The battle had been long, just about three months, and quite arduous, more so than Buffy would have thought, but in the end Spike finally agreed that she was more than ready to go back to slaying. She could have resumed patrolling without his approval, of course, but she was more interested in having him at her side rather than upset because of her, so she had played the game, trained with him every day, until he was satisfied that she was at her top level once more. In truth, she had needed this intense training, because she hadn’t been patrolling and slaying since before the Council had kidnapped her and Spike, more than two years before, already. The few months after her return to Sunnydale didn’t count as real active duty, because Angel had taken care of all the vamps, never letting her close enough to stake one, arguing that no pregnant woman should have to patrol. It had been Spike’s argument too, when he had come back at last, but he had been a lot more convincing than Angel.

So this night, for the first time, they had left their two children to the care of Joyce, and gone on patrol. A few days before, Buffy had bought a duster for Spike, as similar as possible as the one she intended to steal again from him. He had been wearing the old one – which she thought of as hers – when going on patrol by himself, but now that she was back to slaying she had claimed it back again. He had complained good-naturedly about the new one, saying it just wasn’t the same as the other one, but it was more a show than real dislike.

“It’s awfully quiet,” she commented with a sigh as their walk through a third graveyard only brought them to the fourth slay on the night.

“Of course it’s quiet,” Spike replied smugly. “You thought I was playing around all these nights? I did my job, and I did it quite well, thank you for noticing.”

Chuckling lightly, she threaded her arm with his and didn’t reply. She didn’t know when exactly, but Spike had taken quite a liking for patrols, to the point of calling slaying his job. She wasn’t even sure he was aware of it, and he would probably deny it if she mentioned it, but he was taking slaying duties just as seriously as she did.

“How about we call it a night?” she suggested, more bored than tired.

“Not yet, let’s just do one more sweep. OK, luv?”

Frowning slightly, she eyed him suspiciously. There had been a little too much expectation in that suggestion, and she had the feeling he was up to something. The question was, up to what?

Spike could hardly believe it. She had been anxious to get back to slaying for weeks, and now that she was, she wanted to go home after only three cemeteries. Just his luck. She looked at him with something that seemed very much like suspicion, but finally agreed to stay out a little more. He lost no time in leading the way toward a fourth cemetery, hoping that his preparations had not been disturbed since the night before.

As she walked by his side, her attention focused on finding undead prey to slay, he couldn’t help stealing glances at his Slayer. There was a sense of readiness about her, of strength, of danger, too, that he just loved. He had loved her style when he was her opponent, and he still loved it, maybe even more, now that he fought by her side. The other reason he could hardly keep his eyes off her was that she was simply smashing, clad in black and leather.

“Did you see that?” he whispered suddenly, pointing at a nearby crypt.

“What? No, I didn’t see. Vamp?”

“Yes, lets go check it out.”

He knew for a fact, because he had been monitoring the activity around this one little crypt very closely for a while, that there were no vamps in it. But that was the point.

“I’ll go in first,” he suggested, still whispering. “You stay here and block their way out.”

She nodded, and he had to suppress a smile as he slipped inside. He lost no time in lighting the candles he had brought the night before – just because he didn’t smoke anymore didn’t mean he had gotten rid of his silver lighter. Then he grabbed the plastic bag he had hidden in a corner, and was pulling out blankets from it when the door creaked open.

“Spike, are you…”

He let out an exaggerated sigh as he threw the covers on a sarcophagus and walked to his Slayer.

“Patience, luv,” he teased gently. “Ever heard of it?”

He closed the door behind her, and locked it – he had installed the lock three nights before, he didn’t want any uninvited guests to crash his little party. When he looked again at Buffy, her eyes were wide and her surprise evident.

“Thought we could celebrate your return to Slayer service,” he said with a suggestive grin as he took her hand and led her further into the crypt.

“Celebrate?” she repeated with a small grin of her own. “And this celebration of yours couldn’t have happened at home?”

Pulling her closer to him, he trailed kisses along her jaw and throat, and she shivered at the light touch. His lips curved into a smile against her skin as he realized that she did want this as much as him.

“’Problem is,” he murmured right against her ear, “there are things we can’t do at home, because we would wake the kids…”

Playfully, he nipped at her earlobe, and her hands, which had slid under his duster, tightened on his t-shirt and pulled it out of his jeans.

“Remember the first time?” he continued, still in a husky whisper. “I want to make you scream like that again.”

By the sudden catch in her breath, and the way her heartbeat accelerated all at once, she did remember. And he could only smile smugly at the thought that she would soon have many new memories of the kind…