I remember the sixth day like it was yesterday.

I remember not wanting it to end.

It was just Too. Much. Fun.

Also, I wasn’t all that eager to get home, after all.

***

It was the second day in a row that Spike and I were arguing over my attire. Only this time, I wouldn’t back down.

“You so have the wrong Slayer! If you got a hard-on for slutty Chosen Ones, you should have said so. I could have hooked you up.” Um, no I couldn’t. Or rather, wouldn’t. Not that he was Faith’s type, anyway. For such a wild girl, she had a weird tendency towards clean-cut guys.

He tilted his head to the side, narrowing his eyes. “I think I’ve met her. Wouldn’t call her slutty; girl knew what she wanted and how to go about it.”

He’d met her. Right. When she was me. The irrational thought that maybe what he’d brought for me to wear was because of some leftover crush on her brought about some even more irrational jealousy. Annoyance—I mean annoyance! “Whatever. I’m still not going out looking like fetish-Barbie.” I didn’t grace the short leather skirt he’d brought me by actually touching it; I glowered at the thing and waited for it to hide under the weight of my steely glare, like a demon would.

The skirt didn’t move, naturally, its shiny zippers glinting at me like naughty winks.

“You won’t be fetish-Barbie,” Spike said, holding up a crimson thing that could have passed for a shirt if it wasn’t full of slashes where it was supposed to be covering stuff. “You’ll be badass Buffy.”

“Badass Buffy wears pants,” I muttered under my breath. My curiosity got the better of me and I took the sort-of-a-shirt from him hoping to decipher which side of it was front. Neither had enough material. “I can wear these here for you,” I conceded, “but no way I’m actually socializing in them.”

“It’s not up for debate,” he said conversationally. “You’ll wear these and we’ll go out for drinks. You will have fun, flirt shamelessly, get plastered, and be carried back by yours truly.” He thumbed his chest, in case I didn’t know what that meant.

I considered him a bit through lowered eyelids before turning away with a toss of my hair. “Yup, you want Faith. Hand me my phone, and I’ll find her number for ya!” I was just messing with him, semi-sold on the idea already. Flirting shamelessly in front of him might finally get him to bend his there-will-be-no-fooling-around-between-us rule!

He raised the skirt and shook it at me. “You used to wear little numbers like this all the time. I still remember how I enjoyed that round-house first time we fought.”

I grinned. “It wasn’t that short.”

“You’ve gone shorter,” he replied with a shrug. “And tighter!” Shoving the clothes into my arms, he added, “Besides, you don’t put these on, you don’t get to see the boots I got for you.”

***

I looked like fetish-Someone. Someone who wasn’t me. And I looked badass. Even if I hadn’t seen the ensemble in the mirror, the result was obvious in the admiring once-over Spike gave me when I managed to climb the stairs to the top level. The ascent wasn’t easy in the high heels and tight leather wrapped around my hips, but it was worth it when I saw his jaw clench almost imperceptibly and his hands push further inside the pockets of his jeans.

He liked what he saw, and the smirk my glossy red lips formed no doubt showed him I knew.

I’d gone all the way with my transformation and had emptied half his hair gel to give some boost to the natural waves of my hair. My efforts had resulted on a wild, wind-blown, bed-head look, which I’d enhanced further with smoky eyes and a lipstick I feared belonged to Dru. Who cared? It looked better on me!

Spike was uncharacteristically quiet in his perusal of my attire and coif. No comments on how long my legs looked, nothing about the black bra that showed through the slashes on my top. It unnerved me, but this version of me wouldn’t stand for insecurities.

“Yeah, I’m hotter than fire. Now let’s get this show on the road.”

He nodded and opened the door of the crypt. I was barely outside when he popped a cigarette in his mouth.

“Light me one, too.” It would work with the look.

He passed me his own without my having to ask a second time, and watched how I made a show of wrapping my lips around the thing and sucking on it. I was smart enough not to inhale, thinking that would save me the coughing. It did, though I couldn’t pretend the taste didn’t disgust me.

Spike reached out and took the cigarette back. He drew on it hard, once, then tossed it to the ground and crushed it with the tip of his boot.

I held out my hand.

He stared.

“If we’re going with erratic-Buffy behavior, let’s go all the way,” I said, imitating his usual brow-waggle. “Let’s pretend this is a date.” I wiggled my fingers impatiently. “Going on a date with you must be pretty erratic for me, right?” I winked to show I’d meant that to be a joke.

He took my hand and gave it a tiny squeeze before pulling me all the way to where he’d parked his bike. Bike. I could write a four-page essay on how wrong the idea of me riding the bike in that outfit was. I would, under normal circumstances. The Buffy I was that night was adventurous and didn’t give a rat’s ass about right and wrong—as long as wrong didn't include larceny or murder—so I hopped on behind him, closed my eyes, and held on tight for the ride.

I wished I hadn’t done that, when he stopped right in front of the Bronze.

