Set between At Last A Dragon and Something Terrible Part 1.

At the beginning of Something Terrible Part 1, Spike tells Lynda that the relationship so far has only got him "five lousy kisses".

If we take the kiss at Lynda's garden gate that we were witness to at the end of At Last A Dragon, (although, if you ask me, that one looked anything but lousy…) as the first of those, here are the other four kisses.

KISS NUMBER TWO:

Outside the door of the common room, Spike hesitated. Then took a deep breath.

He knew her timetable like the back of his hand. Probably better than he knew his own, if he was honest about it.

She always had the period after morning break free on a Monday of week two. He'd spent enough time in the common room to know this. And, besides, he'd already checked the library on his way here from maths, and there'd been no sign of her.

Therefore, by a process of deduction, she had to be in here.

The door swung open in front of him, to reveal the large eyes and velvet cap of Ruby Grogan. She emitted a barely audible squeak, and pressed herself against the wall to inch past him into the corridor, without touching him.

Spike shook his head, as she took off down the corridor at a run. One of these days he'd have to ask Lynda exactly what she'd said to Ruby to get rid of her.

Lynda.

He caught the common room door on its back swing, and stepped inside. His gaze roved the room, nearly catching the eye of Barry Crowther, sat at one of the tables with his mates, playing an enthusiastic game of cards, and still wearing a genuine CM enterprises rubber relaxer. Spike snorted slightly with laughter. He still couldn't believe people had been gullible to buy them in the first place, let alone still wearing them now. And then he found her.

Wedged into a corner of the room, a pad of paper on her lap, an open maths textbook in front of her, and flanked by Kenny and Sarah.

Spike stood frozen to the spot in the middle of the room and gaped, oblivious to all but the apparition before him. Her hair softly framed her face, and her soft, pliable lips – oh, how he remembered her lips – sucked at the stub of a pencil. Spike felt like he was falling, tumbling, drifting, spinning, and that he'd never touch the ground ever again. And if she still could affect him like this now, a clear thirty six hours at least since things had altered between them, he was right with his first assessment of the situation – love really was magic.

She turned slightly, away from the textbook that she was sharing with Sarah, to listen to a comment from Kenny, and her forehead reflected the harsh glow of the overhead halogen strip lights. It was enough to break the spell she was casting over him.

Lynda looked up, and spotted him. Her mouth fell open, and the pencil rolled into her lap.

Kenny, obviously wondering the reason for the lull in conversation, glanced at Lynda. He took in the open mouth, and the dropped pencil. Then, his obviously amused eyes moved to Spike.

Spike forced himself to move, to speak, to act as if everything was as normal, despite everything in his body that screamed at him to take her hand and drag her off to a quiet dark corner so that they could continue what they'd started on Saturday night.

"Morning, boss."

"Where were you this morning? You were due at the newsroom at 7.30."

Spike drew in a sharp breath. So much for sweet nothings. He straightened the collar of his shirt under her scrutiny.

"Over slept," he offered, in way of explanation, and threw himself into the nearest available chair, sitting as close to her as he could.

"Well, you can make the time up later then," Lynda said, tartly, and picked up her pencil again.

"So…" said Kenny, looking between the two of them as if he was watching a tennis match.

"So, what?" snapped Lynda, flipping over a page of her text book, then arching an eyebrow in Kenny's direction.

"Saturday…" Kenny faltered, clearly starting to regret having brought up the subject.

"How did it go?"

Spike's eyes met Lynda's for the second time that morning. He didn't trust himself to say anything. He hesitated, waiting for her cue.

Lynda directed a withering look at Kenny. "Fine," she said firmly, as if the matter was firmly closed, and turned her attention back to her maths problems.

"Fine," echoed Spike. Clearly they weren't admitting to anything just yet. He could play along with that game for now, but sooner or later he'd want some answers. Surely, after what she'd said before she kissed him, it wasn't going to end there.

