DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of these characters...they are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and 20th Century Fox. Joss has created a rich and marvelous well to drawn from...I'm just using his characters for my own and a few others' amusement. That being said, this fiction is MY creation. I want people to read and enjoy it. If you like it, email me, or post and tell me! If you want to post this particular fic on a site, just ask. Thanks!
A match flared in the darkness. Its tiny flame illuminated Spike's face as he lit the end of his cigarette. His face was expressionless, his eyes focused on the door of the nightclub. As the smoke faded, he stepped back into the blackness of the alley, waiting, watching for the Slayer to exit the Bronze. His attention never swayed from the small groups of people passing by the burly bouncer.
***
Buffy sat alone at a table inside the Bronze. A couple approached her meaningfully, indicating their need for a place to sit. The table was littered with empty bottles and the remnants of Xander's onion ring basket. She looked at her watch. One A.M. Willow and Tara had left almost an hour ago. Xander and Anya before that. What was she doing in here? She recognized a couple of people from the University, but none she was particularly friendly with. She sat her glass on the table and shrugged into her leather jacket. Might as well go, she thought. She briefly flirted with the idea of another sweep across the eastern part of town, decided against it then changed her mind again. Spike's crypt was in a cemetery on the East side.
***
Spike was unusually patient this evening. Standing beside the dumpster, he blended into the shadows. The dark clothing he wore, including the distressed, black, leather coat exaggerated the paleness of his complexion and the shock of his platinum hair. The vampire's objective on this night's stake out was petite, blond and totally avoiding him.
***
Buffy brushed past a trio of girls in halter-tops. They were giggling as the bouncer checked their i.d.'s. She gave the girls another quick glance, envying their obliviousness to the dangers lurking outside. She sighed a little as she left the bronze, heading east almost without realizing it, her boot heels clicking on the pavement.
***
A crowd milled about outside the small club and the neon sign above the door pulsed as music spilled into the alley. Spike had no idea how long he had been there, but was prepared to wait until dawn for Buffy to emerge. The cigarette butt joined a host of its brethren on the ground at his feet. He started to light another, but he spied Buffy walking out-and she was alone! He quickly tossed the cigarette aside and slipped from the shadows, keeping a respectable distance from the girl. Her easy gate belied her awareness of her surroundings. Spike watched as she seemed to stroll along carelessly. He knew better. Her strength wasn't the only thing that surpassed his own-her senses were as preternatural as his-and he could tell what kind of soap she was using from a distance of twenty yards.
***
Buffy walked quietly-it always paid for her to be vigilant. It was true that her senses were heightened. Even though her Watcher insisted that she never drop her guard, maintaining the ruse that she was just another co-ed walking home late at night was a really good trick for baiting hungry vampires. She fingered the wooden stake in her jacket pocket as she walked. Without meaning to, she thought of Spike. He had started crowding the edges of her mind. His usefulness of late seemed out of character for him but now that she knew the truth of it, she chalked it up to his self-serving desires. The problem was, she had caught herself watching him lately. Watching him closely. Close enough to notice how blue his eyes were. Yes, she had rejected him, was, in fact, shocked when faced with the realization that the vampire harbored any kind of romantic interest in her. Luckily, her instincts had kicked in automatically when he actually confessed and said the words. That sick feeling in her stomach started to overtake her.
***
As Spike followed Buffy out of the alley his stomach turned over, the tension and excitement fluttering around in his gut like a couple of bats. He hung back just enough so she wouldn't spot him. The vampire had been maintaining a sense of calm in the face of his bitter rejection by the Slayer. He had initially resented the fact that she had revoked his standing invitation into her home, but had gotten over it. He wasn't one to give up easily, although her small circle of friends was doing its best to present him with a unified front, steadfastly shutting him out of any interaction. No use crying over spilt blood. He was done with awkward conversations and pathetic attempts at wooing. He was vampire. And vampires are hunters by nature, occupying a satisfying niche above humans on the food chain. It was time to embrace his nature even if, this time, the quarry wasn't a meal. He was certain that Buffy had no idea of the depths of his feelings. He was also pretty sure she was completely unaware of her own. But there was no mistaking the kind of bond the two of them had. He just had to make her understand this-by any means necessary. He was immortal, after all, and had all the time in the world.
***
Acting as if she had all the time in the world, Buffy slowed to a leisurely pace, approaching the cemetery gates. Spike's crypt was on the southern most side. She tried to tell herself that it made good sense to keep tabs on the vampire. With him all stalkery, she needed to know what he was up to. She stopped walking and looked around. No sign of any vamp activity, including Spike. She frowned, unsure of what she should do next, unsure of why she had even come here.
