It's five to eight and her hands are shaking, lip gloss getting all over her chin. It's stupid to be nervous, it's just Spike.

But Winnie supposes that that's really the problem here - it's Spike. And somehow, things - dating, this, him – seem to matter more than they ever have with anyone else (not like she's the height of experience here but still. She's never gotten her lip gloss all over the place like this).

She looks at her face in the mirror and then rolls her eyes and wipes off all the gloss. He's seen her in blue polyester, with watery itchy eyes in the middle of summer, hung over and tired and she doesn't have to be on her best behaviour tonight because he already knows her.

The buzzer goes off right at eight. She opens the door of her apartment, leaves it ajar, smoothes the skirt of the dress she's wearing and is just hunting through a cardboard box she's never unpacked for a coat that isn't what she usually wears when she hears, "Wow," behind her.

She glances at him, can't keep the grin off her face. "Hey you."

He's staring at her in a way he never has before, eyes a little wide and then he smiles at her, eyes on her face. "Wow. You look so..." he shakes his head at her and it's not like Winnie is insecure about her looks, doesn't usually care if a guy likes what he sees or not but-

Well, it's just flattering that he's speechless. (Maybe more than flattering.)

"You too," she says, doesn't think she's ever seen him in anything other than jeans before. It's just-it is not a bad look, is all she's saying. They just stand there looking at each other, both smiling and she finally turns back to the box regretfully. "Sorry, I'm just looking for a coat." She yanks it out, thinks it's probably not going to keep her that warm but she's going for a look here. A specific one and a puffy down jacket is just not going to cut it, not this time.

"Oh hang on, I got you-" He hands her flowers and it's really stupid for her it to make her smile the way she does. It's just that she knows fucking next to nothing about flowers, can barely tell the difference between a rose and a tulip but he knows her favourite colours and that's what he's just handed her - a bunch of her favourite colours. She finds a vase, fills it with water and surveys the bouquet with a smile still on her face before shrugging and just jamming it right in.

She can't actually remember the last time she got flowers, thinks maybe from her mom for her birthday when she turned eighteen.

She turns back to him, catches him smiling at her the way she's noticed him smiling ever since he asked her out (and maybe even before that). "What?"

He just shakes his head, doesn't look like he hates what he sees. "Just looking."

She blushes and then rolls her eyes. "Stop it. Or we won't be going anywhere."

He raises his eyebrows, looks way too interested and it's not like she would really need convincing to kick her heels off and spend the whole night on the couch with him (possibly showing him her underwear – which pretty much means they need to leave immediately).

"Where are we going?" she asks, cuts him off before he can take advantage of the fact that her filter is just non-existent.

"Dinner," he says, grinning at her cheekily, like he knows exactly what she's thinking. "You ready?"

They ride the elevator down in silence and she wonders if it would be way too incredibly forward to just turn and kiss him right on the-

"After you."

He opens the car door for her and it's like, okay, he's opened the door for her before and she knows how to open the door herself and everything but there's something about the way he looks at her as she gets in that makes her shiver. Makes her feel like possibly she should have just said yes a hundred years ago, that first time he asked her, leaning over the desk and clearing his throat and-

"Okay?"

She looks at him and he's smiling that reassuring smile, and suddenly, it's easy, he's Spike and she's Winnie and it's like how it always is. Only, every time he glances her way (he's changing lanes, for god's sake, checking his blind spot) or every time his arm brushes against hers, she feels like her heart's in her throat. Only, it's in a good way and she's nervous and not-nervous all at the same time.

Mostly, it just feels like she's dressed up next to one of her most favourite people ever.

"Stay right there," he says when they've parked. "It's cold."

She watches him at the machine, thinks maybe he made the same kind of effort she did for tonight because yes, he's not in jeans but also, his hair is exactly the same as it always is.

He opens the car door for her with a flourish and she steps out, tries to remember what her mother always told her about getting out of a car in a skirt (which essentially amounts to swing, don't step). He takes her hand as soon as they start walking, squeezes gently so that by the time they get to the restaurant, she's grinning like a fool. He holds the door for her and it's small, all low-lighting and like, cloth napkins and if any other guy had brought her here, she'd think he was just trying to get into her pants.

She supposes the difference with this is that she kind of wants him to want to get into her pants. Which - she needs to get a grip.

He just looks at her when they're seated and she catches his eye, asks him, "What?"

Spike shakes his head at her, says, "Just glad you wanted to come out with me."

"Me too," she says, hopes he can understand what she's trying to say, about how this feels and how she doesn't want to mess it up. It doesn't actually feel too differently to how things have felt between them the past little while. Except, now she knows how he kisses and she has to keep forcing herself not to think about it.

He studies the menu and her face and when she catches his gaze flicking lower, she just looks away, pretends to be looking around. Really? Really, she's thinking that she wore this dress for a reason and that's that she wants him to look. She doesn't even know. Possibly, she's lost her mind.

