full 3/4 1/2   skin light dark       
 
It just gets worse by coalitiongirl
 
oneshot
 
 
 
...And while posting that one, I realized that I'd never posted this fic here. So here it is~

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A bath. A warm bubble bath would be perfect, Buffy decides, dragging herself up the stairs to the bathroom. A long day at the beach followed by a lengthy workout wiping out the vampire population of Shady Hill (again), and she’s ready for a quiet evening and a long bath. She’d even sent Riley home for the night, determined to have a little Buffy Time.

She turns on the faucet and strips quickly, luxuriating in the damp warmth of the room for a moment. Perfect. Everything really does feel perfect right now. Perfect boyfriend. Her friends all happily paired up. No responsibilities, and sometimes it seems like half the demons in Sunnydale have headed south for the summer. Nothing to do but spend days at the beach with Riley and Willow and Xander, feeling for the first time in years like she really is normal. No Adam to worry about, no lost boyfriend to cry over, none of the tensions that had been so strong between the Scoobies this past year.

And now a quiet night to unwind from the not-quite-stress of doing nothing at all. Could this get any better?

She dips a toe in the water and the doorbell rings. She makes a face. First rule of slayerhood- if it can’t get better, it’s gonna get worse.

And of course, who else would ruin her perfect night but Spike?

-

“Your blouse is inside out,” is the first thing he says, eyeing her speculatively.

She scowls at him. “Your face is inside out.”

“What’s that- ow!” He cups his nose before she can land a second punch, his eyes wide and hurt as though he didn’t expect violence from a slayer. “What was that for?”

She ignores his outraged sputtering. “Please tell me that this is a quick goodbye on your way out of town.”

He scoffs. “There’s a Gerdeber demon wreaking havoc in Restfield. Thought we could take care of it before it makes it any further.”

“Like…the baby food?”

“That’s Gerber.”

She squints at him, tugging absentmindedly at her blouse. So close to an actual break… “How do you even know that?”

He shrugs, self-conscious. “Look, do you want to come slay it or not?”

“With you?” She shakes her head in an attempt to clear it, slow suspicion suddenly burning within her. What had he told her friends to convince them that he was working with them, back with Adam? “Since when did you quit scheming against me and start slaying your buddies again?”

Spike looks away, unable to meet her eyes, and for an instant she can see past his silence to the man inside. Is he…is he lonely?

He must be, all alone without Drusilla or even Harmony to keep him company, and whatever well-meaning friendliness the Scoobies had offered him before the summer had faded away with his betrayal. And despite slayer instincts reminding her that Spike isn’t someone to pity, she can’t help the surge of sympathy that runs through her at the way he’s hanging his head.

But she doesn’t owe him anything except maybe another punch on the nose, and he’s dug his own grave with the people who would have been kind to him. Remembering the shouting and the frustrations and the anger just a few weeks ago brought on by Spike’s manipulations, she hardens her voice, rolls her eyes, and slams the door in his face.

She’s still staring at it moments later when the doorbell rings again, and she throws open the door, irritated. “Spike, I swear-“

Her voice trails off, and the very not-Spike vampire standing in front of her quirks a smile. “Hey, Buffy.”

-

She remembers at once that her blouse is on inside out, and folds her arms over her chest in a feeble attempt to hide it. Angel’s eyes flicker down to her chest for a moment, then back at her.

“Um. Hi.” She hugs herself more tightly. “Is there…is something going on with Faith?” It still hurts to even suggest it, to remind herself that Faith and Angel have a…connection, whatever, but other ideas fail her when her ex-lover is standing in front of her. 

He seems just as uncomfortable as she, shifting from side to side, meeting her eyes every few seconds and looking away. “I love you,” he finally blurts out, and she gapes at him. That isn’t what she’d expected. She doesn’t know what she’d expected, but it isn’t this. “I love you,” he repeats. “And I think I can do a lot of good here, too, maybe more than in LA, and I’m going to fight by your side from here on out. Curse be damned.” He takes a step forward, leaning in, and she suddenly notices that she’s tilting her face upwards, ready to receive the kiss he’s offering. 

“I have to go patrol,” she says hastily, and shoves past him to run toward Restfield, leaving a bemused vampire standing at her doorstep.

-

“Slayer!” Spike is happily beating the tar out of a very large and very smelly demon, but he pauses to flash her a delighted smile. “You came!”

