I'm not sure which part is wigging me out more.

The fact that I should be completely and totally and massively disgusted by…whatever it is exactly that's just happened between the bleached vampire and me.

Or the fact that I'm not.

So far, I'm leaning more towards the fact that I'm not.

Because I should be. Right? I know I should be freaked and horrified and all with the big ick because I'd just been full on sucking face with Spike. God, that I'd just been about to do a lot more than just that with Spike.

That I still kind of want to go back out there and finish what I'd started with Spike.

But that's totally the lust talking. Sure, he's a vampire and everything, but he's also a hottie. A hottie that knows his way around a kiss…among other things. And I mean, I get it. It's not like I've completely lost my mind. I haven't forgotten what Spike is just because he's currently neutered. Spike is soulless. Spike is dangerous. Spike is vampire, and vampire equals bad.

But…with the lips, and those arms, and that accent.

I might be the Slayer but I'm also a red blooded American woman who can't be held entirely responsible for the effect a rumbling, dripping-with-sex voice has on her.

So, yeah. Lust. The lustiness makes all kinds of very sensible sense. And okay, yeah, there might be…a lot of it. But that's normal. And that's all it is anyway, is lust. Nothing else.

Definitely not actual feelings.

Which is great, and explains everything. Accounts for just about every single one of my actions over the past half hour except for the last one. The one where he'd kissed me, and I'd kissed him back, and something…something…had happened.

And then I'd hit the major panic button.

There's probably a really obvious, perfectly reasonable reason for that that has absolutely zero to do with me and my whole fear of intimacy thing but I can't think of it right now. Probably because I'm too busy running a very detailed, very explicit, highlight reel through my head of the last few minutes I'd spent with Spike.

I reach up and press the back of my hand to my cheek when it starts to burn again, the memory of that very last kiss replaying in brilliant Technicolor. Permanently emblazoned on my eyelids.

I shake my head to clear it and drop my hand, step further into the bathroom and run my fingers through my hair. Twist it into a knot at the base of my neck and step up to the sink. Only halfway aware that I'm avoiding the mirror, I reach forward and flip on the tap, waiting for the water to turn almost painfully cold before cupping my hands beneath the stream and splashing my face once.

Again when that doesn't work.

Then one more time just for good measure.

The last time works. Sort of. At the very least it seems to cool my internal temperature down to a manageable level, makes my face feel not quite so on fire-like.

Which is something.

I don't bother with a towel, just reach forward and flip the cool water back off before bracing my hands on either side of the sink. Take a deep breath in. Hold it. Exhale slowly through my nose. I let the remaining freezing drops of water run down my cheeks as I open my eyes again and look up, staring straight ahead to my reflection in the mirror.

My eyes are bright, wide but totally clear, not even a hint of lusty haze. My cheeks still flushed pink, lips red and softly swollen. I press them together and rub them back and forth, tasting the faint hint of cigarette smoke and mint still clinging there.

Then I groan, close my eyes and lean forward until I'm pressing my forehead against the cool glass of the mirror and sigh, "You're totally screwed."

My eyes fly open again a second later when I hear the sharp knock on the door.

"Occupied," I say quickly, standing bolt upright again. Then rolling my eyes and kicking myself for it a second later for being so ultimately lame, I clear my throat and amend, "I mean…what is it?"

Any shred of hope I'd had that it might be Giles outside the door vanishes when I hear the low, unnecessary sigh through the wood.

"Feelin' better?" Spike murmurs, sounding equal parts annoyed and concerned, which is doing all kinds of freaky things to my body temperature as I stare at the door. God, just the sound of the vamp's stupid voice is enough to bring a new flood of memories rushing back.

My cheeks are already getting hot again.

"Think that depends on your definition of 'better'," I murmur back, reaching for a towel and using it to wipe the last traces of water off my face.

From the other side of the door, I hear Spike chuckle. A low, sarcastic sound as he presses what I'm guessing is his shoulder into the wood.

"Fair enough," he says, and it's quiet for another minute before he needlessly sighs once more. Adds, "Look, we need to talk."

I pause with the towel still covering my face, frowning deeply against the terry cloth and pressing it harder against my eyelids. I'd been sort of afraid he'd say something like that.

I swear, I've never met a vampire so interested in talking to me in my entire Slayer career. True, I've never met a vampire that I've given much of a chance to chat me up in my Slayer career. But I can't imagine any of the vamps I've dusted in the last four years would have wanted to talk to me if I'd given them the chance.

Granted, they probably wouldn't have wanted to get me naked, either.

I sigh loud enough for him to hear it and shake my head, shoving that thought aside and balling the now damp towel back up.

Tossing it down into the sink, I ask, "Since when are you so into talking?"

"Since solvin' my issues through violence started giving me migraines," he answers back without missing a beat, sounding increasingly more irritated by the second. The doorknob rattles once. "Open the door, will you?

I turn narrowed eyes on the offending metal, getting increasingly more irritated myself. "No."

For a second, things go silent. No irritated sighing, no rumbling growls, no trying to break the door down...which I isn't something I'd have put past him.

But I don't hear any angry vampire footsteps stomping back in the other direction either, so I don't think he's given up. It wouldn't really be a Spike-like thing to do, anyway.

Trying my best to be quiet, I tiptoe closer to the bathroom door and lean into it; not quite pressing my ear to the smooth wood, but getting close enough to see if I can hear the increasingly familiar sound of his breathing on the other side. For another long second, there's nothing.

And then I hear the unmistakable clicking of the pin in the lock, and then the doorknob is turning freely.

I take an automatic step backward as the door opens to reveal a very pleased looking bleached vampire now leaning against the frame, a yellow-feathered grin on his face and what looks like something thin and silver wedged between his teeth. And he just looks so smug, so arrogant, so stupidly good looking. I kind of can't decide if I want to punch him in his pretty face or kiss him on his pretty mouth.

I decide to roll my eyes instead.

Spike just winks at me, then presses his shoulder off the doorframe and pulls the metal pin out of his teeth. "What, you think that's the first time I've ever had to pick a lock?"

I watch him as he steps further into the bathroom, tossing the pin into the sink with my discarded towel and shutting the door behind him.

Which puts him squarely in between me and my only escape from the tiny room.

So, that's great.

"You know, I could've been doing something personal in here," I complain, folding my arms protectively over the thin cotton covering my chest and hoping he can't tell how very, very red my cheeks are turning.

"Like what?" Spike counters, folding his own arms to mimic me. "You already showered." Then he pauses, quirking a sardonic brow and the corner of his mouth to match. "Or were you feelin' the need to take a second one?"

I don't think he means for me to catch the flicker of disappointment in his eyes, the hint of it hidden just beneath the mocking tone in his voice. I do anyway.

Not liking the twisting stab it gives me in the pit of my stomach, I cover with a shrug. Ask, "And what if I was?"

Still blocking my path to the door, the vampire shifts back on his heels and widens his eyes in faux confusion. "Sorry, you're tryin' to convince me that I shouldn'a picked the lock?" he muses, pursing his lips and fluttering long lashes against his angled cheeks.

His words should probably make me mad. Two or three days ago they would have. But now, right now...with the look he's giving me and the burning heat in my cheeks and the memory of that last kiss we'd shared still flashing in full Technicolor glory in my mind's eye, I can't get to mad. I can't even get to irritated.

All I can really manage is flustered, which I do my best to disguise as mad as I scoff, "Are you just a complete degenerate?"

Spike's eyes flash in response, flickering from azure to gleaming gold for just a moment before fading back, the expression on his handsome face now pure, undiluted, totally delicious sin as he stares across the small space between us.

"Oh, sweetheart," he purrs, voice honeyed and low, eyeing me through his predatory gaze. "You have no idea."

I swallow hard.

Oh, screwed. So, so screwed.