He glances at her when they order, asks if they can start with dessert. Their waiter looks confused but dessert gets brought out before anything else and Winnie grins at him.

"Trying to put me in a good mood?"

He snorts. "Please. I just know you better than you think."

And like, yes, apparently he does because he's just let them order dessert before their entrées (it's just – everyone else she's ever known has always given her these looks like 'control yourself, Winnie, it's just cake, it comes at the end of the meal'. It makes her think of that very first Team One picnic, how he'd made fun of her for twenty minutes for bypassing the actual food and heading straight for the dessert, how he'd saved her the very last nanaimo bar the year after).

"You should try this one," he says, looking at her carefully before he pushes his plate in her direction.

She can't meet his eyes when she tries his chocolate cake, feels a little self-conscious because of the way he's watching her. "Oh wow."

He laughs. "How's that one?"

She pulls his plate closer to her, pushes hers at him. "It's good. Tiramisu and bread so you can't go wrong. But this one – I never want it to end."

He rolls his eyes but he lets her finish his and she doesn't know what that means, thinks it can only be good.

It's by far the most effortless, least stressful date she's ever been on. They don't talk about work exactly, just the people, no cases and it's-it is great. Really great. He tells her this story about Ed and a cat that has her snorting into her glass, his eyes dancing at her across the table. And then this one about Wordy and purple sparkles and she tells him about this time Sid totally had food poisoning but came into work anyway and puked all over the desk.

He asks about her sister, if Melanie's still with that guy she likes to yell at, if her Mom's still going to those knitting circles up in St. Cats. She's floored that he remembers but then she thinks about him asking her out across her desk with no warning, wonders if maybe it was there and she just didn't see it. He tells her about how his childhood best friend is going to propose to his girlfriend after about fifteen years and calls him up every day chickening out and thinking that she'll say no. He tells her about how, when he was a rookie, Mac made him run the length of two football fields chasing after a subject and then just ended up pulling up in the cruiser right at the end and arresting the guy, how his Mom's English is totally shot now that she hardly ever speaks it and how rusty his own Italian is.

They talk about lots of stuff, to be honest, a whole hour about fishing randomly and he makes her laugh like he always does, makes her smile but every time he does, she feels this shiver run up her spine, eyes fixed on his mouth.

The first time she checks her watch, it's after one and they're the only people left in the restaurant. She kind of doesn't want to leave.

They argue over the bill for about five seconds before he just rolls his eyes at her and says, "How about you get it next time then? We'll go for ice cream."

And okay, like ice cream doesn't really compare but she's so taken aback by 'next time' (even though she really shouldn't be, not at this point and not with him) that she just shuts up. He grins triumphantly at her but mostly she's thinking that she wants him to kiss her like right the fuck now.

He reaches for her hand again on the way to the car and this time, she's the one who laces their fingers together, looks away from him, thinks that no one's hand touching hers should have this effect on her. He brushes a kiss across the back of her fingers before he opens the car door and she honest to god wants to simultaneously giggle and like, sigh dreamily. She thinks about the right way to get into a car in a skirt and then shrugs and bounces forward, catches his lips with hers (it's just – she's been wanting to all night and it'll just be a quick one).

Except then, that quick kiss turns into something else, him pressed right up against her, trapping her against him and the car, weight pressing into her ever so slightly, hands on either side of her body. She's got her fingers in his hair, thinks that no one has ever kissed her like this, this edge of desperation, how she almost can't breathe, like her ears are ringing, like possibly the world could end and she just doesn't give a-

She shivers against him as he pulls her closer, one hand on her waist, his thumb barely brushing against the curve of her breast, the other against the side of her neck and like, possibly, this is not the kind of kiss you have in public, not where people can see you. She doesn't care, thinks she's like a second away from untucking his shirt and sliding her hands onto his skin, see if he's as warm as he's making her feel-

"Get a room!"

She starts laughing right into his mouth and he leans his forehead against hers snickering.

"I guess we should go," he says.

But they stay like that for a second, breathing the same air, mouths still close and he presses a gentle kiss against her lips. She feels her eyes close dreamily.

He holds her hand as he's driving, smiles at her as she plays with the radio and puts on pop songs even though she figures he could probably live very happily never hearing Taylor Swift ever again (he just – he doesn't seem to mind). Her phone's been vibrating in her pocket since she put her coat back on and when they come to a red light, he raises her hand to his mouth and kisses her fingers. It makes her brain stall when she answers.

"HOW DID IT GO? Seriously, what the fuck, Win, you don't call a girl after the most important date of your life?"

She smiles, shakes her head even though Dahlia can't see her. "I'm just on my way home right now."

