Buffy Summers hated Valentines Day.  She hated it.  Greeting card companies only made it to rob romantic saps of their money, all the while making everyone else suddenly feel sorry for themselves because they don’t have someone to give them cheap cards and stale chocolates.  Buffy didn’t want any card.  Nope, she wasn’t at all upset that it was Valentines Day and while all of her friends were partaking in the schmoopy lovefest she was un-schmooped.  Didn’t bother her one bit.

            “I don’t care,” Buffy said offhandedly, ducking beneath the vampire’s fist. “I don’t care that it’s after dark on Valentines Day and I’m in a cemetery.  Doesn’t bother me one bit.”

            She swung her leg, the vampire jumping clean over her foot.  It lunged forward and she dodged its grasp, grabbing its arm as it hurtled forward and smashing it into a nearby tombstone. 

            “It’s not like being single is so bad,” she continued, grabbing the vamp’s fist as it flew toward her face and twisting it to the side, ignoring the vampire’s howl of pain.  “I have my time all to myself.  I don’t have to pretend I like what he buys me.”  She stepped back and kicked the vamp square in the chest.  “And I get the whole bed.”

            The vampire stared at her, lips pulled into a snarl, and hissed, “Do you ever shut up?”

            Buffy frowned.  “Now, that is just rude.” 

She pulled her stake from the sleeve of her coat and slid it in the vampire’s chest.  It dusted before her and she stepped back, wiping her hands on her pants.  Behind her, someone began to clap.  She turned around, frowning when she met eyes with Spike.

            “Oh, it’s you.”

            “Expecting someone else to offer you a round of applause, love?”

            “No,” she said stubbornly.  “Still doesn’t mean I wanted it to be you.  What are you doing here, anyway?”

            He pointed at the crypt a few feet behind her and said, “I live there, remember?  I was out for a night cap.”  Her eyes narrowed and he drawled, “I meant liquor, pet.  Spike still plays well with others.”

            She snorted.  “I don’t know if I would say that.”

            “I’m not ripping out their throats, love.  For a vampire, that’s playing well.”

            Buffy rolled her eyes, crossing her arms across her chest as she casually rolled the stake around in her hand.  Spike eyed the stake with a cheekily raised eyebrow and asked, “Jonesing to use that, love?”

            “Stabbing people in the heart,” she answered lightly.  “Nothing better for Valentines Day.”

            “Is that right?”

            She sensed movement a few feet away and her eyes snapped to a newly risen vampire who staggered blearily from his upturned grave.  Spike looked to her and asked, “Tag team it, love?”

            “I don’t need your help,” she said, breezing past him.  He smirked and murmured, “Never said you did.”

            She flung her fist toward the newly risen vampire, stepping to the side to avoid an errant fist and then driving an uppercut directly to its jaw.  “See,” she called back to Spike.  “Perfectly fine on my own.  Having a grand ol’ time, actually.”

            She had an uncharacteristic loss of balance and sucked in air as the vampire imparted a rather sharp kick to her ribcage.  Spike stepped in, shoving the other vampire away as he tossed off, “Perfectly fine on your own, huh?”

            “Oh shut up,” she muttered, rising to her feet.  She moved forward again, pushing Spike aside.  “This one’s mine.”

            “Someone’s a little ungrateful, don’t you think?”

            She exhaled sharply and said, “Oh, I am so done with this.”  The vampire descended on her and she quipped, “Usually I like to get to know a vamp a bit before I dust him, but I’m just really not in the mood.”  He didn’t even have a chance to snarl before she deftly lunged forward and drove the stake into his chest. 

            “You have trouble sharing,” Spike noted.  “Maybe that’s why you’re out patrolling on Valentines Day.”

            She shook her head, wondering why on the most romantic night of the year she ended up with this infuriating peroxide vampire.  “I do not have trouble sharing.”

            “You wouldn’t let me help with him.”

            “Yeah, well, I’m the Slayer.  This is sort of what I do.”