He shoves the demon in her direction and she pulls back her fist and punches it right back to him. “Did you know that Angel was in town?”

He catches the demon, throws it against a crypt wall. It spews something vile and slimy in his general direction and they both dodge. “Can’t say I did.” He waggles his eyebrows at her. “Come for a little pick-me-up?”

“You’re so gross.” She hurls a stake at the demon’s general direction, wincing when the slime disintegrates it in an instant.

There’s a leer on his face that she’d have taken care of if he hadn’t been beating at the demon again. “How’s Soldier Boy with this? Grinning and bearing it until Angelus comes a-visiting?”

The demon lunges toward her. She catches it with her fist, hard enough for it to send a tombstone flying when it falls back. “He hates Angel.”

“Never thought I’d say it, but ‘least the boy has good taste.”

Buffy quirks a grin despite herself. “Angel hates him.”

Spike shrugs. “But they like themselves, so s’not all good.” He blinks at her, kicking the demon hard. It lets out a high-pitched whine that she hopes is a death rattle. “Course, you like ‘em both, so you’re in the worst state of- Left!” he cuts himself off, hurtling toward her until she’s caught against him, falling down against the side of a bench.

The demon’s whine raises in pitch and suddenly an enormous spray of yellow-green smile shoots out of it, hitting the spot where she’d just been standing. It incinerates everything in its path, and she flattens herself against the ground, pulling Spike over her and further away from the deadly spray in the process. “Shouldn’t you be trying to let me be killed?” she breathes. 

He smirks. “And miss you juggling your honeys? Wouldn’t be nearly as fun ‘round here.”

The demon stops shooting slime, and when she peeks over at it, it’s a quarter the size and withered like an enormous raisin. Dead. “That’s real charming, Spike.” She shoves him off of her, sending him sprawling to the ground, and pulls herself up. 

Spike rolls onto his back, resting his arms under his head as though he’s preparing for a night of stargazing. “Oh, and Buffy?” This smile is more like a leer, his eyes running down her body, and a thrill of anticipation runs through her despite herself. “Blouse is inside out, and unbuttoned.”

She glances down in dismay, and notices for the first time that she’d only buttoned the top three buttons, her bare skin luminous in the light of streetlamps reflected in Spike’s gleaming eyes. She remembers Angel’s valiant effort to not look below her face and moans. “Oh, god.”

Spike’s laughter follows her out of Restfield and all the way home.

-

“Something on your mind, Buffy?” Riley asks the next day, raising a curious eyebrow. They’re lying side by side on Willow’s towel, soaking in the sun before they head back to the surf. Sun is good. So are open spaces in the sun where vampires can’t make it a few steps without risking their lives. 

She hadn’t seen Angel again when she’d gotten home last night. Maybe he’d been giving her some space after those earthshaking proclamations. Maybe he’d been lurking instead. (Definitely the latter- her senses are finely honed, especially toward vampires who are him.) 

She’s also managed to keep her mind blissfully blank since then, and she fully intends to continue on that path. “Nope. I am happily mindless Buffy.” She flashes him a grin and he curves his lips up in a smile and angles closer, leaning in for a quick kiss.

She jumps up, refusing to allow herself to contemplate why. “Hey, surfboards for rent! I haven’t used one since I was a kid!”

Riley laughs. “I’m from Iowa. All my exposures to surfboards were from bad comic books.” And when she reaches down to pull him up, she can see the troubled look on his face, but he conceals it in an instant.

Does he know? she wonders, and for a moment she can’t keep herself from worrying and wondering and cursing Angel for putting her in this situation.

-

And when she gets home that night, Riley is with her, and she’s determinedly not thinking about Angel lurking outside her bedroom window tonight. She coughs once experimentally, wondering if it’s too implausible for her to have a cold in the summer.

“So…uh…your boyfriend is here. At your house. For the night.” Angel’s flustered, and if Riley weren’t tense beside her she might have laughed and teased him about it. He stiffens. “Well, I’m back now. I’m better off fighting with Buffy here than doing bit work in LA,” he adds as a curt explanation.

“Not much to do here,” Riley says coolly. “It’s a quiet summer, and Buffy and I have it covered.”

Angel starts, as though catching notice of him for the first time, and narrows challenging eyes. “Really? She didn’t mention you at all when she went out to patrol last night.”

“When she- Buffy, you knew he was here?” Riley turns to her, and guilt rises back to the forefront.

“Um, kind of?”

