It's been hours.

How many, I don't know. I stopped looking at the clock after the third of fourth. The nurse had explained to me that it would be a longer surgery, sure, but hours…I just hadn't expected. I guess I don't know enough about all this to have known what to expect. A long surgery to me would have been, like, two.

But it's been so much longer than that.

I sit in the stiff. uncomfortable chair and keep my eyes focused down on the ground at my feet. Dawn is sleeping now, thankfully. She'd cried a little bit, but only after we'd watched Mom be wheeled through the OR doors.

Not in front of her.

She'd been so brave, my little sister. Smiling for Mom, her arm wrapped around my waist as we'd told her we'd see her after surgery.

I wonder if I could have been as brave at her age.

I don't feel like I'm even being brave now. Not really.

I haven't cried, I guess. But that's also a little because I haven't let myself.

It had been hard throughout the morning, and now into the afternoon, to remember everything I'd said to Spike last night. It had been harder, still, not to want him here.

Part of me wishes he'd never offered. If he hadn't brought it up, I would never have even considered it. And if I hadn't ever considered it, I wouldn't be thinking about him being here now. And I've been trying my hardest not to think about it, because I'm a little afraid that he might actually show up if I do.

Not that I wouldn't be glad to see him.

I glance over toward the magazine rack in the center of the waiting room, watching Giles absently purews the titles. He's been standing over there for a half an hour. Trying, I think, not to hover too much.

I think briefly about what would happen, all the many this is how wrong this could go scenarios of Spike showing up here at the hospital in the middle of the day.

No.

It's just not the right time.

I shift my eyes down again, toward Dawn's face. Her eyes are closed, but I can see the slight puffiness still on her cheeks from the tears. Even now, hours later. Her head is resting on my lap, her hair soft as I run it over and over again through my fingers.

Back in the waiting room. Back waiting, hoping for good news. Expecting the worst.

Was it really just a few days ago we'd been sitting here like this? When we'd learned about the shadow.

It seems like ages.

My free hand moves to the new scarf I'd tied around my neck this morning before leaving. I'd taken a quick, cursory glance in the mirror to see how Spike's bite mark was healing before leaving the house. It had definitely healed a little, started to fade around the edges. Still a little bruised, still obviously a bite wound.

So I'd gone into Mom's room and grabbed the first scarf I'd seen, draped over a little desk chair in the corner of her bedroom.

I touch it almost absently now, twisting my fingers into the silky purple fabric,luxuriating in how smooth it feels, how cool against my skin.

And makes me think of Spike. Again.

Whether it's because of what it's covering up, or just the cool, silky texture that feels so much like his skin, I'm not sure.

I let my eyes drift closed, thinking about the moment between us this morning. The kiss, the way he'd looked at me, the fierceness in his eyes.

"If you need me."

I flinch suddenly, my eyes popping open and looking up when I feel the body suddenly hovering in front of me.

I'm almost disappointed when I see Giles looking down at me.

"Just me," he says softly, scanning my face with curious grey eyes. Maybe wondering why I look disappointed to see him there. "Sorry. Can I get you anything?"

It's the same question he's been asking me all morning, every half an hour or so. I can tell how much he hates being here, waiting, not getting any answers.

Maybe almost as much as I do.

Neither of us are used to feeling so completely useless.

"No," I say, shaking my head. I give him a small, as-sincere-as-I-can-make-it smile. "Thank you."

Giles nods, and starts to turn away from me.

And he stops suddenly, frowning, turning back toward me again. I watch as his eyes drift toward my hand, still twined into my scarf.

Like he's seeing it, noticing it for the first time.

I dimly realize the last time he'd seen me wear a scarf around my neck was after the whole Prince of Darkness debacle.

I hadn't thought about. Hadn't even considered the possibility that he might put two and two together. Not that he would automatically assume it had anything to do with Spike, exactly, but it's risky either way.

The knots that have set up camp in my stomach twist harder as I look up at him, see the wheels turning in his head, before finally turning his eyes back to mine.

Not here, I think, willing him to understand me. Not now.

Because if this comes out now, if we make a big thing about it, then there's no real good reason why Spike couldn't be here, couldn't have come.

And I need there to be a reason.

After a long moment, Giles nods again.

"You'll let me know if either you or Dawn need anything?" He asks.

Relieved, if just the tiniest, insiest bit , I nod back. "Sure."

I watch him move back away from me, heading toward the little coffee table that's set up in the far side of the waiting room. He casts one more wary, concerned glance over his shoulder at me, but I feel like the issue's been dropped.

