It had become a set routine. Just as the sun began to creep over the horizon, Spike let himself into the shop. In the early morning quiet, he took advantage of the training room Giles had so carefully created for Buffy, using the exercise to clear his head. After an invigorating bout in the shower Giles had also thoughtfully included, he felt ready to face the day. Well, as ready as he was going to be.

Plugging in the electric kettle, Spike wished for the thousandth time it was gin he was about to pour instead of water. For once, he'd abstained from alcohol as everything came crashing down around him, deciding his wits were more important than dulling the pain. He'd seen no sign of Xander since the fiasco at The Bronze a week ago, but there was no doubt in his mind the man would come looking for him, stake in hand. Spike had violated the Whelp's previous Buffy and for that the vampire would have to pay. At least, that was how he figured Xander's mind worked, if it worked at all.

So, no drinking; just exercise and losing himself in the day-to-day activities of the shop. Work out, heat the water, make a quick check of the outside in case anything needed to be tended to before the sun got too high or too many people were about. Check e-mail from the website for potential orders. Have a cup of blood. Open at ten. Dawn would be in shortly after three. Tara's schedule varied depending on her classes. See to the mail orders. Fed Ex. UPS. Be grateful Tara had taken over the planning for the mixer in three weeks. Head out through the tunnels around five or stay in the basement with orders and inventory until closing; either way, he wasn't around the few times the Scoobies showed up.

Was this how Angel occupied his days with his detective business? The thought was almost enough to send Spike for the bottle of Jack Daniels stashed by someone in a small compartment under the counter. He resisted, settling for dolloping an extra spoonful of cocoa mix into his cup.

Only a few customers drifted in and out after he unlocked at ten. There were plenty of passerby's, but not many seemed interested in the Magic Box. At ten-thirty, Spike was wondering if this was going to be an "I'm so bored, I'm thinking of gnawing my arm off" day. With luck, he could hold out until two when Tara was supposed to arrive.

At ten-forty-five, the bell over the door jingled as Buffy walked in.

They hadn't seen each other for almost a week, not since she'd caught him and Tara at the Expresso Pump last Wednesday. She hadn't been in the shop while he'd been there for nearly a month. He didn't want to think about the last time they'd actually been alone.

She came down the steps, but hesitated before going further. "Um…hi."

"Hi." That's right. Channel William like a stupid git. His eyes slid to the gym bag over her shoulder. "Going to do some training?"

"Well, you said it was okay and…" She trailed off, chewing on her lower lip. "I haven't been keeping it up like I should."

"You're the Slayer. Don't need an excuse, pet. Told you: you're welcome here any time. Giles would want you to be." He didn't trust himself to say he wanted her there.

She didn't say thanks, but gave him a smile that made his knees feel a bit weak. It wasn't glowing or sunshiny, but it was a genuine Buffy smile and it'd been a long time since he'd seen one of those. She looked tired, but he actually saw some life in her eyes and wondered if maybe she was finally finding her way. Giles would be a better judge, having been away awhile and Spike hoped the next phone call wouldn't be another delay.

She headed into the back, leaving him to wonder if he'd returned everything to its place when he'd finished that morning. He thought he had; he was certain at least he'd cleaned up after his shower.

A few customers came in and he found himself actually diverted by work. Once the small transactions were done, though, he found himself alone again with nothing to do but stare at the door to the training room. He should go through some packing slips, but he'd planned to do that in the afternoon with Tara. He should dust, but that would leave Dawn with nothing to do when she came in. There was some research he was considering, but he didn't particularly want Buffy to see it. So he stared.

"Spike, could you help me find something?"

She had changed from street clothes into a white tank top and sweats, hair pulled back into a ponytail. It was growing out, he noted with a smile; she must have realized the short bob didn't suit her. "Anything in particular, luv?"

The words came out far more suggestive than he'd actually intended and Spike wondered why his voice sounded so deep. Sub-conscious was working overtime, busy painting its own picture of the woman before him.

She'd caught the note in his voice; he could tell by the frown on her face. "I was looking for the ax. It seems to have gone missing."

