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Never Let Go

The sight of Buffy lip-locked with Angel in the graveyard was seared into his head, and even smacking Angel around – if only in effigy – wasn't helping with that. The rage, the betrayal, the deep down surety that he should have seen it coming, burned like sunlight in his veins and wanted release.

Soul be damned, his beast wanted to eat something.

Preferably something that tasted like too much hair gel.

He didn't normally like hair gel, but bugger it – he'd make an exception just this once.

He could hear her coming long before she appeared on the stairs. He slammed his fists into the punching bag twice more for good measure, and then turned to face her. They stared at each other with a heartbeat. He couldn't quite stop the bitterness in him from leaking into his voice. "So… where's tall, dark and forehead?"

She looked confused for a moment, and then her expression cleared. Her smirk was wry. Nearly flippant. Spike's itching desire to have his fingers wrap around Angel's neck surged. "Let me guess. You can smell him."

Well, if it was flippancy she wanted… "Yeah, that and I also used my enhanced vampire eyeballs to watch you kissing him."

Was that a smidge of guilt that flashed through her eyes? "It was … a hello."

It sounded like a lame brush-off to him. "Most people don't use their tongues to say hello!" He knew that sounded incredibly stupid the moment he'd said it, so he tried to correct himself. "Or I guess they do, but—"

"There were no tongues," she cut in with a gentle smile. She shrugged. "Besides, he's gone."

That mollified him somewhat. Not that he'd let her know that. "Oh. Just popped by for a quickie then?"

Now that was definitely irritation in the Slayer's face. "Good, good! I haven't had quite enough jealous vampire crap for one night."

He blinked, trying to figure out her right to be angry in all this. She was the one who was kissing Angel, after all. Wasn't Spike the wounded party here? "He wears lifts, you know," he muttered sullenly.

Buffy shook her head and leaned against the punching bag. The one he'd decorated with a drawing of Angel. A fairly accurate one too, if he said so himself. Buffy didn't seem as amused. She just rolled her eyes and said, "You know, one of these days I'm just going to put you two in a room and let you wrassle it out."

Spike puffed out his chest and clenched his fists. Now she was talking. "No problem on this end."

He was mildly disturbed to see her face go all dreamy and distant, like she was envisioning a favorite fantasy. "There could be oil of some kind involved…"

Enough was enough. And the thought of having to touch Angel while he was covered in oil nauseated him. He shot out his hand, palm up. "Where's the trinket?"

Buffy blinked out of her daydream, looked at him blankly. "The who-ket?"

He rolled his eyes. "The pretty necklace your sweetie-bear gave you. The one with all the power." He let that sink in for a moment before adding, "I believe it's mine now."

She frowned. "How do you figure?"

She really wasn't that blonde, was she? "Someone with a soul but more than human? Angel meant to wear it. That means I'm the qualified party." He shook his hand insisitently at her.

Buffy drew back, a hand covering the pocket he knew she'd slipped it into. "It's volatile. We don't know--"

His turn to cut her off. "You'll be needing someone strong to bear it then." He smirked. "You plan on giving it to Andrew?"

She clearly didn't want to discuss this with him, going so far as to turn slightly away from him. The pocket with the amulet led the way. "Angel said the amulet was meant to be worn by a champion."

Spike sighed, dropped his hand and turned away. If Buffy, after all he'd done to prove himself, still didn't think him capable of being a champion, then there was nothing further he could do to convince her. Shouldn't have got his hopes up…

He was brought back around by the strong grip she had on his wrist. She closed his hand around the amulet and held it shut with her own. "Been called a lot of things in my time." He felt a goofy, proud grin rise to his lips as he cracked his fingers to peer at the item. It was a gaudy, golden piece, set with a stone that would make Liz Taylor swoon and faint.

On second thought, if he had to wear something this tacky, maybe he didn't want to be a Champion after all.

Buffy shifted, and Spike could swear she looked nervous. It became apparent a moment later. "Faith still has my room…"

Right. He was mad at her. And if she thought she could smile and pat his head and name him a Champion to be back in his good graces, she had another think coming. "Well you're not staying here! You can't buy me off with shiny beads and sweet talk." He leveled an accusing finger at her. "You've got Angel-breath. I'm not just going to let you whack me back and forth like a rubber ball. I got my pride, you know."

He regretted how harsh it sounded the moment it was out of his mouth, because her face fell and embarrassment flushed her cheeks. Stupid soul, and stupid love. "I understand."

She turned to go and Spike cursed himself for a fool. "Clearly, you don't," he said, hastily moving to block her exit. "Cos the whole having my pride thing was just a smokescreen."

She laughed in relief. "Oh thank god."

"I don't know what I would have done if you'd gone up those stairs," he admitted quietly. She smiled in return and laid a gentle hand on his cheek. He leaned into it, then wordlessly took her by that hand back to the bed.

Tomorrow, there would be death. Tomorrow, the Seal would open and the First would throw its armies in their path. Tomorrow, Buffy would have to be hard, merciless and righteous. Tomorrow, he would be another of her foot soldiers, or maybe he qualified as a lieutenant these days. It was hard to tell in a casual command structure.

But tonight, tonight she was just a girl. A girl in need of comfort, and it was hisarms, his arms and not Angel's , that she sought. He lay tangled with her. There'd be no sex tonight, no hard gasping thrusts and a need to be lost in the moment. Tonight, there would only be quiet intimacy. Comfort, companionship. Love, however one-sided it may be.

He could almost fool himself into thinking that if he never let go, tomorrow would never come.

So he was never letting go.