“You didn’t tell him about me.” She knows Angel well enough to recognize the hint of triumph in his voice. “Now why in the world would you keep secrets from this guy?” Angel says “this guy” like Willow refers to Anya, contemptuous and irreverent.

“I had other things on my mind,” she shoots back at Angel. “There was this slime demon…something about baby food? Anyway, it was pretty vile. I was distracted.”

“I could have helped!” Riley and Angel both say at the same time, then glower at each other.

Angel breaks the gaze first, turning back to her. “Buffy, I saw some activity near the Sunnydale Motor Inn and I was thinking we could do a quick sweep together.”

“We’ll all go,” Riley says firmly, and for a moment Buffy thinks Angel might snap at him. But he doesn’t, and now there’s a very edgy man walking on either side of her, her hands bumping against each of them, her eyes doggedly directed in front of her.

“I miss patrolling with you,” Riley murmurs after a few minutes. “We haven’t gone together in weeks.” 

She reddens, thinking about how her patrols with Riley tend to end, worked up and desperate to fill that gaping need.

Angel lets out a low growl. “How’s everything in LA?” she asks hastily. “Still working with Cordelia?”

“And Wesley.” He shakes his head, and she sees his face soften out of the corner of her eye. “If you’d told me that I’d be running an organization with those two a year ago…” His voice trails off. “Not anymore, I guess.”

“Too bad,” Riley mutters.

Angel’s head swings around to stare at Riley. “What was that?”

The tension is burning hotter, and Buffy suddenly can’t handle standing between them anymore. “I’m going to go ahead,” she announces, taking off at a run. They both follow, and she thanks her slayer speed for the head start, slowing to a jog when she reaches the inn parking lot.

And naturally Spike’s already there, smirking at her through a cloud of dust that marks the final vampire. “Hiya, Slayer.”

She puts her hands on her hips. “How’d you know about these vamps? Are you stalking me?” 

“Believe that I was here first.” He cocks his head, mock-puzzled, then brightens. “Heh, here’s another vamp for you,” he says, tossing her a stake. 

She catches it mid-turn. “Where- oh.” Angel is running down the street, Riley trailing behind him. “I’d rather take care of this one over here,” she informs him, yanking him over by the duster and pressing the stake lightly against his chest.

He licks his lips. “Careful with that thing.”

“What’s Spike doing here?” Angel demands, stopping short in front of them.

Oh, great, a three-way battle. Her brain pauses on “three-way” for a moment and she squirms, ignoring the amusement on Spike’s face at her discomfort. “Ruining our fun. What else is new?”

Spike retrieves the stake from her hand and sidles around behind her. “Later, slayer,” he calls, ducking past the inn to the closest alleyway.

And then Riley’s finally there, and it’s a silent battlefield once more.

-

She avoids them both the next day, claiming a girls’ day and shopping at the mall with Willow and Tara until after dark. Her mother is away on a business trip, so they settle down in the den and watch late night TV, and if Angel’s lurking outside, he doesn’t try to come in.

Spike is a different story, and he wanders in through the kitchen door before she can tell him to get out. “Why are you in pajamas? It’s only nine.”

She snatches a stake off the kitchen table. “Why are you in my house?”

“Wanted to patrol. The big lug is lounging about in front.” He jerks his thumb toward the door. “And you called me a stalker.” He runs his eyes over her body appreciatively. “Nice jammies.”

They’re printed with little dancing cats on them. She sighs. “Go away, Spike.”

He pouts. “I thought we had something good going. Oi, what are you watching?” He moves past her to the den and seats himself down next to Tara on the couch. She scoots away, looking alarmed.

“Some movie about the sixties,” Willow responds, not noticing Tara’s discomfort from her spot on the floor.

Spike leans back. “Good times, the sixties. Don’t remember most of them, but then, most people don’t.” He grins boyishly and Buffy watches as Tara relaxes.

Well. It beats dealing with Riley and Angel. She settles down on the floor between Tara’s and Spike’s feet and lets him tell them more.

-

The next day is a beach day, and Buffy studiously avoids all discussion of Angel with Riley. He’s quieter than usual, and maybe she shouldn’t be grateful for that, but the less they discuss what’s been going on, the better.

And when they finally head back toward Riley’s place after nightfall, there’s Angel, ready to undo all the hard work of the day. “I just heard that there’s a vampire nest near the school. Hellmouth vampires, might be up to something. Buffy?” He looks to her expectantly, and she wonders if tonight is the night when Angel’s going to catch her alone.