So not the transition he had wanted. He also realized he had forgotten to put something back. "It's, uh, right here."

A bit sheepishly, he retrieved the ax from where he'd left it leaning against the wall behind the counter. "I was using it this morning."

She took it from him, her hands carefully avoiding his. "What? You had a packing crate you couldn't open?"

The words were said with a light voice and a hint of a smile and Spike found himself following her into the training room. "Actually, if you must know, I was doing a few passes with it before the store opened, working out."`

"You were using my equipment?"

"I didn't think you mind. Besides, you said you haven't been using it much."

This brought a sigh. "I miss Giles. Since he left, I haven't really had anyone to train with."

"I thought Harris was always willing to be beat up on."

She shrugged. "He was busy with the wedding and then…"

Buffy was still for a moment, then swung the axe experimentally. "I don't think me using Xander as a punching bag is a particularly good idea at the moment."

The axe made him nervous. Clearly things weren't all smiles and cherubs in Buffyland. Not surprising. Spike didn't think for one moment Willow or Xander had finished with their say, or that any of it was positive.

She looked at the ax, then at Spike. "Do you have some time?"

"Pardon?"

"Time. I mean, it's not like there are streams of customers in today. Maybe we could go a few rounds."

He felt his palms itch at the prospect as the prickling started in the back of his brain. "I think I can spare a few minutes," he said in what he hoped was a calm voice. "Do we really need weapons for this?"

A pause and then she smiled as she recognized the words. The ax was laid aside and both readied themselves. The first blows were feints, testing, warming up. Only once had they ever sparred where one wasn't trying to kill the other or it wasn't their own personal form of foreplay. Even in that alley it was foreplay. At least for me.

The memory of the night he'd told her of the other slayers distracted his mind the tiniest fraction, enough for her to slip past his defenses. "Ow! Why do you always go for the nose?"

"Easy target." She danced just out of reach. "Aren't getting rusty, are you?"

My, she was in a good mood all of a sudden. Spike wondered what had happened to change her mood. Another feint, then a block, followed by a kick in quick succession. He repositioned himself to make another attack when he heard the shop bell ring. As his eyes flitted toward the door, she hooked a foot behind his ankle and brought him down hard onto a mat. "It's no fun if you don't pay attention."

"Paying attention to the bloody bell," he complained as he got to his feet. "I'll be back."

Not one but two customers had entered, soon followed by a third. It wasn't busy, but there quickly proved a constant enough stream that Spike was unable to pull away. He briefly caught a glimpse of Buffy in the doorway, and then heard the sound of the punching bag a few minutes later. She must have realized he wasn't going to be able to come back. Giles had had Anya to watch the front while he helped her train, but then the fact that Anya wasn't available was the reason Spike was here, wasn't it?

Just as things were beginning to slow down, she emerged, back in her street clothes. "Guess it wasn't such a good idea after all."

He was able to pause for a moment. "Idea was fine; timing was just bad."

"Pooh. I was hoping for a good workout. Now I need to head off to the good old Doublemeat."

He was given another Buffy smile, though this one was not as bright as when she arrived. Spike was more than content to bathe in it, as well as the fact they'd actually spoken civilly. It was the little things that kept him going.

He watched as she climbed the two steps to the front of the shop, paused, turned around and came back. "How early are you here in the morning?"

"Pretty early."

"If I came by after I get Dawn off to school, like eight-thirty or so, maybe we could do a few rounds then? It would be really helpful. I haven't had a good work out in I don't know how long." There was just a hint of begging in her voice, a bit of pleading with the eyes.

Part of Spike knew sparring with Buffy while no one else was around was probably the last thing he needed to do, but she was asking nicely and he was a sucker. "I'll see you then."

The smile grew a bit brighter and she waved as she headed out of the shop. He'd been right; while the secret of their relationship coming to light had caused problems, it was clear it had also lifted a burden from her shoulders. He could see it in her smile, in her step, in the way they'd been able to actually talk to each other as they hadn't for months. Tomorrow, they'd work out and he'd do his best to play it cool, not move too quickly.

