Buffy grimaced as she brushed dust off her clothes. She had found out the hard way that vampire dust clogged washing machines, and Giles had not been particularly thrilled when his previously sparkling new washer had needed professional help only days after they had moved into the new townhouse. She needed to start being more careful, according to him, or else return to using the laundromat.

Satisfied that most of her latest victim was now on the ground rather than on her jeans, she moved on amongst the graves, idly debating whether to add another cemetery to her patrol. On one hand, she had only dusted three vamps so far, and that was definitely not on par for the course. Since the Master had died, her average had been around seven vamps a night, although she had noticed a decrease in the past week. On the other hand, she had a world literature exam first thing in the morning, and she desperately needed to study for it if she wanted a chance to pass this class.

She had been surprised to discover on her first day back to school that she hadn’t forgotten as much as she would have thought, and with Giles’ creative help with her school records, she was on track to graduating with her year. It was still hard to believe considering she had attended school a grand total of two weeks for the past two years. It seemed that Sunnydale High, plagued by the disappearance of so many of its students, would do anything to boost its graduating numbers. Buffy took it as a ‘thank you’ for trying to prevent more students from meeting an untimely end.

It had been just over two weeks since she had knocked on Giles’ door and done what was so hard for her—asked for his help. She still couldn’t believe how much things had changed in such a short period of time. She had gone from not caring if she would live to see another day to being back in school, having a couple of tentative friends, listening (more or less) to the closest thing she had had to a parental figure since being Chosen, and actually wanting to see what life would be like for her in a week, a month, or even a year. She didn’t know how long it would last, she didn’t even know if it could last at all, but this reprieve after months of running was soothing.

And apparently her question was about to be answered; it would either end tonight, or continue with a bit more peace of mind for her.

“The stalking act is getting old, Spike,” she called out, unsure where the vampire was exactly but certain that he was close. She hadn’t felt those particular tingles since the night he had failed to kill her, but she could recognize him amongst all vamps. “Come out and let’s finish it this time.”

It was the glowing red tip of his cigarette that caught her eyes first, and she turned to face him, ready to fight, as he took slow steps toward her. He looked much calmer than when she had last seen him. She didn’t know if it was a good or bad thing.

“I’ve been following you for five nights,” he said, head tilted to one side. “Are you getting tired of it or didn’t you notice until now?”

Buffy fought to hide her shock and remain perfectly still. She had been slowly getting back to her best fighting these last two weeks, or so she had thought. If Spike had truly been following her without her noticing, she still had a longer road in front of her than she had believed.

“Let’s get it over with,” she said coldly, and took a step toward him.

Spike instantly stepped back, hands raised in front of him, palms toward her in a defensive gesture.

“Hey, calm down, would you? I want to offer you a truce.”

Startled by the unexpected claim, she couldn’t help herself. She laughed.

“Another one?” she asked. “What’s the excuse, this time? The Master’s dead and the vamp population is getting down pretty fast, so it’s not like I need your help.”

He smirked, and Buffy’s laughter subsided. “As a matter of fact… There is a new Master in town.” He paused for effect. “Me. And I’ve been thinning the herd myself. That’s the reason you’ve got less to do these days.”

Incredulous, Buffy frowned. Where was he going with that? And was he even telling the truth? She ought to have known better than to believe him for one second, but he hadn’t lied to her so far, had he?

“Get to it, Spike,” she snapped. “What do you want?”

He took a last drag on his cigarette and flicked what was left of it to the ground before burying his hands in his pockets.

“I told you what I want. A truce. I want Sunnydale as my own, and I offer to help you clean up the town if you’ll let me hunt.”

“So you’ll kill vamps you don’t like and make your own? I don’t think so.”

He had the nerve to roll his eyes at her. “I don’t plan to make minions. They’re too much work to keep in line. I just want the Hellmouth as my hunting ground. Think about it. Between the two of us if we get rid of most of the vamps around here, there’ll be less deaths each night. Might even get to a point where I’ll be the only hunter. Think of all the lovely people who won’t become snacks.”