At least for now.

I turn my eyes away from Giles and back down toward Dawn. She's shifted a little in my lap, turned her head up more toward mine. But her eyes are still closed, and I can see the rapid movement of them beneath her eyelids.

Dreaming.

I hope whatever it is is happy.

"What time is it?" I hear Willow ask, her voice soft, directed to Xander.

They're sitting side by side, directly across from Dawn and I. They got here a couple hours ago and, after giving both Dawn and I two massive bear hugs, had settled down on the opposite side of the room.

I'm not sure why, exactly. Maybe they thought it'd be better to give us space. Whatever the reason, I don't really mind.

Giles had asked me first, before calling, if I wanted them here. I'd answered him by saying that yes, of course I wanted them here.

I'd planned on them being here.

Another part of the reason I'd given for not having Spike come. If they hadn't come…

I blink, shoving that thought aside, forcing my attention back to my friends.

Xander's eyes are focused down at the ground on his feet, his voice quiet, too, as he answers, "There's a clock behind you, Will."

It's true, there is. A big, ugly one with giant numbers and a much too big minute hand that's ticking by way too slow for me.

It's the same one I'd made a habit of not looking at for the past few hours.

My eyes drift toward it now.

2:30 p.m. My mom's been in surgery for over seven hours.

Any relief I'd felt from the Giles/scarf incident a moment ago goes away, replaced with the harsh reality of where we are, what we're doing here. I turn my eyes back down again, only half listening to the rest of Willow and Xander's conversation.

"I know," she's saying now, "but there's a watch right above your hand."

There's a brief pause, and I glance up a little through my lashes to see Xander lift his left wrist over to Willow, not looking at her as she reads the time on the watch face.

I see her frown.

"That can't be right," she mutters under her breath, so low I can barely hear her.

Yes it can, I think to myself.

I watch as he twists around in her seat, looking toward the traitorous, too big clock on the wall behind her.

I see her shoulders sag, and she twists back around, slumping down into her chair again.

"Oh," she murmurs.

Xander starts tapping his foot.

And I feel a little sick now. More than the anxious knot twisting from before, more poignant, nauseous. It felt like one thing when it was just me, up in my head, worrying about the time. Thinking about how much longer this was taking than I thought it would.

Hearing both Xander and Willow express the same kind of concern makes it miles and miles worse.

I look at Dawn one more time, even more grateful now that she's still sleeping. Sweeping a few strands of hair off her face, I think about the moment I'd shared with Mom this morning, before they'd taken her into surgery. The promise she'd made me make. And I hate it even more now than I had then, hate what it means.

Hate that it's even something Mom had thought was necessary to ask of me.

For the first time since being here, since pressing myself down into this chair all those hours ago, I feel the aching, familiar sting of tears.

"I can't stand this," I say suddenly, blinking, turning my gaze up toward my friends. And Giles, who's now standing across from me, hovering beside Willow's chair.

Three pairs of eyes focus on me. I look between the three of them, shaking my head. "What's taking so long?"

"It doesn't mean anything," Willow says quickly, looking like she wants to get up out of her seat and come over to me.

But she doesn't.

"How do you know that?" I ask, voice thick, laying my hand over Dawn's cheek, unconsciously shielding her, covering her ear.

I don't want her to hear me worrying, even if she is asleep. Don't want me interrupting any sweet, good dream she might be having.

Giles steps forward, a styrofoam cup in one hand, the other stuffed into the pocket of his jacket.

"I'd be far more concerned if your mother was out of surgery quickly, Buffy," he says, searching my eyes. "Brain surgery is…" he trails off, thinking, gesturing with his cup. "Well, it's—"

"Brian surgery?" Xander offers glibly, glancing over at the older man.

"Well, yes," he concedes, giving a small tilt of his head, dropping his eyes down and to the left the way he does when he's considering something. "If they finished too quickly it could mean that…there wasn't much they could do."

I frown, biting down into my bottom lip and turning my eyes toward the big clock.

2:55 p.m.

I look back down at Dawn, look back up at my friends, mouth open to say something.

And then I snap it shut.

Because Dr. Kriegel is coming down the hallway, straight toward us. A cold wave shudders through me, starting at the back of my throat and making it's way down to my toes.

Gently, I place both hands on my sister's head and lift her off my lap, waking her in the process. She shifts away from me, blinking groggily. I tap her on the shoulder to get her attention, then gesture toward the doctor. Her eyes instantly go wide.

We get to our feet at the same time, moving across the waiting room floor on sleepy, instead legs.

