Author's Notes: As you know, this 'chapter' correlates with the episode 'Angel'. It is a BEHEMOTH. Over 18,000 words, in fact. So, I'll be posting it in three parts.

I really, really, really hope you enjoy this chapter. Will literally be biting my nails.

Some dialogue from Season 1, 'Angel'. There is also a reference/homage to Season 5, 'Checkpoint'.

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“What’s it like where you are?”
 
…Oh. Uh oh. She was being drift-o-girl. “I’m sorry.” She really was. She did this far too often in Willow’s presence; it was unbelievable that she hadn’t given up on her by now. “I was just… thinking about things.”
 
“So we’re talking about a guy?”
 
Was she really that transparent? Maybe. Or, maybe Willow’s accurate aim had to do with the fact that this was pretty much all she’d been able to think about or focus on since… well, pretty much since arriving in this town completely alone.
 
“Not exactly a guy. For us to have a conversation about a guy, there’d have to be a guy for us to have a conversation about.” Then, realizing she was in the presence of someone who they’d need to invent a whole new GPA scale for once senior year came around, she felt the need to add, “Is that a sentence?”
 
Willow didn’t seem to notice though, or care. She just smiled that supportive smile she always had to offer when their conversation steered back in this direction. “You lack a guy.”
 
“I do. Which is fine with me, most of the time, but…”
 
But… what?
 
But… despite the fact that she had Xander and Willow and a couple of other peripheral friends, there was a part of her that still felt so… isolated.
 
But… it’d be nice to know that there was some hope of ever finding a boyfriend, even a temporary one, on the Hellmouth.
 
But… with her job, she often found herself yearning for someone to go home to at night. Someone who would make her forget- for a little while, at least –about the real, legitimate, eat-you-alive evil that she faced every night, and just kiss everything better… even if he had no idea he was playing that kind of a role in her life.
 
But… she’d like some proof that this whole Slayer gig wasn’t putting a serious kibosh on her ability to date ever again. Which she was starting to suspect might be true. How could she ever be with someone who didn’t- couldn’t –know so much about what she was? How would she ever explain the bruises, the cuts, the scrapes he was sure to find on her body? How could she find someone who wouldn’t go screaming in the opposite direction when he found out she possessed ten times his strength, and had performed more than a few decapitations in her time?
 
“What about Spike?”
 
“Spike?” Buffy wasn’t about to admit that his name had been popping up in her musings on the subject, although she always pushed it away in the same instant.
 
Spike was… not an option. He just wasn’t. For one thing, he was older than her… and he probably didn’t see her as anything more than an outlet for the information he seemed so adept at obtaining when it came to Sunnydale’s underworld, and… there was just no way.
 
“I can just see him in a relationship. ‘Hello, love, just popped on by to say you’re in grave danger. Oh, and… you have stupid hair.’”
 
“He does seem to be a fan of the mixed messages.”
 
“The mixiest! And, I hate it because… well, does it make me a total freak that I’m kind of starting to enjoy it?” she asked, not sure what answer she wanted from her best friend. “I mean… even though we’re usually all about the bickering, whenever he’s around, it’s like I’m looking at a picture and he’s the only thing that’s in focus. You know how it’s like that with some guys?”
 
“Oh yeah,” Willow agreed without hesitation, her eyes immediately drifting toward the dance floor.
 
“Are you about to head off on a mental vacation of your own?”
 
“There could be one impending,” she said with a grin, shaking the glazed look out of her eyes. “Okay, so… I’m confused. Does this mean that you do like him, then?”
 
“I don’t know,” she grumbled. “That’s the problem! When he’s only ever around for five minutes at a time it’s kinda tough to figure out if he’s… y’know… not a total jerk with a career delivering crypt-o-grams.”
 
Sure, they’d had that brief encounter last week. When she was still recovering from the hyena-ness that was Xander. Things had stayed pretty light between them though, conversation-wise. They were big on the small talk. Commenting on the music being played, the people passing them by… a little bit more on her torching Hemery High’s gymnasium…
 
All in all though, it wasn’t nearly enough evidence to prove that Spike could be anything more to her than a semi-helpful, pseudo stalker-guy.
 
“Poor Buffy. Hey!” Willow chirped, showing off the ease at which she went from dreary to cheery in less than a half second. “Maybe you should come up with a plan.”
 
“A plan?”
 
“Yeah… a… get-to-know-him-better plan. You know, maybe make up some fake danger the next time he’s around so you’ve got a chance to hang out, or… something?”
 
“It’s scary how much I’m actually willing to consider that proposition,” Buffy mused with a shake of her head. “So, what about you?” she asked then, deciding that she’d already spent a dangerous amount of time stuck on the subject of Spike for one night. “Any progress on Operation: Xander?”
 
“Oh. Uh-uh. No way. There’s no operation,” she said. “There’s not a plan… not even rough sketches of an idea for a plan. There’s just… thoughts. Lots, and… lots of thoughts.”
 
