Chapter 3

Morning brought no second thoughts. She lay on her stomach on her bed, considering the two men.

Why had she fallen for Angel? Because he was tall, dark and handsome. Mysterious, with all that popping up out of and disappearing into the shadows. An enigma, brooding, melodramatic and romantic. Intriguing, because she knew so little about him. And he was so much more interesting than the boys at the high school. He made her feel grownup, flattered that this glamorous older man should fall for her, naive and young as she was.

There was nothing glamorous about Spike. He was down-to-earth, practical, earthy, raw. Sex on a stick, that was Spike. Sensual, reckless, gleeful, living in the moment with complete enthusiasm and enjoyment. He made her senses whirl, made her come alive. He was so much fun. And then there was that other side—protective, caring, heart-on-his-sleeve loving.

God! Life was getting so complicated! It was so much easier when all she had to worry about was staking demons.

Which she would be doing tonight. It was the night of St. Vigeous, the night the vamps would be at their strongest. Which was cause for some concern. But with Spike and perhaps Angel also at her side, she could probably take them.

She needed something to give her an edge. She snuck into the library between classes to ask Giles to see if he could think of something, but was doubtful that he would. And then, History class, of all things, provided the answer.

She raced down to the library once the school day was over only to find it empty. Giles was off somewhere and the others hadn't arrived yet. She settled down to wait, going through warm-up exercises in the meantime to prepare herself for the coming night.

"Buffy?"

She whirled around. "Angel! What are you doing here? The sun's still up."

"There's a sewer access in the basement."

"Oh." She studied him thoughtfully as he came into the library, a hangdog look on his face.

"You do believe that I didn't have any idea of the details of the curse, don't you?" He wasn't able to meet her eyes.

"Yes." But Spike did have a point: Angel should have looked into it.

"I'm so sorry. I wouldn't have had this happen for the world."

"That's okay. We'll deal." She made a little irritated gesture. This was not the time to talk about their relationship. It was the night of St Vigeous. She should be preparing herself for one of the biggest fights of her life. She didn't have time to be distracted with emotional angst right now. She had to be Buffy the Slayer, not Buffy the girl. She bit her lip. "Uh, Angel, maybe this isn't exactly the right time..."

He gave her the soulful, puppydog eyes. "We have to talk about this, Buffy."

"God, do I agree! But why today? What have you been doing for the last couple of days?"

"Thinking. A lot of thinking. Buffy, I can't stay here."

"What?"

"I love you. We love each other. But if we keep on seeing each other every day, who knows what might happen. The temptation...I have to leave Sunnydale."

If Spike hadn't told her of Angel's leaving in the other reality, she would have been completely devastated. But she didn't feel anything at all. She just felt totally numb. It was almost as if something in her had been expecting this, had been prepared for this, that this Angel would also decide to leave.

"You don't want to be with me," she said slowly.

"Being with you, seeing you, touching you, but not...I'm not strong enough for that, Buffy."

It should have sounded like the storybook romance, all Romeo and Juliet, not being able to keep away from each other, unable to restrain their Great Passion. Why didn't it? Why did it just sound lame?

"I have to leave Sunnydale. It's the only solution. And I've been thinking. The two of us, this freakshow of ours..." Buffy's brows rose at his phrasing. "It's all wrong. You shouldn't be involved with a vampire anyway. You should have a normal life. You deserve to be married, have kids..."

Here it came. And why did it sound like a lame excuse, a justification for abandonment? She watched him as he walked around, talking, talking, waving his hands, looking her with tragic, wounded, puppydog eyes. She should have been immensely hurt, she should have been in pain; instead, she just felt fed-up. She didn't have the time for this. She could feel a smouldering rage building up inside her.

She had to put a stop to this before she said something she would regret. She had to have time to think, to process. He had spent days thinking and she hadn't bothered him, knowing he needed the space. But he wasn't giving her the same courtesy. He just came in here and expected her to agree to everything that he had decided, as if she didn't have a mind of her own.

"All right, Angel," she said in a tightly controlled voice. "You've explained your reasoning. Now I need time to think."

"Yes, of course." He looked surprised. She didn't know whether it was because she seemed to believe that he wouldn't give her time to think, or because she actually wanted time to think, didn't just agree with him automatically. "I understand."

"I'll see you later then, okay?"

He looked taken aback to be dismissed so abruptly. "But, Buffy..."

To her immense relief, Giles came into the library at that moment and stopped short, looking from one to the other of them questioningly.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he said. "Was I interrupting something?"

"Not at all, Giles. Angel was just leaving."

"Uh, yes," said Angel and left reluctantly, looking back at her over his shoulder as he did so.

Giles awkwardly shuffled a pile of books from one side of the counter to the other. "You and Angel must have a lot to talk about. I'm sorry I walked in on you like that."

"Angel's thinking of leaving Sunnydale," she said abruptly.

"Oh!" Giles shot her an apprehensive look. "That actually might not be such a bad idea, Buffy."

"I thought you might say that." She compressed her lips together grimly. "But let's not talk about that now. We've more important things to think about. St Vigeous, remember?"

