Patrolling had turned into a pain in the ass lately, and it was dragging Buffy down. She hated it, the ever present feeling of impending failure, the constant fatigue. Yet she endured, mostly because Dawn still required the constant protection. If it had been just her, with Giles' reaction to worry about, she would have turned the duty over to Faith long ago, after being brought back to life the second time. Now, nearly six months later, she had seperated herself from everything that made her feel to make them happy. Though she hadn't carried mushy feelings for Spike, she had cared about him somewhere deep in her tattered, broken heart. He'd given her back the gift of feeling when she'd thought she was going insane. It had been so long since she had felt anything other than resentment and pain, and Spike made her feel passion. It wasn't much, but it was something. Being brought back to this hell had jerked her straight from pure happiness, something she'd thought she would never attain, though she was loathe to admit that part of her hated her friends for what they had done.

Dawn had been safe; Spike had promised not to let anything happen to her. Buffy trusted him. He'd done some bad things, but he didn't have it in him to hurt her. He had tried, and she would never know if he would have succeeded or not, but he hadn't. That was the point. "We don't trust him," they all whined, ignoring the fact that Buffy's judgement had kept them alive in the past.

Sighing, Buffy ducked, a newly risen vampire sailing over her and hitting the dirt with a growl of protest. The Slayer straightened up, dusting her hands off on her pants legs before she lunged, punching the ugly back and turning, her leg lifting in a graceful arc to smash into the side of his face before touching the ground, leaving her standing over the vamp. Taking the stake out of her pocket without a word, she knelt and dusted him amidst his protesting cries.

"Nicely done, Slayer."

Buffy stood, knowing that voice. It sent shivers down her arms, made her close her eyes in an attempt to unravel all the hidden things in his words, in his sheer meaning. "Spike," she replied to the surrounding darkness, slipping the stake back into her jacket pocket. Turning, she crossed her arms and watched, knowing he would show his face. He always did. Maybe it was to tourment her, or maybe to tourment herself. Ever since he had returned from wherever the hell he had gone to pick up that soul, he'd been different. And it irked her. He'd been so predictable before, and now he was far from it.

"Headed home, luv?" he asked, shifting from behind the large tombstone to lean against the side of it. Buffy sighed, starting to walk past him. "Was jus' a question," he said, knowing she could hear him. "How's Dawn?"

It threw her. Buffy stopped, knowing the two had some kind of connection that no one would ever understand or change. "She's doing well. If only I could get her to do her homework," she added mostly to herself. Spike heard, and chuckled.

"I'll talk to her if ya like, luv," he offered, shifting to walk beside her as she picked up her stride, eager to be away from him. He always had the same effect on her, and she didn't know how to handle it.

"Don't worry about it," she mumbled, pulling her jacket closer around her as she felt sick. She stopped, wheeling around and loosing her meager dinner all over the graveyard dirt, shrugging Spike's hand off as he asked if she was all right. She nodded mutely, trembling as she wiped her lips off. "Damn it." That was the fourth time tonight. It had been getting worse for a week. She'd feel fine, then she'd be bend over spewing the contents of her stomach all over the place, and she'd be shaky for a bit then back to normal.

"You sure?" Spike asked, concern darkening his blue eyes in the moonlight. Buffy caught herself staring and looked away, swallowing the urge to choke over the after taste.

"I'm getting used to it," she said, brushing his concern off. "I'm going home now," she added firmly, unwilling to be convinced into staying. He understood too much for his own good, and he'd come to terms, it seemed, with the fact that they would never be anything more than bed mates every once in a while.

Spike chuckled, reaching out and taking her upper arm in a soft grip. He pulled her back, bringing his other hand up to wipe her chin off. "Can't send ya home looking like a wreck. Come on, there's some strong liquor in the crypt, and ya look like ya need it, luv," he said gently, letting his hand drop from her arm. It disarmed her, and she nodded slowly, the desperate, honest look in his eyes making her melt. It was utter stupidity, but she turned and walked beside him to the crypt. Neither spoke, Spike holding the door open for her before closing it behind himself. He shrugged out of his duster, hanging it on a peg beside the door.

