Buffy paused outside the door to Giles' apartment.

Ever since Willow had done that spell, she was having more and more difficulty forcing herself to go to Giles'. She had been able to avoid Spike, but just knowing that he was in the apartment gave her a major case of the heebies right now. He rattled her clear to her bones, in fact—she was restless and constantly pacing to the point it had caught Willow's attention.

Buffy rolled her eyes at the memory of Willow's guilty look. “We never did talk about that forgetting spell,” she told Buffy, and Buffy shook her head once, her lips pressed tightly together.

She wanted to yell. She wanted to scream at her friend for giving her the greatest gift and then ripping it out of her grasp. There was no way that she could ever have a relationship of any kind with Spike now. They would insist it was the spell.

The dreams still bothered her, though. She dreamed of days of laughter and fun; exciting nights of patrol, snarking and fighting side by side with the firmly muscled sidekick-master vampire-lover…the Slayer and the vampire. She rolled her eyes at the romance novel turn of her thoughts, and considered the vampire in question.

From the moment he caught her eye in the Bronze and the confrontation in the alley, she was magnetically drawn to him. The snapping wit and scrappy attitude drew her to him as much as the chiseled muscles and knife-sharp cheekbones. Oh, his eyes, his mouth—they could convey the most innocent comment with a leer that made her writhe in secret. God, how she wanted him, even after the threats and the fights and the showdown in the church. He was steel to her magnet, and she found herself hunting him by that tingling in her gut, not the back of her neck like other vamps. Even Angel tingled her neck after she figured out what that feeling was.

Not Spike. Like right now, he made her stomach quiver lightly, butterflies and bats fighting for dominance as she stood outside the door. When she actually went in, they would turn to blue jays and robins, then as she neared him, they would grow to the size of pterodactyls. It spread like a ripple from her head to her toes until her body fairly vibrated her apart from the inside out. Her heart hammered in her ears until the sounds of speech were a drone in the background, and her eyes focused on one thing only, the rest was a mere blur on her unconscious mind.

Her eyes searched for him first. Giles had noticed, and commended her on her “care for the possible threats of a situation.” She just wanted to see him. Feast with her eyes, eat the sinful gluttony of eye candy that was him, and swallow him whole. Until last week that had been figuratively, then she had been thisclose to him and sat on his lap. Now her dreams had turned into The Spike and Buffy Porn Show and she woke up aching for his touch in the morning.

She leaned against the door for a moment, bracing herself for the onslaught of the birds, then opened it and quickly ran in before she lost her nerve.

The door thudded loudly against a ladder in front of it, tipping it over. A yell alerted her to a person on the ladder, now falling as well, and she automatically put out her arms to catch them before they hit the tiled floor.

She didn’t expect to catch Spike. She dropped him as soon as she realized it was him, but not before her hand cupped his ass and squeezed firmly as she was trying to balance him. Her cheeks flamed as she looked down on him where he lay at her feet, smirking smile gracing that perfectly sinful mouth.

“Throw a fella on the ground, Slayer. When I’m doing something nice for a change, too.”

“Oh? You’re going to run into the sun for me?” She cringed inside at the bitchy comment, but she knew she had to act this way. She couldn’t let anyone know how much this was all affecting her.

She gave him a guilty glance and was surprised at the hurt look on his face. “No,” he replied, his voice belying his feelings. “I was helping Rupert decorate the flat for the holidays. He didn’t have a sprig this morning, but look at it now.”

He scrambled to his feet before she could think of offering her hand, and she looked around Giles' apartment instead.

Greenery and red bows dotted the windows and bookshelves. The globe had been moved, and a small tree filled with red balls and bows and a golden star stood next to the short landing that led to Giles' room upstairs. Tiny lights twinkled in the twining greenery, and a small nativity sat below the tree. She glanced at the desk and saw oven mitts lying there with a small figure burned into the palm, and thought that even Christmas could be a lethal holiday for a vampire.

Spike saw where she was looking, and grabbed the mitts off the desktop, hiding them behind his back. “So, do you think that Rupert will like it?”

