How do you destroy a monster without becoming one?

Buffy honestly wasn't sure, but she was beginning to think the correct answer was probably the simplest one.

You don't.

Of course, Professor Keane had meant the question as a philosophical one. Something to be taken rhetorically, and not the super, super literally that she was taking it now. Probably because it wasn't the type of question most people could take literally.

Still, she figured, spinning around and back handing the vampire in front of her, sending him slamming face first into an exceptionally impressive headstone, she thought it was something worth considering.

"I'm just saying, I don't know if you can spend as much time fighting evil as I have and come out of it completely normal," she said casually, continuing the conversation she'd begun earlier, dodging a wild punch from the vampire as he launched himself back toward her. She spun around as he missed and stumbled forward, plunging the stake easily through his back and straight through to the heart. "Don't you think at least that's true?"

Arching a brow, meeting her eyes through the thick cloud of dust, Spike mused, "I think you're readin' too much into it, pet."

Buffy sighed.

"Well it's not like I have references to know whether or not the stuff inside of me eventually gets so strong or so violent that it…takes over. Or whatever." She tucked her stake back into the waistband of her jeans and dusted her hands off. "All the other Slayers were killed before we could find out."

"So what," the bleached blonde chuckled, tilting his head to the side and narrowing his eyes. "You think you live long enough as the Slayer and poof, you wake up one mornin' and you've gone over all evil?"

She considered that for a second before shrugging. "Maybe?"

"Seems a bit counterproductive if you ask me," Spike murmured, turning to fall in step beside her as they headed back toward the open cemetery gate.

"Not really," she disagreed absently, casting the vampire a sideways glance. "I mean, think about it. We're called and given all the Slayer stuff; super strength, super speed, blah, blah, blah." She ticked them off on her fingers as she mentioned them. "We live just long enough to dust our share of vamps and then the next girl's called, leaving no time for the thing that makes us…us, that makes us the Slayer, to take over." She stuffed her hands deep down into her coat pockets and shrugged again, adding, "Hence the short and brutal life span part."

"Hence?" Spike repeated, drawing the word out, a wry smirk twisting his lips as he glanced down at her.

Buffy rolled her eyes.

"Hey buddy, don't mock me, mock the system. I'm a university gal again." She turned her gaze forward again, scanning through the darkness for any further signs of movement. Added thoughtfully, "We use words like 'hence'. And 'inimitable'. And 'esoteric'."

"Yeah?" The vampire chuckled, arched a brow and dug his own hands down into the pockets of his duster. "You learn that one in Philosophy 101?"

"No," Buffy countered readily, "that'd be 'existential'."

Spike barked a short laugh and rolled his eyes up to the night sky as they turned the corner, stepping onto the sidewalk that led back toward Revello Drive.

"Don't you ever miss bein' a drop out?" he grumbled, shaking his head once.

Technically, she'd only been a drop out for a few months. Just through the spring the year before. Just after her mom had died. With everything that had been going on, the funeral arrangements and the general weirdness that had followed, and then everything…after that. Between Dawn's keyness and fighting off Glory, and the near death experience that had followed…well, school just hadn't exactly been a top priority. Even after they'd managed to rescue Dawn and stop Glory from opening her hell portal, even after all that was officially over, it had taken both Buffy and Dawn a long time afterwards to start feeling normal again. Or as normal as either of them could ever really feel, given their ultra abnormal circumstances.

So when the summer had ended and it had been time to re-enroll for classes, she hadn't been ready for it. But she'd done it anyway. Part of setting a good example for her little sister and being a responsible guardian and whatever. That stuff.

Even so, with her nightly Slaying and the part time job she'd taken up at Bloomie's to help cover the cost of her books, an admittedly smallish attempt to give Giles at least a little financial wiggle room, she'd ended up setting more of an example of what not to do.

And that was when Spike had stepped in.

He'd been around more often than usual already, their paths crossing more and more frequently through the months leading up to her mom's death. He'd been sort of lurking around throughout her illness, when things had first started to really get bad. Still more and more often after Riley'd left. It had begun to feel routine to Buffy, something expected. She knew when she'd cut through Restfield before and after patrol that there'd be Spike. Watching, waiting. Sometimes he'd be in the middle of a fight himself. Sometimes he'd just be milling around, smoking. Ready with a quick witted remark or a snide jab, something undeniably button pushing and annoying.

