Chapter title courtesy of the fact that the last POV scene was not in the outline until you all started demanding scones :P

With vampires running in her direction as though craving death, the night passed more quickly than most for Buffy. Before she knew it – and before she had made up her mind about leaving Sunnydale to avoid her mother, or staying and finding a better place to hide – the sky darkened one last time, night’s last stand in its lost battle against day.

It had been a long time since Buffy had stayed out long enough to watch the sun rise, and this time she did so while sitting on the wall bordering Resting Shadows cemetery. After complete darkness, the colors were intense, a cascade of pinks and oranges that seemed deeper than back in Cleveland, and the sight made her eyes water. It was difficult, sometimes, to remember that there were still beautiful things in the world when all she saw night after night were blood and demons. With a sigh, she jumped off the wall, tucked her hands deep inside her pockets and made her way back to Spike’s apartment.

She was still surprised that he had let her go so easily, earlier that night. It was slowly becoming clear that he was as stubborn, if not more, in pursuing her than in wanting her dead. The only jarring note in his behavior was that he hadn’t tried to kiss her, or do anything else, since first bringing her to his lair. That did not mesh with the rest of his attitude, so clearly directed at getting her in his bed, and it left Buffy extremely wary of what he had in mind. It also gave way to half-formed regrets and what-if questions that she refused to examine too closely. In these conditions, she had better get away from him, before he jumped on her – or she on him – even if she didn’t know where she’d go.

She had been about to knock but instead, just to try, rested her hand on the door handle. It gave way without resistance, and she walked in as silently as she knew how. She would just grab her bag, she told herself, and then leave again. She’d hitchhike a ride out of town and find someone to drive her north or east, whichever came first, and figure things out after that. She didn’t really want to go, but with her mother in town and no place to hide, the risk was too great.

The weight of her duffel bag, when she picked it up from the floor in what had been her room, had her stomach lurching quite unpleasantly. She didn’t need to look inside to know it was empty. Was that Spike’s idea of a practical joke? Did he think he could keep her there by stealing her meager possessions?

She saw the crossbow first, hanging from a nail in the wall. Buffy could have sworn there had been a framed poster hanging there earlier. Beneath it, resting on top of the dresser, the books and notebooks she had shoved in her bag when rushing back from school were piled up in an uneven stack. The first drawer of the dresser wasn’t completely closed, and something black was peeking out. Walking to it, Buffy discovered that the drawer contained her t-shirts and tops. The second drawer held her pants and jeans. The last one – she so was going to dust Spike for messing with her underwear.

She noticed, just as she was wondering what game he had played by putting her clothes away in the dresser, that there was considerably less dust on the floor and furniture. And the sheets and cover on the bed were different – and clean. The fight drained out of her in a flash and she sat down on the edge of the bed, taking her head in her hands. The invitation to stay was clear, and a vibrant reminder as well that she had nowhere else to go. Or at least, no place where she would have felt safe. As paradoxical as it was, even with a vampire sleeping in the next room, she did feel safe. She wasn’t sure whether it was because Spike had almost killed her but failed to finish, or despite his unsuccessful attempt at taking her life. What she did know was that he had no equal to make her doubt her own sanity.

She would make up her mind after getting a bit of sleep, she decided. Surely, a little rest could do nothing but help clear up her head.

Sliding her boots off, she considered taking her clothes off as well. She had slept in them the previous night, and after two days wearing the same thing her skin practically crawled. On the other hand, she didn’t dare be unprepared in case Spike attacked. She’d change in the morning.

But when she rested her head on the pillow, a hard lump beneath it made her frown and sit up again. She knew what the object was as soon as she closed her hand around it, and it was with some disbelief that she pulled out the stake from beneath the pillow.

Another message from Spike, she supposed.

When she was done laughing, she tucked the stake back in place and undressed, pulling on an oversized flannel shirt in lieu of sleepwear, and fell asleep like a child.

Spike had remained awake the entire night, waiting for the Slayer to return. If nothing else, she would need her things back, although he hoped she would realize she had no other place to go and decide to stay. When the door finally creaked open in the small hours of the morning, he listened intently to her steps across the apartment, and to the intense silence that followed. A spark of laughter startled him, and while he wondered what in his little preparations had caused it, he guessed it meant she would stay at least one more day. One more chance for him to chip at her defenses, if he was careful enough not to send her hiding behind stubborn walls.

It was long past noon when she emerged from her room, her hair in disarray and a bundle of clothes in her arms. She walked fast, but Spike caught a glimpse of lovely legs as she made her way to the bathroom. The click of the lock put an abrupt end to his daydream of following her.

He stayed put on the sofa, the telly still chattering in front of him, but kept an ear out for her. The shower was quick, probably barely long enough for the water to warm up, and left little time for Spike to imagine cascading water over muscled limbs. After that, everything went quiet for a little while, and when she finally stepped out she was sadly enough entirely clothed, blue jeans and white t-shirt covering too much for Spike’s taste.

He met her gaze as she walked back to her room, and she looked away almost immediately, hurrying a little more. Spike rolled his eyes as he looked back at the television. He should have known she wouldn’t acknowledge anything he had done for her while she was patrolling. Stubborn little Slayer. He would break through her resistance soon enough, or so he hoped.

She was out of her room again after only a few seconds, and Spike listened to her walk into the kitchen and open the fridge and cupboards. A thank you would have been nice, he reflected as he listened to her warm up what smelled like pizza, but she still didn’t say anything, and stayed in the kitchen for her lunch.