“What, you did all this? By yourself? Right. I don’t believe it.” She folded her arms across her chest, forgetting the shirt she was wearing, and gave him an excellent look at her cleavage. When she noticed where his eyes were resting, she pulled her jacket tightly around her. “Where is Giles? I wanted to talk to him before I went out on patrol tonight.”

“Watcher’s out for the evening. ‘M not his mum, didn’t ask him when he’d be home.”

“And you did this alone. All this,” she said, spreading her arm to indicate the elegant decorations.

He looked at her, exasperation clearly on his face. “Well, yeah. Just finishing up.”

“On a ladder in front of the door. What were you doing?” Her eyes narrowed. “What are you up to, Spike.”

He pushed past her roughly and grabbed his forehead as he headed to the kitchen. “Evil, Slayer, because you know, Christmas and evil….”

She followed him around the pillar to trap him in the kitchen. “You didn’t answer me Spike. What are you up to?”

He threw the oven mitts against the wall, and his hand snapped to cradle his forehead again. “Hell, I can’t even pretend I’m hurting someone that this bloody thing doesn’t fire, Slayer. I was decorating. That’s all. Can’t a bloke do something without the third degree around here?”

“You cannot do anything without the third degree, Spike. We still don’t know a lot about that chip.” She turned, and went back into the living room, pacing in front of the couch. “Where did you get all this stuff, anyway?”

“Went downtown and bought it.” He leaned against the wall and watched her pace.

She stopped, and jabbed a finger at him. “See? I know that isn’t true. The sun just set.”

He rolled his eyes, and sighed. “Sewers, Slayer. I can go anywhere in this town in the sewer system. I went downtown, bought the pretties, and came right home. Didn’t even stop at Willy's for a pint.”

She jabbed again. “Bought! You didn’t buy any of this. You don’t have any money.”

He ticked his finger at her. “Uh-uh, pet, can’t use that one either. Had money. Got all this stuff honestly.”

She scoffed, and folded her arms across her chest again. “You don’t have any money. Why are you always begging beer and cigarettes from Giles then?”

“I’m a guest. It’s the host’s responsibility.”

“To buy you beer and cigarettes?”

“Seeing to his guests’ comfort. Now, you about done? I have a few touches left….”

She sat down on the couch. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m not leaving you here by yourself to do heaven knows what to Giles' apartment.”

He rolled his eyes. “For God’s sake, Buffy, I’m decorating the apartment, not desecrating a church!”

She stopped cold at her name on his lips. So did he.

The air grew thick as molasses with words unspoken and memories of the words that were. She felt like she was moving in slow motion as she stood, and he moved. In a heartbeat, they were across the room and kissing passionately.

Her heart was trying to beat its way out of her chest as she struggled to breathe deep enough. The room was spinning around her dizzily as she tasted him in her mouth. She could feel his hands cupping her ass and pressing her against…oh, that. Her entire focus centered on the space between her waist and her knees as he ground himself against her, his mouth tracing moist paths across her throat as she tried to remember to breathe.

Over the blood rushing in her ears, she him speaking as he lavished kisses on her exposed skin. “Buffy, oh Buffy, I missed this so much. God, Slayer, do you know how you fit in my arms? You’re perfect, love, so beautiful. I’ve done nothing but think of you for the last week.”

The phone rang, and they ignored it, exploring each other’s mouths as they ran eager hands over places they wanted to explore. The answering machine finally picked up, and Giles' dry message was followed by Willow's perky voice. “Hey, Giles, if you see Buffy, tell her that Riley came by looking for her just a little while ago. He said he’d call her tomorrow, but I thought she might want to see him after patrol. Talk to you tomorrow. Bye!”

Willow's message shattered Buffy's abandon into a million pieces as she heard Riley's name. She shoved Spike away and wiped her mouth with the back of one hand while she reached for a stake with the other. By the time Willow hung up, they were in their far more familiar roles, as adversaries.

She held the stake at shoulder level, and glared at him. “You—you kissed me.”