Buffy was about to assure her that she was probably a lot more frightened by Xander than she needed to be- they were best friends, after all –when the boy himself appeared over her shoulder.
 
“Boy, that Cordelia is a regular breath of vile air. What are you vixens up to?”
 
“Just sitting here, watching our barren lives pass us by.” Somehow, Willow was incapable of making even a line like that sound completely hopeless. “Oh look, a cockroach.” She slammed her foot down onto the insect.
 
“Whoa, well, let’s stop this crazy whirligig of fun! I’m dizzy!” Xander said, his excited expression starting to falter.
 
Perking up long enough to save her friends from becoming fellow victims to the vortex of despair she was swirling down into, Buffy hopped off her stool and gathered up her coat. “All right, now I’m infecting those nearest and dear to me. I’m gonna call it a night.”
 
“Oh, don’t go!” Willow protested, back into full cheerful mode.
 
“Uh, yeah! It’s early! We could, um, dance!” Xander agreed, doing his best to nudge her mood to an equal setting of glee.
 
“Rain check?” she offered, wishing she felt it but just unable to. She tossed them both an apologetic glance. “Good night.”
 

|#|+---+---+|#|

 
Bad night. Bad, bad night. Okay, think, Buffy. Think!
 
Pinned down by two vamps, another one hovering over her neck. Dumpster straight ahead. Fence behind her. She shuffled her feet around, hoping to make contact with something- anything –that she could use as a weapon.
 
Couldn’t these three bozos have waited to attack her when she wasn’t slinking home after a night of contemplating how much her life sucked at the moment?
 
Dammit! Dammit, dammit, dammit! Okay. Head-butt. She’d resort to the head-butt, kick her legs up once he’d been knocked back, and use his chest to push off… or maybe catch him in a head-lock, and then she could…
 
“Oi! Wanker!”
 
All three vamps turned to look at the intruder.
 
Spike!
 
He laughed, a giddy chuckle that rattled around in his throat. “You see that, pet? All three of ‘em looked. Guess even vamps can have self-esteem issues.”
 
“Leave us!” the one in front of her commanded.
 
“Uh, yeah. I’m thinking not.”
 
Spike lunged at him, and suddenly, Buffy was aware of nothing but movement. She double-kicked at the two who were holding her, and they fell back. Free again, she swung out at whichever one she could hit, and-
 
“Spike, look out!”
 
A roar as Vamp Number One hit him with a metal rod, and he went down. Auto-pilot gearing up again, Buffy dispatched Number Two, throwing a kick at Spike’s attacker as he drew back to hit him again with the piece of metal.
 
And then they were both running. No communication as to where, or if Spike was even strong enough to make it. Buffy just steered herself towards home, and he followed.
 
Revello Drive. Four sets of feet behind her still, one of them closer than the others.
 
A hundred yards. “Spike!”
 
“Still with you, where we headed?”
 
“Home!” she yelled back.
 
Fifty feet. Thirty. The sidewalk. God, her front lawn. Front door.
 
Open, opendamn you! “Get in, come on!” she shouted at Spike, grabbing a fistful of his coat and hurling him inside. Then moved to slam the door shut, but a hand reached around the edge. “Ah!” She pushed, pushed, finally smashed her palm against it before he let go. Snapping the lock shut, she looked out the window at the trio. Wondered for a second what they were waiting for…
 
“It’s all right,” Spike was panting beside her, bent forward slightly. “Vamp can’t get in unless you invite him.”
 
“Yeah, I’ve heard that before, but can’t say I’ve been eager to put it to the test.” Leaning back against the door, she turned to look at him. Saw the patch of glistening ooze on his black t-shirt, pale skin peeking out from behind the torn material. “Oh.”
 
He followed her gaze, looking down at his injury as if he’d only just remembered it. Tested a finger against the laceration. “Yeah.”
 
“Come on,” she said, leading him into the kitchen. “I’ll get some bandages, just… take your coat and your shirt off.” Uh huh. She’d really just said that. To Spike. To the guy she’d been dwelling on less than a half hour ago.
 
But… time to focus here. He was hurt. Badly.
 
While saving my life…
 
Pulling out the gauze and medical tape, she heard the sound of clothing behind shucked. Preparing herself for what she was going to see, she turned around, and… oh. A smooth- no. Gorgeous- no. Muscly? Gah!
 
A… nice… back. Lean and compact. With a trench running down the center of its length, defined by the musculature on either side of his spine. And… oh. A nasty-looking scar, the line of discoloured flesh running from the tip of his right shoulder, across the blade, and ending just at the divot she’d been admiring a second before. “Wicked scar,” she murmured as she came around to face him.
 
“Hm? Oh, yeah. Forget it’s there half the time,” he said with a shrug.
 
“So, you make a habit of this? Is getting flayed some sort of demented hobby of yours?”
 
“Nah. Coming to the rescue of damsels in distress… that’s the hobby. The flaying is just a side effect.”
 
