, it is, but …”

“There are vampires. At the Bronze.”

“When aren’t there?” Spike snorted. “If you’re looking for a threesome, Red, all you had to do was ask.”

Buffy smacked him hard enough to wipe the smirk off his face.

“I left Amy in charge.”

“No good can come of that,” he scoffed.

Buffy was already pulling on her clothing. Spike was hurrying to do the same. They were dressed and out the door so quickly that Willow could almost believe it was all a trick of her imagination.

Almost.

“Buffy …” Willow began.

“Can it wait?” Her friend was all business, intent on dispatching the vamps. Or avoiding the obvious.

“Yeah. Sure.”

Spike’s De Soto was parked just outside Restfield’s gates. He drove like a maniac, sending Willow slip-sliding across the back seat.

***

Amy had cleared out a chunk of the Bronze in the last hour, but her luck was running out. Worse, she’d finally been spotted by the MILF.

Only a quick stake from behind saved her from an unpleasant ending.

“Thanks, Buffy. That was close.”

But the Slayer was already on the move, leaping the railing to land on the dance floor, taking out two more vamps before they knew what hit them.

From her vantage point, Amy caught her breath. It couldn’t be five minutes since the cavalry had rode in, but there was enough dust on the dance floor to challenge a Dirt Devil. Spike was there, too, fists flying, but face never slipping his human mask.

“Willow?” Amy watched her friend join in the fray. Something was off. Way off. Willow’s ball of sunlight spell went kablooey and Spike had to rescue her from a vamp, while dodging the wayward orb. Not that she’d watched Willow come over all Wonder Woman before, but the usual cool confidence behind her spell casting was missing.

***

Spike dusted the skinny boy vamp and offered Willow a hand, dodging Rosenberg’s comet as she came to her feet.

“Thanks,” she mumbled. “Is that it?”

Buffy looked up from across the room, just in time to see something moving towards the alley.

***

The Slayer stood, still and silent, seeking her prey. An impatient gesture indicated Spike and Willow should do the same. But nothing stirred.

And then from the end of the alley, a girl appeared.

A vampire, no doubt, and vaguely European. Younger than Buffy when she was turned. Strangely familiar, too, though Buffy couldn’t tell you how she knew these things. Usually she sensed nothing more than the presence of an enemy and maybe some quick thoughts about strategy. This time … this time she shivered, even though the night was warm.

The girl stalked forward.

“This is the Slayer, then? The one girl in all the world. You’ve made it a long time, missy. Some girls only make it a few days. A few hours even. But you know what? None of us make it forever.”

And then she was gone.

“Okay, so, that’s it for Toastmasters. Thanks to the weird dead girl for going last.” Buffy looked at her companions.

And then it all flooded back to her.

Adrenaline gone, she slumped a bit. Funny how she could from warrior to worrier in nothing flat.

She supposed that Spike did the right thing. After an awkward foot shuffling moment, he announced “I’d best be on my way, then.” And with a quick peck on the cheek, he disappeared into the night.

***

“How long …”

“Can we not?”

“Sorry.”

“No, I just … I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Yeah.”

“What?”

“You don’t want to talk about anything. You were dead, okay. I get that. And came back to drama, and maybe it wasn’t my finest hour ‘cause y’know, choking on giant snake and writhing in agony and passing out, not fun. And you, trapped in your coffin, unforeseen consequence. And yeah, maybe I *did* think you would just flounce out of your grave, slay the headstone and get back to being same old upbeat Buffy. But you know what? That Buffy isn’t just gone because she went to heaven and back. She’s gone for all sorts of reasons. And you’re not dealing with ANY of them. So, fine, don’t talk about your sucky job, or don’t tell me that you could really use some extra cash, or don’t tell me that you don’t always know what to do about Dawn. And by all means, go ahead and don’t tell me that you’re all star eyed over a guy. Don’t tell me anything. I’ll see you around.”

It was Willow’s turn to pivot on her heel and exit the alley, fuming.

***

Alone in his crypt, Spike paced.

The events of the past week – well, this week and the electrifying sexual tension that had led to their exploits – were more than a man could ask. He knew he was puffed up like a pigeon over their trysts. But truthfully, few of his partners had come to his bed willingly. A lover as strong as Buffy, not just Slayer strong, but all that cunning and wit and grace, trusting him between the sheets? That was halfway to fulfillment right there. Add in the Buffiness of her – her hot little body, that angelic face, her insatiable appetite for kink – that defied belief.

And now? He knew his place. If it had been longer, maybe, maybe he’d have persuaded her that he was useful while clothed, helpful when not bringing violence. Proved he was sincere in his affections. But they didn’t have any time. They had that one half-nice, half-nervous dinner. Yeah – there’d been everything but a serious daddy type glowering across the table. It was a necessary first step, but not a romantic assignation.

Witch didn’t like him. If she did, he’d have been in on the resurrection scheme.

And stopped it, effectively ending this madcap internal monologue.

“Damn it all to hell!” he swore, kicking the cement sarcophagus hard enough to crack it.

“That’s already been arranged,” the girl replied.

***

“Willow?”

“Hey, Xan.”

“What’s wrong?” He stepped back as his friend entered the living room and crashed on his couch.

“Nothing. Just … could I crash here tonight?”

“You already did. Come on. What’s up?”

“No big. Just … I can’t handle Buffy right now.”

“Ohhhhkay.”

“Chick stuff.”

“Alright, well … I’ve gotta be up at 5. How ‘bout I get you a blanket and we can sort this out tomorrow night?”

“Sure.”

By the time Xander had explained things to Anya and brought Willow the spare comforter, she was already fast asleep.

***

“So, you’re the Slayer’s pet vampire. Heard about you.”

“Yeah? And?”

“I heard you possessed a sparkling wit. So far, I can’t see any evidence.”

“Not interested in talking with you. Get out of my crypt.”

“Interested in killing me?”

“Might be.”

“I knew you by reputation, once. William the Bloody, the Slayer of Slayers. Not the most killed, not quite. But the only one damn fool enough to seek out those supernatural aberrations, those silly teenage girls, and finish them off yourself.”

“Yeah, funny, I know all that. Seein’ as I was there.”

“You never had a chance with me.”

“Right now, I like my odds.”

The girl snorted. “William, you may have been the slayer of slayers, but I’m Buffy Summers’ worse nightmare.”