He curled his tongue as he flopped down onto the couch, resting his boot on the coffee table. “Seems you were doing a fair amount yourself, Slayer. I still have your clawprints in my ass.”

She thought madly for a retort, her head spinning. “Well—I’ve got your fingerprints and…lip prints all over me.” She glared, and he licked his lips appreciatively, his eyes raking over her disheveled appearance from head to foot. This only served to push her over the edge, and she leaped to action.

“You—I—don’t you dare breathe a word of this to anyone, you hear me?” She knocked his feet off the table, and leaned over him, stake pressing into his chest. “Not a single word, you understand?”

“Can you sing me another, pet? I’ve heard that bloody carol so many times, it’s gotten old.” He stared into her eyes at the picture of vexation, and he had to suppress a moan.

Hiding the reaction her nearness provoked, he arched off the couch in a smooth move, backing her against the wall. He tore his black tee open like tissue, his chest gleaming like carved marble in the ambient light. “You know what, pet? Go ahead. Dust me. Do it!”

Her arm dropped to her side, her stake dropped from numb fingers to the floor. “I…can’t,” she whispered, unable to meet his eyes.

“Come on.” He swooped down and picked the stake up off the floor and pressed it to his chest. He pushed the tip against his skin, the sharp splintered end nicking him, and a rivulet of borrowed blood spilled out and trickled into the ridged abdomen as he dragged in air he didn’t need. “Go on, pet. What is there for me to unlive for anyway? I’m impotent, you said it yourself. Just end this for me and you both. Just a simple shove, that’s all you need. Come on!”

She shook her head mutely, and he pressed a little harder. The blood came faster, and her eyes followed it down his compact frame, staining the waistband of his jeans. She could clearly see the outline of what she had already felt, both with her hand and her ass, and she unconsciously licked her lips.

She knocked the stake out of his hand, and pressed her palm to the hole it left behind. He slapped her hand off his chest and turned away from her. “Know why you can’t stake me, pet? It’s ‘cause you want the Big Bad. Had yourself a taste, and got you to wondering, didn’t it?” She watched him as he crossed the room, deliberately running his hand up his chest to gather the blood on his palm, then using his nimble tongue to clean it off like a cat would.

Her groin clenched at the sight of that talented tongue. She could feel the warm flood of arousal gushing from her, and didn’t care.

His voice was seductive and sensuous as it caressed her ears. “I can smell it, Slayer. You’re sweet quim, all quivering and wet for me. I know how you feel, every time we fight. You want to shag me senseless, and you know it. You just won’t give in.”

“I can’t.” She grabbed her stake off of the floor, and ran out the door, plowing over the unsuspecting ladder again.

He grinned, then threw out an old familiar movie line. “My, people certainly come and go quickly around here.”

Spike watched the door slam behind her, shrugging his shoulders. He discarded the shreds of his tee in the trash bin, then turned back to the room before him. Actually he thought it looked quite festive, if he did say so. Festoons of greenery and red bows, gold accents here and there, and, reaching for the candlesticks, the only thing that he had pinched, candles. Just the right touch.

The door opened again, and he turned, thinking the Slayer was back. It banged against the ladder, and he rushed to pick it up, folding it in half, as he looked at the stranger that entered Giles apartment.

He was tall as Captain Broody Pants, with combed-over sandy brown hair. His face looked familiar, and Spike realized he was one of the commandos that had captured and chipped him. Friendly open eyes narrowed as he caught sight of Spike, shirtless, with the ladder in his hands. “Who are you?”

“William, here. I’m, er, Giles' nephew. From London.”

He extended his hand, still warm from Buffy's skin, and the tall man took it without hesitation. “Riley Finn. I was looking for Buffy. Have you seen her?”

Spike laughed out loud, then said, “Yeah, she was by looking for Giles earlier. Knocked over the ladder. Said she was going on patrol, whatever that meant.”

“Oh. You’re awful pale,” Riley said, his eyes narrowing again.

“Live in England, mate. Not much sun, more rain and fog than anything.”

