For the first time since she had been living with Spike, Buffy woke before him and tiptoed around the silent apartment to prepare her breakfast. With everything that had happened the previous day, from her breaking down in front of Spike to her mother’s visit, she hadn’t eaten anything since lunch, and she was now ravenous.

She yawned widely as she waited for the eggs to cook. She and Spike hadn’t returned from patrol until almost morning, and she had barely had three hours of sleep. It would have to be enough to get her through the day, though.

“That’s an ungodly hour to be up and around.”

Startled, Buffy practically jumped. She hadn’t heard Spike approach, nor had that prickling down her spine intensified as he had come closer. She wasn’t sure she liked how complacent she had become where he was concerned.

She turned to look at him. He had stopped to lean his shoulder against the wall and looked…the only word that came to her mind was scrumptious, and she faced the stove again rather than continue on that line of thought. It didn’t work, though. His image continued to dance in front of her, jeans too tight for words, long shirt unbuttoned so it revealed an expanse of smooth skin and defined abs, sleepy eyes that had never seemed so blue, bed hair that begged to have fingers rake through it, pouting lips so soft against her own…

Shaking her head, she poked at the eggs and tried to clear her mind.

“So?” he insisted, and now he sounded a little grumpy. “Why so early?”

She dared a quick glance back at him. It didn’t help, far from it.

“I just figured I had missed enough school already. If I’m staying in Sunnydale, I might as well go back.”

She didn’t need to look back to know he was walking closer, his bare feet making soft noise on the tiles. She tensed, expecting his hands to settle on her, a bit disappointed when they didn’t, a bit shocked at her own reaction.

“Tea?” he asked with a yawn.

“I can make it,” she said quickly, moving over so he wouldn’t brush against her when he opened the cupboard. “You can go back to bed. You haven’t been getting much sleep since I’ve been here.”

She had meant her words to be a little contrite, but they ended up teasing. Spike snorted and threw her a sideways look.

“I haven’t been getting much sleep in a long while,” he retorted. “And if you feel like helping, seeing how it’s your fault, I’m sure we can figure out something…”

The innuendo in his words made Buffy’s cheeks feel like fire and she turned away, carrying the eggs over to the table where she had already placed a plate. She didn’t reply – there was nothing she could have said without making things worse. She could feel his eyes on her as she sat down with her back to him and ate, and she couldn’t help remaining tense.

“If I didn’t know any better, I could almost believe I forced myself on you. Didn’t you say you trusted me?”

The hint of bitterness she thought she heard in his voice was nowhere to be seen when she turned back in her seat to look at him. Instead, he looked determined. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know what he was determined to do.

“I just…” she started, but didn’t know how to continue.

His raised eyebrow seemed to expect more however so she struggled to find the words. It would have been easy to blame her jumpiness on the fact that he was a vampire and she was the Slayer. But he had heard her admit that she trusted him, and she doubted he would let her get back on that statement now. Also, being honest might help her sort through what was going on in her head too.

“I know what you wanted when you brought me here that first night,” she said slowly, her attention focused on how he would react. He remained poker-faced, leaving nothing of what he thought to the surface. “I figure by now I must have worn out whatever supply of patience you had.”

If she went for total honesty, at least to herself, she could admit that she had used up her own patience as well with everything they had shared in the past days. Every time she touched him now, it became more difficult to pull back before anything more than a kiss could happen.

“And if that’s the case,” he asked coolly, “what’s next?”

If he had advanced toward her or made a verbal overture, Buffy would have known how to answer – or at least, she thought she would have. But his stillness and the dispassionate way in which he answered left her at a loss as to what he expected from her, or how she could answer him. She knew what she would have liked to do if they had not been who they were, but as things stood, her conscience would not accept anything more. Her eyes locked to his, she tried to figure out what to say or do, and stayed silent until the kettle began whistling softly behind him. The sudden noise spurred her into action.

“I need to go,” she said, breaking eye contact and standing hurriedly. “I’m going to be late.”

She left the apartment before he could call her on her lie and point out that she had more than enough time to get to school. If she had stayed any longer, she might have told him she needed to leave – period – and she wasn’t ready yet for that. It was the best thing to do, or so she told herself on her way to Sunnydale High. Spike wouldn’t like it, but she had to be firm. She couldn’t live with a vampire, couldn’t trust a vampire, couldn’t have a relationship with a vampire, not even if she was attracted to him. She would tell him when she returned there that afternoon. Or at least, she would try to.

