The revised plan, after the debacle of a few nights earlier, had been to stay away from the Slayer for a while, and then start showing up during her patrols. Slow steps to get her used to Spike’s presence again, comfortable enough to forget the threats she’d uttered. It had to be the right path. After all, it had been working rather well, until Spike had lost his patience and blurted out too much.

Of course, this plan went the same way Spike’s plans usually did; it didn’t survive past the first unexpected development. When he followed the Slayer’s scent to a graveyard bench where she was sitting, oblivious to the world, not noticing him or the vamp who was crawling out of his grave behind her, the same anger he had felt when he had realized she wanted to die overtook him. He lit up a cigarette, and she looked up toward him at the clicking sound of his lighter.

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

Before she could say a word, she was on the ground, the vampire on top of her, and she was barely holding his fangs back. Spike approached, wanting nothing more than to intervene – except, maybe, to have her ask for his help.

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

She shot him a glare over her opponent’s shoulder. “I don’t need your help.”

And indeed, she managed to free herself and started pummeling that poor vampire, finally dusting him with a tree branch. Spike took a last drag on his cigarette and threw it away. He clapped his hands together, the sound drawing her attention back to him.

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

After having seen her fight her best and so nicely prove him wrong, Spike was itching for some hand to hand with her. He missed their fights, and judging by the hard look she was giving him, she was going to oblige him. She came closer and Spike readied himself. He didn’t want to hurt her – at least, not too much – and wasn’t planning on letting her hurt him, but a good fight could be nearly as satisfying as—

She didn’t strike. Instead she gently, almost delicately, cupped his face in her hands, and raised herself on her toes to kiss him.

He was so shocked, at first, that all he could do was allow her tongue in as it pushed at the seam of his lips, and let her explore his mouth. He wondered briefly if she would pull back at the taste of nicotine mixed with remnants of whisky and blood, but if anything she kissed him even harder, her tongue driving deeper, trying to entice his to play along. Who was he to resist?

He grabbed her waist and pulled her tighter against him. She responded with a moan that seemed to make molten lava run through Spike’s veins. Her mouth was searing, but her hands, still framing his face, were gentle enough to have cradled a baby bird. The contrast was arousing and frustrating all at once, and it made Spike crave things that didn’t seem so unlikely anymore.

Without breaking the kiss, he slipped his hands behind her to cup her arse and hoist her up. Immediately, her hands dropped to clutch his shoulders and her jean clad legs came up to encircle his waist, making it easier for Spike to carry her over to the tree where she had dusted that vamp just a moment earlier. He pushed her back against it, using the leverage to grind his crotch against hers. He wanted her to know how hard she was making him.

He was afraid she would try to run off again when Buffy pushed lightly at his shoulders and dropped her legs back. His hold on her tightened, and he knew his pent-up frustration and lust had to flare in his eyes when he looked at her and gave her the same look that usually sent her fleeing away. This time, though, she merely looked back, her pupils so large they almost hid the color of her eyes. Her lips were a little bruised, and Spike leaned in to run his tongue against the bottom one.

“Not…not here,” she said, her voice very low.

Spike didn’t need to ask what she didn’t want to happen in the cemetery, but he had to ask why.

“What changed your mind? Not that I’m complaining, mind.”

She looked away, for a brief second. The tightening of her hands where they still rested on his shoulders didn’t last any longer.

“Does it really matter?”

He had to agree that it did not. Stepping back, he arched an eyebrow at her, almost daring her to call it quits now, and for a second he thought she would when she walked away from him. But she returned from the bench with a bag slung over her shoulder, and looked at him expectantly.

“Well?” she asked, gripping his hand in hers. “Where are we going?”

Spike wasn’t sure what was more bizarre – that he was taking the Slayer to his lair to fuck her, or that she was clinging to his hand as though to a safe line as he did.

He opened the door for her and let her enter in front of him, waiting for her reaction after the long silence of their walk. She looked around the flat as he guided her toward the bedroom, eyes full of questions. But she didn’t say a word. She still didn’t talk when he slipped her bag’s strap off her shoulder or when he started undressing her, but her hands came up when her bra dropped to the floor, hiding her lovely breasts after giving Spike a too short glimpse.

With a grin that made her blush, he took both her hands in his and spread her arms out on each side of her. Her small, firm breasts exposed but her jeans and boots still on, blushing brightly as she refused to meet his eyes, she was the picture of innocence about to be surrendered. Her blush, her skittishness could only mean one thing, and this one thing was making Spike positively gleeful.

“You’re a virgin, aren’t you, luv?” he purred. He tilted her head up toward him with a finger beneath her chin, but still she refused to meet his eyes. “You couldn’t have chosen better for your first time.”

The same finger slid down her throat and came to circle one puckered nipple, then the other. The tremor he expected came, but the wave of desire he had thought would accompany it was completely absent. Instead, she smelled like… It took him a moment to recognize it, because it wasn’t anything he had ever detected on her, not when they had fought, not even when he had been seconds away from killing her.

Her scent was pure, unadulterated fear.