“Yeah.” Sounding unconvinced, he looked around the apartment. “Nice decorating job. You do it?”

Spike waved his hand languidly. “Had a hand in it. Looks all right?”

“Very nice. Kind of English.”

“Well, that’s because me and Giles are both English, eh? Spike dragged the ladder to lean it against the wall, and headed to the kitchen. He rolled his eyes as he shrugged on a white tee, unbelieving that he was being this nice, but also afraid of being recaptured. “So, you hanging around the place for the holidays?”

Riley's voice drifted from the living room. “No, don’t think so. I’m going to Cancun for part of it, and home for Christmas.”

“Home? Where’s that?” Spike brought back a glass of Rupert’s best single malt, and offered it to the visitor, who shook his head.

“No thanks. I don’t drink.”

“All right.” Spike nursed his alcohol to appear human, although he could have drank it down in a shot. “Where’s home, then?”

“Iowa.”

“Nice place. Been through there once or twice. Going to Cancun, huh? Hear that it’s a wild party there….”

Spike let his comment trail off, and Riley eagerly picked up the thread. “Well, I was going to cancel, especially after this new thing I have going with Buffy, but the guys talked me into going anyway. Could be my last fling, if you know what I mean.” He nudged Spike with his elbow, and was surprised at the solid, compact musculature of the shorter man. “Hey, you work out?”

“As much as I can fit in. So, you going to party hard or what?”

“Oh, you bet. I just hope that Buffy doesn’t find out. She’ll be upset if she does.”

Spike sipped his drink, waving his hand. “Don’t worry about Buffy. If she’s the right kind, she’ll understand. A man has needs….”

“And I need her to fulfill mine. Since she won’t do that yet, I’ll bet I can find someone who will when I head south, huh?” He nudged Spike again, and Spike ‘lost his balance’ to prevent the wanker from seeing the look of disgust on his face. Another bleeding wanker trying to use the Slayer, he thought.

He stood, and jerked his head toward the door. “Well, you can probably catch Buffy if you try. She just left a moment ago.”

Riley grinned, and grabbed his hand again, pumping it up and down. “Thanks, Bill. Have a good holiday, okay?”

“Oh, I plan on it, Riley. And it’s William, not Bill.”

“William, then. Bye!”

The door slammed shut behind the poncy farm boy, and Spike leaned against it with a sigh. The Slayer would never believe him if he told her. He would have to make sure, then, that the farm boy told her, and he was there to pick up the pieces when they fell.

Plotting already, he headed to the kitchen to warm up some blood.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Buffy hurried back to her dorm room after a short patrol. She didn’t even realize she had slayed more tonight than she had in the past week, the vampires drawn to her more for her scent of blood and arousal than the need for food. Her mind was on a specific vamp, and she needed to talk to someone about it.

Willow. She could talk to Willow. No, she couldn’t do that. Willow had made it clear from the beginning that she neither liked nor trusted Spike, and she would think that it was from the spell, not from anything that Buffy actually felt.

Still lost in her own world, she rushed headlong into a slightly taller woman with long blond hair, and helped her up when she saw she had knocked her to the ground. “Sorry. Mulling some things over, I didn’t see you.”

“I-its okay. I-I wasn’t l-looking either.”

As the blond gathered her books, Buffy looked down at her. She had heard that voice somewhere before…. The answer hit her when she stood up, and saw one of Willow's scarves floating around her neck. “You’re Tara, Willow's friend. She’s talked a lot about you.”

“S-she has?” Her eyes were wide and fearful; what had Willow told them?

“Yeah, she said that you’re a great friend, and that’s exactly what I need right now. A great friend.” She linked her arm with the blonde’s, and pulled her along toward her room. “I can’t talk about this with any of my friends, because they just wouldn’t understand.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“…So see, I can’t just date him, they’ll think it was the spell. Plus, I have this really promising thing with Riley.”

Tara looked up at Buffy from beneath a fall of golden hair. “Doesn’t sound like you want to be with Riley, though. Sounds like you want to be with Spike.”

