“You fight like a girl.”

The words echoed through Buffy’s mind long after the vampiress had uttered them, when the only sound left was of her feet hitting the pavement.

Buffy was running away. It hadn’t happened very often in her life, her running away from a fight, but right now she couldn’t do anything else, as she couldn’t have explained why she was, except for that feeling of inadequacy, settled deep down in her soul. College was such a different world; only a few hours and already she felt like she didn’t belong. When she saw how fast and how well Willow had adapted, it certainly made her wonder what was wrong with her. Was she even made to go to college? What was the point of a Slayer getting an education anyway? Troubled by school, her mind hadn’t been on the fight; retreat had felt like the only option.

Heart beating too fast, vision still reddened by shame, she didn’t see the vampire until she ran straight into him. Lucky for him, she didn’t have a stake, or she might have dusted him without meaning to.

The force of the impact sent both of them down. Buffy wasn’t exactly surprised when she extricated herself from the leather-clad form to realize it was Spike. He had an amazing ability to find her, and as far as she knew, had never failed to do so until now.

“Missed me that much?” he asked with a light smile.

Part of her wanted to roll her eyes at him; another part wanted to have the good cry she needed so much against his welcoming shoulder. She had done it before, on prom night, what was wrong with doing it again? Then she realized why Sunday’s words had struck a chord in her. Spike had said the same thing to her a couple of weeks back when they had been sparring. But while he had been teasing her, Sunday had meant every word and had made her believe them. Both of them were vampires and they had said the same words, but such a difference between them…

“Slayer?” Spike said as he stood. “What’s going on? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

He offered his hand to help her up and she took it without thinking, letting out a small gasp when her injured arm throbbed in pain.

“Not a ghost,” she muttered as she cradled her arm. “Just a vamp.”

He took a good look at her, serious now. The dubious flash on his face matched his voice.

“A vamp? There was a new Master in town? I didn’t hear anything about that.”

The admission was almost as painful as her wounded arm, but she made herself meet his eyes as she replied.

“I don’t think she’s a Master. Just a regular vampire and a few groupies.”

She stopped herself before adding that she had staked hundreds of vampires like her in the past without breaking a sweat.

“Is? You didn’t stake her then? What happened? You fell into a trap? Do you want me to take care of it?”

The too many questions irritated Buffy, and she had to grind her teeth not to snap at the vampire. She appreciated his concern, really, as well as his offer of help, far different from Giles’ coldness earlier that afternoon. But to explain to him what had happened, to even think about accepting his help was like salt on an open wound; her pride wouldn’t allow her to do either.

“She just took me by surprise, OK?” she said more harshly than she meant to. “I’ll take care of her myself. I just need a good night of sleep and I’ll be right as rain. I don’t need your help.”

His face closed as she spoke, shutting out all expression or feelings. As she finished, he gave her a small nod and turned his back on her, walking away before she could add anything.

She watched him go, and realized it hurt her to have hurt him. All he wanted was to help, just like he had done all summer long, like he had done for more than a year, and with a few words she had managed to send away her strongest ally. It shouldn’t have upset her that much. It never did when she had a few heated words with her friends – and Spike was her friend, wasn’t he? Nothing more.

Head low, she returned to her dorm and her snoring roommate, her mind filled with two many vampires, friend and foe. She would need to do something about them, about both Spike and Sunday. Problem was, do what?


As he stormed away from the Slayer, curses each more colorful and graphic than the last ran through his mind, some of them passing his lips in unintelligible mutterings. Most targeted her – the ungrateful, snotty, better than thee little bitch. At least, he had managed to hold his tongue and not get into a shouting match with her. But a fair share of the invectives was directed inward. He hadn’t changed one bit since the nineteenth century. He was still the same foolish idiot. How could he have thought for a second that she was mellowing? How could he have believed that he was making any progress at all with her? If she could treat him like that, refuse his help, his concern, when she was so obviously in need of both, then didn’t it mean…

Sudden realization stopped him dead in his tracks; and he actually stilled on the sidewalk for a few seconds. She had refused his help against what she had said was nothing but a regular vampire. It didn’t mean she didn’t want him to help at all anymore. It simply meant that she was being herself. The Buffy he had fallen in love with. Strong. Determined. Not ready to give up after a small misstep. He couldn’t fault her for being what he loved her for, could he?

She had been in a bad mood, and one way or another he’d get an apology for her crabbiness toward him, but that would be the end of it. Nothing more to say, except for a comment about how hot she was when she fought, maybe. Because he certainly intended to keep an eye on her when she fought that ‘Sunday’ again. What a bloody ridiculous name for a vamp…

His bad temper slightly abated, Spike started walking again; his steps now had a goal. The Slayer was hurt, so she probably wouldn’t be fighting anymore tonight. He could have gone on a quick patrol by himself, work the tension out of his body, but a drink or two would work just as well for that, and he still could get a couple of dustings at the Bronze.

A few pool games later, he had relieved a couple of coeds with enough of their money to last him a few days and was playing alone, half mindedly practicing as his thoughts drifted, as they always did, toward the Slayer. Maybe he ought to up the stakes with her, so to speak. Make it clearer that he was patient for now, but he wasn’t going to wait forever. Force her to take a risk, and see what could come out of it. He had been patient, during the summer, maybe too much. If she thought he’d always be there, maybe she’d never make a move. It was a thought to ponder.