Then things began to change.

Slowly, surely, things between them lightened. Got less tense. Even to the point where she started sort of looking forward to running into him at the end of her night, if only for the needed break from the craziness of her "normal" life.

Things began to really change after Joyce died. His comments became less cutting and more wry, lightly teasing whereas before he'd been out for blood. Over the course of the next few months, things changed so slowly, but so much, that by the time Spike had made an actual, out loud, offer to help Buffy with her workload she'd only been a tiny bit surprised.

At first, it had just been the slaying. He'd volunteered to take over patrol for her when she needed a night to herself, a night to work on homework or to add an extra shift at her job, or just to help Dawn with her homework. Things like that. Then that somehow became the two of them patrolling "together", splitting up to cover more ground at once and cut the average patrol time in half. Then that somehow became them no longer splitting up, but staying together together through the evenings to do their nightly sweeps.

And when exactly it was that he'd started coming over to the house almost on a nightly basis and helping Dawn with her homework, Buffy wasn't even sure.

It seemed to her now like he'd been doing it forever, like he'd just…always been there. That he'd always been this weird little extra appendage in their lives that they'd just never really noticed until they needed it. If she really started to think about it, she wasn't even a little bit comfortable with how heavily both she and her little sister had begun relying on the bleached vampire over the past several months.

Which was why she didn't spend a lot of time thinking about it.

"I was only a drop out for like, two months," she reminded him, pulling her hands out of her pockets and folding her arms across her chest, bracing herself against the brisk mid-March wind.

"Think I liked you better then," Spike said flatly, shifting blue eyes toward her. They were bright in the light from the stars, and gleaming with a certain mischievous spark she'd gotten really good at recognizing over the past few months.

The difference between when he was only teasing and when he was being his usual Spike-ish self.

So Buffy just rolled her eyes and goaded him, "You like me all the time."

Because he did. And she knew he did. And she had a feeling that he knew she knew he did, even if they never really directly addressed it. The total and complete bizzaroness that was the fact that the two previously bitter mortal enemies had somehow found their way to liking each other. To being friends.

Real friends.

Which was another thing Buffy herself didn't spend a lot of time dwelling on if she could help it, and that was still a source of major contention between her and the rest of the gang. Giles in particular seemed to struggle to wrap his head around it even now, months later.

Not that Spike seemed to be any more comfortable with it than she was, because she got the feeling it wigged him nearly just as much if not more so.

Something he was quick to point out again now, shaking his head, scoffing as he told her purposefully, "Correction, I tolerate you all the time. It's Dawn I like."`

Which was true, he did like Dawn. And Dawn was practically in love with Spike. Something that probably had a lot to do with that fact that he'd pretty much single handedly saved her life last May. And the fact that she thought the bleached vampire was "totally gorgeous". And also the fact that out of all of Buffy's friends, Spike gave her little sister the most attention and the most patience of anyone. He was rivaled really only by Tara, which...was saying something.

"Ah, come on," Buffy argued knowingly, reaching up to tuck a strand of wind whipped hair back behind her ear as they reached the edge of her lawn. Turned and started up the path side by side to the front porch. Slowing as they reached the steps, she swung a teasing look his way and said, "You like me a little."

And when his eyes met hers again she froze. Because there was something there, something in them that she didn't think she'd ever seen before. And they were steady on her, scanning her face, his expression completely devoid of any smirk or sneer or even an arched brow as he searched her eyes.

But then the flash of something was gone, and Spike suddenly smirked. Clucked his tongue at her and reached out, gripping the handle on the front door and pushing it open for her to step through.

"Sorry Slayer," he said, not sounding very sorry at all. "Can't bring myself to admit to something so perverse." He shot her another mischievous, sidelong glance as she slid past him. "Not out loud, anyway."

That had Buffy snorting, the something she'd thought she'd seen all but forgotten as a quick, short laugh burst through her nose. She looked over her shoulder and mused, "I thought vamps were all about perversion."

"You'd think that, but no," the bleached vampire murmured, letting the heavy wooden door fall shut behind him as he stepped into the foyer. "Take me for instance. I'm as bloody wholesome as they come."

Buffy narrowed her eyes on him and the two blondes exchanged a look, equal parts familiar annoyance and easy camaraderie on her end and smug playfulness on his.

