I apologize for the delay in this chapter. As some of you may know, my computer died on me a little more than a week ago and I had to wait to get restore discs to try to get it back. All fine now so far, and hopefully with a soon to be lighter schedule the updates should be more frequent.

As it always happened when she slept in an unfamiliar place, Buffy woke in the time of a heartbeat. Immediately aware of her surroundings, she sat up and looked at the door. She had left the lamp beside the bed on its lowest setting, and it cast enough light for her to see that Spike had not come in, or even tried. She had wedged a chair behind the doorknob, both to slow him if he tried to enter, and to make sure she awakened right away. The chair was still in place.

She got to her feet and the heels of her boots made a dull noise on the dusty hardwood floor. Buffy had kept her clothes and shoes on when lying down to rest, ready to fight, or flee, at a moment’s notice. She had eventually fallen asleep but her fitful sleep had not been very restful, and she yawned widely as she walked over to the door. She stopped by the chair for an instant, listening intently. She could hear noises somewhere in the apartment, but not distinctly enough to know what they were. As quietly as she could, she pulled the chair away, opened the door and walked out, following the sounds to what turned out to be the open floor kitchenette.

She couldn’t help but stare at the sight of Spike standing in front of the cooking range with her back to her. It had never occurred to her that vampires could possibly cook. He didn’t turn to look at her, but he tilted his head as though he had heard something, then his left arm rose and indicated a door to the side.

“Bathroom’s in there. Breakfast in five minutes.”

Without a word, she tiptoed to the door he had indicated and locked it behind her. She had intended to do no more than relieve herself and wash her face, but the folded towels on the edge of the sink tempted her when she washed her hands. She felt tense, her muscles aching as though she had fought all night. A hot shower might help. With a glance at the door and its flimsy lock, she undressed hurriedly and stepped into the stall. She would be quick.

The water started almost icy and she gasped, startled, but after only seconds it warmed up until it was almost too hot to stand. She eyed the bottle of flower scented shower gel warily. That didn’t look like something Spike would use, so whose was it? Trying not to think about it too much, she soaped herself up quickly then simply stood beneath the spray, rolling her shoulders lightly as the water washed off the soap. She wished her tension and exhaustion could have disappeared down the drain as well.

Turning off the water and stepping out of the stall was difficult; she could have stayed under the warm jet all day. She dried off quickly, her eyes darting now and then to the door, and grimaced when she realized she hadn’t thought of bringing a change of clothes. Too late now. She certainly wasn’t going to cross the apartment in a towel. Who knew what message that would have sent Spike.

She had managed to keep her hair dry for the most part, and more by habit than anything else, she pulled the elastic band away and reached for the hairbrush on the side of the sink. Again, she tried not to wonder whom the few long blond hairs caught in it belonged to as she gave a few quick brushstrokes. She braided her hair with practiced ease, then took a deep breath before wiping the steam off the mirror with her hand. The girl who stared back at her had deep dark circles beneath her eyes, the same circles that had disappeared since she had started living a more normal life in Sunnydale. They had been quick to return, and they symbolized all too clearly the changes that she would need to make—that she had already started making—and that she had tried not to think about until now.

When she had composed herself, she unlocked the door and left the bathroom to return to the kitchenette. Spike was leaning against the countertop. Next to him, a kettle was just starting to whistle. He picked it up and poured boiling water in a mug waiting on the table in front of a plate of scrambled eggs.

“Do you like eggs?”

The question was so unexpected that Buffy couldn’t find anything to answer.

“You’d better like them, because that’s the only thing I can cook. That and tea, but an Englishman can brew tea in his sleep.”

He looked up just as he finished talking, and she could see from his expression that he hadn’t intended to say so much. His lips twisted into a wry smile.

“And of course I’ll have to kill you if you reveal my shameful secret to anyone.”

Buffy blinked, again trying to make sense of what was happening, and failing. Was he actually joking with her? Had she inadvertently stepped into a different dimension?

“Well?” Spike asked, his features smoothing over into a cold mask. “Are you going to sit down or not?”

