"Feel like a bit of the rough an' tumble?" Spike handed Buffy the jar of Mandrake root, his cool fingers brushing her warm ones.
"Wha...?" Buffy felt her eyes widen in shock. His guileless expression completely contradicted his suggestive question. And there was that damned head tilt she had started to notice.
"Me...you..."
Buffy still gazed at him, dumbfounded. She felt a tickling knot form deep, down inside her abdomen.
"Patrolling? Hello?"
Buffy shut her mouth, which she just realized had been hanging open. "Oh. Uh, I should stay." She turned towards the basement steps and then paused to look at him again. "Maybe tomorrow?" Why the hell did she feel disappointed?
Spike turned to leave the way he had come, the stolen burba weed swirling about his legs along with the black leather. He shrugged. "It's not like I don't already have plans," he said. "Great Pumpkin's on in 20."
Starting back up the steps, Buffy smiled and slowly shook her head. "It was so much easier talking to him when he wanted to kill me," she murmured to herself.
***
By the time Spike had run his errands, the Great Pumpkin was well underway. Back in his crypt, he flicked on the set and adjusted the bent antennae until Charlie Brown's big head came into focus.
After lighting enough candles to illuminate the first floor of his home, Spike strolled over to the frig and removed some blood. Crumbling a handful of the burba weed into a mug, he stirred the crimson concoction with his finger and then licked it clean. Smacking his lips, he grabbed a box of Weetabix and sprinkled some on top. This time his taste test produced a satisfied grunt.
The vampire returned to the TV set, sitting spread- eagle on the floor in front of his worn couch. Carefully placing his mug of blood beside him, he emptied the bag containing the fruits of his errands onto the concrete floor in front of him.
Looking up at the screen, Spike shook his head and chuckled softly to himself. He had always liked this flick. Linus' quiet, yet dogged determination reminded Spike of himself, especially when it came to his pursuit of Buffy.
Buffy. The Slayer. Spike sighed and picked up one of the tools he had bought for his project - yes, bought. Being caught by Buffy nicking the burba weed tonight had made him feel guilty, so he had used actual money when he ran run the rest of his errands -- although he didn't know why. He was a wanker. He and Linus would have a lot to talk about. Linus sat around waiting for the bloody Great Pumpkin, and he sat around waiting for any bone the Slayer threw his way.
Spike's thoughts drifted back to the other night when Buffy had visited him. She had drank with him, laughed with him, baring some of her innermost fears and thoughts. She had been completely frustrated with what was happening in her life, and she had turned to *him* to listen and to understand. He had never been happier.
Spike smiled as he worked on his new project. God, but she was an adorable drunk. And tonight there had been something there between them, as well. Had she actually thought he'd meant another type of "rough and tumble?" If so, why didn't she punch him? When his fingers had brushed hers, she hadn't flinched, either. Hell, maybe it was just him imagining things. Spike shook off his thoughts, picked up another tool, and started to work.
***
Buffy walked briskly through the cemetery on the way to Spike's crypt, a rare bounce to her step. She felt good tonight, for a change. Giles had thought her patrolling efforts would be wasted, but she had already killed a handful of rising vamps. She guessed that no one had told *them* it was Halloween and that they should have stayed buried.
The crypt came into view and Buffy stopped short in her tracks. From what she could see, the inside was ablaze in candlelight. She frowned. What would Spike be doing that required so much illumination? Curious, she approached quietly, intent on finding out.
Gently insinuating her body into the surrounding brush, Buffy peered into the frosted windows of the tomb. She could make out that the television was on, but she couldn't see Spike's dark silhouette watching it. Tiptoeing to the heavy door, she gently pushed on it, grimacing as it groaned despite her efforts to be stealthy. Knowing that she was busted by now, she swung it all the way open.
The first floor of the crypt was completely devoid of vamp presence, but every single candle that Spike owned was lit, and the television was on, although the sound was muted.
"Spike?" Buffy closed the door quietly behind her. She frowned and took out a stake, hefting it in her hand. Walking past the TV, she suddenly froze at what she saw, and replaced the stake in her waistband.
Sitting on the sarcophagus was the most intricately-carved pumpkin she had ever seen. With the candle illuminating it from inside, she noted that there were varying degrees of shading in what was clearly the portrait of a young woman. It was a work of art, and, she noted - it was her.