"I'm only coming in on the tail end of this conversation but even I know that's not true," Dawn said, her voice floating down to them from the top of the stairs, drawing both of their attentions upward.

"Oi," Spike growled, his eyes narrowed on the younger Summers. "Whose side are you on?"

"I'm paying for the pizza," Buffy reminded her sister in a rush, moving to snatch the cordless phone up off the credenza beside the staircase and beginning to dial the all-too familiar number.

Without missing a beat, Dawn started down the stairs and said, "Buffy's."

"Yeah, well," the vampire muttered, pointing a hard finger in the older girl's direction for emphasis, "big sister might be able to provide you with nibbles but I'm the one sloggin' through that sodding English paper with you."

Dawn reached the landing and shrugged. "So I'll be on your side when I'm not starving anymore and can think straight."

Spike frowned down at her, folding his arms tightly over his chest.

"Bloody right you will," he agreed on a low growl.

Beside them, Buffy thanked the person on the other end of the line and hung up, set the phone back down and turned toward Dawn. "Alright. You, pizza's on its way." Then to Spike. "And you, there's fresh blood in the fridge."

"Pig?" he asked, shrugging out his duster and folding it once, laying it across the stairway's bannister.

Buffy eyed it distastefully, wondering to herself how many times she'd asked him to hang the stupid coat on the stupid coat rack if he insisted on taking it off. She'd lost count.

"No," she drawled, voice sarcastic, turning her eyes back up to his. "We thought we'd spring for human this time."

Spike just raised his brows and shrugged, saying, "Never hurts to ask."

And with that, the vampire turned and disappeared through the entryway into the dining room and on into the kitchen.

Laughing to herself, rolling her eyes, she turned her attention back to her little sister. "How's your homework situation?"

"Handled," Dawn said confidently, turning and heading into the living room.

Buffy followed.

"Okay," she murmured, gesturing absently with her hands as she watched the younger girl get settled onto the sofa. "Is that handled like…finished handled? Or handled like you plan on scrambling through it during homeroom tomorrow morning because you'd rather watch Dawson's Creek, handled?"

"Does it really matter?" Dawn asked, already reaching for the remote control, smiling brightly at her sister.

Buffy smiled back just as brightly and raised her eyebrows. "It does to the people at Social Services."

"I'll finish it now," she sighed, dropping the remote back onto the coffee table and pushing herself lazily up to her feet.

"Thank you," Buffy said, reaching out and running her hand down a lock of Dawn's hair as she moved around her.

"Yeah, yeah," her sister grumbled, shuffling her feet as she headed back toward the staircase.

"Dawn," Buffy called after her. Waited for the younger girl to turn and glance back at her before saying, "You can finish it during the commercials."

"You're the best," Dawn said brightly, now bolting for the stairs, using her unfairly long legs to take them two at a time, causing the walls to shake and pictures to rattle in their frames.

"Really should find a better outlet for all that boundless enthusiasm," Spike murmured as he came back around the corner and into the foyer, fresh mug of steaming hot blood in hand. "You know, get her to use her powers for good and all that rot."

Buffy shot him a deadpan look. "It's so not that bad."

Right on cue, there was a loud crash from overhead, a pounding of footsteps, and a manic fifteen year old came scrambling back down the stairs, arms now laden with books and papers as she whirled into the living room.

Spike raised his mug and took a slow sip, eyeing Buffy knowingly over the rim.

A beat passed.

"Maybe cheerleading?" she mused, shrugging once.

The vampire chuckled, running his tongue along his upper lip as he swallowed. Offered her a wry smile.

She smiled back.

And a second later the TV kicked on in the other room, the strains of the melancholy opening theme floating out into the foyer to greet them.

"So, uh, there's money by the door," Buffy said, pointing toward the wad of cash she'd placed on the small shelf below the coat rack before reaching back and shoving her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. Tilting her head to the side. "If you think you can hold off on threatening the delivery boy this time, I'm probably gonna go shower."

"Didn't hear you complainin' when we got the last one for free," Spike reminded her, pushing his shoulder off the wall and standing up straight again. Taking another long sip of his blood.

Buffy widened her eyes. "I'm serious."

"And I'm not?" The vampire scoffed, stepping further into the foyer. "Saved you hundreds of dollars by now, I'd wager."

"We won't be able to find a pizza place that'll deliver here if you keep scaring them all off," she told him plaintively, raising her eyebrows as she moved to put one foot flat on the steps.

