"Spike?"


"Hmmm?"


"I was just checking to see if you were asleep."


Spike smiled and pulled her a little closer against his chest. "Should I be?"


Buffy scooted into the covers more and shook her head. "It’s too cold to sleep. It’s freezing in here!"


"Well, it’s the basement, pet." He pulled the blanket up over her shoulder and tucked it around her. "Better?"


"Yeah. Thanks." She sighed and wiggled a bit more, then rolled to face him. "Are you tired?"


"Not really. Are you?"


She nodded and watched as shadows played over his face. "Spike?"


"What?"


She mulled over her choice of words and then shook her head. "Nevermind."


"Buffy, just say whatever it is. Is this about *him*?"


"Yes and no." She felt him tense and put her hand on his stomach. Taking a deep breath, she blurted out the words, jumbling them together. "Spike, I told Angel that in my heart you were my boyfriend and I think it kinda took saying it out loud to make me realize that it’s true."


Spike arched his scarred eyebrow and studied her closely. "Have you been in the liquor cabinet?"


"No."


"Taking the mickey?"


"I don’t even know what that is!" Buffy snapped. "God! Let’s just pretend that I didn’t say anything, okay?"


She started to rise from the cot, but Spike caught her arm. "Did you tell him that before or after you kissed him?"


"I told you that was a hello."


"Oh? Then you’ll be kissing Giles and Xander and Willow like that when you see them in the morning?"


"Do you know how long it’s been since I saw him? That’s why I kissed -You know what? I think I’m going to the sofa!"


"Giles is on the sofa. Oh, it’s been a while since you saw him, too. Try not to molest him when you wake him up to tell him to move!"


Buffy yanked her arm free and shot to her feet. "You infuriate me! I’m trying to tell you something here and you’re turning it around on me and not even listening!"


"Oh, my sincerest apologies. You were almost to the part where you tell me that your feelings for Angel are strictly platonic after I saw you trying to climb his face with your lips. Or maybe you’ve decided to tell me that -"


"I’m not going to tell you anything!" She stomped toward the stairs, but he was on his feet and blocking her path before she made it halfway across the room. "Get out of my way."


"No." Spike held his arms out, putting one hand against the wall and one against the banister at the foot of the stairs. "You started this and you *will* finish it. What did Angel say to your little declaration about me?"


"What could he say?" Buffy crossed her arms over her chest. "He was stunned. And mortified. And probably repulsed and right now I can understand where those feelings would come from."


"Can you?" Spike narrowed his eyes and dropped his arm, motioning up the stairs. "Then please scurry away before you get sick all over the place."


She held her ground until he motioned again and then she started past him. He raised his arm when she was on the second step and at eye level with him, stopping her. "Why did you tell me this?"


"Because we may all die tomorrow and I thought you should know." She turned to face him, standing closer to him than she needed to. "Because I’m tired of not saying things that I should have said months ago. I’m tired of doing what I’m supposed to do instead of what I want to. I’m tired of not kissing you when you beat Faith up for me or when you come and find me and tell me that I’m not a quitter. I’m tired of you not touching me as anything more than a friend because we both know that you’re more than that. Tonight could be the last-"


"Buffy," Spike swallowed hard and brushed her hair over her shoulder. "We may not die tomorrow. And anything that happens tonight will look alot different when the sun comes up."


"No. I don’t think so." She reached out and cupped his face. "I know how I feel and I know what my heart is telling me."


"You’re scared and that’s -"


"The only thing I am scared of is never having this chance again. Spike, I handled everything wrong with you. Seeing Angel again only reinforced what I’ve known for months. You’re what I want."


"You don’t know what you want and even if you did it wouldn’t be me, love. Think about what you’re saying. Think about what I did to you upstairs in your bathroom. Think about what I did with Anya. Think about the countless times I’ve hurt you. If I hadn’t had that chip in my head-"


"I don’t want to take a walk down memory lane with you, Spike, but if you insist I’ll have to remind you that you *chose* to get a soul for me. I read what you had to go through to get it and I know how you suffered for it. That kinda wipes your slate as far as I’m concerned. And if it hadn’t been for you I would have died after they brought me back. I wanted to dance myself to death for Sweet and you wouldn’t let me."