"Oh, yes, quite." Giles looked pole-axed. "I do agree. But I must say, Buffy, I never expected you to be quite so responsible."

Upset as she was, Buffy still couldn't help smiling. "Don't know about responsible, but the idea of twenty or thirty vamps out for my blood in a couple of hours kinda has to take priority."

"You must be growing up. Well, you are seventeen now. Still, teenagers and their emotional crises," muttered Giles, still amazed.

"Yeah, yeah. Giles, let's concentrate on my not getting killed. Have you thought of anything that might give me an edge?"

"Well..."

"I have. Molotov cocktails. Fire. Vamps are awfully flammable, aren't they?"

"Oh, Good Lord! Of course they are! However did you...?"

"History class."

"You mean you were actually paying attention?" Giles laughed as Buffy gave him a look. The strained lines of tension on his face were easing and he seemed truly enthusiastic about her idea. She hadn't realized how worried he had been until now. "Let's go to my place. I've got some empty bottles there and we can pick up some gasoline on the way."

They collected Willow and Xander as they went. Once they were all at Giles' place, it didn't take long to put the bottles together and pack them carefully into a rucksack.

"Should we come with?" Xander asked, but Buffy shook her head.

"Too dangerous."

"But..."

"I'll have Spike." She ignored their doubtful glances. "I'd like you all to do me a favor though. They might come after my Mom. Would the three of you mind going over to my place and taking care of her until I get back?"

"Of course we'll do that," Giles nodded. "Buffy, do be careful."

"I will."

Spike had told her where the Anointed One's lair was in the industrial district. She arrived there just before sunset, the rucksack slung over her shoulder and several stakes distributed here and there about her clothing. Spike was already there, leaning against the wall in the shadows.

She liked the way his eyes lit up when he saw her.

"Slayer. Right on time. He'll be sending them out the minute the sun goes down." His gaze went past her, then searched the area behind her. "Where's Angel?"

"Uh..." Angel didn't usually fight the fight with her. He'd turn up out of the shadows to warn her about a problem, but then fade away, leaving her to actually deal with the problem herself. She had never questioned it before, but with Spike frowning like that, she began to wonder.

"Should be here," he muttered. "He knows that the Anointed One's minions will be out in force tonight."

"He may have forgotten all about it. He had other things on his mind when I saw him a couple of hours ago."

"Still brooding, is he?" Spike remarked, both amused and scornful.

"You were right."

"About what, luv?"

"He's going to leave Sunnydale."

"Figures," he muttered. "It's all about getting his rocks off..." He stopped short. "Wait a minute! He told you this today?"

"Yes...Spike! What's the matter?"

He had slammed his clenched fist against the brick wall.

"That wanker! That stupid, selfish, self-absorbed bastard!" He kicked the wall as hard as he could, arms flying out from the force of it. "Today, when you need to be on top of your game! Today, he chooses to drop a bombshell like that on you? That...that...!"

He was spluttering, beyond words.

"Spike, calm down. Spike!" She caught the lapels of his duster and shook him. "It doesn't matter."

He caught her shoulders, his fingers digging into her flesh with the intensity of his emotions.

"Buffy. Buffy, you mustn't think about what he said now. Whatever you're feeling, you've gotta shove it aside. Bury it. You let yourself get distracted, even the least little bit, you're gonna get yourself killed."

"I know. I know." She patted his cheek reassuringly. "I've compartmentalized it. I'm in Slayer mode now. All of that, I'll think about it tomorrow. Right now, all I'm concentrating on is killing some vamps."

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure."

He relaxed under her hands, though his face was still furious and his eyes were blazing.

"And after all that," he muttered, "he doesn't even stick around to help."

"Don't need him. I've got you."

This time his face softened and he smiled. "You'll always have me. But you could still use a little more help."

"I've got a little more help." She showed him the Molotov cocktails and he laughed in surprise.

"Oh, nice idea, Slayer! That should be an equalizer, all right."

"Will you be okay with these?" she asked in sudden concern. "You're just as flammable as those other vamps are."

"Know to duck, don't I, now that you've warned me of them."

"Do you know where the minions are? Are they scattered all over the place or are they all congregated somewhere? These things work best when the target is all bunched together."

"See those big doors at the top of the loading ramp there? They're all milling around behind that, waiting to rush out when the Anointed One gives the word. I can sense them. Toss the bottles in when the doors open and you'll have a great little party going."

"Right."

He cast an assessing glance at the setting sun. "Almost time. I'm going to go round and see whether I can work my way down to where the boy is. He'll probably keep only one of his most minor minions with him and send his right-hand man to direct the troops. But even if he keeps Absalom with him, I can take that git. The man's a braggart. No sand to him."

"Be careful," she said quickly.

He gave her a vivid, flashing smile. "You too, Slayer."

Spike was still furious, but he did what he had told Buffy to do: shove his emotions down and focus solely on the moment.