"Fine, whatever," I say quickly, ignoring the way his words have just made every muscle in my body tighten and pulse hungrily. Then I tip my chin back and raise my eyebrows in an expression I hope passes for annoyed and add, "What do you want?"

The predatory expression doesn't change. If anything, his eyes grow darker still. More gleaming, more mischievous.

"I'm doin' something very wrong if you still don't know," he says, smoldering at me as he closes the small space between us.

And if I hadn't known before, if I hadn't been completely sure that this whole thing with Spike is definitely happening, that it isn't a matter of dancing around "if" but more of a back and forth battle until "when" inevitably shows up and swallows us both whole, I do now.

Which somehow only seems to make me more desperate to push back against it.

I reach up and press my palm into his chest, stopping him before he can get close enough for me to smell the hint of leather on his skin. "You said this was a talking thing," I remind him, trying hard to ignore the flex of his muscles beneath my hand. I widen my eyes purposefully. "That definitely isn't talking."

Spike widens his eyes in return but doesn't move away. "Oh, so you wanna talk now?"

The way he says it makes it sound so dirty, like somehow every action involving him and me equals something all lusty and wrong. I think I'd be more upset if my brain hadn't already been connecting everything with him and me into something lusty and wrong already.

I watch him smirk at me, feel him take a small step closer. My lashes flutter, eyes falling from the icy blue of his gaze to the soft swell of his lips for a second, just one, before flicking back up again. The only hint Spike gives me that he's noticed the lingering look I've just given his mouth is to inhale deeply, press his chest further into my hand.

Our eyes lock again, and we stare at each other for another extended moment.

He's just about to lean in when I snatch my hand away from his marble-like chest and turn my back on him. "There isn't anything to talk about," I say simply.

And then I pause to roll my eyes, because if that isn't the lamest, most obvious lie in the history of all the lies ever told ever, I don't know what is.

Spike knows it's a lie, too. He doesn't get any closer to me, but he doesn't really need to. I can feel his eyes burning into me, a laser beam directly into the back of my bare neck as he exhales deeply through his nose. Gives one low, humorless laugh.

"Oh, I'd say this is somethin' worth talking about."

"This?" I ask skeptically, hazarding a glance back over my shoulder at him. Knowing exactly what he means but refusing to acknowledge it just yet. Not ready to talk about it yet. Not ready to admit there even is a "this" to talk about or acknowledge yet.

"Yes, this," he growls, very clearly running out of whatever little patience he had coming in here to begin with. Then he narrows his eyes at me and leans in closer, the cool of his lips nearly touching my ear as he whispers, "Or were you all set to ignore what happened back there?"

A chill shoots down my spine, quick and hard, prompting a knee jerk reaction that I already know is a mistake the second the words leave my dry lips.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Oh, like hell she doesn't.

"Like hell you don't," I growl, eyes flashin' as they scan her face, watching the front she's been tryin' to put up falter.

Buffy balks, blinking wildly as she turns back 'round to face me again. "Excuse me?"

I narrow my eyes, exhaling a short burst of air through my nose as I stare at her. Knew she'd do this, didn't I? The whole bloody reason I'd made the piss poor decision to come after her in the first place was to keep somethin' like this from happening. Keep her from thinkin' too much about it. Keep her from runnin' away. Don't really know why it matters so much to me all of a sudden, whether or not she runs from me. Don't rightly care either. Save the self-reflection for the white hats, I can bloody well do without it. Don't wager it matters all that much why I do what I do anyway.

Always been more interested in the how than the why.

"You think I don't know exactly what you're doin'?" I ask, widening my eyes. There's a spot on my chest still burnin' from the palm of her hot little hand. "Like bloody clock work, you are. Give you half a sodding second to turn that brain of yours back on and you're already runnin' for the bleeding hills." I pause long enough to bite out a sharp laugh, shakin' my head and planting my hands on my hips as I turn my back on her. "Par for the course with you, innit."

She doesn't much like that.

"Don't do that," Buffy hisses, and I feel more than hear her take an angry step toward me. "Don't talk about me like you know me. You don't know me."

I whirl back 'round with another low snort, twisting my lips into a sneer at her tiny hands now balled up into fists. Looking at a practically vibratin' Slayer through narrowed eyes, I murmur, "I know you a lot better than you'd like me to, luv. And a helluva lot better than I ever fucking wanted to, but wager I'm in too bloody deep to do anythin' about that now."

Bugger all, if that innit the exact truth of the matter.

Don't reckon I even realize how true those sodding words are until I hear 'em myself. Until right now. Bloody hell, I'm standin' in her Watcher's ruddy washroom lookin' at the angry flush in her cheeks and the defiant glint in her eyes and all I should be thinkin' about is takin' her apart piece by piece. Instead, all I can think about is how sweet her mouth tasted beneath mine and whether or not the rest of her tastes half as delicious.

Christ, I'm in so bloody deep.

"What is your problem?" Buffy asks, and it's only now I realize I've been starin' at the tops of her thighs.

Really don't leave much to the imagination, those shorts of hers.

Snappin' my gaze back up to her face, I rock back on my heels and raise a brow, the muscle in my jaw startin' to twitch a bit. My problem? Well isn't that delicious. What's my problem, she asks.

My problem, you stubborn, beautiful bitch, is you.

And whatever the buggering fuck those military sods did to me that's keepin' me from tearing your pretty throat out.

Because that's what it is, yeah? Where the crux of this entire Goddamn mess is comin' from. If I'd just been able to kill the chit when I'd wanted to, been able to sink my fangs into her neck back in the dormitory that night, none of this would be happenin' now. It's that thing what's in my brain, whatever the fuck it is they've put there. Puttin' all kinds of ideas in my head and makin' me do and think things I know I bloody well shouldn't be.

So that's it then. My problem is that I can't kill her.

And my bigger problem is I don't want to anymore.

Shit.

"Don't have a problem, Slayer," I lie through clenched teeth, droppin' my hands away from my hips and tilting my head back, stretchin' out the tension in my neck. Then sigh, "Just thought we'd be able to chat this out like a couple of adults, that's all."

"And we totally could," the Slayer responds quickly, already movin' toward the door. She tries to shove her way passed me, diggin' her shoulder into my chest to maneuver her way around as she adds, "If there were anything to chat about. But there isn't, so…"

Buffy trails off as I catch her by the upper arm, tuggin' her roughly back toward me until our faces are barely an inch away. I pause for a half a mo' just to look at her, listenin' to her heart hammer and watchin' her chest heave, feelin' the way her slender muscle tenses and flexes under my hand.

But she doesn't pull away.

So I lean closer still, inhaling the vanilla scent of her skin and the spicy tang of her blood just beneath it. Whisper, "Can't lie to me, luv. I know you felt it."

My hand tightens 'round her arm for emphasis.

She still doesn't pull away.

Instead, Buffy just stares up at me. Pretty green eyes wide but softer now too, lookin' every inch torn between agreeing with me and givin' in and smashing her fist into my nose.

It's quiet for another second.

Then, "I don't want to do this right now."

And she wrenches her arm out of my hand and lunges for the door.

I grit my teeth, roll my eyes. Follow her. Of bloody course she doesn't want to do this right now. That'd require a little bit of honesty on her part, and Lord knows that's like pullin' teeth wherever I'm involved.

On the other hand, she hasn't denied feelin' it out right so I s'pose that counts for somethin'.

I reach the door just as she manages to turn the knob and yank it open, shovin' it closed again and boxing her in on either side. Her back to my front, caged by my arms, I tell her, "This isn't just about what you want, though, is it?"

She inhales sharply and her shoulders tense up, like she's ready for a fight if it comes to it.

And fuck me if that wouldn't lead to the best bloody shag of my unlife.

"Well, it isn't just about what you want either," she tells me defiantly, turning her face so the heat of her cheek is all but touchin' my lips.

I bite back against the urge to kiss it. Chuckle mockingly instead.