There's a long pause, they start driving again but she can feel him watching her, eyes glancing in her direction every few seconds. "Call me tomorrow," Dahlia says suddenly. "And I hope you recorded the whole thing because I'll need a play-by-play."

She laughs. "Yeah, okay."

"In fact. Scratch all that. I'm coming by your work tomorrow. When are you done? 7? We'll uh...go skating."

Winnie snickers, aware of the hand on hers, how warm she is, how much she really doesn't want this night to ever end. "Funny. I'll see you tomorrow."

She hangs up and Spike snickers suddenly. "Checking that I brought you back in one piece?"

It's more likely that Dahl was checking for something else (like maybe if Winnie had lost her nerve or her filter and ended up staying inside with Spike all night long, huddled into her couch under a blanket). "Who can tell with her," she says, grinning. "She wants to meet up tomorrow – pretty sure it'll be worse than any team debrief you've ever lived through."

He snickers, grins at her, quick and bright and she feels like she forgets to breathe for a second, wonders if it's just too forward to ask him to come up (and, like, it definitely is - she might have known him for years, might even consider him a fairly close friend but this dating thing? It's new. Really new. She's not ready to screw it up over her lack of timing).

He pulls up in front of her apartment, just looks at her and she's never been one for backseats but possibly, the way he's looking at her right now could convince her, is all she's saying. He leans over, watching her face the whole time until he kisses her.

Spike kisses the way he does everything else, like intensely but with this edge of fun and every time he touches her face or her hair, she thinks about all the things that his hands do with guns and electronics and bombs (which she swears has never been a thing for her but apparently, now is) and Winnie is seriously weighing the pros and cons of just climbing into his lap in the driveway (it seems that this is a thing he makes her consider every time he kisses her – possibly, she needs some more self-control).

He runs his thumb over her lips after he pulls away, smiles at her, this very open smile, like he feels how different this is too. She wants to say that she had a good time, a great time, that he is the best person she knows, that she just wants to make him happy, that he kisses her and it sets off these crazy feelings inside of her that she doesn't even know what to do with. She can't find any of those words.

He walks her up to the door, grins at her as he holds it open, leans against the doorframe to kiss her again (yeah, if he does that one more time, he's coming upstairs, that's it).

"This was...thank you." She hopes he's using all that SRU training to read the things she can't find the words for, hopes he can see it all over her face. She's just – she's not trying to hide it.

He rolls his eyes playfully at her. "See you tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow."

She watches him walk back to his car and he watches her until she gets into the elevator, a smile she can see all the way from the driver's window and as soon as the elevator doors close, she sags back against the wall a little. This has got to be what people mean about cloud nine and all that shit about walking on air, she muses as she lets herself in her front door, drops her purse and her coat and lies down on the couch smiling. It's got to be. She stares out the window at all the lights of Toronto and she's still.

Her phone rings as she's lying there, thinking about the fact that sometimes, your life can just suddenly be better before you even realize you want it to be. She reaches across, answers it without even looking at the screen.

"Hello?"

"Ok, so kind of creepy for me to be calling this soon...that's like one of those rules that girls have, right?"

Winnie snorts, grins so hard she wants to laugh. "Who cares? Rules are made to be broken and all of that?" God, who is she? Who is she with these ridiculous clichés and being a rule breaker all of a sudden?

Spike laughs though, all delighted, vivid colours she sees on the inside of her eyelids. "Who cares," he agrees. "I just...um, didn't want this to be over yet?"

"Mind-reader." And wow, okay, filter on, please. She's about a second away from asking him to turn around, just come back and kiss her and spend the night and never ever leave. "I had a really...a good time," she says, thinks about what an understatement that is.

"So. If I ask if we're going to get to do it again, you're going to say...?"

"When," she says, grinning into the dim light of her apartment. "More than likely."

He laughs again. "Okay then. I like that answer."

They talk about nothing while he drives home and Winnie takes off all her makeup and gets into bed.

"Hey, Spike?" she says, yawning a little.

"Mm?"

"I wish I'd said yes before." It's possibly the most honest she's ever been with any man, ever.

There's a pause and she can hear him shutting and locking his front door. "Yeah, you probably should have," he says jokingly and then gets really serious, maybe more serious than she's ever heard him, up to and including that night where he wiped tears from her eyes. "Doesn't matter, Win. Lots of roads to the same place."

She feels a warmth in her stomach at that, like she's taken a sip of brandy and she leans back into her pillows, phone pressed to her ear. "I guess I should let you go."

He laughs, a soft sound that makes her curl her legs up and smile. "Not yet."

She knows she falls in and out of sleep, Spike's voice soothing when she gets those jolts of awake and tries to remember what they were talking about. She knows she has this flash of consciousness, this realization that she wants him here beside her and she thinks she says something like that to him because he gets quiet and then tells her that maybe they want the same things. They hang up eventually and she falls straight to sleep, dreams about something that makes her smile.