DISCLAIMER: None of the characters are mine. I just play with them.

PLOT: A short one shot that came to me out of the blue Mostly Buffy's POV. Enjoy.

SIGNS OF LIFE

She knew it was early in the day, but she needed information and she knew the one person – well, not person – who could provide it. So she found herself stomping through Restfield cemetery at close to five in the morning, the sky just beginning to lighten with the burgeoning dawn. Never mind the fact that she was probably going to fall asleep during the day now she'd been up close to 24 hours. The life of a Slayer definitely rang with sleep deprivation.

Coming close to her target, she slowed a little, her hesitation in confronting him more telling than she'd like it to be. Once upon a time, she'd have kicked the door in and demanded answers whilst holding him up against a wall, anger flaring through every cell in her body and nothing but loathing in her heart. But lately, she'd felt…a softening towards him.

That was wrong in so many ways.

But she couldn't entirely be blamed for it. She'd seen how he was with Dawn; like a gentle, albeit evil, older brother. She knew he frequently dropped in for a cup of tea with her mom, and even thought she'd warned the Summers matriarch of his evilness, she'd only be laughed at and told that he was a "perfect gentleman, evil or not". So she'd dropped the subject, knowing Spike couldn't (wouldn't) hurt her family.

Finding herself at his door, her heart beat a little faster and she wiped her sweaty palms on the seat of her pants. She knew he'd sense her racing pulse, so she shook herself, telling herself she was just tired. If he asked, it had been a rough patrol. He wouldn't say a word though, she knew he'd just leer.

And that would not affect her. Not one little bit.

"You have Riley, you hussy. The evil dead is not attractive. Not even when he smirks.'

She sighed, raising her foot to kick the door in and then paused, dropping her foot back to the ground and instead, pushing the door open gently. She tip toed in, not hearing any sounds from the upper level of the crypt. The tv was off, and there was no sign of life – or unlife – anywhere. She frowned and headed for the trap door by the sarcophagus. She lifted it silently, briefly wondering why she was being so quiet, and then slipped down the ladder to land in Spike's bedroom. She'd only recently found out about this part of the crypt, and she wasn't unsurprised to find it comfortably furnished, a large bed in the middle of the room. The coffins and left over bones had been cleared away, and in their place stood a chest of drawers, a bookcase filled with some old looking books and a wicker chair.

For stuff scavenged from the dump, this place was looking pretty nice. Being a hole in the ground, it was slightly impressive.

Buffy jumped slightly as the bed moved; rather, the Spike-shaped lump in the bed moved. He groaned and rolled over, the sheet that had been covering him before slipping to his waist. The Slayer gulped and froze, wondering if he'd woken up. A few seconds passed and he resumed a soft snore, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

She turned to leave and then stopped, her brain asking why he was snoring when he didn't need to breath. Curiosity won out and she moved over to the bed, looking down over the sleeping vampire and the way his chest rose and fell, as if he were a normal human. Giles had told her once, and Angel had reaffirmed it, that vampires still did breath, sometimes as a leftover reflex from their human days. She didn't think it was something one would carry for over a century and still do whilst they were asleep. But then, Spike was the very definition of "odd".

Without thinking, as she stared at the sleeping vamp, she reached out and traced the scar on his eyebrow. She'd always wondered how he got it, but he'd never been forthcoming. She'd have to find out one of these days. It added character to his face. Not that it needed character. The cheekbones, his perfectly shaped lips, that all combined with the piercing blue eyes that she seemed to drown in whenever she looked at him, it all added up to gorgeous. She'd seen his without his shirt off once, and if she hadn't been so focused on the evil, she'd have been drooling. Sculpted out of marble didn't come close to describing his chiselled abs and muscled arms.

She jerked her arm back from him as she realised what she was doing. Touching of the undead was a no-no, hadn't she learnt this? And feeling naughty, lusty feelings was so high up in the "list of things Buffy shouldn't EVER feel", it was pretty much number one.

Stumbling back towards the ladder, she resolved to avoid Spike for a few days. Riley was her man, the one she was meant to be with. He may not have the chiselled abs or superhuman strength going for him, but he was sturdy and dependable. Spike was not to be trusted, or lusted after.

At least, not during the day. Dreams she couldn't stop right?

Halfway up the ladder she turned and stared at him, her teeth worrying her bottom lip for a second, her gaze lingering on the chest exposed by the sheet. And then she scrambled up and out of the bottom of the crypt, bolting out into the fresh dawn, the door slamming behind her and disturbing the vampire in his bed.

Spike sat upright suddenly, jolted away by the loud noise. He rubbed his eyes sleepily and yawned, and then froze.

There was no way he could smell Slayer in his bed.

Please R&R.