He ghosted around the side of the building and found the fire stairs. He slid up them silently and broke open the fire door on the second floor as quietly as he could, then slipped inside. He could hear the chanting coming from the main floor, and the mutter and rustle of the crowd in front of the loading doors. His senses located the Anointed One in a central room, three or four lackeys with him, including Absalom. There were three accesses to that room if one counted the main one. He dropped down to the main floor and glided to the one at the back, directly opposite the loading area. Then he waited.

He knew the time had come when the chanting stopped. Absalom and the other lackeys headed towards the loading doors, leaving only one minion with the boy. He heard the loading doors open and then the crash of glass as Buffy threw the Molotov cocktails in and the screams and the hubbub that resulted. He smashed through the door into the central room.

It was almost too easy. Both the Anointed One and the minion were staring towards where the noise was coming from. He staked the minion with one smooth blow, then turned on the boy.

"Traitor!" the boy was screaming. "Don't you know who I am? I'm the Anointed One, I'm..."

Funny how they always thought who they were mattered.

"You're dust," he said simply and staked the boy with calm efficiency.

The noise at the loading doors changed from anger to panic as the minions felt their link to their master become severed. Absalom came rushing back in horror and Spike took him out with one quick slash before he was expecting it. Spike was sorry about that, because he would have liked a good fight, but he could hear Buffy fighting at the doors and he didn't want to waste time getting to her.

Besides, there was battle enough to keep him more than happy. The main area before the loading doors was in chaos. Some vamps were columns of fire from Buffy's cocktails, blundering about like blazing torches setting their neighbors alight. Others were trying to flee. Others did turn to fight, but those found themselves attacked on two sides, Buffy whaling on them from the front, Spike from the back. They never had a chance.

It wasn't long before every vamp was either dusted or fled.

"Shall we follow them up?" Spike asked, still raring to go, glaring after the last few figures racing pellmell away from the factory.

"Nah. They're all over the place and we'd never catch them. Too few anyway to cause much trouble and we can take care of them over the next couple of weeks. Besides, you're hurt."

He was favoring his knee. He had wrenched it on a kick.

"You're not," he said, smiling. "You're a better fighter than I am, pet."

"Luck." Buffy bent over, her hands on her knees, and blew out a long breath. "Whoo, that was a good fight."

"Yeah," said Spike with satisfaction. "That was fun!"

"It really was."

They leaned back companionably side by side against a table, catching their breaths amidst the piles of vamp dust while the last lingering fires sputtered out.

"It shouldn't be," she said suddenly.

"Shouldn't be what?"

"Fun."

He squinted at her sideways, frowning in puzzlement. "Why not?"

"Killing shouldn't be fun."

His brows rose. "You're the Slayer. You're supposed to kill vamps."

"But I shouldn't be enjoying it."

"Ohh." It was a long sound of comprehension. "It should all be grim duty. You should just be chopping them down like firewood. No emotion involved at all."

She gave him a look. "You know what I mean. There's something intrinsically wrong with enjoying it."

"You're the Slayer. That's what you are, that's what you do and you're good at it. It's like an artist enjoying painting or a musician enjoying playing music."

"Killing...is different."

"You don't enjoy killing, Slayer. You enjoy fighting. You enjoy winning. You're a warrior, Slayer. Ask any soldier, anyone who's been in a real war. Most of them don't want to kill. Most of them are shit scared while it's happening. But most of them get a rush out of fighting. Out of winning. Out of being the one to survive." He reached out and tapped her breastbone lightly. "That's what in there, Slayer. It's not a killing instinct. It's a competitive instinct. That's why you like sparring with me so much. Testing yourself. Stretching the limits. You enjoy that just as much as you enjoyed winning today."

She did.

"Yeah," he said softly. "And afterwards? Battle's over and you're on this high. Yes! You made it. You're alive. And you want to celebrate being alive. You're hungry. You wanna eat, you wanna get drunk, you wanna fuck. Life affirmation, you see?"

She hadn't thought of it that way, had always been embarrassed about being aroused after a fight.

"Warrior. Be proud of it, Slayer. You're a good one. One of the best. Killing's not what it's all about. Fighting and winning is. Enjoy it."

She felt as if he had lifted a weight off her shoulders, all those qualms and doubts that Giles with all his talk of duty and obligation had never been able to remove.

He was on his feet, moving deeper into the factory, exploring.

"Is that why you like fighting?" she asked, following him. "It makes you feel alive?"

"Strong sensations. Yeah." He grinned at her over his shoulder. "Strong appetites. Of any kind."

The scarred eyebrow quirked meaningfully and she gave him a look. He laughed.

"Y'know," he said, looking around, "the Annoying One's got this place set up nicely. Shouldn't be too hard to fix up."

Her brows rose. "You're thinking of moving in here?"

"Need a place to stay. This is convenient. Water and electricity already laid on. Just have to add a few things. Fridge, telly, bed. Why not?"

"It's awful big for one person."

"I'll just carve out an area for myself. Leave the rest like a buffer zone. Anyone comes in here will think it's just an abandoned factory. Won't go deeper. Certainly not without my knowing."

"Need any help?"

He smiled at her. "Would you? I'd like that. Can start on it tomorrow. But tonight..." He moved towards her suddenly in a flash of vampire speed. "We did good tonight. Wanna celebrate?"