Buffy's eyes traveled the room, taking in the changes. Spike moved around behind her, but she didn't turn. No matter what anyone else said, no matter the evidence that his past supplied, she trusted him. It was instinctual, something that had started with his tenderness with Dawnie. Shrugging out of her jacket, Buffy draped it over the back of the couch as Spike held out a small tumbler of what she supposed was Jack Daniels, from the bottle in his grip.

"There ya go, luv," he said with a grin, lifting his bottle in respect. "Cheers." Putting the bottle to his lips, he took a deep drink. Buffy watched his lips, watched the muscles in his throat flex as he swallowed the strong liquid. She lifted hers, her eyes still on him, and tilted the liquid into her mouth and got it down in one swallow. She gagged, coughing as the alcohol slid down her throat. Spike laughed, merriment in his blue eyes. "All righ' luv?" he asked, taking the tumbler from her delicate hand and putting it down on the table behind him.

Buffy nodded, grimacing at the taste. "Yeah, I'm good," she whispered, almost retching again from the taste of the alcohol. Spike chuckled, shaking his head and lighting a cigarette as he leaned back.

Spike watched her from behind the grey-blue smoke that lifted in whispy shapes from the tip of his cigarette, his eyes slightly hard. "You don' have to leave, Slayer," he said softly, a slight growl in his voice. Buffy's eyes shot to his, disbelief in her eyes. He'd seen it, picked up on the faint stirrings of arousal that she was getting from being around him. Damn it, she'd never been good at hiding her emotions from him. She swallowed, then looked away.

"I know I don't have to, Spike. But I need to."

Spike closed his eyes, tossing the cigarette to the ground as he leaned forward, taking Buffy's delicate, supernaturally muscled upper arms in his grip as he pulled her forward, his mouth settling gently on hers. He had a feeling that she needed this-- not the wild, crazy sex that she usually came to him for. She was hurting, confused, somewhere deep in that complicated Slayer brain of hers, and she needed comfort. He pulled back, lifting a hand to her face. She was so warm that it burned his cold skin. It was a pleasant feeling to him, though. Touching her cheek, he slid his arm around her shoulders, pulling her forward into his chest, content to quietly hold her until she needed something more.

Buffy let herself lean into him, not feeling like fighting the morbid, strange emotions inside of her. If she forced herself to look at them, perhaps she would see what she needed to. Perhaps she would see that Dawn knew what she was talking about. But she couldn't. Wouldn't. To do so would only open her up to a world of hurt again. Bile rose up again, and she jerked away from him, searching wildly for his trash bin. Finding it, she knelt, shuddering as she threw up once more. There was no form to it, and it worried her. Wiping her mouth off of her wrist, she sat on her knees for a moment, knowing Spike was watching her.

"I can't be what you want me to be, Spike," she said softly. "I can't be dependent, I can't stay with you all the time. Hell, I can't even stand up to my friends for you." She let out a mocking laugh at herself, not seeing Spike's wide-eyed look. He didn't interrupt, though, in too much shock to do that. "I don't know if I love you, but damn it, your arms..." Buffy swallowed, forcing the words out, not giving herself time to rationalize as they flowed free. She needed to get this out. "You make me feel safe, treasured. Beautiful." She turned, still not looking at him. "I want to make you feel that way..."

Spike's jaw worked, though no words came out. A second heartbeat came from her body, one he had just noticed. It wasn't strong, just a faint beating that he had picked up on with her body against his, just before she'd ran to the rubbish bin again. "Buffy? Do you-- Are you--" he growled, shoving a hand through his hair. "You're bloody pregnant, woman!" he roared.

Buffy's head snapped up, her green eyes widening in complete horror. "No," she whispered. "It can't be... I'm the Slayer..." She didn't add that the only person she'd had sex with since being revived was him. He was suddenly in front of her, taking her by the shoulders and shaking her lightly.

"Who, Buffy?" he roared, jealousy making his eyes burn. Buffy looked up at him and shook her head.

"Only you," she whispered, still in a state of complete shock. She shook her head again, blond locks falling into her face as she lowered her head. "It can't be... Can it?" she asked, almost desperately, looking up at him pleadingly.

Spike shook his head. "I dunno' luv. I aint never hear' o' it before," he said raggedly, drawing her into his arms suddenly. "We'll figure it out, luv," he added softly, stroking her hair. "We'll get through this."