"You're tellin' me," I murmur, stirrin' a strand of golden hair and pressin' myself just a little more tightly against her. "If it were we'd be havin' it off on your Watcher's kitchen floor by now."

I hear her pulse quicken at that, no doubt her anger wagin' war with the desire I can still smell on her skin.

She turns fully 'round to face me now, eyes flashing and clearly not thinkin' much about the fact the turnin' around where she is'll put her nose to nose with me.

Or maybe just not caring.

Whatever. Far be it for me to complain when I can feel all those lovely inches of bare skin is burnin' through my clothes.

Keepin' our gazes locked, she tips her chin back in defiance and nearly brushes her lips over mine in the process. If I didn't know her better I might think she's about to kiss me. But Buffy is bloody Buffy, so instead she narrows her gaze and says, "You're disgusting."

I feel a slow, small smile curve the corner of my mouth.

She is cute when she's posturing, innit she?

"Wager that little insult'd hit a bit harder if you meant it, pet." I lean back a little ways and cock my head to the side, sweepin' my lashes down, lettin' my eyes linger on her nipples as they pebble up beneath the cotton of her shirt. My smirk widens. "You're the one that jumped me tonight, remember?"

I look up just in time to see a fresh wave of blood flood her cheeks.

My fangs itch.

"Yeah, well," Buffy mutters, whirlin' away from me and gripping the doorknob, twisting it and throwin' the door open and she's out into the hall before I can stop her again. "I don't know what I was thinking."

"You weren't," I say pointedly, unruffled, followin' her step for step around the corner and down the narrow hallway leading toward the living room. "That's the bloody point."

She snorts, tossin' a sardonic glare at me from over her shoulder. "What, that I have to shut off my brain to be with you?"

Reckon I like the way she's phrased that a bit more'n I should.

"No," I counter readily, drawing the word out and shovin' that thought aside. "That you weren't thinking about anyone else for once. That was about you and your gut impulses." I watch as she comes to a stop in front of the sofa, shoulders flexin' as she crosses her arms and faces me. "You weren't thinkin', pet, you were feeling."

Her eyes flash.

"Are you done?" she asks me, her voice deadly and low now, rife with implied threat and just below that, hunger. Want. An animalistic heat I recognize in her eyes that makes my cock jump and strain against my zipper.

Am I done?

Not a bloody chance.

"When you were with me back there, you were doin' exactly what you wanted," I say, takin' a step to close the space between us. "And I'll wager it felt good, didn't it?"

Ooo, that one struck a nerve.

She opens her mouth to say somethin' right away, gets about half a word out, then stops. Suddenly, like she's just changed her mind. Snaps her mouth shut again. All the rage in her eyes fades away and she sighs, and I can see it. There on her face, for the first time since I've known her, I see it.

Resignation.

Gotta say, I thought it'd feel a bit better to see it.

"A lot of things feel good, Spike," she says now, her voice soft as she uncrosses her arms and drops 'em down to her sides. "It doesn't make them right."

I shrug. "Makes 'em fun though."

Don't know which of us is more surprised when she actually laughs at that, the Slayer or me. Because that's what she does, this girl. She laughs. That nice sound, that tinklin' little bell sound I'd first noticed a couple nights back.

Hadn't really meant it as a joke but whatever gets her to make that sound is somethin' I could probably—

Oh.

Balls.

"Fair enough," she says, offering me a tight, small smile and surprising the ever livin' hell out of me. Then she sighs, rolling her eyes as she drops down onto the edge of the sofa, reaches back to run her fingers through her hair. "Too bad 'always do the fun thing' isn't what's in my job description."

Ah.

So that's it then.

Little miss goody two shoes is frettin' because bein' with me is the wrong thing to do, or against her job as the sodding Slayer, or whatever the hell it is she's so hung up on…even though it's what she wants. Because she's the good guy, and the good guy can't just do what they want whenever they want and bugger everybody else.

Bloody hell, bein' the good guy must be some unholy kind of dull.

"Mmm, too bad," I agree, crossin' slowly over to the sofa, careful not to spook her now she's not running away from me. "Make this destiny you've got a lot more interesting."

Buffy half laughs and shakes her head. "And a lot less useful."

"Think that depends on the use you're tryin' to get out of it," I muse, bitin' my lip and waggling my eyebrows suggestively at her when she looks at me.

"God," the Slayer groans, propping her elbows on her knees and droppin' her head into her hands. "Just when you start to act like an actual human being you say something like that."

"Surprised?" I ask, settling down onto the edge of the sofa beside her, leanin' forward to brace my forearms over my thighs. I glance at her. "'M not an actual human being, luv."

Might be the first time since Dru turned me that I've regretted the truth in those words.

I watch Buffy out of the corner of my eye as she nods in quiet agreement, pulls her head up out of her hands and stares straight ahead.

"Sometimes you make that a little too easy to forget," she murmurs softly. Then exhales loudly, blowin' a stray piece of hair out of her face as she adds, "Things would be so much easier if you didn't."

I arch a brow. "And that's supposed to mean?"

Her gaze snaps back to me, eyes goin' wide like maybe she'd forgotten about me all together.

"Just that…you're you," she says, obviously scramblin' a bit. "A-and I'm me. We aren't…I mean, we can't…it's not like I don't understand what this is all about for you," she finishes in a rush, nippin' back up to her feet and taking a few steps in the direction of the Watcher's pathetic telly set.

I frown, a flash of irritation tightening my chest.

"Yeah?" I prompt, voice low, feelin' my expression darken as I stare at her back. "Enlighten me."

Buffy must hear it in my voice, because she turns back around and looks at me through narrowed eyes.

"Oh, come on, Spike," she deadpans, gesturing. "All you want out of this is one thing."

I realize what it is she's said at the same instant she does.

I watch the Slayer tense up as soon as the words leave her lips, eyes goin' wide and the deadpan expression shifting to stricken a second before she turns her back again. Starts movin' purposefully through the flat and back toward the kitchen.

For the second time tonight I'm just a touch faster than she is, jumping up and over the back of the sofa and cuttin' her off at the pass just before she can reach the kitchen. Put both my arms out to block her path and ask, "You sayin' you want more?"

"I didn't say that," she says, already startin' to turn away again.

Right then.

She's cracked if she thinks I'm about to let her get away with that.

I reach out lightning quick and cup her chin in my hand, riskin' the imminent damage to my nose in order to keep her eyes locked on mine. "But do you?"

Guessin' I'd feel a bit more concerned with how incredibly poncy I sound if she wasn't tellin' me everything I need to know with her eyes right now.

"What do you want me to say?" Buffy hisses, whisperin' at me like she'd much rather be yelling. "I don't even know if I want this, whatever this is." She gestures wildly between the two of us for emphasis, then reaches up and bats my hand away. Starts pacin' in front of me. "It's just kind of a lot, okay? With the you and the me and the kissage. The really nice kissage." My lips curve up at that, only half listening to what she's sayin'. More caught up in watchin' her work through her thoughts than anythin' else. "And then there was the almost sex, twice. Which I mean, honestly, is wiggy enough as it is." She wrinkles her nose up at that bit. Bloody adorable. "But then you add in all the other stuff, like you saving my life, and helping with the commandos, and…" she trails off as her eyes finally find mine again, doin' this cute little stutter step as she comes to a stop. Inhales. Swallows audibly and whispers,"...looking at me like that."

Smirking at her, for once not carin' that she's caught me out, I tilt my head to the side. Narrow my eyes and ask, "You want me to stop?"

I answer him with a kiss.

Honestly, I don't know why. If it's an actual answer to his current question, or an answer to his earlier question, or a way to avoid answering them both in one fell swoop...like I said, I don't actually know. I don't actually care.

Not really all that surprising considering how hard it is to care about much of anything once he slides his hands up into my hair and kisses me back.