Her breath caught. He was standing only inches away, not touching her in the slightest. But she could feel his breath against her face, his parted lips moving teasingly a millimeter away from her skin, from her temple down over her cheek to hover over her mouth. She was intensely aware of him, of his body so close to hers, of the cavern of his open mouth, the half-lidded flame-blue eyes watching her, smiling and intent at the same time.

"Celebrate how?" She wasn't ready for the kind of celebration he had talked about before.

"I was thinking maybe..." The scarred eyebrow rose. "Dancing at the Bronze? Why? What did you think I meant?"

He was laughing at her, his tongue curled against the edge of his teeth. So tempting.

She hit his shoulder lightly with her clenched fist and he did laugh. "Stop it."

"Wouldn't mind the other kind of celebration if you'd prefer it." His hand closed lightly over her fist and opened it, pressed her hand into the hollow of his shoulder. "Anytime. Just say the word, Slayer. Oh," he breathed," say it."

She was so aware of the hard muscle and bone beneath the leather, of his body vibrating sinuous and powerful within his clothes, the scent of the cool flesh so close to hers. He was doing wonders for her self-esteem, bruised after that earlier encounter with Angel.

But she didn't want to use him just to recover her amour propre. And what did it suggest about her that a week ago she had been thinking about sleeping with Angel and here she was not just thinking about but seriously wanting to sleep with Spike?

Too much coming at her too fast. She needed time to think.

"The Bronze," she said firmly and he sighed, accepting it with a faint, rueful smile. She saw from his eyes that he had never really hoped for the other. He was accustomed to getting nothing and even acceptance as small as allowing him to come with her to the Bronze gave him pleasure. It moved her deeply. "The other? Maybe...later."

His face went still and his gaze came up, eyes widening. "What?"

She leaned her forehead against his. "Maybe. I don't know. Need time."

"Take all you want." He raised her fingertips to his lips and kissed them lightly. "No hurry."

"And if I say no?" she asked, thinking of Angel.

"Still be here, pet. Not going to go away. Just want to be with you. You'd have to dust me." He grinned faintly. "And probably I'd still come back, what with the PTB and all."

She hoped so. She realized that she didn't want anything to happen to him.

It was all too much.

"C'mon," she said. "The Bronze. I want to go home first though. I can't leave Mom and the Scoobies in suspense for hours. You don't mind if Willow and Xander come with us, do you?"

"To the Bronze? If you like. Don't mind Red. Whelp's another story. You realize he's gonna have a fit that I'm with you lot?"

"He's just going to have to deal," she said firmly.

Everyone fell on her, shouting, when she walked in the front door. She hugged them all, then told them the whole story in detail, laughing in triumph.

"...Then Spike killed the Anointed One and they all fell apart. I took them from the front and Spike took them from the back and we dusted the lot of them. Sweet," she finished.

Joyce walked over and kissed Spike's cheek. "Thank you, Spike."

He looked both astonished and embarrassed. "Was nothing," he muttered. "My job." He looked askance at the hand Giles was holding out.

"I do believe that now," said Giles and they shook hands awkwardly.

Xander suddenly clued in to the fact that Spike was standing in Buffy's livingroom. "Wait a minute! He's in the house! You let him in the house?"

Everybody groaned.

"Where have you been for the last half hour, Xander?" asked Willow, exasperated. "Can't you see now that he's helping Buffy, not trying to kill her?"

Spike grinned at her and she blushed. "Thanks, Red."

"Spike is always welcome in this house," said Joyce firmly, then gave Xander a stern look. "And if you keep this up, Xander, you might not be."

"Go, Mom." Buffy jumped to her feet. "How about the four of us go over to the Bronze? I want to celebrate. No school tomorrow," she said quickly as Joyce started to open her mouth. "I'm just buzzing with energy and I've got to burn it off somehow."

"The four of us?" Xander growled, scowling resentfully at Spike's inclusion.

"Feel free not to come, whelp."

"I'm coming! Someone needs to keep an eye on you," he muttered under his breath as they left the house.

A little while later, he was getting way too much of an eyeful for comfort.

"Look at the way he's got her plastered all over him," he snarled furiously. "He's holding her way too tight. You couldn't get a sheet of paper between them."

"They're just dancing, Xander." Willow rolled her eyes.

"Dance floor's not supposed to be X-rated."

Spike caught sight of Xander glaring at him, said something to Buffy, then quite deliberately bent and ran his open mouth down the vein in her neck. Willow had to hold Xander back by main force to keep him from charging over there.

"For Pete's sake, Xander! Can't you see that they're both laughing? He's pulling your chain."

"First Angel. Now this Captain Peroxide." Xander was fuming. "What is it with Buffy and vampires?"

"Maybe that they're majorly hot?" Willow shrugged when Xander glared at her. "Spike is, Xand. There's no denying it. I'll talk to her, okay? In the meantime, just calm down. You are so not helping."

The music changed to a faster beat. Buffy and Spike left the dance floor, then Spike headed over to the bar.

"There's my chance," said Willow. "Give us a few minutes girl-talk, Xand."