“That won’t work tonight,” Riley says quickly, reaching out to squeeze her hand. Buffy lets it dangle limply in his, trying out another cough. Maybe pneumonia would be convincing. Or something long lasting that means a strict quarantine. Her mother is supposed to be coming home tomorrow, so there’s still hope that she’d be able to lay down the law. 

Riley’s hand tightened. “Buffy and I are going to a movie. Right, Buffy?”

She blinks. A movie. No talking, no discussing…this. “Uh, yeah.”

Angel doesn’t miss a beat. “You know, I haven’t seen any movies in a while. What’s showing?”

Riley’s frustration is almost palpable. “It’s…in French. You wouldn’t be interested.”

Angel smirks. “Listen, boy, I’ve been around two hundred years. You think I don’t speak French?”

“I don’t,” Buffy mumbles, but she’s already being herded toward the Sunnydale Cinema by two very determined men.

-

She’s sandwiched between them, each one making a very specific point to press a thigh against hers, Angel’s arm around the back of her seat while Riley sends him death glares and holds on to her hand. The subtitles are white and very small, and she squints halfheartedly at them and wonders how long this is going to go on.

She could just tell Angel to leave again, that she’s with Riley now, that he’s perfect and Angel missed his chance and it’s time for him to move on, too. But…it’s Angel, and he says he’s back for good, and isn’t that what she’s always wanted?

On the other hand, there’s Riley, whom she cares about very much and who’s exactly the slice of blissful normalcy she’s always wanted. And the moment she stops letting them bluster over her in this ridiculous pissing match, he’s going to force her into a choice she doesn’t know that she can make.

And when forced to make decisions about her love life, Buffy Summers reacts in one way- avoid. “I have to go to the bathroom,” she announces.

“I’ll walk you there,” Angel offers. She rolls her eyes at him and extricates herself from the Angel-and-Riley knot on her own.

Was the air always this easy to breathe out here? She slumps against the side of the theater door, inhaling slow, effortless breaths. The claustrophobia of the theater has passed for now, but she shudders at the thought of returning there.

“Don’t tell me they’re both in there.” And it’s the last voice she’d normally want to hear- but hey, she’s juggling Riley and Angel right now, and even Spike-the-stalker is a welcome distraction.

He sidles over from the opposite theater to stand next to her. “Tell me about Soldier Boy’s face when he saw Angel. Did he do that popping thing with that vein on his forehead?”

“Did you just come from the rom-com?” she retorts, gesturing at the movie poster on the door of the theater across the hall.

He pales even more than usual. “What? No! Was at the action movie down there!” He points vaguely toward the other end of the hallway. “Lots of…fighting and killing and blood. S’the perfect film for a dull night.” He bobs his head up and down unconvincingly. “Just came here for some snacks.”

She smirks. “The concession stand is wayyy down there, moron.”

He makes a face. “Yeah, but-“ In a swift move he hurls something small and hard in his hand at the unmanned glass ticket window, breaking it with a loud crash.

“Spike!” she says, aghast.

He shrugs. “Don’t have much in the way of staff here. Come on!” He slides a hand around her waist and pulls her into a leisurely walk toward the concession stand, not batting an eyelash when the workers who’d been hanging around the food area race past them to the window. 

She glares at him. “You are a bad, bad vampire.”

“Yeah, and you love it,” he murmurs, curling his tongue behind his teeth in a movement that makes her suddenly acutely aware of how close he is. She swallows in a desperate attempt to moisten her very dry throat.

When she manages to remember how to breathe again, Spike is filling up a giant cup of popcorn and shoving something crunchy and chocolatey at her. She takes it with one hand, using the other to fish out some change.

“What are you doing?” Spike demands, staring at the bills she sets down on the counter as though he’s never seen someone pay for something before. Which…may be accurate.

She rolls her eyes. “Paying for your mess. Just because you’re going to harass the people who work here, it doesn’t mean that I’m going to make them lose some of their pay because of you.”

“But you’re on a date!” Spike says, outraged.

“Not with you,” she points out.

“Regardless! You’re not paying for your own popcorn.” He pulls a wad of bills out of his pocket and peels a few off onto the counter. “I’m not a man, but I do know how a woman should be treated.”