Spike caught a tear that escaped the corner of her eye and kissed her forehead. "I want nothing more than to pull you across the room, back into bed, and make love to you for the rest of the night, but I can’t. I won’t. You deserve-"


"You know me better than anyone has ever known me, so I want you to look me in the eye, really look at me, and tell me that you can’t or won’t love me when I’m asking you to and I’m offering it in return." She gazed into his eyes, forcing him to look at her. "You don’t know what I deserve, but you know what I need and what I want."


Spike tried to look away, but she wouldn’t let him. He watched her lick her lips, saw the way her chin trembled, then he growled and shook his head. "Damn you, Buffy," he snapped, before capturing her mouth with his and lifting her against him.


Buffy wrapped her arms around him, running her fingers through the short hairs at the nape of his neck. Breathless, she ended the kiss and tilted her head back, staring up at him. "Spike, I lo-"


"Don’t." He shook his head, pressing his thumb against her lips to silence her. "It is what it is, love. You don’t have to try to justify it."


"I’m not trying to-"


"Shhh." He shook his head again and kissed her. When he pulled away, he saw hot tears coursing down her cheeks and sighed. "I’m sorry. We can’t do-"


"God!" Buffy cried, pulling away from him. She rubbed the heels of her palms against her eyes in a futile attempt to stop the tears that were now rolling at an alarming rate, then glared at him. "You want to know what we can’t do, Spike? We can’t touch The First. We can’t. We know it. The First knows it. We can’t take an afternoon stroll on the beach in the sun. It’s not possible. We can’t get married and we can’t change who we are. But we *can* change the fact that we’re not together when we should be."


"Buffy, listen to me-"


"No, you listen to me." She stepped down the stairs, back into the basement. "We shared something real and powerful when you held me last night. I don’t know what it was, but it gave me strength and it was like a lightbulb over my head. I can see things so clearly now. I want you, Spike. Only you."


Spike followed her descent into the basement, shoving his hands into his pockets to keep them off her. He paced for a few moments, then reached out and nudged the punching bag that dangled from the ceiling. He watched it sway back and forth, trying to process her words. She wanted him?


Buffy watched him as long as she could, then stomped across the room and held the bag still. "What the hell are you doing?"


"I have no idea."


"You told me that you believed in me. If you believe in me then you have to believe me."


"It’s not a question of belief. It’s a question of your sanity."


"You know what? I have to get out of here." Buffy turned and walked toward the bed, reaching for her boots.


"It’s not safe." Spike picked up her shoes before she could get to them and shook his head, tossing them into the corner. "Let’s go back to bed. And *sleep*. It’s a big day tomorrow."


Buffy allowed him to lead her back to the cot, where he pulled her into his arms to chase away the chill that raced through her. She was exhausted. Mentally, physically, and emotionally. Tears still forced their way down her cheeks and for a long time, she stared across the room at nothing, as memories played through her mind like a mini-series.


He had turned her down. She couldn’t fault him for that. She had certainly done her fair share of slamming doors in his face. It hurt, though. Touching him hurt. Having his arms around her hurt, too. She shifted a little, pulling away and rolled onto her stomach, putting a few inches between them.


Spike scowled at the back of her head and inched closer, running his hand over her back. He could hear her ragged breathing and knew that she was crying. He closed his eyes, wishing he knew what to say.


Buffy sighed when he pressed the length of his body against hers again. It was clearly his feeble attempt at comfort and she was having none of it. She shrugged his arm off her for the second time and inched dangerously close to the edge of the bed. He followed, trying to pull her back against him. She elbowed him in the stomach. Hard.


And he shoved her off the cot entirely, chuckling when she landed face first in the floor with a grunt.


"Want a blanket, pet?" He peered down at her, propped up on his elbow.


The tears had completely stopped. As far as Buffy was concerned one of them would have to die and since she had just realized how she felt about him, she didn’t really want to kill him yet. With as much dignity as she could muster, she climbed to her feet, adjusted her pants, and turned to face him.


He was almost boyish, grinning up at her like he had done nothing wrong. She fought the urge to smile back at him and lifted a spare blanket from the foot of the bed. Wrapping it around her shoulders, she walked across the room and settled herself on an oversized beanbag chair that Xander had repaired with duct tape. It made several protesting squeaks and then there was silence.


Spike narrowed his eyes at her form, at the bare foot that peeked beneath the cover, at the curve of her hip. He had never wanted anyone more in his life. Who was he to do the noble thing any damn way?