He was halfway through ringing up a transaction when a thought hit him. Had they just made a date?

By eight-fifteen, Spike had completed everything he needed for the shop to be ready to open at ten. At eight-twenty, he was doing his best to look like he wasn't waiting anxiously. We're just going to work out, he told himself. It'll be good for both of us. Haven't had a good match myself in don't know how long. Gotta keep in shape.

At eight-thirty-five, she knocked on the door. The Buffy he let in didn't have the smile he'd seen yesterday. "What's wrong?" he asked automatically.

She shook her head. "Nothing. Everything. Just…yesterday wasn't stellar."

He didn't reply, just locked the door behind her, hoping the silence would encourage her to continue. "I found out yesterday I get to have another home visit from Social Services and they want to interview Willow since she's living there. They also apparently want to talk to you and Tara because Dawn's working here."

"Just let us know when and we'll make sure Tara's the one on deck. She'll make a good impression." He reached out and snagged the gym bag from her shoulder. She'd come already dressed in her workout clothes, so he just stowed it by the counter.

"Which would be fine, except you're the one who's here most days when she comes in, so they want to talk to you. Well, they didn't say you in particular, but Mrs. Buckelew said she wanted to talk to Dawn's primary supervisor when she came in to make certain she was coming straight from school, wasn't being late or anything like that. That means you."

"Lovely. Tell you what; I'll hide the duster and pull William the Grad Student out of the closet. Big Bad won't be anywhere in sight. That should make them happy."

He saw a hint of a smile for the first time since she'd come in. "Complete with glasses?"

"Just like I was at Christmas." His studious, academic look had fooled Hank Summers into thinking "William" was an acceptable boyfriend for his eldest; no reason why it should work now.

The smile grew just a bit bigger. "Thank you. You don't know how much…thanks. They'll probably be calling to set things up."

They were in the training room now and she was stripping off her sweatshirt to reveal the tank top beneath. "At least that's one thing I don't have to worry about now. I'm a little concerned about Willow might say; she gets flustered and might blurt something out. At least they don't have to talk to Xander. I know he wouldn't mean to, but he's so angry, it'd be too easy for him to say something dreadful."

Spike watched as she warmed up, letting the conversation flow over him. She was on the outs with her friends and had once again come running to him. Did she even realize it? They hadn't spoken this easily in months. Rather, she hadn't spoken and he hadn't had the chance to listen. It was tempting to let in go on, pretend for a little while that all was good between them, but he wasn't at all certain he could do that.

"Then Xander drops by to see Willow and just happens to have this guy from work in tow. They head off into the kitchen, leaving me with this very obvious potential date in the living room making small talk. So not fun."

No, he definitely couldn't pretend. "Yeah, 'cause Xander knows exactly what kind of guy is perfect for you," Spike ground out. "After all, look at what a success Richard was."

She turned sharply, annoyance flaring in her eyes. Then, realization seemed to set in and her expression softened, almost crumpled in upon itself. "Sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up. It's just…there was a time when you were the easiest person in the world to talk to."

It was an admission he'd never expected her to make, and it hit him like a thunderbolt. "I've always been here for that, luv," he said softly.

Buffy didn't answer, turning back to her stretches. This all felt awkward, the walls that had disappeared for a moment slammed back into place. They were too aware of each other and what was unsaid. After all, the arsenal of their battles had always included words, even when other weapons weren't used.

Warm-up finished, she faced him again. Yesterday, she'd seemed eager to do this; now the hooded expression was back in her eyes, the same one that had worried him for months. Maybe he could fix that. Deliberately putting a bit of a swagger in his step, he moved toward her, remembering the first time they'd faced each other. As a personal favor from me to you, I'll make it quick. It won't hurt a bit.

As he drew closer, he saw a bit of life come back into her expression, the subtle shift of muscles under her skin. Memory echoed in his head: No, Spike. It's gonna hurt a lot.

Well, slayers were supposed to be prophetic sometimes.

Just as he had that first time, he threw the initial punch. As expected, she blocked it easily and blocked the next several blows as well. This was just the warm up, testing the edges of one another's defenses. Once upon a time, they might have gone for killing blows immediately, but they knew each other too well to think either would be so easily taken.