All right. A guy who could grin like that while sporting a four-inch gash along his ribs had to have something wrong with him. “I should warn you,” she said, bypassing any response to such a comment. “I don’t exactly have the qualifications of a field medic here, so… this might be unpleasant.”
 
Wiping a moist square of gauze around the wound to clean away some of the excess blood, she tried to remain focused on the task of patching him up, instead of on the fact that he was shirtless, in her kitchen, and that her fingertips were now pretty much in constant contact with his skin. His smooth, soft skin that felt a little too good.
 
Stop it, Buffy. Fix him up first, lustybad thoughts later.
 
“Don’t look so worried, Slayer,” he said, prompting her to look up and, oh, his face- his mouth –was so close. God, how was it possible for someone to cram gratitude, contentedness, playfulness, seduction, and anxiety into a single smile? “In the words of a great and noble knight… it’s just a flesh wound.”
 
Though he sounded rather pleased with himself, as though he’d just made a hilarious joke, Buffy wasn’t quite sure where the funny came in. Also, she was a little too focused on what he’d said a moment before. “Why do you do that?”
 
“Do what?”
 
“Call me ‘Slayer’.”
 
He frowned at her then, obviously perplexed by the fact that she’d asked such a question. “It’s who you are, isn’t it?” he asked, head tilted.
 
Right, well… guess she had her answer about what he saw in her. Apparently he’d never looked at her and seen a girl. He’d always just seen the warrior. The part of her deep down inside that-
 
“Hey.” A gentle fingertip on her chin had her looking up into blue eyes that were awash with concern. “I mean… I don’t mean that’s all you are. It’s just… a big part, yeah? The yin to the yang that makes up the rest of you.”
 
“Oh, well. When you put it that way…”
 
“Look,” he said with a shake of his head. “Wasn’t trying to-”
 
They were both diverted by a sound from the front of the house. A key turning in the door.
 
Mom.
 
Standing where those three vicious vamps had been not even five minutes ago. She ran out to meet her.
 
“Hi!” Joyce said with a bit of surprise as Buffy pulled her inside. “What’s going on?”
 
Oh nothing. Just worried that there might be a team of homicidal demons outside waiting for you. “There’s a lot of weird people outside at night,” she said instead. “I just feel better with you safe and sound inside.” Gotta keep her away from the kitchen, she suddenly realized. What with the half-naked boy in there. “You must be beat,” she said, pulling her mother towards the stairs.
 
“I am. We’re a little gallery, you have no idea how much-”
 
“Well then, why don’t you go upstairs and get into bed, and I can bring you some hot tea?” Buffy wasn’t even sure what she was saying at this point. She was basically just hoping to make words come out of her mouth that would get her mother somewhere that wasn’t here.
 
“That’s sweet,” Joyce said. Then, as if remembering that she was speaking to the daughter of hers that had been expelled from her old school less than a year ago, she adjusted the brightness on her appreciative smile. “What did you do?”
 
“Can’t a daughter just be concerned about her mother?”
 
Joyce had stopped listening though, her gaze creeping over Buffy’s shoulder. “Hi,” she said with the look of a mother bear whose den was being intruded upon by predators.
 
“Hello,” said a male voice behind her.
 
Buffy turned to see Spike standing there, hands shoved into his pockets to keep his coat in a position where it was covering the gash on his side. “Oh!” She wanted to send him the evil dagger-throwing glare of death for making his presence known, but really, Joyce had already sniffed out the fact that something wasn’t quite right. “Okay, um… Mom, this is… William. William, this is my Mom.”
 
“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Summers,” he said, stepping forward to offer her his hand. “Hope I didn’t startle you.”
 
Whoa. Wait, what? Spike could be polite? Spike could be even marginally polite?
 
“That’s all right. It’s… nice to meet you too,” she answered hesitantly. Then looked between both of them. “Uh, what do you do, William?”
 
“He’s a student.”
 
“Odd jobs, mostly.”
 
Buffy looked at Spike, who looked back at her, when they answered together. Joyce just looked like she was enjoying making them wriggle.
 
Without even the slightest hint that anything was wrong though, he gave a bashful smile. “Student part-time. I’m here on an exchange at UC Sunny-D from Jolly Old, so you’ll have to pardon my complexion,” he said, waving at his perpetually pale face. “Meantime I pick up odd work where I can, when I can, to keep the bills paid. Not exactly the high life, but I haven’t resorted to living in a cardboard box just yet, so it seems to be working.”
 
“Uh-huh,” Joyce said with a nod. “And, how do you know Buffy?”
 
“William’s been helping me with my history. You know I’ve been toiling there. Willow finally decided she needed backup.”
 
“Caught them out at the Bronze tonight,” he filled in for her. “Buffy wasn’t feeling so great, and the other two wanted to stay behind, so I told her I’d walk her home. What with all the weirdos marching about at this hour.” He threw a look in her direction, and Buffy knew that was his way of grinning at her. “Just came in to phone the roommate, see if he could pick me up and save me the walk home.”
 
