Buffy emerged from the bathroom, freezing cold and clear headed several hours later. She had slept on the cold linoleum, balled up against the chill. It surprised her to think that he hadn’t covered her up, had not taken her to their bed. He always thought of her comfort first. Body stiff, she walked down the hallway and into their shared bathroom where she brushed her teeth, rinsed with mouthwash for a good ten minutes, and grabbed a quick shower.

She emerged, dressed in flannel pajama bottoms and a baby tee, to find him sitting in the living room. She had dried her hair and pulled it back from her face in a long ponytail. She sat next to him on the couch, tucking her bare feet under her. He didn’t acknowledge her and stared at the television instead. She hit the mute button on the remote in his hand and waited patiently.

“What?” he said finally.

She put her hand on his face and made him look at her. “I love you, Spike, and I’m really sorry.”

He stared into her eyes for a long while, then kissed her softly on the mouth. “Me too.”

“Do you really think I only want you here when it’s convenient?”

“I was mad when I said that. I didn’t mean it.”

“You feel loved, right? I mean, you feel wanted and important to me? Because I’ve never been really good at love and I tend to screw everything up and people leave and I would die if you -”

He kissed her again, silencing her. “It’s okay. I’m not going anywhere. I know that you love me. I have the letters you wrote me to prove it and you drilled that into my head when you came to Los Angeles to bury your mum. I haven’t forgotten.” He caught a tear that spilled down her cheek. “We’re learning as we go, love. We’re bound to make mistakes and it’s going to be hard sometimes, but all the good things are hard to get and harder to keep.”

“I hate the way it’s been between us the past few days.”

“I do, too, but it’s okay now.” He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her against his chest, kissing the top of her head. “I love you, Buffy, even when you annoy the hell out of me or make me mad enough to kill you.”

“Do you love me enough to order a pizza?”

Spike laughed out loud. “I see how you are. Play on my emotions to get dinner.”

Buffy grinned at him as he picked up the phone and dialed the numbers. When the pizza was ordered, she slipped across his lap and thoroughly kissed him. “I have the entire week off. What will I do to pass the time?”

“Me.”

“I should get started then.” Sitting back, she pulled her t-shirt over her head and let it fall to the floor.

Spike reached up to cup one of her breasts, but she pushed his hand away. His jaw tightened as she slid off his lap and slowly pulled the tie in her drawstring pants. Shaking his head, he caught her hands in one of his and pulled the tie with his teeth. “You made me watch you last time. That won’t happen again.”

She shivered a little in anticipation as he hooked his fingers in the waistband and pushed her pants, and her panties, over her slender hips, kissing her exposed flesh as he went. Staring down at him, she watched as he nipped her pelvic bone, then circled her belly button with his skilled tongue. He glanced up, catching her eye and winking at her as he urged her to step from her pants and move to the sofa. She needed no coaxing. Naked, she lay back against the cool leather and arched her back as he skimmed the flat of his hand along her ribcage, then down her thigh.

Her legs fell apart, a silent plea for him to touch her where she needed it the most, but he pointedly ignored the invitation and moved lower, massaging first one foot, then the other. He kissed her knees, her ankles, her calves and thighs, until her body was tingling with need and moisture pooled at her center. He put his hand on her belly, holding her down when she attempted to rise up and pull him down, and he silenced her protests with a deep kiss.

“Please,” she moaned, breathless.

Tugging one of her nipples with blunt teeth, he dipped his hand between her legs and slid his fingers against her wet flesh. She rotated her hips, pushing up against the friction, then cried out as he pulled his hand away. “Spike!”

He stood up next to the sofa and tugged his shirt off, then attempted to unbutton his pants, but his own arousal had left him shaking and he fumbled the button twice before she sat up and deftly worked the fasten and zipper. His erection sprang free as she shoved his pants down and he started to kick them out the way, then froze as she took him into her small, hot mouth. “Bloody hell.” His eyes crossed and he threw his head back.

Buffy wrapped her hand around him, tightening her grip as his hips began to move against her. Suddenly, he was yanking her to her feet. He laid on his back in the floor and motioned for her to come to him. She knew without words what he wanted. She sat on his face, looking toward his feet and cried out as he tongue lashed against her aching flesh. Leaning forward, she took him into her mouth again, trying to make him feel as good as she did.

Her orgasm came so fast that she wasn’t prepared for it. He was in the back of her throat when it hit and she cried out, her tonsils vibrating against him which forced him to join her. She swallowed, taking him and his spendings further down her throat. Slowly, she eased back, letting him slide from her mouth and licked the tip of his cock, still pumping him. She squealed a little when he gripped her hips and pushed her forward, rising behind her and slamming himself into her.

On her knees, she leaned against the sofa, burying her face against the leather as he slammed into her. He grabbed her ponytail, pulling her upright so he could slip his hand around them and massage her clit, which has swollen again despite her recent release. Still gripping her hair, he drove into her, hard and fast while his hand did things to her that she had never experienced before.

