I don't own any rights to these characters, their story arcs, the basement, or any of the props in the basement. About the only thing I might own is this story's particular combination and sequence of words. And not even all of those. Nevertheless, no copyright infringement is intended.

Many thanks to KaziWren for valuable feedback and comments! (Silk Purse/Sow's Ear Disclaimer applies.)

Buffy saw Spike lay the talisman on the bed before he stood to watch her descend into the basement. There was a time she would have stopped to get a feel for how dangerous he was in that moment. Even besotted with her, there was nothing tame about him.

But for the last two nights, she had rested unflinchingly in his arms, turned her back to him and relaxed into deep sleep while this dead man, this creature of the night, watched her, awake and alert. She turned at the bottom of the stairs to face him. His blue eyes were clear and calm.

He nodded. "Slayer."

"Champion," she greeted, half-smiling. She shrugged off her green wool jacket.

He eyed it. "Have Faith's healing powers got her back on her feet again, or is she still using your room?"

"Yes."

He crossed his arms and drew himself up. "I suppose that means you think you'll be staying here again tonight, then?"

"Any objection?"

Something in Spike visibly unclenched. "It's relatively early yet, so I thought maybe," he looked again at the bundle of green cloth in her hands, "I thought maybe I'd just be getting the pep talk tonight and you'd be on your way. Lots to do for the big day tomorrow."

She hung her jacket on the back of a chair. Did he really think she wouldn't want to be with him tonight?

"We've done everything we can, Spike. It's time to rest now."

He sat on the bed, looking for his cigarettes, and found only an empty pack.

"Do you need to get more?" Buffy asked, sitting next to him.

He glanced at her. "Actually, I don't need them at all. They're just a good way to remind me to inflate my lungs."

She stared at him. "You smoke cigarettes to keep your lungs working?"

"And they give me something to do with my hands. Have you noticed how distressing it can be sometimes, figuring that out?"

She giggled, and Spike grinned at her. There hadn't been much to laugh about lately, and it felt good. Really really good. She slipped off her shoes and curled her legs under her, leaning against his chest. His arm around her felt good too.

"Spike, I've said some mean things to you in the past. You know, before you left, when—"

He took her hand. Her words conjured up a whirlwind of history between them.

"Let's not do this now, love," he said gently. "Otherwise Big Bad will show up tomorrow to an empty Hellmouth with no one to fight because we'll still be sitting in your basement apologizing to each other."

A fleeting smile crossed her face and she nodded.

"Besides . . . ." He sighed.

"Besides, what?"

"Well, I think I'll be hogging that conversation is all."

She started to protest.

"Uh, vampire here," he interrupted. "Would you unman me by making me less evil than I am?"

"Than you were."

"And she goes straight for the kneecaps."

She wondered if he was this easy to love when he was human. Wait, he could never be easy to love. But no one could raise her spirits like he could. And they'd both done a lot of growing up together in the past couple of years. Being with him now after all they'd been through felt . . . comfy.

Lifting her head from his chest, she touched his face, and felt the slightly rough texture of his cheek against her palm as he turned to look at her. Her thumb brushed across his lips, and she watched his clear blue eyes intensify into something shading to violet, a transformation she'd seen again and again in their past when he was in the throes of deep emotion. It always took her breath away.

Impulsively, she kissed him on the lips, then wrapped her arms around his neck and laid her cheek against his. He held her tensely for a moment. Then he took her arms and pushed her away. He stared at her with his angled inquisitive look that meant he wanted to talk. She closed her eyes in dread for a second. Every time she shut him down, she felt like she was doing that puppy-kicking thing.

"Buffy, I know you wouldn't . . . That was—" He rolled his eyes and tried again. "Does this mean you're starting to feel something for me . . . again?"

He said he wasn't one for self-reflection and he worked hard to give that impression, but he always wanted to figure out what things meant. She sighed and let her gaze roam over his face, trying to sort out her thoughts.

She thought her love with Angel was going to be the love for all the ages. She knew she was romanticizing something that would be tough to pull off in real life, even if they could convince Willow to live with them to hex his soul back into his body several times a night. But Buffy just couldn't seem to cut his ties to her heart. She didn't want to let her first love go. Not just yet, anyway.

Meanwhile, there was an apocalypse to avert. And after that, there was a whole world waiting to be explored. With the existence of a new army of Slayers, she could finally be unshackled from Sunnydale. Someone else could take that watch.

But Spike . . . What woman could resist a man who let her protect him, who had no doubt she could and would rescue him if he needed it? Buffy had an edge on his fighting skills, but that never stopped him from scrapping with her. And he would let her fail and laugh at her for it before he ever tried to control her life and force what he thought was best on her.

Unlike, well, just about everyone else she knew. For one, unlike Angel, who left without giving her any say in their future. Yet when he showed up unexpectedly during her fight with Caleb, her heart turned over and her breath caught in her throat. She was literally speechless while she basked in the sight of him.

Angel's tall, dark, and handsome thing had always turned her inside out. But then Spike's athletic, blond, and incredibly sexy thing had a lot going for it too.

Angel was stylish and confident and always the gentleman. Spike was honest and clear-sighted and plain-spoken, even when it upset people. Especially when it upset people.

Angel was broody. Spike was action.

Angel was a dream. Spike was real.

Spike bickered with her and told her uncomfortable truths. But when she needed help, his hand was always there.

She swallowed. Maybe tomorrow she would die. Maybe this was her last chance to tell him how she felt. But if she lived, she wanted to spend some time finding out who she was, who she wanted to be. She couldn't do that as part of a couple.

And one of the big lessons she'd learned from Xander was never, ever, promise too much too soon. She couldn't stand the idea of Spike hurting like Anya.

No, after the First had its ass kicked back to hell, and she was ready for The Talk, he would know she meant every word she said, not think a crisis pushed her into saying something he wanted to hear.

"I thought we decided yesterday this didn't have to mean anything," she said softly.

"Right." He closed his eyes and let his hands slip from her arms. "Look, let's just—"

There it was. The kicked puppy.

"Tell me you love me."

His eyes popped open and he jerked away, giving a harsh laugh that was part incredulous, part cynical, part sad.