It's another one of those sort of bone meltingly slow kisses. Soft in a way that does things to my brain, makes it short circuit and flicker off. But just before it does, just for a second, I think about it again. Think about everything that Spike's said to me tonight. Think about all the things I've said back. Think about the truth in both. He wants me, I know. Hasn't really done anything at all to hide it. And I do want him. And yeah, I do have…some kind of feelings for him, though I think that's about as far as I'm willing to go down that narrow, winding road just yet.

Being with him would be so easy if I'd just let myself do what I want. But I've been down this road before and it's never gone well for me. I did exactly what I wanted with Angel, and that got me Angelus. And then it got me dumped. Again with Parker, and look at all the not so fun places that had gotten me.

I think about all of this in the span of about a split second.

Just a split second, but it's enough.

My Buffy brain snaps back on.

"No," I breathe against his lips, my stupid brain at odds with my stupid hormones. "No," I say again, louder this time, reaching up to shove against his chest until we forcibly separate.

The force is strong enough that it knocks us both into opposite sides of the tiny hallway, nearly taking down a framed piece of art hanging on the wall beside the vampire.

"Bloody hell," Spike growls, reaching around to rub at the back of his head.

I ignore him.

"See, this is why I can't think straight." I reach the back of my hand up and drag it across my lips, hastily smooth my hair back away from my face as I scan the ground. "I-I'm all wigged out and lusty and you and your lips are only making things worse."

"Me and my lips?" Spike asks, incredulous, his eyes narrowed and his chest heaving needlessly like he's just as out of breath as I am. "You kissed me, you dozy bint."

That makes me pause.

Oh, yeah.

Crap.

Scrambling, I turn and point an accusing finger at him. "Because you looked at me like that!"

Smooth.

"Right," the vampire chuckles, but not like he thinks I'm funny. Like I'm the opposite of funny. Then he rolls his shoulders back and asks, "And I s'pose you're completely innocent in all this?"

I stare at him for a moment, feeling decidedly not innocent at all as I rub my thighs together, try to dull the ache that's begun there.

It doesn't go unnoticed.

"Compared to you?" I ask, playing on the age old I know you are but what am I tactic and bringing his eyes back to mine. "You're the one that's been manipulating me for days, Spike."

This just seems to amuse the vampire, the expression on his handsome face going from annoyed to smug in a blink.

Raising a brow as he lowers his voice and steps toward me, he says, "Think the word you're lookin' for is seducing, pet. And here's a question for you." He stops right in front of me, looking down into my face with eyes that always seem to see right through every defense I put up to shield myself from him. "If you knew what I was doin' the whole time, who's fault is it really if it worked?"

I don't answer him. Probably because there's nothing I can say. He's right and he knows he's right, and he probably knows I know he's right, and I'm just standing here all wrong.

Because having real life, warm-fuzzy, actual feelings for a non-soul having vampire? Big wrong.

"Fine," Spike says after a minute of total silence from me, shifting out of my personal space again. "You wanna go on swimmin' in denial about what's happening here, go right ahead. Won't change a blessed thing. You wanna blame me for everythin'?" He turns a finger on himself for emphasis. "That's fine, too. At least I can own up to what I want."

I glare up at him. "Because that's so difficult for a vamp."

Spike whirls on me in an instant, snarling, eyes flashing gold.

"If you think this is easy for me, you're off your bleeding bird," he growls through clenched teeth, the muscle in his jaw ticking like the countdown timer on a bomb.

He's got me pressed flat against the wall again, my shoulder blade digging into the stucco in a way that feels appropriately painful.

"Still easier for you than it is for me," I insist weakly, suddenly feeling horribly vulnerable. And kind of just plain horrible.

"Oh, yeah," Spike agrees brusquely, narrowing his eyes as he pushes away from the wall once more. "Havin' feelings for you is a bloody fucking picnic."

He disappears then, around the corner and down the hall, back into the bathroom before I can even think about getting another word out.

I stand there against the wall, stunned, staring blankly at the picture that's now hanging lopsided where the vampire had been standing just seconds before.

I'm still standing there, still staring, when Giles comes downstairs about forty-five minutes later.

"Good morning, Buffy," he says, yawning as he tightens the belt on his robe and shuffles into the kitchen. Then he pauses, turns back toward me and frowns. "You're up early."

I glance toward the living room and can see the faint white-blue light of early morning from underneath the curtains.

Funny. I'd been thinking I was up late.

"Uh, yeah," I murmur, turning back toward my Watcher and folding my arms. Rubbing my hands along them for friction. "Couldn't sleep."

Didn't even try.

Keeping his eyes on me, Giles reaches for his teakettle and moves to the sink, flips on the tap to fill it. "Is everything alright?"

Is it weird that I don't think I even know the answer?

I don't know, Giles.

Is it alright that I have feelings for my previously deadly, currently harmless, mortal enemy? Is it alright that said mortal enemy has feelings for me? Is it alright that we were up all night in a wig-tastic back and forth of nearly sleeping together and arguing about why we wanted to sleep together in the first place?

Because if that's all good then sure, things are both peachy and also keen. Otherwise, well…otherwise.

I'm too tired to deal with either one of those options.

"Yeah," I tell him, figuring it isn't really a lie if I don't know it's a lie. "All good."

Whether he believes me or not, I can't tell. It probably doesn't matter since he's obviously choosing not to press. Instead he nods, turns on the burner beneath the kettle and reaches up into the cupboard above it.

"Tea?" he asks me, bringing out two ceramic mugs.

I sigh, then smile. "Please."

I'm buggered now, no two sodding ways about it. Right and proper.

Since it's already out in the open I s'pose there's no use in pussy footin' around it. That I have feelings for the girl. That I care about her. About the bloody Slayer. Christ, lookin' at it from this side of things I'm not even sure I'm surprised. Lord knows Dru wouldn't be. And even if I could deny it at this point I doubt I'd bother. What would be the point? I care. She knows it. Whether or not she's quite ready to admit, she's not far behind.

Figuratively speaking, o'course.

Not that I'd been expectin' the chit to come chasin' after me like I had her. Hadn't exactly been nice about it, had I? Besides, s' not like I've forgotten who it is I'm dealin' with. Know she feels like I do, but bloody hell, Buffy is still Buffy. 'S gonna take her a bit.

Doesn't stop me from flingin' the door open the second I hear footsteps coming 'round the corner though, does it?

"Oh," I mutter, frownin' at the old man standing in front of me in a bathrobe and slippers. "It's you."

"Yes, it's me, the man who actually lives here," he deadpans, a fairly impressive amount of snark in his voice for how bored he looks. "I can imagine seeing me is both a disappointment and a shock."

Well, whattya know. Watcher boy might've actually been funny once upon a time.

Too bad I'm not exactly in a laughin' mood. "What d'you want?"

"To not be playing house guest to a master vampire, among other things. Right now I'd simply like to be able to use my shower."

As delicious as the idea normally is, I don't feel much like engagin' in a verbal sparring match with the old man right now. I start to move out of his way instead.

"Careful, Rupert," I warn as I switch places with him and slide out into the hallway. "You almost had a personality just then."

I turn back 'round just in time to watch him slam the door in my face. My lips curve upward.

Guess I just can't help myself.

And speakin' of not being able to help myself, Buffy's sittin' up at the kitchen counter when I turn the corner and walk into the living room.

She's not lookin' at me, hasn't even noticed me come in I'd guess, frowning like she's somewhere deep in thought. Drummin' pink nails against the side of a water glass and dressed in fresh clothes now, same pair of denim she'd been wearin' yesterday and a frilly little off the shoulder thing that I guess passes for a shirt nowadays.

She's got her hair pulled back off her neck, leavin' me with an unobstructed view of the luscious curve of her throat and I have a sudden, near violent need to be near her.

Buggered. Completely.

"Hey," I say, clearin' my throat when she glances up from her water and meets my eyes. They're surprised, but soft. Maybe even a bit relieved.