“But, it was a no-go,” Buffy supplied.
 
“Bloody ‘too busy levelling up, here’, he says. ‘Can’t pause the game for that long or I’ll lose everything’,” Spike imitated with a roll of his eyes. “No-good layabout.”
 
Confused- but not entirely convinced -by the implication that shey hadn’t walked in on anything… unseemly, Joyce smiled. “Oh, well, it was very kind of you to make sure Buffy got home safe. It’s getting late though, so I’m gonna go to bed, and, uh, Buffy?”
 
Catching the hint, she nodded. “I’ll say good night and do the same.”
 
Which was true, except for the part where Spike was still standing on her side of the front door when she closed it. They didn’t say anything to each other until they’d reached her bedroom.
 
“Sure this is all right, pet? Don’t wanna get you into any more trouble with Mumsy.”
 
“Yeah, well, I don’t wanna get you dead. They could still be out there,” she answered in a tone that said their debate on the matter was already over. Turning around, she moved a little further into her room, and only then did she notice the slight flaw in her plan. “So, uh, heh… two of us, one bed. That doesn’t work.”
 
“Sure it does, pet. No reason we can’t share.”
 
Buffy rolled her eyes, turning back to face him. “All right, if you’re actually going to spend the night in here, can you put a leash on your verbal indecency? Unless you’re trying to find a reason for me to throw you out the window.”
 
After a moment’s consideration, he nodded. “You drive a hard bargain, but I think I can hold it in for one night,” he said, grinning.
 
“Good. Okay then, um… why don’t you take the bed? Y’know, you’re wounded.”
 
“I’ll take the floor,” he said, shaking his head and moving over to her desk. He started picking up whatever his fingers came in contact with- her cosmetics, her hair brush, the random knick knacks that were scattered across the horizontal surfaces –and inspecting them. Turning them around, sniffing at anything that might give off an odour.
 
“Uh, no, that’s not…”
 
“Believe me, I’ve had worse when I’ve been in worse condition,” he said, turning from his task long enough to shoot her a wry grin.
 
“I… um… okay then, uh…” When he picked up her diary, she rushed forward and snatched it away. “God, would you stop? You’re like a little kid!” He just giggled at her. Which only proved her point. “Look, how about you go check and see if the Fang Gang is still loitering, and keep your back turned while I change?”
 
Spike looked like he wanted to say something suggestive at that point, and only reeled it in at the last possible second. Instead he nodded and headed for the window, fingers sneaking between the slats in the blinds and wedging them open. “I don’t see them,” he reported as she peeled off her shirt.
 
“Y’know, I’m the Chosen One, it’s my job to fight guys like that. What’s your excuse?”
 
Another little chuckle. “What else is there to do for fun around here?”
 
Fun?! “Oh gee, I don’t know… shopping, hanging out with friends, amateur bowling league… gouging out your own eyeballs… crocheting class?”
 
“Already gave that last one a try. Didn’t have the patience for it.”
 
Fully dressed again, she turned around to see him still smiling at her. She sighed, stepping towards him. “Seriously though.”
 
“Seriously?” He shrugged, glancing out the window again. “Just seems like the thing to do.” He slid a sidelong glance at her. “Your chums… they’re involved too, aren’t they?”
 
“Well, yeah, but… Xander and Willow, they don’t actually get in on any of the fighting. They’re mostly about the research and stake whittling.”
 
“Got yourself a regular sweat shop, have you Slayer?”
 
“Spike,” she snapped at him. “Could you please. Stop. Calling me that,” she raged, only half-serious but still adding a couple of whacks to his arm.
 
“Doubt it,” he answered with a smirk. He squared off with her then, looking her up and down with a quick huff. “Look at you, then. You’re even gorgeous when you go to sleep.”
 
Shell-shocked by the point-blank complement, her only defense mechanism in this sort of situation activated: deflection. “Well, when I wake up it’s an entirely different story.” She moved around her bed then, plucking off a couple of throw pillows and dropping them on the floor in front of her nightstand. Followed them with the warmest-looking blanket she had on her bed besides her comforter. “Here you go. It’s not much, I’m sorry-”
 
“It’s plenty,” he assured her with a dismissive wave, kicking off his boots.
 
Buffy climbed into bed then, fighting the urge to tell him that he should just climb up with her after all. Maybe they could share… if he promised to stay on top of her comforter. Nothing inappropriate about that, right? She kept her lips shut tight though as he settled down on the floor beside her, stretching out like a contented feline, the arm on his uninjured side stretching up to cradle his head. Doing her best to relax with him at such a close proximity, she decided she needed to say something- anything –before they drifted off. It was only polite…
 
“Spike?”
 
“Mm?”
 
“Do you snore?” Oh, greatchoice, Buffy!
 
“I don’t know,” he said, the smile audible in his voice. “Been a long time since anyone’s been in a position to let me know.”
 