With the shop closed and the front door locked, there was nothing to distract them from their game and they threw the whole of their attention into it. The moves began to come faster, the blows a little closer to landing. Buffy kicked and Spike dodged, not getting caught as he did yesterday. He tried to catch her foot and missed, rolling as she moved for him again. On his feet, he lunged and she narrowly avoided contact. "I'm getting rusty?" he taunted as they circled one another. "Almost had you that time."

"'Almost' doesn't count," she countered. "You know that as well as I do."

He grinned. "Let me have enough 'almosts' and I might get lucky. Don't stick your elbow out, you'll get more force behind your blows."

Buffy rewarded him with a look, but tucked the elbow closer to her body as they started again. Still, she wasn't quite on her game and he was almost contacting far too many times. It wasn't that she was holding back; some part of her mind simply wasn't engaged. With him, it might mean she came out the loser in this particular round; on patrol it could mean she wound up dead.

Since no one was entitled to kill this particular slayer except himself, Spike started looking for a specific opening. Time to remind her creatures of the night could be dangerous, even if it was before nine in the morning.

It took nearly a minute to find just what he was looking for. When he spotted it, he lunged, grabbed her shoulders…

…and ended up getting hurled against the brick wall. Hard. Lifting his head from the floor, he found Buffy standing in the room, one hand pressed to the left side of her neck. You bit me!

He grinned. "Told you not to stick your elbow out."

"Spike!"

She was working up a full head of steam and he would probably get pummeled for his pains. "I used blunt teeth and didn't even break the skin. You left me the opening and I went for it."

Buffy looked at her hand as he got to his feet. It was clean. She looked back at him, her eyes narrowing. "You're going to pay for that."

With that, she launched and they were at it again. There was more ferocity this time and he had no doubt her full attention was devoted to the effort. Good. He needed the workout.

More punching, more kicking, a few truly spectacular lunges and rolls. She has to be running on adrenaline, he thought. How long have we been going at this? Buffy was sweating, breathing heavy, but she wasn't slowing down.

Then he saw the glint in her eye and knew she was enjoying their match as much as he was. Not bothering to fight back a wolfish grin, he sent her sailing toward the pommel horse and watched as she used the horse to put her back in a fighting position instead of merely crashing into it. That's my girl. Baby wants to play.

All good things must come to an end, though, and their game did when both miscalculated in a lunge, sending them sprawling to the mat. Both lay on their backs, panting. "Maybe we should call it a draw," he suggested.

"I can go with that," she managed between breaths. "I don't think I've worked that hard since…"

She didn't finished, but Spike could think of several times when he'd seen her as exhausted as she appeared now. All of them involved her being naked. Not wanting to destroy the mood, he chose not to say anything. Besides, that would have taken energy.

"I should shower," Buffy said at last.

"I should see what time it its," Spike countered. Neither moved.

Finally, Buffy slowly rolled onto her side, propping herself up on one elbow. "That was a good workout. We should do it again."

"Fine, but not during store hours. Couldn't handle that. Can we skip the throwing against the wall part as well?"

"Only if you don't try to bite me again."

Given her expression, Spike realized he might have made a tactical error with his intended lesson. Closing his eyes, he sighed. "I did that because you were leaving yourself open. Not hideously, but I saw a chance and I went for it. Wasn't doing it to hurt you, just remind you what you need to be mindful of."

She didn't respond and he opened his eyes to find her staring down at him. "Didn't change, didn't do anything that could have put you in any danger," he said. "Just wanted you to remember what you're fighting against."

Buffy wrinkled her nose. "Now you're sounding Gilesy."

"Watcher-boy knows what he's talking about and he's got quite a bit invested in keeping you alive." Spike levered himself onto his side, facing her. "You can train all you want, but you can't forget most vampires are going to go for your throat. What did I tell you?"

Her brow furrowed in concentration for a moment. "A slayer must always reach for a weapon."