"Okay. Long as I don't have to go anywhere near him," Xander muttered and headed away in exactly the opposite direction from Spike.

Willow sat down beside Buffy. "So."

Buffy gave her an amused glance. "Lecture time, Will?"

"Question time." Willow's brows were up. "What about Angel?"

"Angel has announced that he's leaving Sunnydale."

Willow's jaw dropped. "Oh! That's...that's...well, that's, uh, noble of him," she finished, recovering herself.

"Isn't it."

Willow's eyes narrowed. "You're not upset. Or rather, you're angry."

"Yes, I am." Buffy bit her lip. "Is leaving noble or cowardly, Will?"

Willow thought it over. "I don't know," she said honestly.

"We have to avoid temptation, it seems."

"But you're not finding it that tempting anymore," said Willow shrewdly. "Or should I say, there's another temptation."

"And that one's looking really more yummy by the day."

"Have to agree," said Willow, looking appreciatively towards Spike heading back to them with a beer and two soft drinks in his hands. Buffy laughed. "Sure he's not rebound guy, Buff?"

"Don't think so, but that's what I have to find out."

"Hey, Red." Spike set the drinks down on the table and sorted them out. "Thought you might like one too."

Willow blinked down at the drink he set in front of her and realized that it was the kind she liked. "How did you...? Thank you. That was very thoughtful."

Buffy raised an eyebrow significantly at her and Willow nodded back, smiling. Spike was looking at the band on stage, which was Dingoes Ate My Baby.

"That guitarist on the left there. The one with the green hair. He's been looking at you all night, Red."

"What?" Willow jumped a mile, then turned to stare.

"Goes to your school, doesn't he?"

"I...I...Yes, I think so."

"Guy's got good taste. Wanna dance, Slayer?" he asked as the music segued to a slow dance.

"Sure." She moved into his arms as he drew her onto the dance floor. "Okay, Spike. What are you doing?"

"Thought she could do better than the whelp."

"Spike..."

"What? Whelp doesn't give her a thought and that guy looks interested. No harm in calling her attention to it. Pretty girl, Red. All she needs is more confidence and that guy might give it to her."

She looked at him in amusement. "Are you trying to fix all our lives, Spike?"

"Only the ones I care about. Which are you, Red and Joyce. Not the others, unless they affect you, or I like ‘em," he shrugged.

"Well, that's honest." She glanced down at his leg. "How's your knee holding up?"

"Can't do the fast dances. But the slow ones are fine." His arms tightened about her waist, pressing her to him, and he grinned down at her, scarred eyebrow quirking. "Real fine."

She laughed breathlessly, her arms around his neck, leaning into him. He felt wonderful, his body moving against hers, his breath against her temple, all that cool hard muscle wrapped around her.

"I think I agree."

Spike was in heaven. He had never had this before tonight, never danced with her unless they were fighting, never felt her leaning sweet and compliant against him, her body moving with his unless it was violent, her arms around his neck, her temple against his jaw, her breath soft against his skin. He dropped his face into her hair, his eyes closed, breathing in her scent, memorizing the feel of her in case he would never have any more than this.

He was happy. Everything seemed to be working out. Before he came to Sunnydale, his plans had always worked just fine; once he came here, everything had gone wrong. Maybe because of Buffy; maybe because they had been just the wrong plans. Now, for once, things were going right.

He wasn't taking anything for granted though. He didn't dare be reckless, not when it could affect Buffy. He would have to go at things carefully, cautiously, step by step over the next few weeks.

He needed money and he needed safety. To take care of Buffy, he had to stay in existence and he had to stay in Sunnydale. Bank accounts that he could tap did exist, accounts that he had set up to take care of him and Dru over the years. But he dared not touch those. That would draw the other Spike's attention, having funds drawn out of his accounts in a place called Sunnydale. He didn't want Sunnydale to come to the other Spike's notice in any way.

By playing poker at Willy's, he had already parlayed the small amount of cash that Whistler had gifted him with into a halfway decent stake. But he needed serious funding. The Gem of Amara and the treasure lying around it was the solution. This time, not for the Gem but for the treasure. He had enough from poker to bribe a couple of demons into digging it out for him and there was a dealer he knew, a demon of course, who would buy all the stuff. He wouldn't get full value for it, but, hey, it was found money anyway. He'd put it into a bank account with both his name and Buffy's on it.

Joyce's medical bills had wiped out her insurance in the other reality. Buffy had had to leave college, had to work at the Doublemeat greasepit, flipping burgers for minimum wage. And the Council of Wankers hadn't lifted a finger to help. They'd sat there in that fancy building of theirs, drawing their expensive salaries and living in their expensive houses, and hadn't given one penny to help the person who was doing the actual work. All they would have had to do was fire just one of their numerous flunkies and give that person's salary to Buffy instead. But nooo, they wouldn't do that. Well, it wasn't going to happen this time around. He would make sure that Joyce didn't die, but he'd also make sure that the money was there if it were needed.

Had to make himself legit though before he could open a bank account. He knew a demon who could forge him some papers.