Wordlessly, he slipped from the bed, stalked across the room, and yanked the cover. Buffy began to protest, but he gripped her under the arms and swung her over his shoulder. He swatted her, none too gently, on the backside when she tried to fight, then he flung her onto the cot and covered her body with his.


"Happy now?" he asked.


Breathing was almost impossible for Buffy as he stroked his thumb down her cheek and nestled between her thighs. When he lowered his head and kissed her, she moaned and pressed upward, her body betraying the raw need that coursed through her veins. "Not yet," she replied.


Hooking her fingertips under the hem of his shirt, she nudged it upward, her nails gently scraping his flesh as she raised it higher and higher. He hissed, adjusting his position as she pulled it over his head. Buffy leaned up, kissing the column of his throat, the curve of his shoulder. He pulled back a little, gazing down at her.


"What are you waiting for?" Catching his face in her hands, she smiled up at him. "Do I have to beg?"


"It may do you some good," he replied with a crooked smile, running his hand along her flat stomach, barely touching the small amount of skin that showed under her shirt. "After all, I certainly did enough of it."


He moved his hips forward, rubbing her in exactly the right spot and her eyes widened. "Okay. Fine. You win! Please? Please make love to me?"


"Don’t mind if I do," he said, slipping his hand beneath her shirt.


Within seconds, her clothes were thrown haphazardly about the room and his pants were dangling from the punching bag where she had flung them in anger after they had taken too long to remove.


Spike compensated for this unwanted distraction by kissing every inch of her body before settling on the spot between her legs. He knew what she craved and within minutes, her hands were wrapped in his hair, her legs were splayed wide on either side of his shoulders, and she was bucking up against his face.


As the shout of relief began to erupt from her parted lips, Spike crawled up her body, catching it with his mouth to muffle it as best he could. She raked her nails across his back and pulled him into her with her powerful legs, locking her feet around his backside.


Spike growled, gripping her hip with one hand, yanking her roughly up against him as he slammed fully into her tight, wet passage. "God, Buffy!"


"Don’t stop!" she cried, nipping his shoulder as she loosened her grip and pressed upward again. "Please don’t stop."


"Never," he vowed.


It seemed to last all night, each taking turns in their exploration and finding nuances in the familiar territory that they had mapped so many months before. While their passion was powerful, neither of them bore the marks of it the way they used to and neither of them held back the raw emotion that had simmered for so long between them. The sun was beginning to rise when, spent, they collapsed onto their backs and stared up at the ceiling.


Buffy heard someone awake upstairs and walk into the kitchen. A few minutes later the tea kettle screamed loudly and there were more footsteps. "I should get dressed."


Spike nodded. "Me, too. Your sister has a tendency to come barreling down here at first light to bring me blood."


"I guess I’ll do that from now on."


"No." Spike shook his head. "You’ll be down here with me from now on. Maybe you should invest in a refrigerator for me so we can padlock the door from inside."


"What would I do for food?"


"So the plan needs work."


Buffy chuckled and slipped from the cot, retrieving her clothing one piece at a time. She held up her mangled panties and glared at him. "You know, barely any of my lingerie survives around you."


"Then don’t wear any. Works for me." He pointed to the pubic hair that was protruding from the top of his unbuttoned pants.


"Yes. Yes it does." Buffy nodded in agreement, fastening her bra.


Spike walked across the room as more footfalls could be heard upstairs. He pulled her toward him, kissing her on the forehead. "What happens next?"


"We fight. Hopefully we win."


"We will." He assured her. "But I mean with us."


Before Buffy could reply, the basement door opened and Dawn shouted down, asking Spike how hungry he was. Buffy gave him a half hearted smile, squeezed his hand, and walked up the stairs to join the fray.


"Buffy?" he called.


"Yeah?"


"Try not to fall on anyone’s lips today. You know, in case you see the postman or someone you haven’t seen lately."


"That wasn’t even in the same zipcode as funny, but it was a nice attempt."


"I try."


She took two more steps, then turned, lowering her head so she could see in the room. "I know you don’t want to hear this, but I really do-"


"Buffy," Spike said, holding up a hand. "Tell me later. When we have more time. When you’re sure you mean it."


"I will."


Spike watched her walk up the stairs, then lifted the amulet from the wooden box he had put it in for safe keeping. A champion was meant to wear it and she had given it to him. He doubted her feelings, probably always would, but once everything was finished they would have plenty of time to explore what they felt.


He would show her that he was a champion.


Or he would die trying.


~Fin