As we pass by Xander and Willow, they get to their feet, too.

I step up in front of him, meeting him halfway down the hallway, Dawn hovering just to my left. I can feel everyone's eyes on me, boring holes into the back of my head as I stare at Dr. Kriegel, trying to read the expression on his face.

It's impassive, and I can't.

"Okay," he says, coming to a stop in front of me, putting his hands out low in front of him. "Your mom's in recovery."

Recovery. If she's in recovery, that means she's fine. Right?

At the very least, she's still here.

She's still here.

I reach down and grab blindly for Dawn's hand, squeezing it when I find it. She squeezes back.

"What happened?" I ask, the relief I feel building in my chest about ready to burst out. I keep a tight hold on it, not wanting to let it out just yet. Not wanting to get my hopes up, or Dawn's. Not until I know for sure… "Is she alright?"

Dr. Kriegel takes a deep breath in, exhaling as he begins to explain.

"It was possible to visualize the tumor completely," he says, and then there's the smallest twitch in his lips, something that might be the beginnings of a smile. "Which means I was able to get all of it."

Oh.

Oh, God.

All of it. The whole thing. That's what he's saying. He was able to get rid of the entire tumor. My mother doesn't have a brain tumor anymore.

I repeat the phrase again in my head, letting the weight of it sink in.

My mother doesn't have a brain tumor anymore.

I tighten my grip on Dawn's hand, waiting for the doctor to continue, waiting for him to finish giving us the news. The incredible news.

That our mom isn't sick anymore.

That she's going to be fine.

"So, barring complications in recovery," And he does smile at us now. A genuine, warm smile that I feel burrowing down into my chest, releasing all of the pent up relief that's been building there since he'd first started speaking. "I think your mother's going to be fine."

And there it is. The words I've so desperately, desperately needed to hear. Tears flood my eyes again, but they're so different this time. Happy. Happy tears.

When was the last time that happened?

I turn toward Dawn to give her a hug just as she's throwing her arms around me. She's laughing, I can hear her, and there's just the littlest bit of wetness on my cheek where she's pressing it against hers. I squeeze her as tightly as I can without hurting her, only letting go once I hear Dr. Kriegel trying to talk to us again.

I turn back toward him, trying to focus on whatever it is he's saying.

"Of course we're still going to have to watch your mother carefully," he's saying, still smiling, but looking at me with serious eyes. "Have her back in here for some follow-up testing."

I stand there waiting for him to go on. When he doesn't, and he's looking at me expectantly, I nod.

I don't know what else to do.

"But overall," he says, the tone of his voice very light, "I'd consider the procedure a complete success."

I smile again, turning around to throw my arms around both Xander and Willow, who've been hovering directly behind me. They return my hug, the looks on their faces equally relieved, as happy as I;m sure mine is.

I glance toward Giles, and he's smiling over at me, too.

"Oh my goodness, doctor, thank you," I say, turning back around to face him, a huge, bright smile on my face. "Thank you so much."

Dr. Kriegel nods. "Please," he says, "it's my pleasure—"

He's cut off a little when I lean forward and hug him, wrapping my arms around him just a little too tightly. Not thinking.

Right. Slayer strength.

"Sorry," I say quickly, releasing him, stepping away. I wince a little at the look on his face. I'm sure Giles will have something to say about this. "Sorry!"

Dr. Kriegel is still eyeing me warily, but he reaches out and pats me on the arm. I beam at him.

"When can we see her?" I ask.

The doctor considers my question for a moment, glances over his shoulder back toward the clock, then back to me.

"She'll be in recovery for a few hours, and then we'll move her back into an in-patient room." He reaches up and pulls his scrub cap off, feathering a hand through his hair. "She'll probably be out of it for the rest of the day, though."

I'm a little disappointed by the news, but not enough for it to overshadow how entirely, overwhelmingly happy I am.

I can wait a day.

We have years.

"Tomorrow?" Dawn asks, stepping closer to me. "Will she be awake tomorrow?"

The doctor considers her for a moment, then nods, smiling. "I'd say tomorrow is a safe bet." he folds his arms over his chest, looking between the two of us. "Your mom's a tough lady."

"It runs in the family," Xander pipes up from behind me. I glance at him over my shoulder, giving him a warm, grateful smile.

"What can we do in the mean time?" I ask, turning back around.

"You can go home," Dr. Kriegel says without hesitating, looking pointedly between all of us, lingering finally on me. "Your mom's in good hands."

