If there are volunteers to do my homework, i promise to write the chapters faster (j/k).
I'm afraid you'll have to bear with my slowness until the end of June. After that i'll be free and hopefully writing a lot more.

The teacher’s voice droned on and on in the background, with information about poems and stanzas and rhythm and upcoming test, but none of it reached Buffy’s consciousness. Her pencil was poised over her notebook, ready to take notes, but the paper remained blank as her mind wandered.

Four days had passed since she had last seen Spike – since he had made his declaration of lust. Those strange words had shocked Buffy into realizing she couldn’t keep meeting him, or kissing him, or telling herself that him being a vamp wasn’t important since he wasn’t trying to kill her.

Four days since she had all but promised to stake him if she saw him again. She was surprised he had actually listened to her. And as much as she didn’t want to think about it, she was starting to miss him. Miss his snark, and lips and sneaky hands.

God, she needed a boyfriend; very, very badly needed one, even if she had no time for that sort of things.

Class after class dragged on, and Buffy tried not to wonder where Spike could be hiding out. It was rather lame for him to say that she was all he wanted, only to disappear without a trace. And it was even worse for her to care about it. She would have given anything to forget what his mouth had felt like, sometimes caressing hers, sometimes claiming and almost bruising. She would have given even more not to miss it.

“Judging by your face, if we were in my world, I’d say you’ve got Angel problems.”

Cordelia’s words, casual but piercing, breached Buffy’s daze as they reached together another classroom for their last period of the day. She frowned at her classmate, but couldn’t say anything before Cordelia continued.

“Of course, there’s no Angel here. So who’s your new boyfriend?”

Buffy shook her head as she sat down, and ignored Cordelia until she stopped asking stupid questions. She was the Slayer, and she was guarding the Hellmouth, which didn’t leave time for a boyfriend. And even if she had time, a vampire was hardly whom she would have chosen, regardless of what another Buffy in another dimension might have done.

This last class seemed to last forever. When it finally ended, Buffy responded distractedly to Cordelia’s goodbye and made her way to the library. Most days, she didn’t care one way or the other about training; she got enough of a workout every night as far as she was concerned. But with her inability to focus in the last few days, maybe a good training that left her too tired to think would help. Or at least, she hoped it would. Giles could be merciless when he directed her workouts, but if he thought she was tired he would insist on one of these useless meditation activities Buffy hated.

Thoughts about Spike and training disappeared together when she swung the library’s doors open and instantly froze, mind and body.

“Hello, Miss Summers,” Spencer’s smug voice called out from where he stood near the counter. “How nice of you to join us.”

Ignoring him, Buffy turned accusatory eyes toward Giles. He was a few steps away from Spencer, his glasses in hand, and looked both upset and apologetic.

“Buffy, please come in. Mr. Spencer brought instructions from the Council—”

She had heard enough. In two steps, Buffy was out of the library and striding away as fast as she could without actually running. Spencer must have convinced the Council that she needed to return to Cleveland, and judging by his satisfied look, he had come to Sunnydale to bring her back himself. From what she knew of Giles, he would follow orders and send her packing. Buffy intended to do just that, she just had no intention of going to Cleveland. She’d find another place to live in, motel if she could find the money or abandoned building if she had to; she had done it before. She’d stay out of the way until Spencer left town. That would mean missing school, and being very wary on patrol, but anything was better than going back.

For some strange and unexplainable reason, she liked Sunnydale, demons, Hellmouth and all, and she wanted to stay there. If it came to that she’d leave and find a quieter place where Spencer – and the Council – wouldn’t find her, but she would avoid it if she could. The fleeting thought came to her that running would mean leaving Spike behind, and she pushed it away with an annoyed shake of her head. It wasn’t as though she wanted him around anyway.

Stepping outside and feeling the warmth of the sun on her face made her pause and take a deep breath. A couple of months earlier, she wouldn’t have cared one way or the other about staying in Sunnydale, going back to Cleveland or being sent somewhere else. She wouldn’t have cared much about dying on the job either. But things had changed, she had found her place, here, and even if she was still surprised about it, she didn’t intend to let go of what she had. Spencer and the Council couldn’t force her—

Warmth disappeared, replaced by shock, when she noticed Cordelia on the sidewalk talking to a blonde woman. Even after almost two years, she recognized her mother instantly, and this time her reaction was immediate. She didn’t wait for an explanation, as she had in the library. Instead, she turned left and walked fast, getting away from Joyce before she had a chance to notice her. Buffy looked back several times to check that her mother was still oblivious to her presence, and was relieved to see her walk towards the entrance of the school.