“What about the whole undead, vampire, drinks blood to survive thing? What about that?”

Tara squirmed uncomfortably in her seat at the tiny all-night diner. Toying with her coffee cup, she said, “demons aren’t all bad, Buffy. Some demons can live side-by-side with humans, and you would never know it.”

“Giles says the only good demon is a dead one. Well, not that exactly. His version sounds more English.”

“Then, you’ll probably want to start in here.” Tara looked around, and jerked her chin. “The guy over there, reading the paper? He’s a B’Nalock. Vegetarian, work in the sanitation business because they don’t have any scent organs.”

Buffy frowned. “So that’s not his nose?”

“Not all sex organs are in the same places as ours, Buffy.” She giggled at the shock on the Slayer's face, and went on. “How about the cook? She’s a Brackken. So’s her husband. Even your roommate was a demon, and you couldn’t tell, could you?”

Buffy looked at the girl across from her, confused. “How do you know all this?”

Tara ducked her head. “I’m a practitioner, Buffy. A-a witch.” At Buffy's continued confusion, Tara flipped her hair over her shoulders and looked at her with clear blue eyes. “I look at you, and I see something different from regular human. Your aura is too strong for you to just be human.”

“So I’m…not human?” Buffy frowned, and the young witch backpedaled quickly.

“No, that’s not what I meant. More like…superhuman.” She watched as the Slayer visibly relaxed, then continued. “In a town like this, it’s better to know what could possibly eat you. So I watch auras, and if one doesn’t match up, I research until I can identify it.”

“Boy, Giles would love you.” She scooted across the bench seat and put her back up against the wall, stretching her legs out. She was about to ask Tara what else she saw lurking in the denizens of the diner when a voice over her head interrupted them.

“Hey, Buffy—what are you doing out this late?”

She turned to see Riley with a couple of his frat brothers hovering over the edge of their booth. Graham was making eyes at Tara and Forrest looked disgusted. Riley, however, had that huge happy grin plastered on his face. Buffy snuck a glance at Tara, and saw a look of fear and loathing dancing in her eyes, belying the placid smile she had pasted on.

“Just talking to Tara—Willow's friend. Getting to know the friend of my friend. You?”

“Getting ready to go home for Christmas on Friday.” He sounded innocent, but Tara frowned, then darted a look at Buffy, frowning again. She looked up into the open face of her prospective boyfriend, and tried to see past the innocence he portrayed to the man beneath.

She noticed he couldn’t quite meet her eyes. He looked everywhere else but. His lip was twitching slightly, and there was a trickle of sweat on his temple. She recalled hearing about some of the frat boys planning a trip to Cancun, and took a wild leap.

“Yeah, if Cancun is home-like at this time of year.” She gave a wide grin at his guilty start, and said, “I know I don’t want to see grandma in a bikini, but some people might—if they lived at the old age home.”

He looked down at her with guilt written all over him. “If you don’t want me to go—“ he started, and she raised her hand.

“Don’t worry about me, Riley. I have plans for the holiday too.” She stole a glance at Tara, hoping that she would play along, and said offhandedly, “Spike will be here for Christmas.”

Tara leaped in, thank God. “You and Spike made up?”

Buffy studied her nails. “I’ll have to see what Santa puts under the tree for me, but if it’s what I think, then, yeah, we’ll be making up. With a quickness.” They both giggled, and Riley just looked confused.

“Buffy, you told me you made that all up,” he said, swinging around the end of the booth and sitting on Buffy's seat, forcing her to move her legs or get them crushed under his considerable bulk. “You said—“

“I know, I said it was all just a big made-up story, but it…kinda isn’t. Spike and I have been…dancing around a relationship for a while now.”

“But what about…?” Riley struggled to understand what he was missing, but there was no understanding left, only questions.

“Oh, I had fun. Didn’t you?” She looked at him wide-eyed and innocent. “I thought we were on the same page.” He still stared, and she rolled her eyes. “One date, and you were willing to pledge undying love?”