"Hey," she says back, sittin' up a touch straighter on the stool.

I scan her face for a bit, lettin' the awkward quiet fill the room around us before figuring I oughtta try and break it again. "You feelin' okay?"

Her answer comes quick.

"Tired." She pauses to think. Then, like she's just realized she should ask, "How bout you?"

Takes a bit of doin' to hide the surprise on my own face at that, but I manage, if only to save a last crumb of face here. Nod once, stuff my hands down into the front pockets of my jeans. "Bit tired, yeah."

I watch Buffy nod thoughtfully, turnin' her eyes away from me and back down to the water in front of her. Watch her tap her pointer finger against the glass a couple times.

When she looks up again I spot a flicker of that glitterin' defiance in her eyes I like so much.

"You…wanna sit?" she asks slowly, gesturin' to the stool on her left. Then she shrugs and adds, "We could be tired together?"

Reckon that's about as close to an admittance that she's recognized what's really goin' on between us as I'm gonna get from her just yet.

I smirk at her and nod once. "Sure, pet."

It'll do for now.

"So it's settled then," Giles says, one hand on either side of the campus map he has spread across the table. "Willow will be just there, hidden behind the tree line on that side of the path. I'll be here on the opposite side." He looks up and over at me. "Buffy, you know where to go?"

I raise a brow at him. "It's my plan, Giles."

"Right, of course," he chuckles lightly, looking a little sheepish. Then turns his eyes out again. "And, uh, Spike—"

"'Stay out of the way'," the vampire repeats flatly from his spot leaning against the wall, giving an exaggerated roll of his eyes as he does. "Yeah, got it. Heard you the first five bloody times."

Giles sighs. Spike hollows his cheeks. I bite down on the edge of my lip to keep from smiling.

It's not a surprising response from the vampire, he's been grumbling about his involvement in the plan, or more accurately his lack thereof, all afternoon. He wants revenge on the commandos for what they did to him and while I totally get it, and more than know the feeling, the reality is he wouldn't be any help at all in a fight.

And me being out there worried about him wouldn't do either of us any favors.

"You're certain about this Buffy?" my Watcher asks, drawing my attention to him as he stands up straight and eyes me seriously from across the table.

"Of course I am," I tell him breezily, meaning it. Then frown. "Don't I look certain?"

"Actually, you look kinda tired," Xander pipes up from the other side of the room where he's taken up a spot beside Willow on the couch.

I turn to shoot him hard look. "And you're helping how?"

"Color commentary," he answers simply, glancing around the room before finally looking back to me. "I thought it was obvious."

I open my mouth to respond but Spike beats me to the punch, letting out a low laugh and drawing four pairs of eyes toward him this time.

"And you think I'll be the one gettin' in the way?" he asks with a raised brow, directing the question very purposefully at me.

It had been a complete slip when I'd used that phrasing while trying to explain my plan to him earlier, but the stubborn vamp had latched onto it anyway.

I open my mouth to respond again, but this time it's Xander who cuts me off.

"Nobody asked you, Spike," he snaps, leveling a fairly impressive death glare at the vampire on the other side of the room.

"Oh, bugger off Harris," the vampire in question sneers, pushing his shoulder off the wall and taking a step toward the couch. "You're as worthless here as I am and we all bloody well know it."

Well, honestly, he isn't exactly wrong.

Willow doesn't seem to agree though because she jumps to the defense of our friend, narrowing her eyes on Spike as she gets to her feet. "That's not true."

"Yeah?" he counters, turning widened eyes on the witch. Leaning forward and lowering his voice to ask, "That why Slayer's got him on vamp-sitting duty?"

"Spike," I warn quickly, watching him through narrowed eyes from my spot at the table.

He turns and looks at me, brow furrowed. "What, you do-gooders suddenly opposed to the truth?"

"The truth is that we need someone here making sure everything's ready for when we bring our house guest back," I remind him pointedly, unable to keep the edge of irritation out of my voice as I do.

We've had this argument a time or two already today.

"And you need both of us for that, do you?" he goads me.

I sigh and lower my voice. "We talked about this."

"You have?" Xander demands, looking specifically at me like I've sprouted a second head. And maybe a beak of some kind.

I roll my eyes up to the ceiling.

Oh, boy.

"Can we just focus please?" I ask, getting up out of my chair and pushing it into the table, turning to face everyone head on. "We're only gonna have one clear shot at this and speaking as the live bait, I'd really like it if nothing went wrong."

The way Spike's eyes flash at the mention of me and live bait in the same sentence isn't lost on me at all. He hates my plan, I know, but he hates this part the most. He's told me more than once how stupid he thinks it is. What he hasn't done is come out and be honest about why it is he thinks it's so stupid but neither of us is really trying to fool the other anymore. I mean, no, we hadn't done any more of the talking he'd been so gung ho about last night, mostly because Giles had been around all afternoon and we hadn't had a chance to, but also because I actually think we've reached an understanding.

A neither-of-us-is-willing-to-come-right-out-and-say-it type of understanding, but an understanding none the less.

"So," I say, trying to look more annoyed than pleased with the possessive gleam in the vampire's eye even though my mouth is twitching into a small smile as I turn and look back and forth between him and my friend. "Do you two think you can play nice for an hour?"

"Don't look at me," Spike says, turning his attention down to the black lacquered nails of his left hand. "I wouldn't waste my time bitin' Nancy boy here even if I could."

I probably shouldn't laugh but I do anyway, quickly stopping when Willow shoots me an exasperated look.

I press my lips together. Oops.

"Hey," Xander whines, oblivious to me and my giggling, turning and jabbing a finger in Spike's direction. "I resent that."

"You were meant to," the vampire tells him matter-of-factly.

They glare at each other.

Seriously, if I roll my eyes one more time tonight I'm pretty sure they'll get stuck like that.

Fed up with the Y-chromosomes in the room, I turn my attention back toward Willow in time to see her finish slinging a bag over her shoulder. Raise my eyebrows at her and ask, "Are you ready?"

"Locked and loaded," she says brightly, then immediately backtracks. "I mean, metaphorically speaking...with the...yeah." She pats the bag demonstratively. "Ready."

"Okay," I say, grabbing my own stake off the table and tucking it into the back waistband of my jeans. "Hopefully this goes quick and easy, I'm planning to actually get some sleep tonight."

And again, I don't miss the subtle but definitely there eyebrow raise Spike gives me when I catch his eye. I bite down on the inside of my cheek and sigh. Yeah.

We definitely have some kind of understanding.

The Slayer can go to hell, and take this ruddy "plan" of hers with her.

It's a stupid plan.

Actually, if we're bein' honest, it's a bloody brilliant plan. Simple, clean, and all things go the way they should, easy enough to pull off.

Not real keen on my girl usin' herself as the worm on the hook, though.

S'pose it's that silly little "honor" code she's so fond of stickin' to what dictates potential self sacrifice is the way to go here, somethin' I'm happy to say I'll never understand. 'S why I'd told her a million sodding times today that it's a stupid plan. And while I'd been under no sort of delusion whatsoever that the girl'd actually listen to me, might've been nice if she'd at least acknowledged it. Instead of marchin' out full steam ahead, and leavin' me stuck here with the Boy Wonder.

Speakin' of which…

"Are you gonna help me or not?"

Christ.

Bored with where this particular conversation is headed already, I flick my eyes slowly up toward the boy.

"Was leanin' toward not," I tell him, glancin' over at the flat's closed front door again. Distractedly dig the crushed pack of smokes out of my duster pocket, tap it out into my palm and toss the empty packaging to the floor.

How long's it been anyway, fifteen, twenty minutes?

Christ, shouldn't they be back by now?