From his grin, she couldn’t tell if he’d said it just to please her, or because it was actually true. Either way, she smiled back.
 
Bad question… good answer.
 

|#|+---+---+|#|

 
Merph. Too much sunlight. Too much morning in general. Rolling over, Buffy tossed a one-eyed glare at her alarm clock, gauging how much longer she could stay in bed before she would be forced to get up. Yawning, she brought one hand up to rub open her other eye, which was still stuck shut with sleepiness.
 
 
At that moment, her brain had revved up enough that she remembered what happened the night before. Getting chased down by the vamps, running home with Spike, patching Spike up, and Spike sleeping…
 
Buffy looked down to see him gazing up at her, dimples puckered around his bemused smile. She’d never seen his eyes in the daylight before… how it was possible for them to be any bluer than they already were, she had no idea, but… there they were. Being all blue.
 
“Morning,” he murmured, voice rough with sleepiness.
 
“Morning,” she croaked out. Then, remembering the type of wake-up call she got most days out of the week, she shot a glance at her door. “My Mom…?”
 
“Heard her go downstairs about ten minutes ago. Don’t worry… was ready to jump behind the door or into your closet if I heard her coming in.”
 
“Right… um, thanks. Listen, speaking of which, there’s something I kind of didn’t think about until just now. Thursdays are when my Mom usually works from home. You know, catching up on paperwork and stuff? Might make an escape sort of tricky today. Normally I go out my window, but if you try it in the daylight, that probably won’t end in a way that doesn’t involve the police.”
 
“No worries,” he said with a shrug and a light laugh. “I’ll stay put… if I hear her head out at any point I’ll follow behind.”
 
Buffy wasn’t sure how she felt about having Mister Fidget around up here all day, but… given the choice between her mother finding out she’d had a cute, older boy in her room all night, and having him break a couple of her trinkets in his boredom, she’d take the broken trinkets. “Okay. So… you might still be here when I get back?”
 
“Could be. You putting in a request?”
 
“Shut up.” She threw another pillow down at him.
 
“Oi! Injured here!”
 
“Yeah. How’s that feeling?”
 
“Better already. Like I said last night, just a bad scrape is all.”
 
“Good.” She nodded. “I should, um… Probably do the shower thing now- and no I don’t need you to keep me company,” she said before he had the chance to make the suggestion. Climbing out of bed, she picked out her clothes for the day, grabbed her hair brush, and headed for the bathroom.
 
“You lied, y’know,” he said just as she was about to pull her door open.
 
Buffy turned to look at him, frowning. “Huh?”
 
“Told me you’re not gorgeous come morning time. Obviously you’ve never actually seen yourself in the morning to have said a thing like that. If you ask me, nothing’s further from the truth.”
 
Escaping into the hallway before he could watch the bloom of crimson on her cheeks, Buffy realized it was going to be sort of tough for her to eat breakfast this morning. What with her heart sitting in her throat and all.
 

|#|+---+---+|#|

 
Xander was equal parts outraged and flabbergasted. “He spent the night? In your room? In your bed?”
 
Only now did Buffy realize this revelation was meant for female ears only. “Not in my bed, by my bed.” Especially since female ears were apparently the only ones capable of comprehending the actual words that came out of her mouth.
 
“That is so romantic! Did you, uh…” Willow probably wouldn’t have been able to wipe the smile off her face, even if Cordelia had chosen that moment to walk in. “I mean, did he, uh…”
 
“Perfect gentleman,” she said. Then, remembering who she was referring to, felt the need to add a little footnote. “I mean… y’know… considering it’s Spike we’re talking about here. There might’ve been some attempts at suggestive… suggestyness, but after I shut that down, then came the perfect gentleman.”
 
“Buffy, c’mon, wake up and smell the seduction!” Xander argued, behaving as though he wasn’t even involved in the same conversation as his friends. “It’s the oldest trick in the book.”
 
“What? Saving my life? Getting slashed in the ribs?”
 
“Duh! I mean, guys’ll do anything to impress a girl. I once drank an entire gallon of Gatorade without taking a breath.” He grinned after that, as though it were something to be proud of.
 
Willow, of course, supported this opinion. “It was pretty impressive. Although later there was an ick factor.”
 
At that point, Giles came in to cut away the frayed ends of the several different conversations they were having at once, asking her about the vamps she’d run into last night and setting a book down in front of her. “Did they look like this?”
 
Big. Ugly. Metal padding. “Yeah. What’s with the uniforms?” She glanced at Willow. “Spike said it was worth getting injured just to get a couple of punches in on them. ‘What kind of self-respecting vamps wear matching outfits? Poncy buggers are a disgrace to their kind’.”
 
Willow giggled while Giles winced. “Yes, well… I think the only thing he might find more painful than his injury is the sound of you affecting his accent. Please don’t do that again,” he begged. Buffy gave him an angry pout. “In any case, it seems you encountered the Three. Warrior vampires, very proud and very strong.”
 