She hadn’t planned to go see Giles right away, but with half an hour to spare, she went to the library and took a seat to wait for him. When he finally arrived, the look on his face expressed such relief that for a moment Buffy was speechless.

“Buffy!”

Beaming, he approached her. For a second, she thought he would hug her, but he stopped three steps in front of her and controlled his smile and emotions to something more reasonable for an Englishman.

“I am glad to see you. Can I ask what brought you back?”

“I saw my mother,” Buffy replied with a slight grimace. “She…understood that I’m not going back with her.”

She wondered how much Joyce had really understood, and how much had been brought on by her fear at discovering vampires were real.

“I see,” Giles said quietly. He took his glasses off and started rubbing at them absently with a handkerchief, his eyes never leaving Buffy and making her a little uncomfortable. “I wish I could have helped more with her, but she threatened to have me arrested and I doubt I would have been of much use to you from behind bars. At least, I persuaded the Council to let you remain in Sunnydale. I trust Spike told you as much?”

There was the hint of something dark when he said Spike’s name, but Buffy was suddenly completely sure that he wouldn’t ask anything about the vampire, and why she had been around him, unless she talked about it first.

She definitely didn’t plan to.

“He mentioned it,” she answered. “What did you say to convince them?”

“Mostly that it was your Slayer dreams that had led you here, and that the same kind of dreams would call you back to Cleveland if you were needed there.” His lips stretched into a feral smile that she would have expected from Spike, but not from him. “I assured the Council that in such a case, I would accompany you to Cleveland without delay. Let’s just say that your former Watcher was not impressed.”

It only took a word – former – and a weight that Buffy had been carrying over her shoulders instantly vanished. She had never thought of Spencer as her Watcher, but it was a relief to know she wouldn’t have to deal with him anymore. Her relief though paled in comparison to her surprise at realizing she might learn to think of Giles as such, if she hadn’t started on that path already.

“Thank you,” she said, very quiet, and Giles nodded.

“I should have taken care of that matter as soon as you decided to remain in Sunnydale. Then there would have been no reason for you to feel you had to move out.”

Shoving his glasses back on his nose, he slid a hand in his pocket and pulled out a set of keys. He opened the ring to separate one of them from the rest then handed it out to Buffy; she recognized it immediately as being his townhouse’s key.

Before either of them could add anything, the first bell of the day chimed through the library, announcing that the first class was only minutes away.

“Off to class, then,” Giles said. “If you will come by after school, we will get back to your training schedule.”

With a roll of her eyes, Buffy dashed off to her first period class. She noticed the stares when she stepped inside the classroom and took her seat at the back of the class, but thought nothing much of them. As the morning advanced however, the whispers exchanged by her peers and the reprobating frowns from the teachers started grating on her nerves, and she was almost thankful, when entering her English class, to see Cordelia’s eyes widen in pleasure.

“You’re back!” Cordelia exclaimed, taking advantage of the couple of minutes before the class actually started. “You know, it’s kinda annoying that I wished for a world in which you wouldn’t have shown up in Sunnydale, and now I’m worrying if you skip school for a few days.”

Buffy snorted. “Maybe you should have asked for a world in which we’re best friends.”

“As if,” Cordelia said, tossing her hair to the side. “I’m not that desperate.”

Buffy’s cutting remark remained unvoiced as the teacher demanded silence and proceeded to pass out test packets. Stifling a groan, Buffy looked at the first question. She barely remembered the poem it related to, something about love and hate that she hadn’t understood at all.

She raised her hand and, when the teacher nodded to her from her desk, she went to her with the meekest expression she could manage.

“I didn’t have time to study for this test—” she started, but the teacher stopped her with a shake of her head.

“You’ve known it was coming for three weeks, Buffy,” she said sternly. “And since your absence was unauthorized, and frankly disappointing, you’ll have to take the test today with the rest of the class.”

Blinking at the icy tone that had seeped through the woman’s voice, Buffy returned to her seat. Surely, missing a few days of school didn’t warrant the treatment she had been receiving so far, especially in a school where students who didn’t show up for school were presumed dead.