Fear of him or fear of what they were doing, Spike didn’t know. What he did know was that no one could wear this scent and be ready to enjoy sex.

“What the hell…”

He pulled his hand back as though burned. He wanted her, God only knew how much he did, but not like that. Not if she was only pretending to be interested, and was too scared to enjoy it.

“Fuck!”

She opened wide, surprised eyes at his exclamation, and even took a step back from him, bringing her arms back in front of her to cover herself.

“What bloody game are you playing?” he snarled, angry with her for being afraid, and with himself for letting that stop him. “What’s going on? Why are you here if you’re that bloody scared of me?”

The change in her features was instantaneous. Her face closed, shutting out all emotions, and she quickly picked up her discarded t-shirt and slipped it on.

“I am not scared of you,” she said through clenched teeth, but did not explain herself further.

She grabbed her bag from the floor and started putting the strap on her shoulder, but Spike caught it and pulled it free from her grasp.

“What’s this?” he demanded as he pulled the zipper open. “You need your wardrobe with you when you slay, now?”

She tried to take the bag from him, and a few items of clothing fell out, revealing a crossbow, stakes, books and notebooks. Understanding flashed through Spike’s mind like lightning.

“You don’t have anywhere else to go,” he said flatly. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

“Of course not,” she protested, but the fight seemed to drain right out of her and her hands fell from the strap of the bag.

“Liar.”

Picking up whatever had fallen from her bag, he stuffed it back in and stalked out of the room. There was another bedroom in the apartment, smaller than the one he had claimed as his. He kicked the door open, barely restraining his rage, and threw the bag onto the bed. Some dust rose from the blanket.

“What are you doing?” she asked behind him.

Spike turned to face her and glared for all he was worth. “I’d rather have you spend the night in a dusty room than on a bench.”

“I don’t want—” she started, but he took a step closer to her until he was looking over her and cut in.

“Why aren’t you with your Watcher?” he asked, aware that he was revealing he knew where she had been living until now and not giving a damn. “Old man’s a pervert? Tried to take you to his bed?”

“Of course not,” she replied, clearly shocked. “It’s…complicated. I just can’t live there anymore.”

Her eyes slid toward the spare bedroom, then, hesitantly, back toward Spike.

“Just for a night,” she said quietly. “I’ll find a place tomorrow.”

Spike said nothing and just let her go in. She closed the door behind her, and he could hear her prop some kind of furniture against it. He shook his head and let out a quiet growl. Didn’t she realize that he could have taken her already, consenting or not, and that a closed door wouldn’t stop him if he changed his mind?

Couldn’t she see that he wouldn’t change his mind?

He remained by the door for a little while, listening intently. Quiet steps. The sound of her boots hitting the floor. The swish of a hand hitting fabric, a cough and a sneeze. The squeaking of an old bedspring. Then nothing but her heartbeat and breathing.

Closing his hands into tight fists and loosening them again several times, Spike walked through the living room, picking up his duster from where he had left it earlier on the back of the sofa, and slipped it on as he walked out. He locked the door, more to keep the Slayer safe than to prevent her from leaving, and started walking at a quick pace through the deserted streets of Sunnydale.

She had denied it when Spike had suggested it, but part of him was sure that her Watcher must have done something to send her off. There were rumors circulating in vampire circles of what Watchers did to ensure that their Slayers listened to them.

If the bastard had touched her, Spike would kill him. Slowly.

But when Spike pounded on the man’s door until he opened, when he accused him bluntly of molesting the Slayer, the shock on the Watcher’s face mirrored that of his charge earlier. Spike calmed down, barely, and sneered at the crossbow in the man’s shaky hands.

“Where is Buffy?” the Watcher asked. His hold on the weapon steadied a little as he aimed for Spike’s heart. “What did you do to her?”

“If she ran off on you, why would I answer?” Spike replied with a hard look. “What did you do to chase her off?”

The Watcher shook his head. “I did nothing. If she had stayed, I could have explained…” Slowly, he lowered the crossbow until it pointed at the floor, giving Spike a wary look as though an impassable barrier of thin air had not been standing between them. “Could you…could you give her a message from me?”

Spike remained pokerfaced and did not answer one way or the other.

“Please tell her that the council wants her back in Cleveland but I’ll do anything to help her stay here if that’s what she wants.”

Spike frowned. “That’s what spooked her? Your bloody Council?”

He didn’t understand it. He had never seen her as scared as she had been that night, and all that because of a band of wankers who wanted her to go back to bloody Cleveland?

“It’s part of it, yes, but I think there’s more.” Once more, he paused and considered Spike thoughtfully. “Her mother is in town, and I think Buffy may have seen her. She walked into the library just moment after Buffy left. She knew Buffy stayed with me, and she said she wouldn’t leave town without her. She threatened to get the police involved. Will you tell her that too?”

Spike shrugged and turned away. “Maybe,” he threw over his shoulder. “Maybe not.”

“Where is she?” the Watcher tried a last time, but Spike walked away without answering.

If the Slayer wanted to hide from her Watcher and mum, he’d hide her. And maybe the next time he undressed her, she wouldn’t be so damn scared of him anymore.