It made way too much sense for Buffy to like it. If he had truly been ‘thinning the herd’, if the decrease in her kills number was truly due to him, then he had already saved dozens of lives without her realizing it. But why? There had to be a twist in his reasoning, some hidden motive for him to even suggest it all. After all, not that long ago he had had his fangs in Buffy’s neck and had been two seconds away from killing her. What had changed his mind? What did he truly want?

“I can’t give you a pass on killing whoever you want,” she finally said, unable to either accept or refuse his offer.

“And I don’t need one,” Spike grinned. “If you find me killing, we’ll finish it. This time for good. But if you don’t…” He shrugged. “Every night you kill the vamps you find, but what about those who don’t show their fangs? You can walk by a crowd, and know there’s a vamp in it, but not be able to do a thing because you don’t know who to stake. I’m just asking you to pretend I’m in that crowd, and ignore me until I do something to catch your eye.”

She fought back the urge to scratch at the scars on her neck. “You’ve already caught my attention,” she pointed out. “You almost killed me. You think I can forget that?”

His face closed off, all emotions disappearing from his features. “I’m not asking you to.”

“I don’t like it,” she insisted.

“And I’m not asking you to do that either. If I hadn’t shown myself tonight, I’d have done exactly what I offered without you even knowing about it.”

There was still something he wasn’t saying, Buffy was sure of it, and all this word play was giving her a headache.

“Why?” she asked, her eyes scrutinizing him.

“Why what?”

“Why are you telling me? For that matter, why don’t you just get rid of me? You’d have the town to yourself without having to worry. Hell, if you’d just killed me two weeks ago…”

Her voice trailed off as Spike turned his back on her and started walking away, reminding her of how he had run off rather than finish killing her.

“I made you an offer,” he called over his shoulder. “Take it or leave it. I’m not explaining anything more.”

“And he didn’t say anything more than that?”

Tapping her pencil on the desk, Buffy shook her head distractedly in answer to Giles’ question. The words were blurring on the page in front of her and she wanted nothing more than to get to bed; she really ought to have come home earlier.

“I don’t think you can trust him,” Giles said slowly. “He almost…”

She raised a sharp gaze at him and he stopped instantly. She knew what Spike had almost done. She had been there. She didn’t need Giles to remind her.

“You’re saying I should dust him and be done with it?” she asked, closing her literature book with a snap.

Giles took a few seconds to clean off his glasses before answering. “If you think you can do it safely, it might be the best course of action. If not… stay away from him. Whatever truce he offered you, he still killed two Slayers before you. I don’t want you to be the third.”

She refrained from rolling her eyes at that quiet declaration. Giles could be really mushy, sometimes, in his own way.

“I’d better get some sleep. Early day, tomorrow.”

She could feel Giles’ eyes on her as she walked to her room, and somehow it made her feel…protected. It was stupid, really. She was the Slayer, she didn’t need a stuffy Englishman to look over her. And at the same time, she could admit that she did. That was why she was there, after all, living under his roof, eating the food he put in front of her, following his rules and seeking advice from him.

Maybe she shouldn’t have insisted so adamantly that she didn’t want him to accompany her on patrol. His presence might have helped her keep her mind clear when she had to deal with Spike.

Because, there was no doubt in her mind about it, she and Spike would meet again.

Spike was humming on his way to a nearby demon bar, rather happy with the first phase of his plan. The Slayer had not gone as far as to shake hands with him over his offer, but she hadn’t refused it either, had not even tried to dust him, and that was a nice first step as far as he was concerned. It was better than what he had expected would happen.

His stop at the bar was brief. He had been coming there each night to check if any vamps were there, and if so dust them. There had been some laughs when he had first announced that he was claiming Sunnydale as his and that any vamp who didn’t want to turn to dust ought to leave and fast. But the laughs had soon died off, and he was pretty sure he was being taken seriously, now. His kills over the last few nights had seen to that, and he would continue cleaning off the town, as he had told the Slayer he would, both for the sake of his plan and because he didn’t particularly like to share.

The next night, and the few nights after that, he arranged to place himself on the Slayer’s patrol route and made a point to fight and dust vamps where she could see him. He never talked to her during this time, contenting himself with making eye contact with her, and giving her a slight nod before moving on. She stopped looking so surprised to see him, and even, once, threw a stake at him when he had lost his own. Phase two was well on its way. Time to move on to phase three.