Buffy nodded, half listening to the back-and-forth between her friend and Watcher that ensued, until her mind pinged on the sound of him using the word ‘weapons’. Ooh. Before she could inquire though, Xander was putting a hand on her shoulder.
 
“Buffy, you should stay at my house until these Samurai guys are history.”
 
“What?”
 
“Ah-ah-ah, don’t worry about Spike, Willow can run to your house and tell him to get out of town fast.”
 
Buffy had a feeling that if he gave him a chance, Xander might actually like Spike a little. They had the same stunning gift for subtlety.
 
“Spike and Buffy are not in any immediate jeopardy,” Giles explained. “Eventually the Master will send someone else, but in the meantime, the Three- having failed –will no doubt offer their own lives in penance.”
 
Well, good news all around. Although… “But, we can still do the weapons training, right?”
 

|#|+---+---+|#|

 
Even though it would mean spending another night worrying that her mother might walk in and find him, Buffy was a little disappointed to find her bedroom empty that evening. Still, she could’ve sworn she heard something hit the floor up here during dinner. “Spike?” She tried anyway.
 
“Hello, pet.” He precipitated out of the shadows next to her window.
 
Reaching over, she switched on the lamp at her desk. She was somewhat surprised that, given how long he’d spent up here by himself today, it- and everything else in her room –was still in one piece. “Brought you some dinner,” she said, holding up the Ziploc bag as she brought it to him. “It’s a little plateless, sorry.”
 
“Plateless is fine. Any chance you’ve got a bottle of hot sauce stashed up here though?”
 
“Uh, that’d be a no.”
 
“Get what you pay for, I suppose,” he said playfully.
 
Buffy smiled back. “So, what did you do all day?”
 
An amused snort. “Played about fifty games of solitaire. Glad you had that deck of cards stashed in your nightstand, let me tell you. Read a little. Gotta say though, Slayer. For a girl who spends so much time in a library, you should really try going for something-”
 
“My diary?” She exploded, having stopped listening to him when she glanced at her desk to find it out of place. “You read my diary?!” Realizing that at this point it wouldn’t make any difference, she rushed over to shove it in the desk drawer anyway.
 
“Might’ve skimmed through it.”
 
“That is not okay, Spike! A diary is like a person’s most private place!”
 
“Well, I wouldn’t say it’s their most private-”
 
“Shut up!” How could he be making jokes about this? If he were a demon she’d have clocked him by now. “You don’t even know what I was writing about, okay? When I said ‘jungle cat’, I wasn’t talking… I meant it in a bad way. And, and when it says that your grin is ‘melty’, I meant to write ‘lopsided’.”
 
Looking amused, he tried to interrupt. “Buffy…”
 
“And ‘S’ doesn’t even stand for Spike, for that matter,” she insisted, not stopping despite his attempts. “It stands for… Samuel. A charming boy at school who also just moved here from out of town, so that whole fantasy part has nothing to even do with you at all-”
 
“I didn’t read it, pet,” he said, laughing now. “Mother Bear moved your diary when she came in to straighten up. I watched from the closet. I didn’t read it, I swear.” He had his hands up in surrender, perhaps looking the most sincere she’d ever seen him.
 
“Oh,” she murmured, not quite sure what to say to that, especially after she’d justsaid… pretty much everything else. “Oh.”
 
“Thanks for the Coles Notes version, though. It was very informative.”
 
When she looked up at him, she saw him wearing that grin he’d last adorned the night he’d inquired about the extreme deadness of the Wolverine vamp. The one where his lower jaw slid forward so he could run his tongue over his teeth, with those eyes of his drilling into her. “You…” She said, attempting to hold on to the rage boiling inside her while in other parts of her body, that look was causing a whole lot of lights to start blinking on switchboards that had been dormant for quite a while now. “You are so… so…” Unable to find a fitting word, she growled instead. Rushed forward to punch him in the shoulder. “I can’t believe that you… what is wrong with you?!” she yelled, as loudly as she could without alerting her mother.
 
“Oh, come on now, pet,” he said, rubbing his shoulder. “You’re the one that ran off at the mouth. Didn’t ask you to repeat what’s written down.”
 
“I only said that because I thought you’d already…” She wanted to hit him again. Except he was injured, so one Slayer shot for the night was probably all that could be considered fair, but still… “I hate you!”
 
“You like me,” he fired back, suddenly serious, and purposely stepping forward to invade her space.
 
Oh, this was not good. From here, not only did he have the visuals going for him, but now she was also getting an olfactory telegram. Leather and the fading scent of cigarettes, mixed with some sort of cologne and an earthy smell that had to be just him.
 
…What was she angry about again? Oh yeah. Diary reading. The reading of her diary. “I don’t.”
 
“You do.” Taking another half-step toward her, he plucked her hairband out of her hair and tossed it onto her bed. Once his fingers were free, he reached two of them up to thread through the loosened tendrils. “So, I’m like a jungle cat, am I?”
 