When she was finished, she finally came to Spike, and sat on the armchair further away from him, curling her legs beneath her and holding a pillow to her chest as though in protection.

“You didn’t have to buy all that stuff,” she said after a few minutes of pretending she had any interest in the show Spike was pretending to watch.

Spike suppressed a sigh before it could pass his lips. He should have known that it wouldn’t be that easy.

“I didn’t have to leave the door open either,” he countered, “but I don’t hear you complain about that.”

She lowered her head, and from somewhere behind the pillow, he heard something that sounded extraordinarily like a thank you. He looked at her, curious to know if she had really said it, but before he could ask she raised her head again and met his eyes.

“Why do you do all this?”

A flash of irritation coursed through Spike and he reached for the cigarettes on the seat next to him. That girl could drive him insane with a few words.

“If you can’t figure it out for yourself,” he said, practically barking his words, “I’m probably an idiot to even talk to you at all.”

“I know you want to fuck me,” she hissed. “But you could have, and you didn’t, and now you’re not even trying anything. So I’m confused. And yes, you’re an idiot.”

She really was confused, he realized, and not merely playing with him. It calmed his anger enough that he shook his head and laughed quietly.

“Even if you’re confused, 'can’t possibly be as much as I am.”

If anything, his words seem to puzzle her even more, but Spike was in no mood to explain himself. Maybe they would figure things out together.

He went back to watching whatever show was now being broadcasted, but even then he continued to look at the Slayer from the corner of his eye. She hadn’t moved and was still looking in his direction as though trying to figure out a riddle. She could look all she wanted, he had nothing to hide.

“I’m not saying I’m going to stay here,” she said after a few minutes, her voice quiet but strong. “Maybe I’ll leave later today.”

He was sure he could hear a hint of challenge in her words, and when he faced her, her face gave the same impression. Was she trying to convince him, or herself?

“And maybe you won’t,” he said in an exhalation of smoke. “Suppose we’ll see when we get there.”

She fell quiet once again for a little while, but Spike knew it wouldn’t last. She was still confused, and from what he had learned about her since their first fight, she disliked not understanding what was going on in front of her. She would try to chip at him until she was satisfied she knew what was in his head.

“You’re one strange vampire.”

Blinking, Spike turned once more his eyes to her. He wasn’t sure if that had been an insult or a compliment. She had angled herself toward the television however, and he couldn’t read anything on her face. It was all right. ‘Strange’ was a first step. There’d hopefully be more interesting words soon.

Buffy would have been hard pressed to explain how she came to be sitting on the kitchen table, her legs and arms wrapped around Spike while his hands cupped her face just so for the most amazing kiss.

She had followed him a few minutes after he had wandered off to the kitchen, and observed him battle a bowl full of ingredients with a wooden spoon. She hadn’t been able to suppress a laugh at the sight of his black t-shirt turned gray by flour, and he had flashed her a dirty look through eyes that were more golden than blue. And then… Then she had found herself in this position, and truly she couldn’t find much to protest about. Not when Spike’s tongue stroked hers like this, or when his hands were so incredibly gentle despite holding her firmly in place.

And even though that stupid, nagging little voice tried to remind her that there’d be nowhere to flee once it became too much, she enjoyed the kiss, and his touch, and hoped despite reason that neither would end.

It did, of course, after what seemed like an eternity – much too fast. She wasn’t sure who broke away first. She continued to cling to Spike, her forehead pressed to his shoulder, so dizzy she was certain that if she let go now she would fall. His hands moved to her back and stroked lightly, first over the fabric of her top, then sliding beneath it. She shivered at the feeling of his fingers exploring her skin. She wished it hadn’t been on a place as innocent as her back. She remembered his hands on her, on her first night in the apartment. She had been too close to panic to enjoy it fully, but if he tried again now, if he took her to his room…

The thought had sneaked up on her so quietly that she was startled when it came to the forefront of her mind. Instinctively, she pulled back from Spike even as she pushed him away from her more forcefully than she would have wanted. She slid off the table and took a couple of steps away, only then daring to raise her eyes to meet his. He didn’t look as angry as she expected.

She had to open and close her mouth a couple of times before she could manage to utter a word.

“I…I can’t,” she said.

Spike only raised an eyebrow at her.

“We shouldn’t,” she insisted. “It’s not right.”

“That’s what you said about living here,” he replied, the smallest smirk pulling at his lips. “And still, there you are.”

She took another step back, certain that he was going to push for more. But all he did was grimace as he adjusted himself – and no, Buffy did not stare at how much his tight jeans revealed of his anatomy, not at all – then pick up his bowl and spoon again, and proceed to make more of a mess.

Buffy shifted from one foot to the other for a while, wanting to walk away from him and yet mystified by the way he appeared to have given up. From what she had learned from having fought against him for months now, he never gave up. He only changed his plans on how to get what he wanted. So what was he scheming now?

When she still hadn’t made up her mind after a few moments, he tilted his head toward the cupboards behind him.

“Make yourself useful at least. See if you can find a baking pan in there.”

Still suspicious, she kept an eye on him as she looked for that pan, then just as warily watched him grease it up and spread the lumpy dough he had mixed in it. Surely, he would give up his pretense of cooking soon, and try to kiss her again. He wasn’t fooling her for a second.

She had to wait until the scones were in the oven to be proved right, and Spike didn’t seem all that upset when they burned.