And then the Gem. He was not going to use it this time. No one was going to know about it, except perhaps Buffy. He would have loved to have seen Giles' face when the pillock saw him walking in the sunlight. The sod would probably have a heart attack. Problem was that if word got out, every vampire in the world would be after him, wanting it. It was dangerous. He didn't want to have it taken away from him, as Buffy had the last time, didn't want it falling into the wrong hands. He thought of an invulnerable Angelus, for instance, and shuddered. If Angel got the Gem, that possibility would always exist, Angel's soul being so shaky in him.

No, the ring was going to go into a lockbox at the bank, to be taken out only when there was an apocalypse, as an absolute last resort.

Things were going well. He and Buffy went on patrol every night and it was fun, killing demons with her and sparring with her. He tried to make it as fun for her as possible and it was working; she was enjoying herself, just as Whistler and the PTB had wanted. After patrol was over, she'd come help him convert the factory to his own uses and that was fun in itself. Joyce had become resigned to Buffy's coming in at all hours of the night and had even fallen into the habit of inviting Spike to have dinner with them before he and Buffy went on patrol. Spike found himself loving the dinners, the three of them together, talking and laughing. It was the closest he had come to having family for the last hundred and twenty years and he cherished every moment.

He couldn't remember being this happy in years. He kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. For something to go disastrously wrong. But nothing happened. Even Angel didn't seem to be around or Buffy wasn't mentioning it if he was. He was still in Sunnydale though, Spike could sense that, probably holed up in his apartment, brooding. In his place, Spike would have been trying to find some way to get around the curse, trying to find some way to anchor his soul and make sure it wouldn't disappear if he slept with Buffy. That certainly would have been Spike's top priority if he were Angel. Maybe that was what Angel was doing. But Jenny Calendar said that he hadn't been around to see her and she would have been the first person Spike would have gone to for help.

He cherished no hopes that Buffy would really forget about Angel. She hadn't in the other reality and he was certain that she wouldn't in this one. Oh, there was this heat between her and Spike and they both felt it. And maybe she would give in to it and maybe she wouldn't. But in the end, she would never feel towards him the way she felt towards Angel. He understood that. He flirted with her and teased her and they were happy together. But he knew how fragile and evanescent his happiness was, held it like a soap bubble delicately in his hands, waiting for that inevitable moment when it would pop and vanish.

What he didn't know was that Buffy was watching him intently. She knew because he had told her that the other Buffy had wanted nothing to do with him. The other Buffy had been hung up on Angel, on being normal, on the soul. But she wasn't the other Buffy. She didn't have the baggage that the other Buffy had brought with her and she could see him clearly. And what she saw, she liked.

Angel always kept himself to himself; she had never been able to learn much about him. The only thing Spike ever tried to keep to himself was his pain. Everything else was all out there, for the world to see.

She was learning a lot from him. He was a superlative streetfighter, never letting himself become straightjacketed into any planned series of moves, staying always fluid and open in both offense and defense, adapting to everything that was thrown against him and using everything around him to its fullest advantage. Giles was always telling her to think, think, and Angel backed that up, never acting on impulse. Spike just threw himself headlong into things, gleefully and recklessly. Potentially, it was a recipe for disaster; but at the same time he never stopped looking for things that he could turn to his advantage and he usually found them. Something in her responded to that. She never liked plans cut in stone and this fluid, never static, always adaptable method of operation was something she could relate to and appreciate.

He threw himself into things with relish and complete enjoyment. That spoke to her. Ever since becoming a Slayer, she had felt herself burdened, trapped. Allowing herself to enjoy life had seemed somehow like she was not doing her duty. Spike's enjoyment was enormously liberating. Why not have fun? asked Spike, flinging himself into battle, yelling with glee. Why not enjoy the moment?

Why not, indeed?

And then there was the other side to Spike, the side that watched her as if she were the center of his universe. That would linger on her every move as if he were memorizing them. That would light his eyes into a blaze of heat and tenderness at once, soften his face the moment he saw her, make him so completely vulnerable to her. The power that she had over him was touchingly evident, was enormously flattering, was...addictive. She could ask anything of him and he would try to do it. For her. She knew it.

She wanted to...She wanted...

"Almost done," said Spike. It was a Saturday afternoon and they had managed to get a lot accomplished, the major work already done over the last couple of weeks and only the little things left to do.

The factory was still a warren of alternating wide open areas and small cubicled rooms, all still dusty, messy and apparently abandoned. In the center, however, they had carved out a protected area like a nest—bedroom, livingroom, a proper bathroom with a shower stall instead of a tub, and alcoves for a small fridge and laundry. It was spare, but practical, and he was already bringing things in to make it more comfortable—rugs, candles, books, a television. There were security cameras set up to scan the entrances to the factory; he was surprisingly comfortable with modern technology.

"Most vamps aren't," he agreed when she questioned him about it. "But I've always liked to stay ahead of the game. Safer, and more fun. Good protection against humans and demons. Best protection against vamps though would have been to have you own the place. I looked into that, but the title here is so messed up that straightening it out would have drawn more attention than it's worth."