It wasn’t that I minded the idea of anyone noticing I was there with Spike. Well, it was that, but not because it was Spike. Actually, especially because it was him...

Okay, I’ll try this again. By that time I knew I liked being with Spike and I didn’t like being with my friends. I knew I didn’t want to lose him. I knew their judging me wouldn’t change that.

Still, I wanted to have told them I was seeing him before they found out for themselves. It wasn’t to protect them; it was so they’d know I wasn’t doing it out of spite or because I was screwed up.

I tried not to let him see my reluctance, but he noticed how I faltered as he helped me down from the motorcycle. “If you’d rather go somewhere else...” He made the offer without looking at me. “But we don’t have to stick with the date scenario. If the Scoobies are here, we can tell them we’re here undercover. Some demon thing—”

If the Scoobies were there on a week night, and while they should be taking care of my sister, they could kiss my well-muscled, perfectly rounded ass. “What? You’re ashamed of me?” I linked my arm through Spike’s and pulled him toward the entrance, trying to swagger like he did.

“We have to set a couple of rules, though.” There we went with the rules again. Would he say no kissing? But this was a date!

“I better like them rules,” I replied.

“I don’t think you’ll mind them much. Rule number one: we’re doing it right. I pay for the drinks, pull out chairs, hold doors, etcetera, etcetera.”

I shook my head with a smile. “That’s a given, it doesn’t need to be expressly stipulated.”

“Had to make it clear, in case you started whining about where I got the money.”

I wouldn’t do that. He’d said he had money, I’d chosen to believe it. Naturally, I’d grill him about it when we weren’t on a date. “What’s rule number two?”

“I don’t remember.”

I laughed and let him get the door for me. I had a rule too, but wouldn’t let Spike know until later.

***

“But I like it!”

“That doesn’t mean you should have more of it.” Spike pushed my glass out of my reach.

“But it’s sweet!”

“Exactly why you don’t realize how much alcohol is in it. Sugar helps absorb it faster too, so you know.”

Well, big stupid deal. Hadn’t he said he wanted me to get drunk? “Didn’t you say you want me to get wasted tonight?”

He didn’t have an answer for that.

I pressed on. “Wasn’t that the plan?”

“It was. Initially. Now we’re on a date, I’d rather you knew what you were doing.” He looked at the table pointedly.

I scrunched my nose. Maybe he was trying to look under the table, where the toe of my boot was trying to wedge itself under his thigh. “I know what I’m doing,” I said defensively. “And I know what I want.” My hand was on his knee. When had it gone there?

“Is that right?” He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. “And what do you want?”

With enough alcohol in my system to boost my courage, I said what I prayed was the right thing. “I want this date to be real. I want it to be the judge of whether there will be more dates. I want this to be the first chance we get to know each other. I want to never have been a bitch to you.”

He grinned, which made me decide I’d stroked his ego enough.

“And I want you to have never been a jerk. Can you manage that?”

His grin widened instead of wilting. “Dance with me,” was his only answer.

We had already danced, and talked, and laughed, but as nothing more than friends. This time, when Spike took my hand and pulled me against him, his touch lingered. It lingered on my wrist and it burned at the small of my back when his fingertips touched my exposed skin. I couldn’t hear the music over the sound of my heart beating but I could hear his breath, unnecessary and reassuring, by my ear.

I looped my arms around his neck, glued my body to his, and let him guide my steps like he’d been doing for close to a week, in the dance that we’d both wanted for a long time now.

***

“I can’t believe I let you stuff me with blooming onions.” That sounded a lot worse than it was supposed to, so I tried to cover it up. “Or that you growled at that frat boy.” I giggled despite the faux-scolding.

“I couldn’t punch him; I was holding our drinks.”

We were holding hands again. I couldn’t remember how long it had been since I’d done the hand-holding bit. Or the strolling with a cute guy bit—even though the strolling was through a graveyard.

“You didn’t have to do either. He was just talking to me.” Yeah, yeah, I’d loved the possessive way Spike had inserted his body between me and said frat boy, nonverbally staking his claim over me. Seeing we’d reached his crypt, I tugged at his hand so he’d stop and look at me. “Besides, I was supposed to flirt shamelessly, if I remember correctly.”

If he could blush, I think he would that moment. He seemed almost bashful. “That was before the rules.”

Ah, the rules. I cornered him against the door of his crypt. “Did you ever remember the second one?”

He looked somewhere behind me. “Is that a demon? I think it’s a demon. We should chase after him.”

I saw right through his ploy. “Spike.” I fisted the lapel of his duster and shook it once, to get his attention. “Second rule?”

“It was a stupid thing,” he said with a roll of his eyes. When I insisted, he begrudgingly confessed, “I didn’t want there to be a kiss at the end of our date.”

It felt like a punch in the stomach, even though the possibility had crossed my mind. “Why?” I managed breathlessly, taking a step back to put some distance between us. My fingers were still clutching his coat, but more to hold me upright in case of a rejection. Maybe he didn’t want me any longer?