"Oh, calm down will you, I'm only jokin'. Sort of. Now go." He shooed her with a wave of his hand, making a face for emphasis. "You smell terrible."

But he had that twinkling look in his eyes again.

Putting her hand on the bannister, starting up the stairs, Buffy rolled her own eyes up to the ceiling and muttered, "Says the dead guy."

And she found herself smiling when she heard him laugh, really laugh, from behind her.

An hour or so later, Buffy was showered, Dawn was fed and working on her paper, Spike was helping, and the three of them were only halfway paying attention to the 10:00pm newscast that had just started up. A fluff piece on Sunnydale's top five most "picturesque" cemeteries.

"Bloody hell," Spike muttered, shifting forward on the sofa as though to get closer to the screen. "It's like you humans have no self-preservation instincts at all."

"It's the Hellmouth," Buffy agreed offhandedly, shifting forward herself. "Something in the water, kills off those pesky self-preservation brain cells."

Dawn glanced up from her spot sitting cross legged on the floor in front of the coffee table to add, "That's why we only have bottled."

Buffy quipped, "A good filter works, too."

Beside her, Spike made a big show of rolling his eyes to the ceiling and exhaling through his nose.

"Nobody thinks you two are as funny as you two think you are," he said pointedly, his eyes narrowed on the younger Summers sister. Then he turned his attention to Buffy, indicating with a tip of his head back in the direction of the TV to ask, "Guess this means we'll be workin' a little over time for the next little bit, yeah?"

Her smile fell.

Buffy'd been planning on picking up a few extra shifts at work this week so she'd have more free time coming up. With both her and Dawn's school Spring Breaks only a couple weeks away, she'd been anticipating asking for a few days off so she could spend that extra time with the younger girl. She'd already promised to take Dawn shopping, maybe out for a day at the beach if the weather was nice enough.

God, she was gonna be so disappointed.

"Yeah," Buffy agreed after a minute, turning her attention back to the news report and wrapping her arms more tightly over the pillow in her lap. Nibbling her lip. "Yeah, that'd probably be smart."

Reaching for the half empty pizza box on the coffee table, Dawn got to her feet, saying, "I'll put this in the fridge for tomorrow."

Buffy slumped back into the cushions on the sofa, watching her little sister disappear around the corner. Thinking about just how many times they'd had pizza, then leftover pizza, for dinner in the house over the past year. How long had it been since the stove had been used? Since the oven had even been turned on? Willow and Tara had offered to make both Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners that year, so…Christmas. December. Almost three months ago.

Geez, had it really been that long?

Frowning deeply, Buffy let her head loll to the side and met Spike's waiting gaze. She'd known he was staring at her already. She'd gotten really good lately at pin pointing that particular prickle on the back of her neck that told her he was staring at her. But even so, the intensity of his eyes when she looked at him now managed to catch her a little off guard.

Buffy swallowed once.

Then, ignoring the twisting feeling that had started in the pit of her stomach, she cleared her throat and asked, "Should I learn to cook? Something other than cereal, I mean."

The vampire looked surprised by the question, or maybe by the fact that she was asking him for a genuine opinion, but it only lasted for a moment before his expression went passive again.

He shrugged.

"I dunno, not sure now's the best time to piling more onto that plate of yours. Bit full already, innit? Besides," he added, picking up his half-forgotten mug off the coffee table and holding it out for emphasis, "it took you a whole two months to learn how to properly heat up blood in the sodding microwave."

"Speaking of," Buffy complained, swatting at Spike's outstretched arm with her hand and shoving it away from her. "Can you at least drink that somewhere that isn't right next to my nose?"

Shaking his head, looking smug, the vampire raised the mug to his lips. "And miss an opportunity to put that look on your face?" He paused, curled his tongue up behind his front teeth. "Not a chance."

"I could always just stop buying it for you, you know," she threatened. Spike smirked. "Or…I could tell Giles to stop buying it for you." At his single arched eyebrow, she grumbled, "Shut up."

"Didn't say anythin'," he said, the beginnings of a low, rumbling chuckle in his voice.

She shot him a look. "Didn't have to."

"Oh, so you can read my mind now?" Spike challenged, eyes wide, long lashes fluttering against pale cheeks.

"It's not like your thoughts are all that complicated," Buffy fired back, fighting the urge to stick her tongue out at him like the stubborn child she so often felt like when she was around the bleached vamp.