She hurried down the street and toward Giles’ apartment. Her mind was reeling as she tried to understand how her mother could have found her. The only thing she could think of was her phone call home, the day before Spike had failed to kill her. Could it have been enough to lead to her? Obviously, if her mother was there.

Even more shattering was that her past was catching up with her on all sides at the same time. It probably wasn’t safe to stay in Sunnydale now. Avoiding Spencer was one thing; avoiding him and her mother, something else altogether. Buffy was aware that she feared her mother more than she did a trained Watcher, or even vampires, but the irony of it never gave her pause.

She had almost expected Giles to be home when she got there, but his car was conspicuously absent from the parking lot. It was better that way. She wasn’t one for goodbyes. She pulled her duffel bag from the bottom drawer of her dresser and threw in everything that belonged to her. Crossbow. Stakes. Clothes. Hairbrush. The books and notebooks she had been in too much of a hurry to throw into her locker. All of it barely filled the bag, and she bit back a bark of hysterical laughter as she zipped it shut. It was pathetic really, that her life could fit in such a small space.

She left the room that had been hers without a back glance, and strode through the apartment the same way. She didn’t want to look back, didn’t want to start missing all of it and the illusion of normalcy she had known here. She faltered as she was reaching the door, wondering whether to leave a note for Giles, but she wouldn’t have known what to write if she had. Instead, she locked the door behind her and slid her key beneath it. He would understand.

Now, all she needed was to decide where to go.

Habit guided her steps to the closest cemetery. It was still daylight, and as she walked around marble slabs and wilting flowers, she had trouble recognizing the place. It seemed quiet and peaceful, the way it ought to always be. It was almost hard to believe that in a few hours, hunger would awaken at least one or two of the newest residents, and make them claw their way out of the earth and into the night.

She found a bench and sat there, duffel bag at her feet. She closed her eyes, and tried to clear her mind to start planning her next move, but she couldn’t. Bitterness was overwhelming her with a sense of lost opportunities. She should have known that she had been dreaming when she thought her life could continue so easily.

And yet, if she was honest with herself, she had known all along, known it wouldn’t last and that something, or someone, would catch up with her. She had been going from place to place ever since she had been Chosen; she had never let herself believe that this time, she could really stay here, go to school, and have as much of a normal life as she could while being the Slayer.

That didn’t make awakening from the delusion any easier.

Time passed, just as it had in class earlier, with Buffy absorbed in her thoughts and not noticing much around her. The realization that night had fallen was a surprise. The sight of Spike, only a few yards away from her, was an even bigger one.

He was leaning against a tree, a cigarette dangling from his lips in his usual fashion. His gaze hardened when their eyes met, and Buffy wondered how long he had been there, watching her without her noticing.

“So, you’re back to trying to get yourself killed then?”

Contempt was dripping from his voice, but beyond it, she could still hear concern, almost worry. Why would he be worried for her?

She had only a few seconds to wonder, and then she understood. A vampire tackled her from the side, throwing her off the bench and knocking the breath out of her as he landed on top of her. She warded off his fangs from her neck by pushing her left forearm against his throat, but he continued to hold her down, helped by his weight that was trapping her right arm beneath her.

The stakes were there, only a few inches away, tucked in the side pocket of the duffel bag, but they might as well have been on the moon for all the help they were to Buffy.

“Tricky situation you’ve got yourself into,” Spike commented from somewhere behind her attacker. “I suppose I could help, but I remember someone promising to dust me if I got in her way.”

“I don’t need your help,” she snapped.

Profiting of the vampire being distracted by Spike’s little speech, she managed at last to throw him off her and quickly jumped to her feet. Spike was wrong. She didn’t want to die. Adrenaline was flowing in her, making her vision sharper, her blows stronger when she struck at the vamp, again and again, pushing him back toward the nearby trees until she was close enough to snap a branch and dust him.

She slowly turned to the sound of clapping behind her and looked at Spike. He had gotten rid of his cigarette, and if she knew him at all, he was ready for a fight.

“Nice end,” he said, “but the beginning was rather sloppy. Letting your guard down, Slayer?”

She wanted to say that it was none of his business. Or maybe throw her fist into his nose and prove that her guard was just fine, thank you very much. She also wanted to ask him where he had been, on the past four nights, and why he was back. Why he had left. Why he had listened this time - he hadn’t taken her threats seriously before.

But she didn’t say a word, nor did she strike him. Instead, she walked to him, slow steps that made his still body tense further. She knew it was a bad idea before she ever reached him or took his face between her hands, but she didn’t care anymore. The life she had built in Sunnydale was vanishing, and she needed something to cling to, something real.

She needed, just this once, to get what she wanted.

And what she wanted was to kiss Spike.