So she'd heard that part at least. "Because I've already got mine," he continued softly. "You end up fighting hand to hand with no weapon, vamp's got an advantage on you. Gotta make sure you watch the neck."

Of its own volition, he stretched out his hand to gently touch the place he'd bit her. Whatever marks he'd left had already faded and he could feel the blood pulsing through her veins beneath his fingers. Human blood. Slayer blood.

Buffy's blood.

"It's been a while since you tried to bite me." Buffy's own voice was soft, a strange look in her eyes. They seemed to be searching for something, though he couldn't fathom for what.

"The last time I tried to get the chip out." He was stroking along the artery, caught by the intoxicating rhythm. "Wouldn't do it now."

He met her eyes as he spoke, knowing she could see the truth written there. Spike was acutely aware of the moment her blood began to pump faster, her breathing speeded up ever so slightly, the tantalizing scent of sweat mixed with floral body scrub, and that there was virtually no space between them as they lay on the floor mats. He was even more aware she was making no effort to move.

Like a moth to a flame, Spike leaned forward and gently pressed his lips against her throat, covering the place where he had nipped. He would swear he smelled the blood under her skin, rich, vital. He nuzzled her, knowing he'd be shoved away any second, but wanting to grab her scent, her taste, the feel of her skin, all of it, as much as he could before the contact ended.

He felt her move and tensed slightly, ready for the blow. Instead, her free hand slid across his shoulders and up the back of his neck, sliding fingers into his hair. He smiled against her skin, pressed his lips to her throat once more and let his tongue trace the line of skin above where the blood flowed.

He was rewarded with a low "mmmm" and a slight movement of her hips in his direction. Encouraged, he let his hand come to rest at her waist, right at the slight gap between her tank top and her sweats. Nice and slow, some part of his mind said dimly. Make it last.

That thought went flying out the window when her hand slid from the back of his head to his cheek, a gentle pressure pulling him away from her throat. He was about to protest, but found her lips pressed against his. Thinking stopped abruptly.

Hands moved, bodies pressed against each other. They weren't frantic, but the slow, languid pace was gone, replaced with something more urgent. His hands slid under her tank top, warming them against her skin. She pulled at the hem of his t-shirt, breaking their kiss only to pull it over his head. He returned the compliment with her own top and pulled her close again. The touch of flesh against flesh spurred her on, and she hooked one leg around his, pushing her hips forward.

As his hand slid down her back to cup her behind and pull her even closer, some dim corner of Spike's mind heard the telephone in the front of the shop ring. Another, more dominant part of his mind told him to forget it, a decision made easier by Buffy nibbling on his ear. "Oh, that feels…"

"Feels what?" she whispered, then nipped. His breath caught in his chest before he could use the air to finish his words. Impulsively, he rolled her onto her back with him atop her, busying his lips with traveling down her throat yet again.

Anya's cheery greeting about what hours the Magic Box was available to serve Sunnydale's supernatural needs finished, followed by the beep. Whoever it was could leave a message, Spike decided, working his way toward his lover's breasts. Wasn't business hours.

"Tara? Spike? I thought it was ten-thirty there, but I might be an hour off. It's Giles and I wanted to give you my flight information…"

Spike lifted his head to meet Buffy's eyes and knew her guilty expression was mirrored by his own. They hung there for a moment, and then he was off her and speeding into the front of the shop to grab the phone. "Giles, it's Spike."

"Oh, you are there. Did I get the time wrong?"

"Off by an hour. It's nine-thirty. Flight information? That means you're coming in?"

"Saturday evening. I was hoping the three of us could get together Sunday, go over things while it's quiet."

"Sounds good. I'll let Tara know when she comes in. I supposed you need fetching at the airport." He was babbling a bit, but Spike didn't care. Anything to take his mind off the fact he was standing bare-chested behind the counter talking to Buffy's watcher.

Giles gave him the flight information, which Spike dutifully copied down, promising to be there when the flight got in. When he was finished, Giles asked, "Any word from Anya?"

"None. Haven't been able to get anything solid out of my sources, but I'm pretty sure she's with D'Hoffryn."

"Hmmm. How is Xander holding up?"