"Spike, I swear to God," Harris mutters, doin' his very pathetic best to sound threatening. "If you don't get your pasty white ass over here and help, I'll—"

"You'll what?" I ask, cuttin' him off and tossing a sardonic glance toward him. Wedging the cigarette in between my teeth. Lightin' it. "Stake me?"

He sneers at me, leanin' down to pick up the heavy set of chains the Watcher'd left out on the living room floor. I inhale deeply from my cigarette and watch as he attempts to lift them.

Funny, that.

"Believe me, nothing would make me happier," he snaps, droppin' the chains back to the ground with a thud. Probably gonna leave a mark. "The only reason I haven't staked you yet…" He trails off to suck in a deep breath, attempts to lift them again. "...is because…" Gives up again. "...Buffy specifically asked me not to."

I freeze in place, blinkin' a few times.

Then reach up and pull the cigarette out of my mouth. "She did?"

Harris doesn't answer me. Matter of fact, he acts like he hasn't heard me at all. Just stands there in the hall, staring down at the pile of chains in front of him like he's tryin' to work out how two and two makes four.

Irritated, I suck in my cheeks, run the tip of my tongue back over the edge of my teeth. Step closer to him.

"She happen to say why?" I ask, more loudly this time.

Distracted, the boy looks up at me and frowns. "Why what?"

Jesus Christ, it's like talkin' to a particularly useless brick wall.

I try again, more slowly this time, "Did the Slayer happen to say why she didn't want you shovin' a pointed piece of wood through my chest?"

"We didn't spend a lot of time talking about you, Spike," Harris grits out. Back to his task, only this time choosin' to only lift one of the chains and not all bloody five off the ground at once. Not nearly as funny. "Probably feels some twisted sort of sympathy for you because you've been castrated or whatever."

Bloody hell, can none of these sodding Scoobies find a better way of phrasin' it?

"Bite your tongue, boy," I growl, narrowin' my eyes as I place the cigarette back in my mouth and inhale again.

"At least I can bite," he grumbles, grabbin' hold of the second set of chains and attempting to haul it up over his shoulder. It slips, and I watch as both sets he'd managed to wrangle go crashin' back down, knockin' him off balance and to a pile of gaudy colored clothing and moppy brown hair on the floor.

"Yeah, you're real frightening," I mutter, rollin' my eyes. "Shakin' in my bloody boots."

I pause then, glancin' down at the lit cigarette in my hand. Watchin' the glowing tip, flickin' the layer of ash off the end, I clear my throat and ask, "Did, uh…did Buffy say anythin' else about me?"

"What?" He asks, shoving himself back up to his feet and shootin' me a nasty glare. "No. Why would she?"

So, still not willin' to admit it out loud is she? Then again, it is Harris we're talkin about. Guess 'm not surprised.

"No reason," I mutter, turnin' my gaze back toward the front door. I stare at it hard for a minute like I'm willin' it to open, then realize what a pitiful picture I'm paintin' and turn my back on it. Fuck me, all this watching and waiting…stuck here with the whelp and feelin' bloody useless. And all for what, just so Buffy can have her way? Since when do I bother listenin' to the likes of her anyhow? Don't get me wrong, 'm all for lettin' her tell me what to do. I'd been thinkin' we'd save that for the bedroom is all.

And besides that, has she even considered what might happen if things don't go like she's planned? What happens if things go sideways? What happens if those military brats get the drop on her same as they did me and she ends up in that Godforsaken lab this time? The Slayer's gonna get herself nabbed up or worse, and I won't have done a single bloody thing to stop it.

I finish my cigarette and glance to the side, exhaling slowly through my nose as I watch Harris disappear around the hall corner, bent over, at the waist draggin' the heavy chains with him as he goes.

More'n likely he won't even notice I'm gone.

One thing I hadn't bothered to consider about my brilliant plan is how much patience it would take. Or how majorly boring it would be.

Because watching and waiting? Really not my thing.

"Well," I sigh, giving the stake in my hand a casual twirl as I glance around the empty quad. "This is fun."

She said sarcastically.

Not that fun had been exactly what I'd had in mind when coming up with the plan, and I'd known that in order for the plan to work it would take a little bit of down time on my end. But I'd be totally lying if I said I hadn't been hoping I'd run into at least one vamp in need of a good dusting during that down time. Not like a horde or anything, but you know…just one. Even a teeny weeny, fledgling type of one.

Anything to work off the tension that's been building in me the past couple days.

But it's been at least an hour now and still, with the nothing. No vampires, no demons, no commandos…no excitement.

I'm just about to call it, head out of the clearing and down toward where Willow and Giles are camped out, when the skin at the back of my neck prickles. Tingles sharply, then rockets a shiver straight down my spine. My pulse picks up and I can feel the hairs on my arms all stand on end.

Vampire.

The familiar scent hits me a half second later.

Spike.

I whirl around to face him, grip him tightly by the leather lapel of his duster before he can say a single word. Swinging my body around, I use the momentum to spin us both out of the open quad and into the dense cover of trees along the path beside it. Drag him by the lapel deeper into the tree line and then spin back, hiding us from the view of the clearing by slamming him into the trunk of a large oak.

Maybe a little harder than necessary.

He definitely notices, chuckling in a slightly pained way as he looks down into my face. "Not happy to see me I'll take it."

"Yeah, I'll take it too." I press him a little harder into the trunk, so unbelievably annoyed that he's deliberately gone against my plan and risked his non-dusty existence by coming here that I almost don't notice I actually am kind of glad to see him. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Spike rolls his eyes like explaining himself is a chore, but does it anyway. "Nipped out while Harris was settin' up in the washroom. Thought you could do with an extra set of hands." He turns his gaze down to his chest, quirks a brow. "Watch where you're pointin' that thing, will you?"

I frown and look down, too, frowning a little deeper when I notice what he's looking at. The tip of the stake I'd been holding in my hand is now pressed precariously into the leather of his duster.

Oh.

Right.

I quickly let go of his lapel and step back, taking the stake and securing it back in my waistband.

"You shouldn't be out here," I say lamely, all too obviously, because…he shouldn't be. "What if someone saw you?"

"Nobody saw me," Spike assures me, reaching up and flipping back the collar on his duster, looking annoyed that I've rumpled it. Then exhales through his nose and adds, "Besides, I'm not the one the government's after. Of the two of us, it's you who shouldn't be out here, luv, not me."

I have to purse my lips to keep from smiling because I knew it.

He was worried.

Which I can spend some time gloating about later. Right now, I need to focus on getting him the heck out of Dodge before the cows come home to roost.

Or…whatever.

"Of the two of us, I'm the only one who can defend myself," I remind him, rocking back on my heels and crossing my arms.

Spike makes a face at me and raises a brow, taking a step away from the oak tree and tipping his head to the side. "Might not be able to hit the sods but I can be useful in other ways."

"Such as?" I counter, widening my eyes.

He opens his mouth to respond right away, then stops. Thinks about it. Smirks at me like he knows I've caught him turns his eyes up to the night sky.

"Alright, so I haven't exactly thought this through," he admits, turning his glittering gaze back to mine. Then adds in a rush, "But I'm here and I'm not goin' anywhere, so I suggest you figure out how I fit into this little plan of yours before our friends show up."

My stupid, stubborn vampire is gonna get himself killed.

"You fit in back at Giles's apartment," I tell him flatly, planting my hands on my hips. "Go there."

I watch both of his dark brows draw together as he leans toward me. "Did you hear a bloody word I just said?"

"Yeah, you said you wouldn't be much use in a fight." I start heading back around the tree, back toward the quad and the prime bait setting bench I'd stationed myself at before he'd shown up. "Go back to the apartment, Spike. Now."

Not missing a beat, the vampire falls into immediate step behind me.

"You'll need a distraction," he murmurs, his voice low and smooth in my ear. Lower now than it had been just seconds ago. I wonder briefly if he's noticed something I haven't, but the clearing is still very much a clearing when I scan it.