She realized she was probably being rude, standing still and remaining silent after he had offered her food, and she looked down as she slipped into the chair. It was only when she took her first bite of eggs that a small voice asked why it mattered that she was rude to a vampire. She pushed the voice away, along with any thoughts unrelated to food. She hadn’t eaten anything since lunch the previous day, and she felt ravenous. The eggs were simple, with a bit of pepper and maybe another spice added to them, but to Buffy’s empty stomach they felt like the most scrumptious feast.

She was aware of Spike’s eyes on her as she ate, but she refused to look at him. She wasn’t sure what she would see if she did, and she wasn’t sure either that she wanted to know.

Having finished the eggs in what had to be record time, she cautiously picked up the mug and pulled out the tea packet. She blew over the steaming liquid before bringing it to her lips, and grimaced at the strong taste.

“Why is it,” she sighed, “that all the men in my life try to make me drink tea, but never ask if I want sugar in it?”

As she glanced at him, Spike grabbed a small sugar canister on the countertop behind him and placed it in front of her.

“Maybe they think you’re old enough to get it for yourself if you want it.”

The words seemed innocent enough, but when she looked up to meet his eyes, they took a whole different meaning and she had to look away again, flustered.

Confusion, thy name is Buffy.


If Spike was to believe the speed with which she all but inhaled the eggs, the Slayer was famished, but when he suggested cooking more, she declined his offer. He continued to watch her sip on her tea, aware that his gaze was making her uncomfortable but not caring about that.

He had expected her to bolt as soon as she woke up, so to see her in no apparent hurry to leave, was a pleasant surprise. Now he needed to decide whether to tell her he had spoken to her Watcher, and if so how much to reveal. In the end, it was his desire to know more that helped him decide. If he made her talk about it, he might understand why she had been spooked enough to throw herself at him.

The thought sent a flash of need coursing through him. Her scent was slowly permeating the apartment, subtle but unmistakable, and he was beginning to regret not bedding her. If he could only keep her there and work his way toward a second chance, he was determined not to let it pass again.

She had finished her tea, and from the way she started looking around and growing restless, Spike guessed that she would be standing soon. Lighting up a cigarette, he sat across from her at the table.

“I went to see your Watcher, last night.”

Her eyes, which had been looking anywhere but at him until now, focused instantly on him and narrowed. She leaned forward, her body tensing.

“What for?”

“Wanted to know if I needed to kill him for touching you.”

The immense shock on her face and in her eyes put to rest, if need be, the last threads of doubt Spike still had about this particular possibility.

“So, I was right about not killing him, then?” he asked after a few seconds when she still hadn’t said a word.

“You asked last night, and I told you he didn’t—” She interrupted herself to make a face. “That’s just gross. He’s old enough to be my father!”

Spike snorted around his cigarette. “And I could be your great, great grand-da. That didn’t seem to bother you so much last night.”

The shock transformed into embarrassment as she blushed and looked away. Spike waited for her to make some kind of comment including the word ‘mistake’, but instead she changed the topic back to her Watcher.

“What did Giles say? Did you tell him I was here?”

“No.” That simple word seemed to relieve her. “And he blabbered about convincing his Council to let you stay in Sunnydale.”

The frown was brief, but Spike was watching her too closely not to notice. Shaking her head, she brought her eyes back to meet his.

“Why would they listen to him and not to Spencer?” she asked, though Spike doubted she expected an answer from him. “I can’t go back to him. They’re going to watch him and they’d snatch me if I went back.”

She stopped there, but Spike heard what she wasn’t saying. He waited a little longer, to see if she’d ask, but she didn’t look like she would. The scar on her mouth was becoming paler as she pinched her lips tight.

“You can stay,” he finally answered the unvoiced question. “As long as you want.”

She gave a brief nod, but did not explicitly say whether she would stay or not, and Spike caught himself wondering. He had realized, the previous night, that she had come to him as a last resort. He had no illusions that she’d move out as soon as she found a better alternative. For a Slayer, there had to be few options less attractive than living with a vampire. Even taking a risk with her Watcher could be potentially less dangerous than staying with a vamp who had tried to kill her in the past, or so Spike supposed. Maybe she needed a bit more convincing.

She was just starting to stand when Spike decided to see how she’d react to the other piece of news he had for her.

“The Watcher said something about your mother, too. Said she was in town and raising hell to get to you.”

Her hands were shaking when she sat down again, looking for all the world as though he had just kicked the breath out of her. This was going to be interesting.