***
Why had she come here? Spike stopped when he saw Buffy enter the cemetery. His cemetery. His eyes narrowed. What the bloody hell was she up to? He watched her as she circled the mausoleum that housed his crypt. She was wearing jeans and a black leather jacket. He imagined he could feel the softness of the leather, the harshness of the denim against his skin. He wanted to peel her out of those clothes, leave the jeans in a midnight blue pile on the ground. The desire rose in him. He swallowed hard and shook off those thoughts, determined to stay focused.
***
Buffy's eyes focused quickly, accustomed as she was to darkened cemeteries. The stone face of the mausoleum stared blankly back at her. She leaned absent-mindedly against a tombstone. The marble was smooth and cold to the touch-So was Spike. She remembered how he felt. His skin always smelled of cigarettes, and dust. She remembered the coppery taste of his kiss, his lips still warm from the blood. She shivered at the last thought. She shook her head. That was different. I was under a spell. This is not happening. There was absolutely no way she was heading for another room-temperature boyfriend, especially one whose latest hobby was Buffy-stalking.
***
Who's stalking whom, Love? Spike thought as he cocked his head and watched Buffy silently arguing with herself. There was a chill in the air and he could see the vapor of the Slayer's breath as he skirted the tombs surrounding the crypt. There was an underground passage he could use to get in without Buffy seeing him. But she'd piqued his curiosity. The girl that had coldly turned him down was hanging about his front door. Why? Why was she here?
***
Why was she here? Buffy thought over and over to herself as she settled on the ground with her back against a grave marker. The ground was damp. She took the stake out of her pocket and toyed with the rough piece of wood. A good deal of self-examination had led her to believe that she did not need a man-dead or undead in her life. Four years and many, disastrous relationship had shown the girl that sex was not worth the kind of emotional pain that always seemed to follow it. No matter how good it was.
***
What was going through the Slayer's mind? Spike positioned himself well away from Buffy. Keeping to the far side of the crypt, he wondered how long the girl would stay. Long enough for him to figure out why she was here? His back to the crypt wall, he slid to the ground. Head back, eyes closed, he sighed deeply. This is insane. This is wrong. He was exhausted. The last few weeks he'd spent his days trying to keep track Buffy's activities and following her on her nightly rounds. Even when she was asleep, he lurked about her house, keeping watch over her. He hadn't slept in days. This is wrong…
***
Wrong, wrong, wrong. The words echoed in her head over and over. Buffy finally won the argument with herself and stood up to leave. As she looked around again, she listened for any sign of activity. She heard something, a muffled voice. She shivered and carefully approached the mausoleum. She stepped carefully around a new grave, feeling her way through the shadows. As she made her way around to the far side of the crypt she stopped short. Had she taken one more step she would have tripped over Spike. Buffy looked down at the vampire. He sat slumped against the white, marble wall, chin on his chest. The Slayer hesitated but, realizing he was asleep, she slowly sank down to one knee beside him. Buffy peered at him in the darkness. His expression was open, which softened the sharper features of his face. She was so unused to the lack of a lop-sided, cocky grin, that she stared, fascinated by the differences in the smooth, pale face. In the moonlight, she could make out the darker fringe his eyelashes and the straight, strong line of his nose. Without thinking, she reached out, her slender hand almost, but not quite touching the stilled features. He was fitful, dreaming…
***
Spike stood face to face with Buffy quietly watching him with those enormous green eyes. She reached out to touch his face…Startled out of his nap, Spike suddenly looked around him, wondering for a minute where he was and if he had just dozed off, or whether the sun was ready to come up and cook him to a cinder. Buffy? Was she still there? He quickly scrambled to his feet. As he sidled up to the corner of the mausoleum, he tripped and fell flat. Sod it all! Frustrated, he lay on the dew damp ground, slamming a fist into the earth. A moment passed before he pulled himself upright. As he did, he spied something out of the corner of his eye. Still on his knees he held the wooden stake in his hands. He searched warily for the Slayer. She was gone.
***
Buffy sped up the pace as she walked out of the cemetery gates, not daring to glance behind her. Spike had mumbled her name in his sleep. She wanted to be gone when he woke up. She shouldn't have come. And she wouldn't come back.
***
Spike knelt holding the stake for a long while. With a sigh and shrug he tossed the small piece of wood aside, stood up and opened the door to the crypt. He glanced toward the cemetery gates. He pursed his lips, grinned and shut the door behind him. She'll be back.