She considers arguing with him, but when she thinks about it, Spike paying for anyone seems like a plus in her book. “Whatever, Spike. Let’s go back to the movie.” 

They slip into the rom-com together, and neither one of them makes mention of the two men probably still giving each other the evil eye in the next theater over.

-

Angel and Riley are nowhere to be seen when they spill out of the theater with the crowd an hour later, laughing and giddy from the sugar and the film. Spike had taken advantage of their enhanced hearing to start a mumbling commentary of everything that happened onscreen, weaving a very complicated tale that might have involved a vampiress with a soul and a girl from the army fighting over some good-looking guy. It’s much easier to laugh when it’s with Spike, his eyes glinting with humor and mockery and maybe a touch of sympathy for her, and she marvels at how much she’d enjoyed herself with him.

He catches her arm again. “Hear that?”

“What?”

“Vamp. Down…” He nods vaguely toward the left. The Bronze. “There.”

“Crap.” She takes off at a run, not bothering to see if he’s following, yanking her stake out from where it’s concealed under her skirt. The alley in the back is what the vampires frequent, but she isn’t feeling anything tingly except… 

“Buffy!” Angel. He’s standing just outside The Bronze with a scowling Riley, both looking very unhappy to be there. “Where have you been?”

She glances back to the street. Spike is concealed in the shadows of the next building, laughing at her. She narrows her eyes. He winks and blows her a kiss, and suddenly her cheeks are nearly as hot as her irritation. “I…uh…I think I went into the wrong theater. I figured I’d sit it out and catch up with you later. How was the movie?” she asks brightly.

They stare at her. 

She rubs her eyes. “Anyway, I’m wiped. I’m going to head home now, but you guys enjoy yourselves. Night!”

“Night,” Riley echoes hollowly. Angel doesn’t say anything, his expression still incredulous. She wiggles her fingers in an awkward wave and takes off for home, the oppressive atmosphere of the theater suddenly returned.

Spike is waiting at her house, of course, and she’s itching to slap the smug look off his face. “You’re an asshole,” she mutters. 

He laughs, and it isn’t mocking at all. There’s no real malice behind Spike tonight, and she remembers suddenly how lonely he’d been earlier this week- lonely enough to invite the slayer out to play- and how much tonight must have meant to him. “Couldn’t resist, yeah? ‘Sides, I’m enjoying how you’re playing those two.”

“I’m not playing. I’m with Riley.” It’s easier to say when it isn’t as final. She wonders if Riley’s going to head back to Revello and hurriedly opens the front door.

Spike follows her in, dropping onto the couch as though he’s a welcome guest. “Then how come you haven’t sent Angel packing?”

She busies herself with closing the blinds, avoiding his knowing gaze. “I don’t own Sunnydale. He’s allowed to go wherever he wants.”

“Including your relationship?” She doesn’t answer. He leans forward. “Seems like you want him ripping you and the tin soldier apart.”

“What?” She should have known better than to listen to Spike. “That’s ridiculous. Why are you in my house?”

He moves swiftly until he’s standing right in front of her, his eyes and lips dangerously close. “But…I don’t think you want Angel, either. Hm?”

He moves impossibly closer, and she takes a step back. “Oh, so who do I want? You?” It isn’t quite as scornful as she’d meant it, not when he’s still so close and she can’t stop shaking.

“Hm,” he repeats, and her eyes fall closed as he inches in, his lips so close she can nearly taste them.

Then…nothing.

When she opens her eyes, he’s halfway across the room, laughing. “That’s for last time,” he smirks. “Because it’s wrong, my ass.” But his eyes are just as shaken as hers, and she barely needs to shove him before he’s headed out the door. 

She heads upstairs, too tired to think about what had just happened, when she hears a low voice from outside. “Slayer?”

“Spike?” 

He’s standing under the tree by her window, his expression clear and serious. He meets her eyes. “You don’t owe them anything. Don’t forget that.”

She can’t help the smile that creeps onto her face. “Thanks.” 

-

But she does owe Riley, at least. She’s made a commitment to him and it isn’t fair to let Angel walk all over both of them because she’s terrified of sending him away. “I’m sorry,” she tells him the next day at the Espresso Pump.

Riley sighs. “You say that now, but what happens when the sun goes down?”

She hangs her head. “I know. I can’t-“

“I know you can’t.” He sips his coffee. “I know that you have a blind spot a mile wide for Angel, and I guess I knew that it’d be like this if he ever came back again.” He sighs, and she remembers the last time Angel had come to town, when Riley had refused to leave the room and she’d left with Angel instead. “I just can’t help thinking that you want him to do this, too.”