Spike's grip on the receiver tightened. "I'm probably not the best person to ask about that prat."

Buffy emerged from the back, having pulled on her tank top, arms folded across her chest. Spike recognized that stance. She'd closed off again, retreated back into wherever it was she went at times like this. "I should have realized," Giles was saying. "My apologies. I'll see you at the airport Saturday and we'll talk more then. Let Buffy know."

He rung off then and Spike replaced the receiver in its cradle. There was no way Giles could have any idea what had been happening when he called, but Spike couldn't help the feeling of unease and guilt. Once, when William was seventeen, he'd been caught by his mother as a housemaid was kissing him. It wasn't so much that he'd felt guilt at what he'd been doing (the girl had been quite pretty); it was the guilt at getting caught that had made the next few weeks uncomfortable.

"Giles will be in Saturday," he said, trying to shake off the memory.

"Good."

She stood there quietly, the pair back to awkward silence. "You're going to have to tell him," Spike said at last.

Buffy frowned, her shoulders tensing. "If you don't, you know Xander will and it won't be pretty," he warned.

"I know." She turned and headed back to the training room. Glancing at the clock, Spike realized he was supposed to open in less than twenty minutes. Twenty minutes to try to salvage the mess this had become.

She was just standing in the middle of the training room, her back to the door. He came up behind her and reached out to rub her shoulders. "Luv…"

This time, she did tense beneath his touch. "Don't," she said, pulling away.

"Are we back to that, then? You're not in the mood, so I'm not to bother you." He pushed past her to retrieve his t-shirt from where it had been tossed. "I was trying to offer some support."

"I've got to go." She didn't move.

"I thought you were done with that song." He pulled the shirt on. "Said it was killing you."

"I said that what I was doing -- using you -- was killing me. That's what I had to stop." She did move now, retrieving her sweatshirt.

"So how is this different? The moment you can't talk to your friends, you come running back to me, but the moment someone might find out, you play the scared rabbit."

Buffy froze in the process of pulling on the sweatshirt, her arms caught in the material. There was hurt in her eyes, along with more than a modicum of embarrassment. "I don't mean you can't come to me," he said softly, drawing closer. "If you need me -- to talk to, to help, anything -- I'm here. What I won't put up with is being treated as something 'convenient' to be used when you've got a demon to kill or an itch to scratch and ignored the rest of the time."

Her faced hardened and she pulled the sweatshirt on over her head. "I seem to recall you reminding me that I'd broken up with you. Did you forget it yourself?"

"Bloody hell!" In one swift movement, he'd closed the distance between them. Pulling her into his arms, he kissed her, holding firm against her struggles. "I love you," he hissed when the kiss ended. "Do you think I want us to be apart?"

She was struggling, pushing against his chest, but not yet exerting enough force she could actually break away. "What about what I want?"

"Well, that would require you actually figuring it out, now wouldn't it? You seemed to know a few minutes ago."

"Is sex all you think about?"

"When it's the only way you'll let me communicate with you, yes."

She shoved again and this time he let her go, watching as she stumbled backwards. "I've tried and tried to make you see it. How I feel about you…it's not natural, it's not right, but I can't help it. I've tried to stop loving you and I can't. Every day you were gone, every day when I knew I'd never see you again, I loved you more. We're supposed to be mortal enemies. I've killed two slayers; do you really understand what that means? There's not another vampire who walks the earth today who can make that claim."

Spike could feel his throat tighten and his eyes itch. He was going to cock this up, he was certain, but Buffy hadn't moved, hadn't tried to shut him down and he wasn't going to let the opportunity pass. "It goes against everything I am, but I don't want to hurt you. I want to love you, protect you, keep you safe, you and yours. I want to fight at your side and watch your back. I want to be there at the end of the day and when you wake up. I said I was drowning in you? I'm already gone."

He moved in close again, reaching out to grab her hand and press it against his chest. "My heart doesn't beat, but it aches, Buffy. Keep telling yourself that it isn't real, that I can't love and each time you say it, I feel like you've shoved a stake straight through me. What I feel for you is real."