"Satin sheets?" she said now. He had been sleeping on a cot in one of the small cubicles in the back. Now he had a kingsized bed set up and she was helping him put the sheets on. "Sheesh. Talk about having sybaritic tastes. Should have gone for silk then while you were at it." She raised a sarcastic eyebrow.

"Silk has to be drycleaned," he said with a perfectly straight face. "Satin doesn't."

She rolled her eyes and he laughed. "Oh, come on."

"Well, I like to sleep naked and this feels nice."

The thought of him naked on the sheets brought the heat up into her face. She ducked her head to hide her blush and found herself wondering what he would actually look like naked. She watched him under her lashes as he turned away to get the pillows. He wasn't wearing his duster and she could see his body moving in his tight T-shirt and jeans, remembered how those hard, supple muscles had felt against her when they fought or danced. Oh, yeah, he'd be gorgeous.

It was so damn tempting. She wanted...She wanted...

She bent and ran a hand over the slippery surface of the sheets to hide another blush.

"Try it," he said, amused.

She gave him a look, then laughed, kicked off her sandals and flopped back on the bed, throwing her arms out and spreadeagling comfortably.

"You're right. It does feel nice."

He didn't say anything, just stood there, looking down at her. A muscle jumped diagonally across his flat cheek as his jaw clenched, and the bones of his face were suddenly very visible in strain.

"Spike?"

"I..." He drew a little, sharp breath, his eyes darkening as the pupils dilated. "You'd better get up, Slayer."

She frowned, puzzled. "What's wrong?"

"You'd better get up...or you'll find me on top of you, yeah?"

"Oh!"

She scrambled to her feet, then stopped short, thinking, ‘And what would be so wrong with that?' She wanted it. Suddenly she wanted it very much.

He was turning away, his lips parted on a shuddering breath and his hand clenched so tightly at his side that the knuckles showed white. She could hear that harsh, painful intake of his breath.

"Maybe...I want that," she said.

He jerked to a stop and looked around at her, incredulous. "What?"

"Maybe I want you on top of me." She was smiling now.

"Buffy!" His eyes flared wide with passion and tenderness and heat. He made an uncontrolled movement towards her, then stopped. "Buffy. Do you know what you're doing?"

"Yes. Want you."

"Oh, God."

His hands caught her head and then he was kissing her over and over again, devouring her mouth desperately, despairingly. She fell against him, her knees turning to water. She was drowning in him, the taste of him, the feel of him. His arms were tight around her now, crushing her to him, and his body was hard and urgent against hers.

He tore his mouth away. "Buffy, are you sure? Be sure, because even a little more of this and I won't be able to stop."

"I'm sure. And, hey, there's a real bed," she murmured. "Not on top of a picnic table in the park. Wasn't that what you said?"

"Oh, God." He shuddered as she wound her arms around his neck and the movement pressed her even more intimately against him, their bodies rubbing together. She shuddered too. "You're trembling."

"Nervous, not scared."

"Oh, Christ. It's your first time. Buffy, are you sure you want your first time to be with me?"

"Do you...care for me?"

He dropped his forehead against hers. His eyes were blazing with heat and adoration, intense and helpless at once. The way he was looking at her made her feel so special, as if she meant the world to him.

"I love you. God, I love you so much."

"Want it," she whispered with resolution. "Want you."

His kiss was so forceful it bent her back over his arm. She felt as if she were floating on air, giddy with pleasure and desire. He pulled his mouth away and slid it down her throat. It was a new sensation to her, so sweet that she made a little inarticulate hum of delight in her throat. He picked her up suddenly and laid her on the bed, then started to draw away. She caught his T-shirt with a little sound of protest and pulled at him, unwilling to lose the feel of his body against hers even for a minute.

"Gonna do this right," he said, leaning on his straight arms over her. "Want you to enjoy it."

He kicked off his Doc Martens and yanked off his T-shirt. Even seeing him in that tight T-shirt, she hadn't realized how ripped he was under it. Grecian statue time. Pale, smooth, alabaster skin, copper-tinged nipples, taut six-pack. Beautiful. She found all her courage, pulled off her tank top and threw it away.

"No, don't," he said and dropped onto the bed beside her, leaning over her. "I want to do it. Gonna take my time. Want it to be good for you."

He bent and ran his lips over the curve of her breast where it swelled above the cup of her bra. She shivered. It was already good for her. The way he kissed, the long strokes of that sinful, knowledgeable tongue against hers, the slide of his lips against her breast, she had never felt anything like that before, had never been with anyone so experienced and knowing. The fumbling attempts of the boys at Hemery High School all seemed just ridiculous now, had never gotten anywhere; and Angel had never done more than kiss her, had never moved lower than her collarbone for all Spike's mocking remarks about south of the border. This was all new—scary and wonderful at once.

She realized suddenly that he had eased her bra away and she was naked above the waist. Her hands flew to cover herself.

"No. Let me see. Let me look," he whispered. "God, you're beautiful!"

Her confidence came back and her hands lifted.

"So are you," she murmured, stroking tentatively down his chest. His skin was cool and satin smooth under her fingertips. His nipples hardened when she brushed them accidentally with her thumbs. "Oh..!"