You and Spike both. But she knows better than to mention Spike. “I want to be with you.”

“But you still love him.”

She flushes. “It’s more complicated than that. We can’t be together. Angel knows that.“

“But see, that’s the problem.” Riley puts down his cup and leans forward. “Because if you could be together, would I be in the picture at all?”

She squirms uncomfortably. This isn’t a discussion she wants to have, not with Riley or Angel or anyone. “Does it matter?”

She watches as his face drops and knows that she’d answered wrong. 

He stands, shaking his head, and Buffy hurts for him and the finality in his voice. “It matters.”

-

Just after dark, she sees Angel walking up the steps to her front door and panics, runs out through the kitchen door, and cuts through several backyards to get to Restfield.

She doesn’t want to be around Angel, regardless of what she’d told- or hadn’t told- Riley. She cares about them both, maybe more than Riley realizes.

Maybe less than Angel thinks.

She stops in her tracks, stunned at her own thoughts. No. I love Angel. I loved him more than anything. 

But he left, and she’d moved on, and now that he’s back she doesn’t know how she feels about him anymore. And she’s just as terrified as Riley that if she spends time with him again, those old feelings are going to come hurtling back.

And it’s complicated even more by the fact that she’s automatically made her way to Restfield, of all places. Spike. Why Spike? Why is always Spike lately? Why does the idea of hauling him out to go kill some demons together sound so enticing? “This is such a mess,” she mumbles. 

“You’re telling me,” Angel’s voice sounds from somewhere behind her, and she turns to stare at him. He extends his palms helplessly. “Why are you running away from me?”

“Why are you here?” she retorts. “Why did you come back? Why now?”

He kisses her, and this time she doesn’t run, doesn’t engage, just stands silently and feels his lips pressed against hers. He kisses her once more before he pulls away, studying her face with a quizzical look.

“Riley’s breaking up with me,” she says dully. 

Angel smiles. “Really?”

“I think so.” Angel’s smile grows even wider, and she clears her throat. “And…I…I want you to go back to LA.” His smile freezes. “You were the one who told me that I should leave your town, right? So…I need you to leave here. You’re not good for me.”

“Buffy…” But she can hear the defeat already in his voice. He’s going to give up this easily? It shouldn’t bother her, but it does anyway. 

“You’re running away from something, aren’t you?” she realizes. “There’s a reason why you’re here, and it isn’t me. Something in LA. Someone?”

He looks away. “I care too much…about people I shouldn’t care about. Not when being around me is a death sentence.” 

“So you came to ruin my life instead.” It comes out bitter, and she doesn’t really care. “Riley thinks that I wanted you to come between us. As if I wanted any of this.”

And there’s another questioning look, another knowing shake of the head. “Didn’t you?”

She doesn’t answer, and he kisses her one last time before he leaves.

“Thanks,” she murmurs when Angel’s far enough away that he can’t hear her.

“For what? Not gagging too much over you lovebirds?” But Spike is grinning when he opens the crypt door and steps out to join her.

She pokes him. “I sent him away.”

“I know.” His smile widens, if that’s even possible.

“Not lovebirds.”

“Nope.” He considers for a moment. “You going to go tell Riley?”

Her shoulders sag for a moment. “I don’t know. I think…maybe you were right. Maybe I didn’t want it as much as I thought.”

“Huh.” He studies his nails for a moment, and she notices that the polish on them is peeling. “S’about time you listened to me.”

“Shut up.” She nudges him playfully, and he slides his arm around her waist like he had yesterday.

“So how about we see that action movie tonight?” he asks hopefully.

She pokes him again. “I just broke up with my boyfriend. I’m not going out with someone else tonight!”

“So this would be a date?” he clarifies.

“It could just be mortal enemies going to the movies together. So I can supervise your vandalism,” she says, thoughtful.

There’s suddenly a wicked gleam in his eyes. “I’d rather it be a date we’re not going on. Because then I can still do this.” He pulls her to him and presses his lips against hers. She deepens the kiss, slipping her tongue into his mouth, letting her hands slide up under his duster to tighten their embrace. 

She’s breathless when they finally part, exhilarated by this new development. “Okay,” she announces. “Now I can go supervise you.” 

This time he’s definitely buying the popcorn.