Yes, she is. Because they got the whole thing, the whole stupid tumor, out.

I turn to Dawn, matching her bright smile and happy, wet eyes with my own.

And she's going to be fine.

I ask Giles if I can meet him at the Magic Box later today. He doesn't ask me why, though I can see the question in his eyes as he agrees.

I'd originally planned to put off talking to him about the…thing going on with Spike until tomorrow, but I want to spend the day with Mom tomorrow.

Besides, he's already seen the scarf. He's probably already going through scenario after scenario in his head, and I should probably get in there and set the record straight before whatever it is he thinks he knows gets out of hand.

We plan to meet in the early evening, after he's closed the shop for the day.

I give one last, giant hug to both Willow and Xander, thanking them for coming today, for being here with us.

And then Dawn and I head home.

Both Xander and Giles had offered to give us a ride back to Revello, but I'd turned them down. The hospital isn't a far walk at all. Nothing in Sunnydale is.

And I'd wanted a chance to talk to her.

"Hey," she says after we've walked a little ways, leaning slightly forward and turning her face toward mine. "Remember when I asked you if everything was going to be okay now?"

I slow my pace a little bit, focusing my eyes on her. Her face isn't puffy anymore, and her eyes are very blue, very bright as she looks at me.

I realize what it is I'm seeing there. Something I haven't seen in what feels like forever.

Hope.

I nod at her. " I do."

"I think it is," she says, turning her face forward again, matching her pace to mine.

I loop my arm through hers, meeting her eyes when he glances toward me again. I smile at her.

"I think so, too."

And it's the truth. For the first time in weeks, I actually feel like things are going to be okay. That I'm not lying to protect anyone's feelings, but being honest about my own.

It feels really good.

"So," Dawn says, drawing the word out as she faces front again. "How long have you been dating Spike?"

The air freezes in my lungs, and I stumble just slightly. Completely caught off guard.

I whip my head down to look at her, blinking.

"What?"

She rolls her eyes at me, just keeps walking.

Like what she's just said is the most natural thing in the world. I probably shouldn't be surprised. After the thing with his lighter yesterday, and the way I'd woken up this morning. I'd known that eventually, sooner or later, she'd have to ask me about what was going on.

There's no way she wasn't going to.

I guess I just thought it might be later.

And I didn't think she'd jump right to…to dating. Dating. Me and Spike.

Dating.

Do you even date vampires? Is that a thing?

The word doesn't match up in my head. I mean, what I'd had with Angel, that wasn't…dating. That was…well, it was…I frown, thinking about it now. I guess I'm not sure exactly what it was.

Doomed, maybe?

It's not like we'd gone out to dinner, or to the movies, or anything like that. We'd made plans to get coffee that one time, and even that hadn't gone over well.

"Oh, come on," Dawn's saying now, eyes still rolled skyward. "It's so obvious. I just wanna know when it started. I mean," she pauses for just a moment, considering, "was it before you ended things with Riley, or after?" Her eyebrows shoot up and she turns toward me, her hands out in front of her. "Oh! Was it why you—"

"Spike and I are not dating, Dawn," I tell her, cutting her off mid-sentence. Not wanting her to continue on that particular train of thought.

Better that she doesn't know how close she is to being right.

Granted, Spike hadn't been the only reason I'd ended things with Riley. There'd been so many, too many, other things wrong with our relationship to count. Spike wasn't…well he wasn't the factor, at least.

I think it'd be a lie to say he wasn't one at all. The dreams had definitely been a factor.

"Okay," she says breezily, in that too sweet, annoying little sister way. Looking very much like she doesn't actually believe me. "You're not dating Spike."

And she says that like she doesn't believe it, either.

I scowl at her, nodding, feeling like the scarf around my neck is getting tighter by the second. "I'm not."

I turn to face front again, focusing on the long line of tall trees all along the sidewalk.

"How long have you been in love with him, then?"

I whip my head back toward her so fast I'd swear I get whiplash. "Dawn!"

She blinks at me dumbly. "What?"

I throw my hands up in the air.

"I am not in love with…" I cut myself off, realizing how very, very loud my voice is. I glance around us, looking to see if anyone might have overheard, then focus narrowed eyes back on my sister. "I am not in love with Spike."

And I notice that even as I say the words, it kind of feels like a lie.

I push the thought away as quickly as it's cropped up, shoving it away, burying it down deep for another time. Another day.

She gives me a knowing smile, sighing exaggeratedly and shaking her head. "What's that Shakespeare thing…" she trails off, tapping her fingers against her chin thoughtfully. "The one about protesting too much?"

