Chapter Two - What's the Sense in Hurting My Pride?

Spike almost fell out of his chair, he was laughing so hard. "It's not funny, Spike!" Buffy snapped. Spike looked at her, tears of mirth streaking down his face.

"Not funny? Are you bloody kidding? You, and Captain Cardboard, singing…" Spike's voice trailed off as he started laughing again. Eyes narrowed, Buffy stomped over and punched Spike in the face. Hard. "Bloody hell!" Spike yelled loudly, mirth gone. His hand went to his face as he gingerly touched his nose. It was bleeding. Damn it! he swore internally. He might love Buffy, but still… "Bitch," he snapped at Buffy. She pointedly ignored him and resumed glaring at Willow.

"Why did you do this?" she demanded. Willow shifted uncomfortably.

"I just thought it might help you and Riley. With the whole rocky-relationship thing." Spike straightened slightly. So he wasn't the only one that realized G.I. Joe and the Slayer weren't going to last. The look on Buffy's face showed she knew it too. Interesting. Then Buffy took a slightly threatening step towards her friend, who backed away, looking scared. It was time to calm Buffy down.

"Slayer," Spike stated gently, taking her arm. She yanked it out of his grasp and shoved him away hard automatically, but it shocked her back into thinking normally. Spike managed to catch himself on the table, but the chair hit his ribs pretty hard. The others looked slightly confused at his actions, but he didn't mind. Willow shot him a grateful look, and Tara slipped towards him.

"D-do you want me to help you w-with your nose?" she asked, obviously in return for his help with Buffy. Spike put his hand to his face again. There was still a slight trickle of blood. "Come on. I-it'll be no trouble." Slightly bemused, Spike allowed himself to be led off. Tara brought him into the training room and got a clean rag. Very gently, she wiped the blood from his face. "Is your nose broken?"

"Don't think so, Glinda," Spike replied, watching Tara carefully. Her stutter had stopped, but that might have just been a coincidence. "So, how are you and Red?" Tara blushed madly, but retaliated with confidence.

"How are you and Buffy?" Spike stared at Tara, panic starting to build up.

"There's nothing going on between me and her," he replied automatically. Tara smiled slightly, turning to put the bloodied rag with the others.

"But is that all you want?" she asked innocently. Spike's panic was mounting.

"W-why would there be anything else I want?" he asked in return, trying to sound nonchalant and failing miserably. Tara laughed slightly.

"Spike, the others might not see it, since frankly, they don't want to, but I do. You're in love with Buffy." The anxiety was overtaking Spike. If he could hyperventilate… Well, he might not need air, but he was still getting pretty damn close to hyperventilation. "Spike? Are you alright?" Tara looked worried. "I won't tell anyone, I promise."

"You can't tell." Spike's voice was hoarse with fear. "Please, Tara. If they knew…"

"They wouldn't believe me if I told them anyway," Tara replied soothingly. "And I won't tell them. I wouldn't do that to you."

"Please," Spike begged, not thinking for a moment about his pride. "Don't tell. They'll kill me if they know."

"I'm sure they won't," Tara soothed. "But I won't tell them. I give you my word."

"Thank you," Spike replied in a gasp. He stood and went towards the back door.

"Where are you going?" Tara asked. Spike peered out the window.

"It's dark. I was going to go back to my crypt. Tell the Slayer, will you? If she wants my help with patrolling, she can get me there. I probably won't go out."

"You really love her, don't you?" Tara asked, scrutinizing Spike. He shifted under her gaze.

"Yes, I do," he replied softly. In a surprising move for the shy witch, Tara kissed Spike's forehead gently.

"Then I wish you the best," she whispered. "I'll tell her where you've gone."

"Thanks, Glinda," Spike replied with a slight smile, then he opened the door and stepped out into the not-at-all-cold California winter. It was nearly Christmas, but the temperature wouldn't have been out of place during the summer in most states.

Spike missed the chill of winter, which had been present from October on in England when he had been young, occasionally even beginning as early as September. The only sign that it was midwinter in Sunnydale was the presence of a ridiculous amount of Christmas trees. They looked out-of-place among the green that normally meant summer or spring. It didn't seem at all to be the right time for Christmas, but that hadn't stopped Spike from decorating the lower part of his crypt. He had nicked lights from the store and strung them up around his bedroom. He didn't have a tree, but he had some ornaments, also stolen, hanging from the string of lights. And he had the one ornament he had saved from his childhood over a century ago: a small portrait of Spike and his mother, painted when he had been six years old and still human. After he had staked his mother, an event he didn't like to think about, Spike had went to find the ornament and tucked it into his pocket. No matter where he and Drusilla went, or what happened to them, he always had the ornament with him. This was the first year that he had actually hung it up since his childhood. While he had been living with Dru, he had been scared that she would do something to it, and the only two Christmases without her hadn't been spent in a place where he could hang it up either; Christmas two years ago had been celebrated in the DeSoto and the one the previous year had been in Xander's basement. Now that he had his own crypt, it seemed only right that Spike finally hang up his childhood remnant.

Spike arrived at his crypt and entered the upper room. He sensed the presence in the corner without even trying, but he didn't let on and went over to heat up a bag of blood from his refrigerator. Only when the person was right behind him did he speak.

"Thought you were going to sneak up on me, did you?" he stated conversationally. "Gotta do better than that to get the jump on a master vampire, Finn." The microwave dinged and Spike pulled the blood out. He only turned to face Riley once he had poured it into a mug. "What do you want?" he asked as he turned, sipping the blood almost delicately.

"I want you to stay away from Buffy," Riley replied in a firm tone. Spike laughed.

"Want to make sure the big, bad vampire doesn't hurt the itty bitty Slayer? Nice thought, Captain Cardboard, but she doesn't need your protection."

"She doesn't need yours either. I don't want you going on patrol with her anymore."

"You sound like an overprotective mother," Spike remarked sarcastically, setting down his mug. "What're you gonna do if I don't keep away?" In response, Riley pulled a wooden stake out of his pocket and went to press it against Spike's chest. It was a quick move. Spike was quicker. Before the stake touched him, he had moved out of the way, game face instinctively replacing his features. Riley laughed derisively.

"Chipped, remember? You can't hurt me, and you can't stop me from doing…this." Without warning, Riley sent a roundhouse kick flying towards Spike's chest. Spike staggered backwards and was caught off-guard by a punch to his chin. His head snapped sideways, but this time, he was prepared and he caught the next punch. He was careful not to hurt Riley - damn chip - but he wasn't about to let him continue the assault. The two stood like that for a moment, Riley breathing hard and Spike not breathing at all, before Riley yanked his arm out of Spike's grip. Spike didn't stop him and merely picked up his mug of blood again, taking another nonchalant sip. Riley went to leave the crypt and turned in the doorway right before he stepped out.

"You stay away from Buffy," Riley warned again. He slipped the stake back in his pocket. "She doesn't need you, and she sure as hell doesn't want you, so leave her alone."

And as much as Spike hated it, he knew the words were true.