Punch.
Kick.
Duck.
Sweep the leg.
Dodge.
Punch.
Block.
Jump.
Kick again.
It was all so familiar to Buffy. Every swing of her fist and every hit that she managed to land was so achingly familiar, that even though she was getting as many hits as she was taking, she was more relaxed than she'd been in days. She was breathing hard out of habit, but her body didn't feel the burning from a lack of oxygen. Everything was fading away as she fell into rhythm. She caught herself laughing.
Jump up.
Round house kick.
Land and roll to dodge.
Punch.
Kick.
Uppercut.
Elbow to the ribs.
Grab the arm and flip her.
Spike hadn't had this much fun since the last time they'd fought. As the pace picked up, he could feel any leftover anxiety he'd had from the last few days melt away. He made sure he was bringing his 'A' game, because anything less would be an insult to her. He had never felt closer to her than when they were going fist to fist. She was finally giving him something he had asked for, something they both needed. Her laughter was the music.
They were dancing.