Shooting a skeptical glance at him over my shoulder, I press, "A distraction from what?"

"You don't honestly think you'll be dealin' with just one of those commandos, do you?" The vampire skirts around me, stepping forward so he's blocking my path to the bench. Still within cover of the trees, he furrows his brow and murmurs, "Know as well as I do they don't travel in singles. It'll be a pair at the very least."

This time, it's anger that colors my cheeks.

I reach up and push my way around him, saying simply, "Then I'll fight a pair."

I don't bother to add that either way it really won't be a problem. I don't think right now fighting ten of them would be a problem. I feel better, stronger, than I have in days.

Plus all this unresolved sexual tension is giving me an edge and a hyper focus I've never had before.

Behind me, the blonde vamp scoffs.

"That should work out well, seein' as the last time you faced these wankers you nearly got yourself killed," he snaps, directly on my heels again.

Mimicking him, although badly, I mutter, "The last time I faced these wankers I had a 107 degree fever."

That does it.

"Look," Spike growls, clearly fed up now. He reaches out and wraps his large, cool hand around my wrist to stop me, tugs me back toward him. "I'm tryin' to help you—"

"And I'm trying to keepyousafe," I whisper-shout, cutting him off as I whirl back around to face him.

Honestly, I think it surprises us both.

Spike just stares at me for a minute like maybe I've just slapped him. Blinking a lot, eyes wide as they search mine. Stunned, maybe.

Then he tips his head to the side, glances toward the ground and murmurs, "Gotta say, wasn't expectin' that."

That makes two of us.

"Yeah, well," I say stiffly, pulling my wrist out of his grip and glancing out toward the clearing again. "Me neither."

And it's the truth, isn't it? I really hadn't expected it. I hadn't expected him…and I mean that in a lot more than just the him showing up unannounced and trying to kill me in my dorm room kind of way.

Obviously.

I mean, no, Spike's never been what I'd call predictable but even then, I don't know how I ever would have expected this from him. Hadn't expected him to pursue me like this. Hadn't expected him to try so hard to find a way through all my defenses.

And I definitely hadn't expected it to work.

I risk a glance back up to his face to find him doing that thing, that looking at me thing. Azure eyes bright and warm, sort of smug and surprised and maybe a little awed all at the same time.

It's making me a little light headed.

His eyes don't leave mine even as he narrows them. Inches closer to me. Says, in that rumbling voice that hits me right in the chest, "But you meant it."

I almost say no.

I change my mind at the last minute.

"Yeah," I murmur, looking up into the tree branches and sighing. Then I sort of laugh, a short, sardonic burst through my lips as I turn my shaking head back toward him. "I guess I'm not ready for you to be dust in the wind just yet."

The wealth of warm appreciation that flickers across his face is worth all the truth of that sentence and then some. Something down in the bottom of my stomach twists and pulls, but in a good way. A million fluttering butterfly wings kind of way.

"Funny way of showin' it, leaving me alone with the little boy," the vampire complains, but his gaze is soft as it moves over my face. He takes another step toward me to close the gap between us, lowers his voice. "If petty death glares could stake."

"Xander wasn't going to do anything to you," I say purposefully, telling him absolutely nothing he doesn't totally know already. I put my hand on his chest and push him back into the dense cover of trees we've somehow moved away from, adding, "Which is a lot more than I can say for our Stormtrooper pals if they catch sight of you here."

Spike reaches up and grabs my hand before I can pull it away, laying his palm flat over mine and keeping it held to his chest. "And why do you think I came here anyway?"

And we both freeze, our gazes locked together and hidden safely from view.

Okay, so it's not the most traditional declaration of the warm fuzzies I've ever gotten, but traditional has never really been my thing anyway. Or maybe I just don't care because this moment feels a heck of a lot more intimate than anything I've been on the receiving end of in recent memory.

And his hand feels so good on top of mine. Tangible. Real. Like he isn't about to just disappear, to slip out between my fingers at any second the way I always kind of felt Angel might. His hand is smooth like marble, cool and solid over mine. And right now all I'm thinking about is keeping it cool and strong and solid.

Solid being the operative word.

I turn my hand around beneath his, wrap my fingers around it and lower our joined hands down until they're resting between us.

A beat passes.

Then, flatly, "It's not safe out here for you, Spike."

Clearly unmoved, he counters, "It's not safe for you, either."

"I'm not going to argue with you about this," I tell him, pulling my hand out of his and making my way back toward the quad. "I want you out of here before—"

I stop short when I spot them.

About thirty feet away from the tree line and facing the opposite direction—Commandos. And definitely not just one of them. Not just a pair, either, but three of them. Three of them clearly trying to be some kind of stealthy, dressed head to toe in all black uniforms, complete with masks.

And guns.

I spin on my heel immediately and open my mouth to warn Spike.

Turns out I don't have to, because he's already seen exactly what I have. Growling under his breath he grabs my hand roughly, pulling me with him as we duck back behind the large oak tree we'd abandoned a minute ago.

"You were sayin'?" he murmurs wryly, his voice low and right at my ear as we peek around the edge of the trunk together.

Funny how even bein' out here in the thick of it 'm somehow still watching and waiting.

"Ugh," Buffy groans softly from in front of me, wrinklin' her nose up. "Three of them?"

Narrowin' my eyes at the three black-clad bastards, I nod. "Hate to say I told you so, but...well you know the rest."

"At least they're facing the other way," she murmurs with a little shrug, glancin' back over her shoulder at me. "I've got the whole element of surprise thing going for me."

And there's a little peek at that cock-eyed optimism that used to make my stomach roll. Funny how so many things about Buffy that used to make me want to heave now just make me want to wrap my arms around her and inhale the fragrance of her neck.

Then I realize what it is she's actually just said and frown. Shift to the side and hiss, "Don't you mean we?"

"No, I mean me," she says purposefully, turnin' back 'round to face me head on. "As in…me is gonna go out there and deal with them, like I planned." Then she pokes me hard in the chest. "And you are gonna stay right here and not get vamp-napped again."

I shift back on my heels and widen my eyes, blinkin' down into her face. "You've got to be joking."

Bird's off her nut if she thinks 'm about to just sit here and watch.

"Stay here," Buffy says sternly, ignorin' me completely as she turns her back and takes a couple big steps out of the tree cover and toward the open clearing.

Oh, no she bloody well doesn't.

I reach for her again, wrappin' my fingers tight 'round her wrist and spinnin' her back toward me. Voice low, I warn, "Slayer—"

She jerks her wrist out of my grip, claps her little hands hard on either side of my face and drags my mouth down to hers. I melt against her in an instant, not forgettin' the argument at hand but suddenly not carin' quite so much about winning it.

Fuck, this girl's got me pegged.

The kiss isn't a long one, but bloody hell, it's flawless. It's the first time she's kissed me like this. Soft and sweet and driven by somethin' a might deeper'n lust. Maybe not quite the timing I'd expected and sure as hell not thrilled that she's able to read me so well so soon, but it isn't somethin' I'm willing to complain about just yet.

Just hope the daft chit doesn't get herself bagged before I get a chance to.

Buffy's the first to pull away, warm hands burnin' sugar-scented palm prints into my cheeks as her eyes scan mine. Whispers, "If you get yourself killed I'll dust you myself."

And then she's gone, jumpin' up like a shot and sprinting on near silent feet toward the gun toting wankers in the center of the clearing. She reaches the smaller one on the left side before any of 'em even notice, not a bloody prayer of gettin' a shot off before she grabs the end of his gun. Lifts it up, uses the momentum to flip it 'round and smash the butt into his nose. Then she wrenches the gun from his grip and spins 'round in one fuckin' perfect, fluid motion, striking him across the back with her elbow and sending him to the ground in a limp heap.

The sound of their mate crashin' to the grass disturbs the other two, gives Buffy's position away. Not that my pretty little Slayer innit ready for 'em.