He swallowed the sip of blood he'd just taken and clicked his tongue reproachfully, sinking more fully into the cushions and resting his arm along the back of the couch. Tipping his head to the side, he said, "You know, I'd be offended by that if it weren't so true."

Buffy leaned back into the couch as well, tilting her own head to the side so she was mirroring him. Studied his eyes for a minute and wondered if she really could maybe read his mind.

Somehow, she doubted it.

"You take all the fun out of insulting you when you agree with me," she complained.

Spike leaned a little closer. "Why do you think I do it?"

And it was only then that Buffy noticed how close she and the vampire actually were to each other. How they'd each subtly shifted as they'd quipped back and forth until now their knees were nearly touching, their faces maybe a whopping total of six inches away. And she found herself a little frozen, a little stuck, sitting that close to Spike on her living room couch. Alone.

It wasn't the first time it had happened. Hell, it wasn't even the first time that week. But every time it had happened, things had gotten tense like this. Quiet. Like there was something one or the other of them wanted to say, or should say, or maybe should do...she was never quite sure.

His eyes had always been that perfect, cornflower blue. She knew that. Had only really started to notice it over the past couple weeks, though.

She was definitely noticing now.

For a split second, maybe less, her eyes fell to the curve of his lips. Traced them once. First the top, then the full swell of the bottom, like she was only noticing he had them at all for the very first time. He really had kind of nice lips.

Realizing what she was doing, she darted her gaze back up to his.

Spike's brow was furrowed now. Blinking at her once, he asked, "Somethin' wrong?"

"What?" Buffy asked back, blinking in turn. Then shook her head to clear it, adding quickly, "I mean, no. No." She frowned. "I think I'm just tired."

The vampire seemed to consider that for a moment, the expression on his face hard to read as he did. Eyes narrowed slightly, the muscle in his jaw ticking once. Then his gaze suddenly drifted away from hers, attention shooting over her shoulder. His expression relaxed again.

"You're not the only one," he murmured, using a quick jut of his chin to indicate in the direction of the entry way.

And it was then that she heard Dawn sigh, announcing her presence as she shuffled back through the entryway and toward the living room. Buffy immediately shifted backward and tore her eyes away from Spike's, turning her head in time to see the younger girl reach a hand up to stifle a yawn as she stopped in the open doorway.

"Sleepy?" she asked casually, as casually as she could manage, pushing any and every inch of the wig worthy thoughts she'd just been having away as she did.

Tired. She was just really, really tired.

"Yeah, I was just gonna say goodnight and go to bed." Dawn yawned once more, not bothering to stifle it this time. "Thanks again for the paper help, Spike."

The vampire simply nodded once in response, offered Dawn the warm dimple-showing smile he seemed to only ever reserve for her.

"See you in the morning," Buffy said, smiling too, watching the younger girl turn and disappear up the stairs. Then she dropped back into the couch and let her head loll against its back, closing her eyes and exhaling a long breath through pursed lips. Opened her eyes again and muttered, "Parenting is hard."

"Think I've heard that before, yeah," Spike muttered back, the tone of his voice matching hers.

She nodded limply and closed her eyes again.

It was quiet for a few moments as vampire and Slayer just sat there, still close, still side by side on the couch. Buffy only realized she'd been resting her head against the vampire's arm and not the back cushions when he suddenly moved it, causing her to sit up straight again as he pulled it back to his side.

"I should bugger off, I think. Let you catch some shut eye," he said by way of explanation. Buffy watched him through bleary eyes he slid gracefully to his feet, watched him cast a quick, sideways glance her way. "You look exhausted."

He didn't wait for her to respond. Just picked his mug back off the table and turned on his heel, moving in a sloping gait across the living room and toward the kitchen.

"Wow," Buffy drawled, only just loud enough that she knew the vampire would still be able to hear her as she tossed the pillow aside and stood up. Took the opposite route to meet him just as he entered the foyer. "Just what every girl wants to hear."

Spike was already shaking his head at her as he crossed to the front door. "Oh, come off it Slayer. I just meant you've...no, sod it, meant it the way it sounded." He made a show of narrowing his gaze, letting the blue of his eyes scan over her face studiously. "Can see the bags under your eyes from here."