She reached behind her, clutching at his thigh as she came again, his name a hoarse cry on her lips. He let go of her hair and let her fall back against the sofa. His flesh slapped against hers and the feel of her vaginal muscles grasping and spasming sent him over the edge. He shoved into her one last time and stayed there, buried as deeply as he could go. Leaning over her, he closed his eyes as his own release pulsated through him.

“Oh, god,” Buffy moaned a few seconds later. “I can’t move.”

“I don’t want you to move.”

“You gave me carpet burns.”

“And you enjoyed every second of it.”

~*~

Despite the sadness she still felt about losing Miles and the anger she had towards Angel, the next two days passed quietly and without drama. She had cleaned the apartment, watched more television than she could stand, and spent a lot of time with Christine, who had decided that she wanted to take some time off from work and go back home to Nevada for a few weeks. Buffy wasn’t sure how she felt about her friend’s decision, but had spent Wednesday night helping her pack her suitcase and throw everything away in the refrigerator.

On Thursday morning, the phone pulled her from the nap she had been indulging in on the sofa. “Hello?”

“Buffy, it’s Angel.”

She contemplated hanging up, instead she said, “What do you want?”

“Your evaluation has been scheduled for three o’clock this afternoon.”

She checked her watch. It was just after ten a.m.. “Where?”

“My office.”

“Will *you* be there?”

“Not if you don’t want me to be.”

“I don’t.”

“Fair enough.”

“Do I need to bring anything? Hair samples? Urine? A pound of flesh?”

“No. And could you not bring the attitude either?”

She hung the phone up and sat it on the table, wringing her hands as she contemplated the next few hours.

Salvation came in the form of Christine, who rang the bell and slipped past Buffy when she opened the door. “What’s up?” Buffy asked as she joined her on the sofa.

“Can you drive me to the airport?”

“Sure,” Buffy replied instantly. “Why?”

“I just can’t stand the thought of not having anyone there to see me off. Miles’ parents left already and my folks went home the night we buried him. You don’t mind, right? I mean, I know traffic will probably be a bitch this time of day.”

“Hey, if you can tolerate my driving we’ll be fine.” Glancing at the clock again, she added, “I have to be back by three, though. What time does your flight leave?”

“It leaves at one. You’ll be back in time.”

Unbidden, Lorne’s warning flashed through her mind. ‘Don’t go out alone. At least not for a while.’ It was broad daylight, her mind reasoned, The creepy crawlies usually came out with the moon. Still, she felt uneasy about the prospect of being by herself after such an ominous admonition and hung back, grabbing her cell phone off the charger and checking the bars. She had two. It wasn’t a full battery, but it should be enough for the rest of the day. She called Spike, letting him know what she was doing and about the evaluation that would take place that afternoon. He offered to ride with her and wait in the car, since all cars at Wolfram and Hart blocked out the sun, but she had politely declined. If something was going to happen in broad daylight he couldn’t go there with her. And she would not let him die trying.

Buffy was unable to accompany Christine to the gate due to post 9/11 security so she had to be content to hug her, cry with her, and wave her off with the crowds of other people who stood clustered together near the escalators. She hung around, watching the departure board, and was satisfied that Christine’s flight had gone on schedule with her friend on board. Going into the bathroom, she splashed water on her face and dried it, then went into a stall.

She was finishing her business when a low, raspy whisper caught her attention. She ceased her movements and tilted her head to one side. It sounded like someone was in the stall to her left, speaking in low hisses that she couldn’t understand. She was about to lean down and look at their shoes when someone in the stall on her right responded, in that same, gravelly tone and she heard one unmistakable word in the jumble of alien jibberish. “Slayer.”

Trying to appear as though nothing was out of the ordinary, she stood, pulling her pants up, keeping her eye on the floor lest something reach under and try to pull her feet out from under her. The whispering abruptly halted and she waited, silently, to see if they would make a move. Someone came into the bathroom with a small child who was protesting loudly about something to do with ice cream and Buffy quickly unlocked the door and stepped out, watching as a young mother led a small boy into an empty stall at the end.

She leaned down, looking under the stalls just in time to see a very human foot encased in a pair of pink flip flops disappear upward in the stall that had been next to hers. Moving a little to the side, Buffy glanced between the cracks of the door. She couldn’t see anyone which was impossible since she had just seen someone’s foot. In confusion, she turned and started back toward the door, then froze, not believing her eyes.

There, in the mirror, was a girl with flip flops and ratty hair.

She would have appeared human except for one thing.

She was balanced on the top edge of the stall, squatting like an animal about to spring at her. Buffy opened her mouth to speak, but the girl put her finger to her lip and smiled. “Slayer,” she hissed softly, barely audible, but undoubtedly there.

Then she exploded, sending blood and flesh all over the Slayer in question and the woman and child who had emerged in time to scream in shock.