I scowl at her again, rolling my eyes. As If I hadn't seen that one coming from ten miles away.

"I'm not protesting," I say, unlinking my arm with hers and gesturing absently out in front of me. "I'm just…telling you you're wrong." My voice squeaks up a little at the end as I realize what I've just said.

That it's pretty much exactly what I'm doing.

I make a face, not at all ready for be the self examination. When I glance back at Dawn she has one eyebrow raised sardonically.

When did my little sister become such a know-it-all?

"Fine," she says, not sounding like it's fine at all, "you're not in love with him. What were you doing using him as a pillow this morning?"

I open my mouth to respond automatically, only to realize I don't have a good automatic answer. Or I do, but none of them are exactly what I'd choose to say right off the bat.

I needed him there.

I wanted him there.

I sat on our sofa and poured my heart out to him, and he just sat there and listened. Let me.

He made me feel better.

All of these are viable answers, and all of them are true. I'm just not sure which is the one I'm ready to say out loud.

"He was just…I mean, we…we're…" I trail off, scrunching my nose up, looking for the right word. We're what?

Enemies? Ex-enemies? Connected to each other? Sleeping together?

Friends?

I'm not sure what the right answer is. Though I'm starting to think it might be E or F, whatever letter, all of the above. Some totally bizarre combination of all the above that neither of us seems to be able to get a firm grip on.

I reach up and fiddle distractedly with the scarf around my neck, thinking of the conversation I'm going to have to have with Giles later tonight.

I take a deep breath in and let it out through pursed lips.

"We're…figuring it out," I finish finally, settling on an answer that's both true and not too specific.

"Okay," she says lightly, seemingly satisfied enough for the time being with the answer I've given her.

It's quiet for a little while as we continue walking. I turn my eyes down to the sidewalk, watching the cracks go by as we walk.

"But there is something going on between you guys, right?"

I roll my eyes up.

Or maybe not quite satisfied.

"Dawn, please…" I groan, turning to face toward her again. Her eyes are wide open, shining, excited. The smile on her lips is so genuine.

And she looks so open, so happy. And we're in the middle of this…this moment, sharing something as sisters. Something that doesn't include the doom and gloom of brain tumors and surgery and the possibility of losing our mom.

So I sigh, nodding my head, a dry smile starting to curve my lips.

"Yeah," I say, turning forward, starting to walk again, "there's…something going on between us."

This is true, too, even if it is a little vague.

Dawn steps forward, falling into step beside me again, leaning her shoulder into mine and smiling over at me.

"Cool," she says, linking her arm back through mine.

I glance toward her, and it's my turn to raise an eyebrow. "You think so?"

Beside me, I feel her shrug.

"Well, yeah," she says, turning to look at me. "Why wouldn't I?"

Oh, I don't know, I think wryly, maybe because no one else will.

I think about what Spike said, about there not being any version of what's happening where he doesn't end up dust. I touch the corner of my scarf again with my free hand, grimacing at the thought.

I'm not so sure he's wrong.

But Dawn doesn't seem to be wigging even a little bit. If anything, she seems verging on pleased by the news.

I frown.

"You're not freaked?" I ask, finding that I'm actually genuinely surprised by this. Not at all disappointed, but surprised, yes.

I mean…this is still Spike we're talking about. And as honestly pretty great he's been with me lately, that's something in and of itself that won't be so easily overlooked by the rest of the gang.

I watch Dawn as she seems to consider my question for a second, chewing thoughtfully on the inside of her cheek.

"No," she says finally, like it's something she's really thought about. "Not really. I mean, yeah, you and vampires, with the romance and all...don't have the greatest track record or anything…" She turns to look at me, and like it's the most obvious thing to say, "but Spike and Angel are completely different."

I think over what it is she's just said.

It's interesting to me, that this is the logic she uses to explain why she doesn't seem to be having a problem with this. Especially when I know it's the exact same reasoning I'll get from the others as part of why they do. Angel and Spike are completely different.

As in, one has a soul and one doesn't.

It's the same reasoning I would have given, practically did give, just a few days ago. After the first time with Spike behind The Bronze. The reason I gave for why it was something, a mistake, and it would never…could never happen again.

For some reason, it doesn't seem to be as good a reason to me now as it had before.

I end up telling Dawn about last night, and the night before. How his lighter ended up on the floor in front of our sink. It feels good to just talk about it, even though I keep a major amount of the details to myself.

For good reason.