“Because I wouldn’t want to stop at that, and I don’t think more would be a good idea. Not yet, at least.” He was avoiding my gaze still, but I’d been answering a lot of questions the past six days; it was his turn.

“Why did you pretend not to remember it?” A lot depended on his answer.

“Because... Can’t we leave the matter be and just go to bed?”

No. I had to know what we were going to bed as. “Tell me.”

“Because I got tired of being strong, Buffy!” He threw his arms in the air with such force that he ripped the leather from my hand. “I want you. Sleeping next to you every night and being unable to touch you is torture. If you wanted me tonight, I wouldn’t stop you.”

He was so, so adorable! A vampire or not, soulless or not, he was an insecure man opening his heart to the woman who’d already stomped on it more than once.

“I had a rule, too. For tonight.”

It seemed like I was changing the subject. Spike’s face fell as he reached behind him to open the door. “Of course you did. Why wouldn’t you? You always have rules. Hell, you have rules about rules. Most of them don’t even make any bloody—”

I had to interrupt him, or he’d probably go on a full-blown rant. “I wanted this to be the last day of my... therapy.”

“Is that so? Feeling all better, then? Ready to go home?” The questions were asked with an eyebrow arched, and all of Spike’s usual bravado behind them. I could see right through him; he didn’t want that to have been our last day together anymore than I did.

I shook my head. I wanted to spend that night there. The next night, too. And possibly many nights after that. Just not as his project. I wanted to stay as his lover. His girlfriend. I was about to say that and see which sounded better to him, when his eyes focused somewhere over my left shoulder.

“Come on, Spike; I didn’t fall for that the first time. Why would I fall for it now?”

“Because this time it’s true.” He grabbed me and pulled me to his side, keeping his arm protectively in front of me even after I’d turned to face whatever threat he was pretending to have spotted.

It turned out he wasn’t pretending.

The nerve of the fledgling swaggering toward us pissed me off. How dared he try to swagger—and fail miserably—when in the presence of the best swagger-er ever? And secondly, what was he thinking, targeting a Slayer and a Master Vampire, just when they were about to get groiny—er… completely honest with each other?

I covered my anger under a thick layer of bubbliness. “Hello there, handsome,” I told the newly turned vamp, pushing Spike’s arm aside with a huge grin. “Out for your last walk?”

He seemed surprised that I didn’t shriek in terror at the sight of his bumpies but recovered quickly. “It’s gonna be your last walk, bitch,” came his unimaginative reply. I was about to comment on his lack of wit, when Spike growled.

“Nobody calls the Slayer a bitch and survives.” Well, he had, but he was my special little snowflake.

The fledgling wasn’t taken aback by the revelation of my Chosen One status. “I just did,” he said, making a lurchy grab at me.

I ducked under his arm and landed a punch to his side. “I think the key concept of the sentence was survives,” I pointed out, avoiding his knee that was flying toward my face.

“Survives is not a concept, love,” Spike interjected, leaning back against the door and shoving a hand in his pocket. “Survival is.” He found what he’d been looking for, and brought a cigarette to his lips.

“Whatever.” Leather dusters? Not the best attire for a fight. Trying to sweep my opponent’s legs from under him and getting the toe of my boot tangled in the tail of my coat gave me a whole new level of respect toward Spike. “Are you gonna analyze my structure or make yourself useful?” Truth be told, I could have dusted the fledgling ten times over already, but I hadn’t fought someone intent on killing me in about a week.

“Oh, I’d rather analyze your structure.” Stealing a glance at him, I saw him punctuate that statement by a waggle of his eyebrows. My skirt was riding high, I noticed. I made no effort to pull it down. Spike had seen everything before—and would again soon, if I had my way—and the guy now trying to grab my hair wouldn’t be around long enough to enjoy the view.

Said guy apparently only just realized that Spike too was of the undead variety. “Why aren’t you helping me?” he asked, in a way too entitled tone.

I threw my duster to the ground and barely kept his kick from connecting with my face. I wanted to hear Spike’s answer.

Spike didn’t disappoint. “She looks better than you do, and I’m not helping her, either.”

That sounded like something I should take offence at. Nah. “You’re not helping me because I don’t need you to.” I said lightheartedly. And why wouldn’t I be lighthearted? I was having a good time.

“That too,” he noted seriously.

The fledgling wouldn’t shut his mouth. “Why is he with you in the first place?” he demanded, right before I managed a chokehold on him.

I smiled. “Because he loves me.”

And that, ladies and gentlemen, achieved the miracle of miracles: it rendered Spike speechless. That was the first time I admitted the validity of his feelings toward me aloud.

He stood there, gaping at me. I didn’t know whether to bask in the moment or kiss him.

After a moment’s thought, I dusted the fledgling and went with the latter.

I’d lived a little. Now I wanted to live a lot.

Tbc.