Buffy's own eyes widened, then narrowed to match the vampire's as she understood he was at least half kidding. There were always just kernels of truth in his words, hidden just below the surface. While they used to be nasty, half hidden barbs, as of late they tended to be geared a lot more toward him hinting at what he thought was best for her.

"You. Going." She snatched the heavy leather duster off the bannister and threw it at Spike, watching him laugh as he caught it against his chest. "Now."

"As I was," he agreed, unfolding the duster and shaking it out once. He slipped his arms in, first the left and then the right, ending with a quick flip of his collar before dropping his hands to his sides. "You think you'll want a hand on patrol tomorrow?"

It was a question he'd asked her before. A question he'd asked her what felt like hundreds of times over the last year. Specifically, the last six months. More frequently in the last three.

Every night for the last three.

It was a question he'd asked her so many times before she wasn't even sure why he felt the need to ask anymore. Her answer was always the same. By now he knew that as well as she did.

But he still asked. And she still made a show of thinking it over before she answered.

It was ritual more than anything at this point, a useful little charade they seemed to both feel the need to play. Maybe to make themselves feel better about having gotten so close. Maybe as a way to pretend that they weren't quite as close as they actually were. Buffy didn't think either of them knew why they did it anymore, they just…did.

And keeping with the ritual, she folded her arms, leaned back against the bannister. Shrugged and said, "Probably wouldn't hurt. With that news story running tonight there's bound to be a few hapless Sunnydale-ites wandering where they shouldn't be."

"Wankers probably deserve to be eaten if they're thick enough to go cemetery hoppin' at night," Spike murmured, sighing in clear irritation. Then rolling his eyes when Buffy shot him a dirty look. "Right, like you're so shocked. Just because I've got a craving for violence that fightin' off demons seems to satisfy doesn't mean I give a bloody damn what happens to the blind idiots livin' in this hell hole."

It was her turn to roll her eyes. "You spend an awful lot of time out there protecting those 'blind idiots' for someone who doesn't care."

"Well, yeah," Spike conceded, shrugging his shoulders casually. "Fella has to have a hobby."

But a fella doesn't have to have one that's so productive.

"Whatever you say," Buffy murmured, eyes steady on the vampire's shoulders as he turned and opened the front door, stepping out onto the front porch and back into the chilly air. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"You will," he murmured, inhaling deeply as he took a moment to scan the front lawn in a slow sweep, one end to the other. Then he glanced back over his shoulder. "G'night, Slayer."

"Night," she echoed, only closing the front door and shutting off the porch lights when she could no longer see the beacon of white-blonde hair in the distance anymore.

Spike waited until he heard the tell-tale click of the front door closing, the thud of the deadbolt being thrown, before he stopped walking. Paused mid-stride on the sidewalk and turned back around, watched through slightly narrowed eyes as the front porch lights flickered off.

Then he started making his way back toward the house.

Slowly, at an easy pace, humming to himself and watching as the interior lights in the house went out one by one.

As usual, he reached the wide trunk of the largest tree in the front yard just as Buffy was switching off the lamp in her bedroom. Casting an eye up toward the slightly open window, he sighed. Leaned back against the tree and settled in for the night.

Whether or not the Slayer had the foggiest idea he was there, that he'd been there near every night for at least the last few weeks, he didn't know. Not for certain, anyway. He was fairly sure she would have mentioned it to him by now if she did know. Called him out, asked him just what the bloody hell he thought he was doing staking out her house all night. Then again, given the way they'd both taken to dancing around the obvious changes that had been happening between them lately, she may have just been sticking her head in the sand and leaving well enough alone.

Truthfully, Spike didn't much care either way. If the girl's high and mighty sense of self-righteousness was going to keep her from pestering him over his comings and goings, that was fine by him. And if it was going to keep him from having to explain himself, that was even better.

He wasn't sure he'd be able to explain himself, anyway.

He wasn't sure what he was doing. What he was doing patrolling every night. What he was doing helping the little bit with her homework. What he was doing all but living at the Slayer's sodding house. Mostly, he didn't know what he was doing now, standing outside of her bedroom window. It didn't make sense. Bloody hell, nothing he'd been doing for the past year made any sense.

He barely even liked Buffy most of the time.

Not that he needed to like her to love her.

Spike paused at that thought and scoffed at himself, a short burst of air through his nostrils as he shook his head. Fishing a cigarette out of the crumpled package in his pocket and wedging it between his lips, he lit it. Took a long drag. Sighed.