All I really tell her is that he came by last night because I'd asked him to, and that he'd ended up staying because I'd fallen asleep. I only tell her sparingly about what it is we'd talked about, basically implying that he'd been worried about Mom, too.

It isn't a lie.

Besides that, I don't want Dawn ever knowing all the things I'd told him, the worries and the fears and the insecurities I'd let out.

The worst might be over, Mom might be out o the woods, but that doesn't mean I want to drag my little sister down the dark and twisty path my mind has been on for the past several weeks.

In the end, it's Dawn who suggests it.

That I need to go tell Spike how the operation went, make sure he knows that Mom's going to be okay.

And that's how I find myself here now. Standing in front of Spike's crypt, my hand raised, poised to knock, wondering why it is I suddenly feel so insanely awkward.

After everything else, knocking. Knocking is what makes me want to run and hide. Because it feels so…formal. And weird. And not at all the way things have been between us lately.

But things haven't exactly been kick-in-the-crypt-door between us, either.

Sighing, irritated with myself, I drop my hand down from it's knocking position and reach for the handle instead, pushing the door open instead. I step inside quickly, shutting the door before any good amount of sunlight can filter in behind me.

It's crazy dark in here without the candlelight. There's always candlelight in here at night, which, I realize, is pretty much the only time I've ever been here.

There's just a little bit of light filtering in now through the small slits in the stone to my right, over on the top of the crypt's wall.

I guess you could call them windows, but that's being pretty generous.

It's enough to see by after my eyes have adjusted, though, so after about a half minute of stony silence, I start to walk forward. Down the steps, out into the main, more open area.

I see the armchair and the TV, which is off. I see his fridge over in the far corner of the room, and a coffin lid that he's apparently converted into some sort of makeshift bar.

I haven't noticed it before.

I keep walking, further and further into the space, glancing around as I go.

Nothing.

No Spike.

It doesn't make sense.

It's still daylight, probably around 4:30 or so by now, so it's not like he can be out running around. Beside that, I can feel him here. The normal vampire sense tinglies, and the stronger, more insistent pulsing that I recognize as purely, uniquely Spike.

So he's here. He has to be.

I wander a little further into the crypt until my feet bump into something that no longer feels or sounds like cement. I glance down, squinting my eyes in the dark to see whatever it is that's below me.

It's a door. Or a hatch of some kind, wooden planks secured together and laid on top of what looks like might be an opening. I lean down and push, moving it aside easily, revealing the gaping hole in the stone floor.

A downstairs.

A downstairs, I realize, that probably has tunnel or sewer access.

I take one last look around the immediate area, looking for something like might provide me some light. A flashlight, a torch maybe.

I don't see anything.

For about half a second, I consider just giving up and leaving before I drop down to my knees, leaning forward onto my hands. I brace them on stone floor beside the large opening and lean as far over as I dare, trying and ultimately failing to see down into the darkness. It's pitch, pitch black.

If he is down there, there's no way I'll be able to find him without possibly breaking an ankle. Or my neck.

Frowning, feeling frustrated, I sit back onto my heels.

"Well, now," a low, rumbling purr from behind me, "that's a right shame."

I jump, letting out a tiny, squeaking noise and whip my head around over my shoulder.

Spike's standing there, watching me, his head tilted just slightly to the side. Wearing nothing but his black jeans, an open button down shirt and a smirk.

"Was just startin' to enjoy the view," he says, curling his tongue, folding his arms over his chest.

I feel the blush coming before it even reaches my cheeks, ducking my eyes down to the ground and hurriedly pushing myself to my feet.

I keep my eyes down on the ground as I dust my jeans off, wondering just how long exactly he'd been standing there behind me.

That's when I notice that he's barefoot, and his hair isn't gelled back.

He'd been sleeping.

Of course, he'd been sleeping. It's still the afternoon, still daylight out. Vampire.

"Did I wake you up?" I ask, finishing dusting myself off, standing up straight. My cheeks are still hot, and I still can't meet his eyes.

I don't know why something as innocuous as Spike staring at my fully covered butt is making me feel so uncomfortable now.

Maybe because I think I'd felt him there behind me before I'd sat back.

Possibly a good fifteen seconds before.

And I'm wondering if he knows that, and if that's the reason he's still looking at me like he should have yellow feathers wedged in between his teeth.

"No," he murmurs, and I watch the smirk fall just a little, eyes softening. Like it isn't a question he'd expected me to ask. "Was already up."

I frown, taking a second to glance around the upper level of the crypt. If he'd been up here when I came in, surely I would have seen him.