She tried to take the test, but even if she had remembered any more about the readings, she would have been too puzzled to write anything decent. When she turned in her work, the disapproval of the teacher was clear, and it only annoyed Buffy even more.

“OK, what is going on?” she asked Cordelia as they started toward their lockers. Around her, the sideways looks and whispered conversations were redoubling. “Why was that teacher so nasty? And why is everyone looking at me like I have fangs?”

Cordelia shrugged. “Remember when that guy was spreading the rumor you’re Giles’ girlfriend rather than his niece? Well, when your mother went to the principal, that started right up again. Pretty much everyone thinks you were out of school because your mother found out about you two and took you home. There’s bets going on about whether Giles will be arrested on campus or at his place. Now they’ll be wondering if you’re back with your mother’s approval or if you ran away.”

Astounded, Buffy stopped walking in the middle of the hall, and watched the students going past her with smirks or disgusted looks. She had liked it much better when they had looked at her with wondering awe and thought she was responsible for the decline of unexplained deaths in town.

Now, she had to decide which would be worse – giving credit to the rumors that claimed she had a relationship with Giles by moving in with him again, or remaining the guest of a vampire who had almost killed her once, and was now trying to get her into his bed.

She doubted anyone who wasn’t a Slayer ever had to make this kind of decision.


The Slayer hadn’t left for half an hour that Spike was already bored out of his mind. While she had been there, even when she had been sleeping or watching telly in silence, her presence had been tangible in the apartment, her scent and heartbeat permeating the entire space. Now, he was only aware of the utter silence.

“Pathetic,” he said aloud, filling in the void she had left. “Worse than a love struck puppy. You’re a vampire, you idiot. You’re going to fuck her, not make googly eyes and recite poetry to her.”

The quiet that answered almost seemed to be mocking him.

He kicked at the sofa as he passed by it, then strode into her room. He inhaled deeply as he walked in and let himself fall on the unmade bed. In his mind, he could see her eyes flashing with anger as she demanded privacy. She was pretty when she was angry, even prettier when she fought, but he had a feeling she would be simply gorgeous when he finally got her in his bed. He had seen her half naked already, and he couldn’t wait to see all of her, to touch and kiss and bite and finally, finally slip between her thighs. He knew already that she would be hot, and oh so tight.

With a mind of their own, his fingers had slid to his crotch as he thought of her, and started rubbing his hardening cock through the material of his jeans. It soon wasn’t enough, and a flick of his wrist tearing at the buttons freed him from the confines of the pants. Eyes closed and breathing through his nose to take in her scent, he recalled to his mind the times they had fought and those they had kissed, letting his hand follow an increasingly faster pace as he lost himself in the memories and giving them a new ending, where she did not pull away but instead welcomed him inside her. The fantasy did not last long. Spike came, hips arching off the bed, teeth biting down on his lower lip. Sleep draped over him before he knew it, and he rolled over, hugging her pillow to his face.

He woke up a few hours later, disorientated at first, then a little amused as he imagined the Slayer’s reaction if she had come home to find him half naked in her bed. Sitting up, he fixed his pants then blinked as he noticed something on the floor. He reached over and picked up the book; it had to be one of her school textbooks, left to lie on the floor after her outburst of anger the previous day. He flicked through the pages, stopping here and there to see what nonsense was being shoved into students’ heads in this day and age, until a page caught his attention.

The poem wasn’t very long, not even fifteen lines, but Spike found himself reading it over and again. In a previous life, he would have damned his too pure soul to write something like this. Today, he could only curse whatever ghost lingered of this same soul for the emotion that was taking him at reading these simple verses. He was being ridiculous. This word, repeated so often over the lines, didn’t apply to him – could not apply to him. He wanted to fuck the Slayer, nothing else, nothing more.

And still, when she came back to find him sitting in front of the telly, when she stood there, looking shifty, and told him her Watcher wanted her to go back to living with him, it wasn’t words of anger that ran through Spike’s mind. Rather, they were Neruda’s words, memorized without Spike realizing what he was doing, and it was all he could do not to speak them aloud to the Slayer – to Buffy.

I do not love you except because I love you…