Her hand rested there, fingers splayed across the front of his shirt. Gently, she pressed her fingers against him as if cupping what lay beneath. "I think it is," she said, her words almost a whisper. "For you."

For just a moment he smiled, his mind hearing only the first four words. Then the last two sank in. He closed his eyes, wanting desperately to shut out the pain, shut out everything. "I know it's not what you to hear…" she said.

Spike jerked away, turned his back on her and tried to put as much distance as he could between them. "Spare me the 'we can be friends' speech. You bloody well know what my opinion of that is."

"Spike…"

"No!" He whirled back around. "Don't you dare try to salve your conscience by pretending to be kind. I've played this by your rules and you have done nothing but rip my heart out and dance a tarantella on it. It ends here. If you don't want me, get your things and walk out that door. You don't tell me you're sorry, you don't tell me I need to move on and you don't tell me we can be friends because your 'friends,' the same ones you're hiding from right now, would rather see me a pile of dust than anywhere near you. I'll be happy to spar with you, but we'll have Giles here to make sure things don't get out of hand. If we run into each other at The Bronze, you will not act like you have the right to choose who I associate with. We'll be polite and I will not say anything to Dawn that might make her believe you've acted anything but civil in the whole matter, nor will I try to get back together with you."

He took a deep breath, more to calm his nerves than anything else. She didn't like ultimatums and he didn't like handing them down, but Spike felt backed into a corner with no where left to run. "If there's something inside you that thinks we might have a chance, that feels something for me, then I'm begging you to stay. We've never given it a shot, not really. I want us to try, not just hide in the shadows. We could be so good together, Buffy; I know it."

For once, her face was completely unreadable. He couldn't tell if she was offended, angry, amused or just tired of the whole thing. He'd given her a choice to stay or go; the next step was up to her.

Buffy stared at him, arms hugged tight against her body, looking smaller than any woman ought to be. She stared at him and then she turned and walked out of the room.

It was done. She'd made her choice and Spike knew he'd have to live with it. He tried to tell himself it would have come to this eventually and he was better for things being settled, but the hole inside just kept getting larger as he heard the shop bell jingle and knew she'd left.

Stirring himself to movement, he turned off the lights in the training room. Giles would be here Saturday. They'd meet Sunday and if all went well, he'd be relieved of his responsibilities. After that, there was nothing to hold him in Sunnydale.

And no where else in the world for him to go. For the first time since he'd been turned, Spike felt absolutely, utterly alone. He was chipped, unable to hunt and he'd been associated with the Slayer for too long to be easily accepted again by his own kind. Setting up elsewhere would be difficult and he had no idea what he would do once he got wherever it was. For all his posing, he was hardly the Big Bad anymore.

The front of the shop was empty, the clock showing five minutes to ten. Tara only had morning classes today, so she'd be in at one. He could get away then and think, try to figure out what to do next.

Walking to the counter, he picked up the shirt he'd left there before Buffy had arrived. As he slipped it on, the bell over the door jingled. "We're not actually open yet," he said as he started to turn.

Suddenly Buffy's arms were wrapped around his neck, her lips pressed against his. Spike pulled her to him more by instinct than any conscious thought. He didn't understand, but he wasn't about to ask why.

After what seemed like an eternity, she came up for air, head tilted back to look at him with large green eyes. Tears brimmed there, overflowing to make tracks down her cheeks. Gently, he lifted a hand to carefully brush them away, wondering what he could say, wishing more than ever that he was a better poet. It was as if a fawn looked at him, frightened and tentative, every instinct telling it to run but drawn to its doom by some unknown force, ready for the sacrifice.

He closed his eyes against the image and bent his head to kiss her again, trying to put whatever gentleness he might possess in the touch. She responded, but then he felt her pull away and opened his eyes to see her running out of the shop, brushing past the customer walking in the door, racing down the street into the sunlight.

Spike felt his knees go weak and grabbed at the counter for support, only barely registering the man's request for a specific type of incense.

Oh, bugger.

On to Episode 6: Business Matters

Back to Episode 4: Reactions II