Crap. He remembered her saying that? “I… Well, not exactly like… a…” She tried to form a coherent protest, but the feel of his digits weaving through her hair, however slight, was… it was like her insides were a big pot of soup, and he was the wooden spoon stirring through it.
 
“It’s all right,” he assured her, whispering now. He’d become more bold, running his whole hand through the golden ocean of her tresses. Resting it against the back of her skull during one pass to tip her head up towards him. “Quite the ferocious little tiger yourself, you know. Makes us a matching pair, doesn’t it?”
 
His breath dripped down onto her lips, cool and sweet. He must’ve raided her chocolate stash a little while ago.
 
He was so close now. So close.
 
When he spoke, the very edges of his lips brushed against hers, tickling the nerves in her flesh to an excited frenzy. She didn’t realize that she’d leaned into him a bit, until her hand came up to rest flush against his chest, stopping her from falling forward into him. God, could he hear that… thundering?
 
No… probably not. It was coming from her chest, not from outside. But it was so loud.
 
“Spike,” she gasped against him, a plea for him to just… just do something already.
 
“Not sure this is a good idea, Slayer,” he teased her, though he pressed his lips to hers tentatively, pulling back in the same instant.
 
No! More more more staystay…
 
“Mum could walk in at any second.”
 
“No! No, she’s… busy…”
 
“Right. I forgot. Paperwork and all that. You sure though? Thought I heard her-”
 
“Spike, shut up!” Buffy growled, then hauled him against her with an excited, relieved gasp. Even still, their first kisses were gentle. Exploratory. His lips moved over hers like raindrops over lush green foliage. No space between them but the touch still delicate and unassuming.
 
“Mm,” she murmured against him when his arms went around her, a cool jetstream of tinglies following his fingers as they trickled down her spine.
 
When his tongue begged for entrance to her mouth, she granted it without hesitation. He groaned into her, the sound emanating from somewhere deep within his chest. His own mouth, and his tongue as it massaged hers, was cooler than she expected. A welcome balm against the sizzling storm that was building inside of her. His fingers were still threading through her hair, fisting and twirling it in every direction, and something about it made her feel entirely possessed by him in that moment.
 
She didn’t realize that he’d been walking them backwards until her back hit the doors of her closet. “Ah! Be careful!” she gasped, and his mouth was already on her throat. Painting an icy cool trail down her neck. She had to fight through the sensations buzzing in her core just to form a coherent protest. “My Mom might be busy, but she’s ten feet down the hall.”
 
“Sorry, love…” Blunt teeth nibbled on the arch between her shoulder and her neck. She could feel him smiling against her. “Getting a bit carried away, I suppose,” he panted.
 
Every muscle in her body tensed up when she felt his tongue flicker against her earlobe. “Oh God,” she choked out, feeling her fingers dig into his shoulders as her whole body pulsated with pleasure. She wondered if she was hurting him, but couldn’t bring herself to care. “Keep…” she breathed, gulping for air. “Keep doing…”
 
“Not sure if I should, sunshine,” he murmured with a soft chuckle. “Seems to me things might get noisy if I do.”
 
“Spike…” his name was the most she could muster.
 
“What do you say…” he purred against her, reaching up to grasp one of her hands where it was still digging into his shoulder. Threading his fingers through hers, he pressed their joined hands against her closet door. “That you and I,” his lips ghosted over hers, teasing.
 
Frustrated, angry that he was trying to speak instead of continuing to assault her body with pleasure, she reached out and bit down on his bottom lip. Chest rumbling with a chuckle, he obeyed her demand for a moment. Invaded her mouth with his, doing a sweep of her warm, most cavern. Meanwhile, his free hand worked its way up from her hip. Slid slowly, languidly up her body until he was cupping her breast.
 
When he gave it a firm, loving squeeze, her mouth broke away from his as she let loose a muted groan.
 
“Let’s you and I go out and kill something, love.” He finally completed his proposition, voice rough.
 
Realizing that he’d said something that would require an actual response, Buffy fought to surface from the deep ocean of sensations she was drowning in. “Wh…” she panted against him, emerald eyes attempting to focus on his own crystal blue gaze. “What?”
 
“We both know I’ve gotta pull a Shawshank tonight, sweetness. Can’t risk spending another night on your bedroom floor,” he whispered, nose brushing her ear as his voice tickled her.
 
“But…” she frowned, attempting to understand what was going on here.
 
Every nerve in her body was firing signals at her brain. Vibrating beneath the surface of her flesh, waiting to be touched, stimulated. Begging for some part of him to touch some part of her so that… so that she could just feel…
 
For the first time in her life, Buffy understood what it meant to feel aroused. As the word, the concept… the understanding of such a concept… shifted through the catacombs of her mind, it was followed by a thrill of excitement.
 