Even deep in his planning, he still noticed the human boy at the bar talking to a girl who obviously wasn’t interested, and couldn’t help smirking to himself when Xander was left talking into thin air. Somehow, the boy noticed him too at that exact moment, and his scowl added to Spike’s fun.

As he kept playing his lonely game, Spike kept an eye on the boy, noticing with increasing amusement the nervous glances and the repeated touches to his hip where Spike could have sworn a stake was tucked. To his surprise, just as he was finishing a game and was setting up for a new one, Xander approached, drink in one hand, the other one once more near to the hidden stake.

“Whelp,” he greeted him with a grin.

“Bleach boy,” Xander replied, seemingly untouched by the insult. “I suppose if you’re not dust yet that means you’re still on our side?”

Repressing a chuckle, Spike merely let his grin widen. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Xander shook his head, picked up a queue and motioned to the table with it, inviting Spike to play the first shot.

“Actually, I do know,” he said with fake casualness. “Talked to Giles, made sure everyone was alright and that you hadn’t gone all Spikelus on us.”

The ridiculousness of the name startled Spike, making him miss his carefully aligned shot. He glared at the human as he left his spot, pondering his words and attitude, coming to a clear conclusion.

“You still don’t trust me,” he commented. “So what are you doing here?”

Xander merely glanced at him before playing.

“I’m trying to understand why you’re not dust or souled yet. I’ve had a lot of time to think about it, and I still don’t get it.”

Observing the boy play a couple of shots, Spike wondered what was going to come out of this. Probably not much good. But then, he didn’t have anything better to do.


I was right. Nothing much came out of that night. We played a few games, exchanged a few insults, talked about our summer – although I still suspect he wasn’t truthful about what exactly he did in Oxnard – but in the end, neither of us liked the other any more. He still saw me as a bomb ready to explode at any moment without warning, and I still saw him as the human who could have become my souled-self’s friend. There was a soul – or the lack of one – barring any potential friendship between us. Worse. There was a woman.

Now it’s time again for one of my little theories. See, from what I hear, Harris had a crush on my Slayer when he first got to know her. She, of course, has good taste, and wouldn’t hear about it. So, he moved on. Found other birds. Settled down. Nevertheless, methinks he never completely got over her, and that’s why he couldn’t stand anyone getting close to her. Or maybe his ‘friendly concern’ was only directed toward us demons.

I did mention the Slayer’s edginess to him, and we pondered how much stress college could put on her only a couple of days after she had started. He, of course, had no clue. Me… well, I had a little idea, but I wasn’t going to admit anything of the sort, was I? In any case, that must have set his thinking wheels in motion, because the next night he had that whole pep talk ready when Buffy stumbled across him.

I had opted for the silent stalking act, not wanting her to refuse my help again if she was to fight later that night. So, I observed without being seen as they talked and made plans. It stung that she accepted his help when she hadn’t wanted mine before, but I tried not to see too much in it.

That’s how, soon enough, they found the lair and Buffy literally fell in. I didn’t think twice then and jumped after her, the stalking part be damned. She didn’t seem too surprised to see me, which made me realize I hadn’t been as discreet as I had thought; but we didn’t have much time to discuss it right then. She took on the leader; I played with the minions and managed not to jump to her help when she looked like she was hurt. It didn’t take very long before we were alone with dust all around us.

“Good fight,” I told her, and meant it.

I remember how her face lit up. She likes compliments about the way she looks or dresses, but I’m pretty sure she’s even more susceptible to comments about her fighting skills.

“You too. And thanks.”

A shy little smile fluttered on her lips. You know the one. Lovely. Of course, I couldn’t leave it at that. We still had a score to settle, after all.

“You’re thanking me? I thought you didn’t want me to help? Maybe I should have let you deal with all of them by yourself.”

Deep down, I was sure she wouldn’t have had much more trouble with a few added minions to stake, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t play.

“Right, about that…”

She was embarrassed now. Still cute, but her smile was gone, and she wouldn’t meet my eyes.

“I’m sorry for snapping at you,” she eventually admitted. “I was a bit cranky last night and took it out on you for no other reason than you were there.”

I remained still as she came closer, as she reached for my hand and held it loosely in hers, as she finally looked up at me. I’m not sure if I was immobile because of the shock or because I was afraid to scare her, make her stop. Maybe a bit of both?

“I do appreciate everything you do to help me,” she continued, very quiet now. “And I think I understand why you do it, and I…well, I…”

A small, hesitant hand settled at the back of my head and pulled me down gently toward her.

Our first kiss was like a caress, mouth becoming acquainted, tongues not daring yet to do much more than lightly touch the seam of our lips. One of her hand holding mine, the other on my neck, I reached out to wrap my free arm around her and pull her a little closer – not too close, not too fast – and she complied easily. With her so tantalizingly close, with her supple lips against mine, it felt almost like a dream. It was soft and slow and unlike anything I had experienced before. It was perfect.

And because it was perfect, I didn’t really mind when noise of the cavalry arriving made her take a step back with an apologetic look. It was all new, I told myself, all ours, no need or reason to tell anyone quite yet.

I helped her and the others carry her stuff back to the dorm, and when I told her I’d see her the next night, she gave me that shy little smile again. It was a long night, and an even longer day, until I saw her again. But I had the memory of the beautiful kiss – and the hopes for many more – to sustain me.