Soldier boy's gun in her hands, she raises it and gives 'em both a bright smile. "Hey there."

And Christ, if that's not the most gorgeous thing I've seen in ages.

I watch from my stupid sodding hiding place behind the tree line as both the black-clad commandos raise their guns and aim 'em straight at her. My fingers twitch, dig hard into the bark of the tree and then ball up into fists. A low growl tears from my throat before I can think to stop it.

But Buffy doesn't budge one bloody inch. Stubborn little minx, fearless as ever. Reckless as ever.

Angry as hell.

I can hear her heartbeat from here, can hear how strong and steady and perfect it is. How powerful. Bloody hell, I can almost smell her blood on the wind. That spicy sweet aroma of adrenaline and the hint of arousal, too. My fangs are itchin' in my gums, desire for blood and desire for her and desire to make these soldier sods pay for whatever the bloody hell they've done to me flarin' white hot in my chest. A fresh pulse in my dead veins for all the things I've been denied for days on end now. Fresh blood. Sex. Death.

Too buggering bad for me I know if I want one I'll have to forget about the other two.

Fuck.

The fella in the front, the one I imagine fancies himself the leader of this band of poofters, holds his hand up. In a voice I imagine he fancies sounds manly, says, "Hold positions."

"Mmm, don't tell me," Buffy muses in that obnoxious, quippy little voice I used to hate so much. Like so much else about the blasted girl, it's so bloody fitting. Can't help but smile as I hear it now. "You guys just out for a casual late night stroll?"

"Drop your weapon," the one on the right shouts.

"We don't want to hurt you," adds the one in the middle, the alpha, or whatever the bleeding hell these idiots call themselves.

"You don't?" Buffy asks, tippin' her head to the side. "Funny, cause I kind of wanna hurt you."

I have to bite back an undignified moan at that little gem.

Jesus Christ, she's tryin' to kill me.

Tryin' hard not to look rattled, alpha male drops further into his stance and raises his gun a bit higher. Aims it straight at Buffy's chest and says slowly, "Drop your weapon and put your hands in the air."

"A little birdie told me you guys have been looking for me." She says, ignorin' his command like the stubborn chit she is. Which is fuckin' hilarious. Then she puts on a pout that makes the front of my trousers tighten painfully. "No luck, huh?"

"Looks a little like our luck is changing," the soldier on the right chimes in, laughin' like the smug bastard doesn't know who it is he's talking to.

Buffy, unruffled, widens her eyes. Shrugs once and says, "Looks that way."

And then she shoots the smug bastard without a second thought, obviously just a touch surprised when the gun releases somethin' that looks like a dart instead of the bright blue electric shocks she'd clearly been expectin'. It embeds itself deep in his shoulder, no doubt exactly where she'd been aimin', adorable little white hat that she is. It's barely a second before he drops his gun and falls to his knees, groans loudly, then collapses.

"Two down," Buffy murmurs, turnin' what I'm sure's a downright deadly gaze back up at the last man standing. Then she throws her own gun to the ground, brushes off her hands and plants 'em on her hips. "One to go."

It happens in a flash.

I see him make the decision, hear the way his pulse picks up as he pulls the trigger on his gun just as she dives to the ground. A gorgeous little tuck and roll if I've ever seen one, she ends up curled on her back her right at the soldier's feet. Rears up and aims a powerful looking kick straight skyward. The heel of her boot connects with both the gun above her and the hulking hands holdin' it, a satisfying smacking sound echoin' through the clearing as the force of it sends the gun flyin' a good ten feet back in the direction of the trees.

He makes to run for it but she's up again, blockin' his path before he can get two feet away.

The next few minutes see some truly spectacular hand to hand. Well, on the Slayer's end anyway. At one point he appears to reach for the radio in his back pocket, but my girl puts a stop to that in quick order. Rips it from his hand and crushes it beneath her boot, then throws a hard jab straight into the bridge of his nose to send him stumblin' back again.

For the most part, it looks like she's just playin' around. Havin' a go at him. He can't seem to get a read on her, and she's movin' too fast and landin' too many blows for him to get any in himself.

Far as I remember, this hadn't been part of the original "plan".

Not that 'm not enjoyin' this new version, because I don't wager I've enjoyed watchin' anything as much as this in ages. And besides that, she looks like she's havin' such a nice time. Who'm I to spoil it for her?

I've just settled in fully, crossin' my feet and leaning my shoulder against the trunk of the oak tree to watch the rest of the show when soldier boy finally manages to get a solid hit in. Elbows her hard across the face with his left arm, the first blow followed up immediately with a cutting right hook to her jaw. The first just knocks her off balance, but the second knocks her down to the ground.

I'm off the trunk and out of the tree line before I realize it, the cartilage and bones shiftin' forward as they fall into place, fangs down and eyes flashing. I cover the shortening distance between us, ready to grab this fuck by the throat and tear it out if need be. Not thinkin' a bit about the pain that'll follow.

Not thinkin' much at all, honestly.

Turns out I needn't have worried about it because, like the raging moron 'm sure he is, the alpha makes a lunge for Buffy just before I can get to him.

I watch as she raises her legs, fits her heels flat into his stomach and lifts with her knees, flippin' all six foot four, two hundred and bloody fifty pounds of him over her head like it's nothin'.

She leaps easily back up to her feet as the Hulk there crashes down hard to the lawn behind her, coughing a groanin' as he rolls over onto his side. Attempts to push himself back up to his feet. But his luck's all run out by now. She's already there in front of him before he can even get to his knees, levelin' him out with a blunt front kick to his face and knockin' him out cold.

Buffy glances back toward me, then slowly forward again. If she's annoyed to see me standin' right beside her and not hunkered down back behind the tree, she doesn't say so. Doesn't show it. Jus stares down at the fella on the ground, watchin' the shallow but steady movement of his chest.

I watch her as she takes a minute to straighten her blouse. Fixes the shoulder straps, tugs it down to cover the strip of flat tummy it's exposin' now. Dusts the bit of grass stuck to the backs of her legs and her ass off. Reaches up to wipe a slightly shakin' hand across the split in her lower lip.

It's bleedin', but I already knew that.

Then she turns to me and sighs. "Thanks."

"For?" I ask, shakin' my head, forcibly shiftin' back to my human face before the scent of her blood gets half a chance to really work its way into my system. The near overwhelmin' desire for her's still pulsing in my chest in time with her heart beat. Only worse now bein' so close to her, the familiar sweet scent mingling with sweat and wind. Last thing either of us needs right now is for me to let my baser instincts take over.

Though now I'm thinkin' about it it's all I bloody can think about.

I make the decision to step back, move to the other side of her shoulder so I'm standin' upwind of her. Shrug and add, "Seems to me I didn't do much."

"That's kinda my point," Buffy says, shiftin' her gaze sideways so her eyes lock with mine. Pupils dilated, still hungry and wild from the fight. "You did what I asked and let me handle it." She looks down to the large, motionless commando in front of us and frowns. "Though in retrospect I might've taken things a smidge too far."

I chuckle, diggin' my hands down into the pockets of my duster. "Take it that last little bit there wasn't part of the plan."

"Nope, sure wasn't," she says, inhalin' deeply through her nose. Half laughs as she looks back down to the three unconscious bodies. "But it felt really good."

Can't help the urge to smile just a bit at that, can I?

"Right then, looks like the choice is yours, pet." I pull my hands out of my pockets and cross my arms, scannin' the so-called carnage around us through narrowed eyes. "Which one of these berks is comin' home with us?"

Slayer doesn't answer right away. Instead, takes a bit to look around the scattered bodies one more time. Then she steps forward and bends down, reaching forward to grip the black mask of the soldier at our feet in her hand. Yanks it off in a flourish to reveal an overgrown Boy Scout lookin' bloke with brown, floppy hair.

Then she shifts back, glances toward me and says, "This one."