"In here?" I ask, wondering where.

He nods. "Was standing' not two feet away from you, Slayer," he says, pointing over in the direction of the fridge. I glance over in that direction, too, noticing for the first time what looks like a mason jar sitting on top of the coffin in front of the fridge.

I'm assuming it's filled with blood, but it's actually a little hard to tell from where I'm standing.

"Oh," I say simply, turning my eyes back to the vampire in front of me.

There's a pause that stretches between us as we look at each other, and when we finally start to speak we do it at the same time.

"Well, I—"

"How did it go today?"

There's another pause. Then, he murmurs a quiet "You first."

I smile awkwardly at him, remembering the last moment between us this morning, and reach up to run a hand through my hair.

"The doctor says Mom's going to be fine," I say, taking a couple steps toward him. "He uh, he said they got the whole thing. So…"

"Brilliant," he says, unfolding his arms and taking a step toward me, too. "That's…that's really good."

He means it. That much is obvious, in his voice, the way he's looking at me. But I can hear something else there, too. I look at him, studying his face, trying to read the look in his eyes in the dim light. He looks…pleased by the news, but not really all that surprised.

"Yeah," I agree, still watching him carefully, "I…well, Dawn and I thought you should…" I stop myself, trailing off, watching the emotions play over his face. I take another step toward him.

"You already knew."

Not a question.

His lips quirk up a little. "Had an idea, yeah."

I'm not sure why the thought hadn't crossed my mind before, that he might already know. That he probably could feel my relief, my joy, as acutely as he'd felt my need for him.

There's a little voice in the back of my head that tells me it did cross my mind, and that maybe I ignored it. In favor of coming here, of having an excuse to come here in the middle of the day.

Coming here and telling him in person.

I do my best to ignore it, but it's awfully insistent.

"But," he says, stepping forward slowly, crossing to fill the rest of the space between us. He looks down at me, his eyes shadowed, voice low. "Thank you for comin' here to tell me."

And he knows.

I can hear it in his voice. It's painfully obvious, so crystal clear that he knows even better than I do that I didn't have to come here to tell him, and that I did anyway.

"I wanted to make sure you knew," I say, keeping my eyes locked to his.

"I knew." He steps closer to me still, our noses almost touching.

If he'd known that, then he'd probably known he rest, too. How I'd been thinking about him. How I'd been wanting him there.

I wonder if he'd wanted to be there, too. Not the way he'd offered, offered because he thought I might need him, but wanted to be there.

I don't ask.

"A-and also I wanted to tell you that I'm going to talk to Giles," I stammer out, still very close to him. "Tonight."

Spike looks like this, at least, is a surprise. His brow furrows.

"Tonight?"

I nod. "I'm supposed to meet him at the Magic Box at after closing."

Spike frowns deeper, shaking his head. I still can't read his eyes. "Why tonight?"

"He saw my scarf." I say it like I don't need another reason.

Spike's eyebrow shoots up.

"He saw your scarf?"

"Yeah," I say, my turn to frown at him now. I reach up and pluck at the fabric, pulling it slightly away from the bite mark, like I'm reminding him it's there. "I don't normally make a habit of walking around looking like Peggy Sue."

His lips twitch a little but he doesn't smile, still looking down at me with that fathomless expression.

"Seems a bit…rushed is all. I mean, your mum just had surgery." He emphasizes the word with a gesture off in the general direction of the hospital. "Don't you wanna wait a few days?"

Listening to him, hearing the words, the way he's saying them. It's clear he doesn't want me talking to Giles yet. What isn't clear is why.

He was the one who suggested it in the first place.

Unless this is about what he'd said before, the whole dusty ending thing.

That would make sense.

"I already told you," I say, shaking my head. "You don't need to come."

I'm surprised when Spike laughs.

I watch him as he rolls his eyes, like it's the silliest thing I've ever said.

"Don't be daft," he says, reaching toward me, barely brushing the tips of his fingers over my face as he looks at me, lips forming a serious line. "'Course I'm comin'."

But I'm not even sure I want him to come. It's true, I had. Initially.

Now I'm not so sure it wouldn't be easier, go more smoothly, if it was just me in there talking to Giles. Give me a chance to explain things, to edit certain things out...without risking the whole ashes to ashes issue.

"Spike—"

He cuts me off with a kiss.

One I didn't see coming, somehow catching me completely off guard. Not gentle like the one this morning had been, but urgent, hard. Like it's proving a point, or maybe just making one.