They were…friends. Some kind of friends. That's what she thought, anyway, according to Dawn. And maybe that was all it was. Maybe he was confusing normal, friendly lust for love. It wasn't like she was hard on the eyes or anything. Even when he'd hated her he hadn't found her particularly difficult to look at. Granted, true, it was easier to see it now. To admit it now. How lovely she was, all golden hair and tanned skin and a pretty, pink mouth that he occasionally considered capturing with his own.

Which he had to wager was completely normal. After all, Harris had been friends with the bird for years and Spike knew for a fact that wanker still lusted after the Slayer.

And it wasn't like Spike himself had a whole lot to go on in the "friends" department, especially where women were concerned. Bloody hell, he'd never been "friends" with a woman in the entirety of his unlife. Either he was single and alone and just seducing them for a quick feed and fuck, or he was chasing down Dru and avoiding the fairer sex all together. How was he supposed to know what was considered normal and what wasn't in being friends with Buffy?

Yeah, he thought now, shaking his head. Pulling the cigarette out of his mouth and eyeing the glowing embers on the tip through narrowed eyes until they went out. Just keep tellin' yourself that, mate.

He flicked the used cigarette to the ground, pulled out another one. Lit it. Took another glance up toward the cracked bedroom window. From where he stood, he could hear her breathing. Quiet, soft, a steady in and out rhythm that told him she was asleep.

Who was he kidding? He was in so fucking deep.

Six bloody feet deep.

When he'd developed such a soft spot for the stubborn bint, he couldn't even say. It had been sometime before Joyce died, he knew that, though just how much before was a mystery. And it had happened slowly. A transition from out and out lust-ridden hatred into a grudging respect, then grudging respect grew toward grudging tolerance. That tolerance morphed into genuinely enjoying her company, even if it was only because he enjoyed pushing her buttons. And even that somehow further changed into a genuine desire to be around her. Picking up on her many quirks, learning to understand and even appreciate her sense of humor. Then learning how to play along.

The whole thing happened so bloody slowly he hardly noticed it happening at all. By the time he realized he had feelings for the Slayer other than the bitter loathing he'd grown so accustomed to, the two had already been patrolling together on a semi-regular basis for a couple months at least.

Her attitude toward him changed in about the same way. Just as gradually, though if it had taken the exact same progression his had he very much doubted it. He'd never specifically asked her about it, just as she'd never specifically asked him. In fact, neither of them ever mentioned it. Ever. Apart from the comment she'd made tonight about him secretly liking her, which had thrown him for a right loop as it was, she'd never once mentioned it outright. And it'd taken more effort than he really wanted to admit on his part not to stop and confess everything to her right then and bloody there.

But he wouldn't do that. Couldn't. If only because he didn't even know what it was he would have been confessing to.

It had only been recently that Spike had begun considering the idea that he'd perhaps always had some kind of feelings for her. That on some level he'd always known and was just never able to come to grips with it. And if he was being honest about it, he preferred that idea.

Something about the notion he'd always been a little bit sweet on the Slayer made it just a bit more bearable that he'd never been able to do her in.

Spike was grateful for that now, of course. He couldn't rightly imagine a world without Buffy Summers in it. Or, he supposed he could, he just didn't fancy spending a lot of time doing it. Not now. Not anymore. Christ, even when he'd wanted nothing more than to see her lying dead at his feet he'd somehow always known that even if his unlife would've been easier with her out of the picture, God knew it would've been a hell of a lot less interesting.

He smirked to himself as he thought back to the first time he'd fought her, taking another drag off the cigarette. Held the smoke in his useless lungs for a second longer than he needed to before exhaling through his nose. He'd killed Slayers before facing her. Thought he knew what he was signing up for when he'd agreed to take her out. Thought his experience with the previous two would be enough.

But Buffy…Buffy was different. She was stronger than any other Slayer he'd faced, probably mentally as well as physically. Quicker, more powerful. More resourceful. An underlying push to win, to always be the last one standing, that none of the others seemed to have. Not by the time he'd gotten to them, anyway.

Buffy was different. Had always been different. It was what he both hated and adored about her. She was strong, and she was beautiful and she was stubborn. Brave. Obnoxiously self-righteous. And against every dead cell in his body, against every natural impulse and instinct he had, he loved her.

How was that for perversion?