            He stared at her for a moment and then chortled, making her all the more infuriated.  “What?” she demanded.  “Is my calling funny to you?”

            “No, this is,” he said, waving his hand about.  “You out here on Valentines Day.  It’s pretty bloody funny, Slayer.  Admit it.”

            “Why would this be funny?”

            “Most romantic night of the year, and you’re spendin’ it in a
graveyard.  Come on, now.”

            “I don’t find that funny.”

            “You find it pathetic, then?”

            “No,” she said, feeling more offended than she probably should have.  Her being offended meant that he was capable of offending her, which was just wrong.  Completely wrong.  “Would you just leave me alone?  You’re distracting me.”

            “More like covering you ass.  If it weren’t for me, you’d have been at the wrong end of your stake back there, Slayer.”

            “Oh, could you be any more dramatic?” Buffy said, shaking her head.  “Yes, there was a bit of a hiccup but I would have recovered.  And if anything—the reason there was a hiccup at all was because of you.  So, you should just go.  Preferably now.”

            “You really want to get rid of me, Slayer?” he said.  “Well, fine.  Just thought you might want some company, is all.”

            He sounded all sorts of indignant, the type of childish behavior that always had a way of making her feel bad for him, and she relented when she was met with the back of his black leather duster.  She hesitated for just a moment before calling out, “Fine, you can keep me company.”

            “No, I can tell when I’m not wanted,” he said stubbornly.  “I don’t want to distract you.”

            “Spike, I’m only going to ask this once,” she said.  “Take it or leave it.”

            She turned on her heel and headed toward the back stretch of the graveyard, not bothering to see if he followed.  Sure enough, a few moments later he fell into step beside her.  She glanced over at him and said, “Don’t get used too used to this, now.  Tomorrow I’m going back to patrolling on my own.”

            He smiled slightly.  “Yeah, yeah I know.”

            A vampire approached from a newly upturned grave a few feet away and Buffy and Spike exchanged a look before launching forward, taking on the creature together.  They were a good team, and the vamp was dusted within seconds.  Buffy barely broke a sweat, yet her heart still beat madly. Beside her Spike was grinning wide, body thrumming with the rush of a good slay.  She turned and looked up at him, breath catching when his eyes met hers.  Neither realized that they drew closer, and it didn’t fully register when he palmed her waist, nor when her hands slipped inside his leather duster.

            Their lips met messily and they clung to each other, bodies pressed tightly as they waged a battle of teeth and gums.  Buffy couldn’t remember the last time she had been kissed like this.  Angel had always been tender and loving.  Even their most fevered session had been languid and lyrical.  This, though, was something entirely different.  It was primal and heady.  She could barely recall her own name, only the pressure of his mouth on hers and the growing heat between her legs.

            Breathing wasn’t an issue for him, but she eventually felt the screaming need for oxygen and pulled away.  His face fully in view, she felt her cheeks redden as she breathed raggedly, bringing her fingers to her swollen lips.  She felt a sudden urge to slap him and staggered backwards, raising one accusing finger as she said, “You-you kissed me!”

            He smirked and said, “Pretty sure we kissed each other, Slayer.”

            “But, I hate you!”

            “Can’t say I’m generally fond of you, either, pet.  But you have to admit-that was some kiss.”

            She waited for a retort to form, but was disappointed when her mind went blank.  She became even more chagrined when memories of his prodding tongue edged forward. 

            “You know what, I’ve had enough patrolling for tonight,” she said quickly.  “Three vamps dusted - not too shabby.  I think I’ll call it a night.”

            “Calling it a night before ten,” Spike said slowly, a grin spreading on his face.  “Quite unusual for you, isn’t it?”

            She frowned.  “Oh, shut up.  You go back to your crypt.  I go back to my house.  And this-“ she waved her hand between them, “never happened.  Got it?”

            He was still grinning.  “So, same time tomorrow night?”

            She set him with her most withering glare and bit out, “Good night, Spike.”

            As she walked back toward the street he called out, “Happy Valentines Day, Slayer!”