His hands had drifted across her breasts, a light touch, exploring, teasing. She trembled and gasped. He smiled down at her, then bent. His mouth closed over her right nipple, suckling on it.

"Oh, God!" A lightning bolt of pure pleasure shocked through her. She had never felt anything like this before and her body arched involuntarily to his mouth and her head fell back against the pillow.

"Just getting started, luv."

If this was the start, then she was going to die before he finished. His mouth was moving from one breast to the other, tongue licking across and around her nipples, pressing them against the roof of his mouth; and his hands were sliding everywhere across her torso, stroking, kneading, caressing. She was drowning in sensation, her head flung back, eyes closed, nails digging into his shoulders.

"Oh, God, Spike!" she gasped and felt him smile as his mouth slid along her ribcage.

"Gonna take your jeans off, pet, okay?"

"Anything." She didn't care as long as he kept on doing what he was doing to her.

He unzipped her jeans, then hooked his thumbs into the sides, pulling both them and her thong downwards. His mouth followed them, sliding along the top of her leg down to her ankle. Then her jeans were gone and he was working his way back up. He bent her knee and pushed her leg outward gently, then his lips were nibbling up her inner thigh.

"I...What...?"

"Think you might like this, luv."

"Oh, no, wait..." She had never even thought of this, too focused on the scary thought of having him inside her, of losing her virginity.

Then his lips and tongue were on her clit. Her whole body bucked with the sensation.

"OhmiGod, ohmiGod!"

She was thrashing helplessly now, arching and writhing. He had to put a hand across her stomach to hold her down. She caught at his head, then flung her hands out and clutched at the bedclothes, fingers digging into the mattress, unable to keep still under the exquisitely pleasurable torment of what he was doing to her.

"Spike!"

Then her climax hit her and her brain whited out. She screamed and fell endlessly.

She came back to herself to find him holding her close, his lips against her forehead and his free hand stroking her hair.

"Oh, God, Spike, that was...that was..."

He smiled down at her, his eyes soft with pleasure at her pleasure, looking at her as if she were the most glorious, precious thing on earth, when he was the one who had done all the work. He had kicked off his own jeans and she could feel him naked against her side, his erection hard against her hip.

She pushed a little away from him and looked down curiously. He was bigger than she had thought and she bit her lip a little nervously before putting a hand down to explore. He hissed when she touched him and caught her hand to stop her.

"Do that a little later, luv. If you touch me now, I'm gonna come for sure and we've still the main event to go."

"Oh, God, I don't think I can." She was just limp and spent with pleasure.

"Slayer stamina, remember? Oh, I think you can." He bent to kiss her, his hands sliding over her. "I think you might want to."

She didn't know whether it was her Slayer stamina or his skill, but it wasn't long before he had her panting and writhing again, breathing "Oh! Oh!" into his mouth as her fingertips stroked his face.

But she had learned from him and besides she wanted to touch him too. Her hands ran his chest and shoulders and back; she bit his lip and then his neck and felt with triumph the racking shudder that went through him and smiled when she heard him groan.

"Vixen," he muttered and moved full on top of her. They both moaned at the contact, bodies rubbing against each other, hungry for each other.

"Oh, yes," she sighed, arching against him, then felt the unaccustomed pressure at her entrance, the beginning intrusion, the size.

"Gonna hurt, pet."

"I know."

He grinned suddenly. "Kind of like tearing off a bandaid. How do you like that, luv? One rip or a series of agonizing jerks?"

"Idiot." But she laughed involuntarily. He could make even this moment fun. "Slayer here. I can take it. One rip."

"Brace yourself."

It hurt, but it didn't hurt as badly as she had thought it would, probably because he was controlling himself tightly. There was the inexorable pressure, then the moment of bright pain and then he was all the way in, filling her completely. He waited, letting her adjust, get used to the size of him within her.

"Oh, God," she muttered. "That feels...that feels... so good."

He stretched her completely, to the point that she thought she was going to split in half. But it felt perfect, it felt so right. He made her feel full. He made her feel complete.

"God, the way you feel," he groaned. "So tight. So...Gotta move, kitten. Gotta..."

"Yes..."

He was pulling out of her and thrusting back in again, going all the way in and just that little bit further, shifting a little with every thrust.

"Oh, God!"

He had found some place inside her that sent a lightning bolt of unbearable ecstasy through her. Her whole body bucked against him; her hands clawed his back.

"Oh, yeah," he purred, pistoning into her now steadily and with surety, hitting that spot on every thrust, twisting his hips a little at the end of every stroke so that he hit her clit on every thrust as well, driving her relentlessly higher and higher.

She lost control of herself, her brain whiting out in utter, unendurable pleasure. But her body knew what to do, instinctively finding his rhythm, thrusting up as he thrust down, arching and writhing mindlessly under him, clenching upon him, making him gasp and shudder helplessly himself, his eyes closed in ecstasy, surrendered completely to her and to this moment of agonizing delight.

She felt him pulse within her, fell over the edge herself, fireworks going off in her brain.



TBC