My lips are tingling when he pulls back again, the color in eyes shifting from azure to navy as the sun sets outside, the light dimming further in the crypt.

His voice is low, serious when he says "Just as involved in all this as you are, yeah?"

I stare at him, blinking, my tongue darting out to wet my vibrating lower lip. His eyes turn to my mouth again.

"Besides," he says, and I watch his gaze travel over my lips, down the line of my jaw, over my throat. It stops there, looking at the scarf on my neck. He bites down with blunt teeth into his lip. "The blighter might need us both there, if we're gonna fix this."

I open my mouth to say something, instinctively wanting to deny what it is he's just said, to explain again that it hadn't been what I'd meant.

But then his eyes meet mine again, and they're bright, mischievous, the lines around them soft.

Teasing. He's teasing me.

Not mocking, there's nothing cruel, nothing hard in the way he's just spoken to me.

"You're not funny," I tell him, trying my best to infuse a hard edge in my voice.

Unsuccessfully.

Spike just looks at me, tilting his head to the side.

"I'm very funny."

And he kisses me again.

I let my eyes fall shut, kissing him back, thinking about how different this kiss is even from the one a moment ago.

I don't understand it, how every time he kisses me is a little different. This one feels like the most natural thing in the world. Like it's something we've done a million time, every day.

Like we fit.

When we separate, and I'm the first to pull away this time, he keeps his hand right where it is. Cool, flush against my cheek.

I inhale, exhale slowly.

"You're serious," I murmur, searching his eyes. "About coming."

He nods, his thumb brushing across the curve of my cheekbone.

"As a bleeding heart attack," he says, then pauses. Considers what he's said. Smirks at me. "If I could have one, that is."

And I can't help myself.

I lean up and press one final, quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. There's absolutely nothing sensual about it at all. Nothing overly meaningful, or overtly sweet. It's casual. It's fast and a little sloppy and so mind-blowingly average.

And for that reason, it almost seems to matter more.

"Okay," I say, stepping away from him, letting his hand fall from its place on my cheek. "Let's go."

Neither of us had realized we'd still had an hour before I was supposed to meet Giles. Dawn had known when I'd left that I wouldn't be back until later, and an hour didn't leave us with a whole lot of extra time, so Spike and I had done a quick sweep of Restfield on our way out.

With the help of stakes from Spike's weapons chest. A small one he keeps somewhat hidden toward the back of his crypt, consisting of a cross bow, a couple stakes and a wicked looking knife he said he won in a poker game.

Knowing his weapons stash included so many stakes, obviously used for patrolling, had made me chest feel all fluttery and warm.

It being so early, so near to sunset, there hadn't been much to patrol for. Two older vamps skulking around one of the mausoleums nearby that we'd managed to take out in about a minute flat.

Even that, the patrolling, had been heightened by the connection between us. Made things faster, easier. It felt like we could read each other, our moves, before we'd even begun to execute them.

Out of everything else, all the other ways we've been able to feel and sense and touch each other, I think I'm almost the most curious about that.

I'm already thinking of things, ways to test it out, when Spike and I enter the back door of the Magic Box. Neither of us speaks as we make our way through the training room and out into the main store space just as Giles is turning the little OPEN sign around in the window, twisting the dead bolt locked on the front door.

"Buffy," he says, his back still turned to me, "I'm glad you're here. We need to discuss—"

He turns around and stops short, cutting his sentence off staring at the space just over my left shoulder where I know Spike is standing.

"Spike," he murmurs, his voice taking on a lower, more dangerous tone.

I'm not sure if he's finished the sentence he was just saying, or if he's merely pointing out the fact the bleached vampire is standing beside me.

He frowns, eyes going back and forth between the two of us, taking the steps down onto the main level very slowly.

"What's going on here?" He asks, coming to stand a few feet in front of us.

His eyes land on the scarf tied around my neck again, and I can see it happening, see the beginnings of understanding crossing his features.

His eyes widen slightly behind the rims of his glasses.

Here goes nothing.

I reach up and untie the scarf, taking it in one hand and sliding it off, letting the silky fabric graze over the wound, sending another little shiver down my spine as it does.

I feel Spike tense up beside me, whether in reaction to my reaction to his bite or to the situation we're about to get ourselves into, I'm not sure.

I step to the side slightly, automatically angling my body in front of his as Giles drags his eyes back up to mine.

Taking a hold of my hair, twisting it, I drag it all over to one side, baring the curve of my neck to him. I wait for his eyes to turn down, to focus on the exposed bite mark before I speak.

"We were hoping you could tell us."