He gave her a hurt look, and stood up. “I guess I was wrong about you. Maybe Parker had your number right.”

She felt a flash of anger at the subtle accusation. “Well, maybe he didn’t, either. Maybe he was as lost as you seem to be. Have a merry Christmas in Cancun, Riley.”

He turned to leave, and she sat back with a huff, throwing her legs back up into the seat. She listened to the ribbing he was getting from his buddies, and thought of throwing gas on the fire with a choice parting jab, then decided that the situation didn’t even warrant that.

Tara was still frowning as she watched the large man walk away. “You need to keep an eye out for him, Buffy. He isn’t what he seems to be.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Buffy promised Tara not to let the cat out of the bag on their meeting as they walked companionably back to their dorms. She watched Tara going inside, then decided to make a side trip to Giles' to check on the Watcher and her favorite vampire.

She thought about the things Tara had said, and more about the things that she hadn’t. It had felt good to get another viewpoint on her relationship with Spike, even if it meant snagging a stranger on the street. At least she picked one who understood being different. And the whole researchy thing? Giles would want to meet this girl, she was sure of it.

One thing was clear after their conversation. She liked Spike. In more than just an “I want to be friends” kind of way. She liked him in an “I want to kiss you senseless” kind of way, and that scared her senseless.

This time, instead of throwing open the door, she pecked on it gently. There were lights on that she could see through the window, and after what seemed like an endless wait, the door was finally thrown open.

Spike stood there, staring at her, and she couldn’t help but dance from foot to foot. “Uh—can I use Giles' bathroom?”

He stepped aside, and waved her in. “Who am I to stop you, Slayer?”

She stepped into the room, and looked around, searching for his finishing touches that he was so prickly about earlier. Candles in golden holders of every shape and size dotted every flat surface, and at this moment, they were all lit, filling the room with a golden glow. She forgot about her request for the bathroom altogether when she saw what he was up to now.

The coffee table had been moved against the wall, and the space was filled with merchandise. Wrapping paper and bows warred with ribbon and tape in the middle of the floor, and she notice quite a few presents already wrapped and under the tree.

She turned, eyes narrowed again, and said in a deadly voice, “What’s all this?”

“Bloody hell, Slayer, are we gonna start that again? ‘Cause, so not in the mood for it. They’re prezzies. For the good little Scoobies. Giles bought the damn things, I’m just wrapping them.”

She looked, and found bags with receipts on the seat of the couch. “Oh. I—“

“Came to use the loo, didn’t you?” He pointed, and she nodded absently.

“Yeah. Needed to use the bathroom.”

She locked the door behind her, not to keep him out, but to keep her in. Today…today alone, he had thrown her for a loop, with the decorating, now the presents and wrapping. This was not the Big Bad she was used to. This was someone else entirely. Something, she thought, then shook her head, disagreeing with herself. No, he was a someone. A thing wouldn’t do any of the things that he had done.

There was a gentle tap on the door, and his voice floated through the wood. “You all right in there, Slayer? You sick?”

“I’ll be right out.” She splashed water on her face, and dried it carefully with a towel, studying her reflection in the mirror. She looked askance at her crooked nose, and wondered if her eyes were too far apart, and what was all this self-reflection about, anyway? Avoidance, that’s what it was. Avoiding the fact that she would be alone in a room with Spike.

She yanked the door open, and he nearly fell on top of her.

He had the grace to look embarrassed. “Just trying to make sure you were okay, Slayer.”

She brushed by him, and went to the kitchen. “I’m okay, Spike. When is Giles coming back?”

He said slowly, as if explaining to a small child, “I don’t know, Slayer. May not be coming home tonight. May be staying in LA with Olivia.”

“Olivia? Who’s she?”

“Dark beauty, about this tall, was here about a week ago?” He held his hand out head-high, and said, “Are you all right, Buffy?”

There it was; her name on his lips again. She felt dizzy, like the world stopped turning and started again abruptly. She held out her hand and heard his voice calling her name from far away, then the dark took over and wrapped her in its arms.