Kenny, clearly exercising some sort of death wish, persisted:

"Was it a good date, then?"

"Who said it was a date?" asked Lynda, scribbling a few figures down. Spike glanced at her note pad. It was all gibberish to him – he was finding it hard enough to retake GCSE maths and get a good grade. How Lynda was good enough to take the subject at A-level was beyond him.

"Well, me actually," muttered Kenny.

"Did you get a goodnight kiss?" asked Sam, as she paraded past in a cloud of perfume.

Lynda's head flipped back up. "Don't you have a lesson to go to, Sam?"

"No," started Sam, but was interrupted by the bell ringing to signal the end of morning break. Her shoulders slumped. "Actually, yes. But don't think that lets you both off the hook…" Lynda had already gone back to her textbook, and Sam departed.

"It wasn't bad," offered Spike. "Interesting people, but if you spot an Arab with an oil drill let me know."

Lynda looked up, pencil in her mouth again, and they shared a grin.

"What?" said Kenny and Sarah in unison.

Spike sniggered.

"Nothing."

Kenny picked up his bag. "Listen, boss, I've got to go. Geography. See you in the newsroom?"

"Don't be late," warned Lynda.

"See ya, Kenny," said Spike, taking the opportunity of Kenny's vacated chair to slide closer to his goal.

Lynda herself sighed heavily. "I'm just not getting this, Sarah."

Sarah, who had been quietly working through the problems on the page without interruption, studied Spike's new seating arrangement with interest.

"It's easy enough," she said. "It was a date. Look it up in the dictionary."

"You know, Lynda," Spike couldn't help interjecting. "Boy meets girl, boy likes girl, boy takes girl out, boy kisse…"

The back of Lynda's text book connected lightly with the top of his head.

"No, calculus," Lynda laboured the words, as if explaining to a six year old, and effectively stopping that line of conversation before it could go any further. "It's just not making sense."

"I could always come round one night this week and give you a hand," offered Sarah. The noise in the common room was gradually dimming, as sixth formers departed for lessons or the library, and she didn't have to speak as loudly as she would have done before.

"What about now?" asked Lynda, sounding a little desperate.

"Now, I'm writing that story on the swimming pool for you. You remember, the one you gave me at eight o'clock this morning, and told me it had to be done by yesterday?"

Spike listened to their exchange, and watched the common room empty. Now he was beside her again, he felt no urge to move whatsoever. He wriggled his feet in front of him, and settled more comfortably into his chair. He could feel the warmth of Lynda's leg not three inches from his own, and it was doing funny things to his brain.

"Ok, then not now," conceded Lynda. "But soon?"

"How about Thursday? That test isn't until Friday, and I said I'd go to Raymond's cast party with him on Wednesday after paste up. Which reminds me, can I borrow that skirt of yours to wear to the party?"

"Which skirt?"

"The one I liked."

"Oh. No problem."

"Anyway, got to be going. Stuff to do. Are you coming, Spike?"

"Er, no," said Spike. "I'm comfortable enough here for the time being."

"I can see that," said Sarah, and picked up her bag. Lynda chewed her pencil, attention back on the textbook. Spike counted Sarah's steps out of the common room, as she left it deserted but for him and Lynda. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, ei…

As the door catch clicked, there was a sudden exhalation of breath from Lynda, and before Spike knew what was happening she had turned, thrown her arms around his neck, and touched his lips with her own.

There was a sudden blinding pain in the middle of his face. It confused and disorientated him. Lynda's lips moved against his, and she pressed closer – but bliss wasn't even entering into the equation. In fact, the pain was getting worse.

Lynda pulled away.

"Aren't you even going to try to kiss me back? Honestly, Spike, I thought you…"

Through the agony, Spike gradually brought a hand up to touch his nose.

"Oh," said Lynda. "Ooops."

Spike's fingers connected with the end of Lynda's pencil, now deeply buried inside his nasal cavity.