Right now, in this moment, she could feel her fingertips grazing against what it meant to be a woman. Not a girl, not a teenager, but a woman.
 
A woman who felt strong. Who understood her own body. Who felt pleasure. Real, honest, deep down pleasure that was unlike anything she’d ever experienced before. 
 
She still had a long way to go before she could actually reach out and fully grasp any of those things, but… she had felt them, at least. For a brief moment.
 
Spike had done that. Spike was the one who’d brought those things to her, and now… Now he wanted to make it stop?
 
“You… you want to go patrol?” she asked with disbelief, finally able to comprehend his words.
 
Grinning, he stepped back from her. Buffy felt every square inch of her body protest at the loss of his against hers, but she was appeased a moment later when he pulled her with him. Kept his hand clasping hers, and slipped his other one around her waist.
 
“Come on, love,” he continued his attempts at convincing her. He began to guide her across her bedroom floor in a dance to music that neither of them could hear. “We’ll go out… take out a couple of baddies…” He paused long enough to grin at her. “And maybe continue this little dance somewhere far, far away from the ears of dear old Mum.”
 
Buffy studied him for a long moment. Tried to figure out if this was something she really wanted. If she wanted this little tryst of theirs to be something that actually had a repeat performance. Something that was more than just an accidental result of them arguing the way they had been.
 
Biting her lip, she raised her eyebrows at him. “If… if we do go, do you promise to let me handle the actual slaying?”
 
“‘Course.”
 
His response was too quick for it to be believable.
 
For some reason though, that didn’t bother her. Instead of pressing him about it, she reached up to tentatively stroke his lips with hers. Testing to see if the fire was still there.
 
When she pulled away from the brief contact to find herself already gasping, she gave a quick, sharp nod. “All right. Give me five minutes to change.”
 

|#|+---+---+|#|

 
All around them, Sunnydale was quiet. Peaceful. Its residents sleeping comfortably in their beds where they’d tucked themselves away for the night.
 
Meanwhile, a hot, bright ball of energy was vibrating around the two blondes as they marched along the sidewalk. Hands clasped, bodies brushing up against each other with every step they took.
 
Spike felt his mind roaring with want. With need. Desire more potent than anything he’d felt in close to a century.
 
Every few seconds he had to purposely restrain himself from grabbing hold of the petite girl he was connected to, and pinning her up against the nearest vertical surface so he could have another taste of her.
 
He knew that what he was doing was risky. Dangerous. For weeks now he’d been forcing himself not to get too close. Not to get too involved. Not until he had a chance to tell her the truth…
 
Looked like that plan was well and officially buggered.
 
Spike knew that he had to come out with it. With the fact of his being a part of the very crowd she was sworn to destroy on a nightly basis. He knew that if he didn’t tell her, then eventually the Slayer would figure it out all on her own. Truth be told, he had no idea how his inner demon had gone this long without being detected.
 
No matter how it happened though, if this went on for much longer… if in the meantime he let them get any more entrenched in each other… then when the truth finally did come out, it would probably kill them both.
 
Figuratively… and perhaps even literally.
 
Still though… for now… walking with her like this, having experienced what they had back in her bedroom, and now on their way to what would hopefully be a real good tussle… with her left hand clasped in his right, her palm searing its imprint into his…
 
Spike just couldn’t bring himself to care about anything else.
 

|#|+---+---+|#|

 
Buffy’s mind… her entire being… was throbbing. Megawatts of electricity were coursing through the cells in her brain, lighting up every last building, factory, and remote outpost that could be lit up. 
 
She felt so… alert. So alive. So…
 
So ready to kick some vampire ass.
 
At some point during their journey, her mind had managed to transform some of her excitement into something that could be stored in her muscles and bones. Siphoning it from the part of her that was purely female, and donating it instead to the warrior that was growing in strength and prominence every day.
 
Risking a glance up at Spike, she fought back the voice inside of her head that said this was a bad idea. The voice that had been convincing her of just taht since the day she’d met him.
 
Despite the fact that she felt safe and comfortable and secure around him… despite the fact that he’d just done things to her body, turned her on in ways that no one ever had before… she knew that this couldn’t go anywhere.
 
Spike was older than her. She had yet to ask how much older, but… she knew the answer probably wouldn’t be anything she’d want to hear.
 
She knew that once he started to really get to know her, he’d probably realize just how extraordinary she wasn’t. Sure, she had the whole Slayer thing going for her, but… it took more than a mutual love of violence against the undead to keep a relationship going.
 
Buffy wanted to believe otherwise. Wanted to believe that if they woke up tomorrow and still felt the same way they did in this moment, things could maybe work out between them.
 
Except… the part of her that had watched her parent’s marriage crumble before her eyes knew that even if they managed to have some semblance of a relationship, no matter how good it was… eventually, it would end.
 
Still though… walking with him like this, with the memory of his mouth making her own lips quiver with need, his right hand folded around her left…
 
Buffy just couldn’t bring herself to care about anything else.