The river was running red. It made her a little queasy. Still, she couldn't tear her eyes off of it. Because there he was, wading in it up to his waist, trying to reach the bank where she stood. The current's too strong, she realized, he'll be sucked under. But he kept on coming, practically maroon where the 'water' had touched him, fighting, struggling, dying.

Dying.

It wasn't fair.

She couldn't stop it.

She cried out.

And the river swallowed him up and spit him out onto the shore, leaving a crimson streak across the earth where it'd flung him. He stood up, shakily, and faced her, and the sun came out.

Burning.

Horrible, horrible burning.

She screamed, and was drowned out by an awful shrieking-

"EEEEIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII-"

"Buffy !" Dawn yelled. "Where's the stupid off switch on this ?!" lifting her head from the kitchen counter, Buffy watched her little sister frantically shake the round white object in her hands. The one that horrendous racket was coming from. "Buffy ! A little help ?" she said, exasperated. The slayer's mind shifted into gear.

"Bottom, Dawn. Little red button."

"Thanks." she breathed, and the shrilling ceased. "Geez, you tell me not to burn the house down," she pointed to the microwave, which was clouded from the inside, "so watch it, huh ? You forget how to make popcorn ?" Buffy shook her head, hoping perhaps she could shake off that terrible fear from her dream as well.

"Sorry. Just... fell asleep for a second." she yawned widely, and Dawn's displeased eyes warmed to her.

"Hey. No biggie. You know, you like like crap." she said helpfully. "You ought to just forget the movie and get some sleep."

"Oh, thanks." Buffy groaned. "But you're probably right." she slid off the stool and ambled to the doorway, pausing for a moment to watch Dawn rummaging in the fridge. "When did you become such a... little caretaker ?" she said softly. Dawn tilted her head to the side, and for one beautiful, blessed moment, Buffy could see her mother's smile rising in one corner of Dawn's.

"Dunno." she said, and stuck a celery stick in her mouth. "I'm jusht a natshural, I guesh."

Alone in her room, Buffy watched the trees' shadows snake lines across her ceiling. She thought about the small vampire she and Spike had cornered, not more than a few hours ago, and wondered why she had such a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach. She'd seen him before, she knew it, out of the corner of her eyes, watching her, following her. Probably working for Lumpy- she found herself giggling inappropriately- and finding out what my patterns are, where I patrol. Yuck. The thought of those icky yellow eyes tracing her movements made her shiver. That's the kind of thing Spike used to send minions for, she remembered. Weird. Better just not to remember things like that. But it probably means Lumhe is doing the same thing. Is it just to know the score- or does he have his sights set on... a slayer ?

"I really need to get some sleep." she mumbled, and pressed her face against her pillow. So why was the little vampire still looking at her from behind her eyelids ?

A weight settled in her stomach.

Slipping out of the covers, she crossed the room to her bookcase, and pulled out her yearbook. Senior year. She flipped through the pages for a while, until one caught her eye.

Eric Kirkwood.

Biology major, it said, with a scholarship.

Smart.

He smiled out from the pages.

Nice.

Dead.

She made it all the way to the bathroom before she threw up.

The door flew back, flapping in an awkward manner. Really ought to deadbolt it, or reinforce it, or bloody well do something. It's becoming a symbol, rather than an impediment. A metaphysical door. Bloody undignified.

"Slayer. To what do I owe the honor of thi- Buffy ?" he stopped short. "You alright ?"

The eyes were what hurt to look at. She looked like he had occasionally, mostly when coming off of a three-day bender, but the eyes were alert. They were miserable, and asked questions he couldn't begin to answer.

"I'd like to talk." she said. If that wasn't an understatement, he'd eat... well, something. He offered her a chair, and she sat in it. Just like that. No 'what a crappy chair, Spike'. Something was extremely wrong.

"Something's wrong." he said, figuring the obvious was a good start. Followed up with a bid for her attention. "You like like crap." Something flashed across her face. A good sign. "What's eatin' you ?"

"Not you." she grinned, a little humor entering those eyes. "But seriously... the vamp we staked earlier... yesterday." He noticed that her eyes were a little red.

"Short carrot-head. Yeah."

"His name was Eric."

"Oh." the enormity of that hit him for a moment. She knew him. Probably one of her little high-school buddies. Well, life could be a right bitch that way. Particularly on the hellmouth. "I'm... sorry." She flashed him an odd look. From here, she could see that his face was open, and she could almost see down into him, read his thoughts. There was a thin line of hurt buried behind the cocky grin. Have I ever looked like this to him ? Open ? And honest ?

"You know what ?" she said slowly. "I think you are."

"What's that supposed to mean ?"

"I really think you are... sorry. I couldn't believe it for a long time. You're a vampire."

"Brilliant deduction, Holmes." he smirked automatically, and instantly regretted it.

"Whatever." she rolled her eyes. "I guess it doesn't stop you from being a jerk. But... you really do... care... don't you ?" He struggled with that for a moment. Tell her yes, admit to her that I still love her, probably always will, and get it smashed right back into my face- or tell her no, lie, and leave it at that.

"Yes." he said. Let 'er rip, he thought grimly.

Which is why he was totally unprepared when she pulled him into her kiss.

Humans, unlike vampires, feel this certain need to breathe. Buffy was feeling it now, but this urge was the only thing strong enough to be dragging her out of Spike's embrace. Apparently he'd woken up from his stupor somewhere along the way, and was busy returning her hungry kiss with equal parts ferocity and tenderness. They parted, and she drew in a giant breath.

"Oh." he said, stupidly. She smoothed her hand along his hairline, feeling for the first time how soft the curls at his forehead really were. "Oh." he said again, and she laughed.

"Oh ?" Buffy raised an eyebrow. "I was afraid I'd get something like 'is that all you got, Summers ?'" she giggled. He gave her a sideways grin.

"That all you got, Summers ?" he purred, and tackled her. They kissed again, urgently. His cool hands warmed as they came in contact with her skin, sending wonderful shivers up her spine. Spike shivers. Shivers she shouldn't be having.

"O-oops." she said, and sat up, nearly tossing him off of her.

"Oops ?" his blue eyes mirrored only her. "Buffy..."

"Yeah." her voice was a whisper.

"Why did you do that ?" There were several ways she could have answered that, and he feared them all, for different reasons.

"Don't know." she shrugged. "I wanted to."

"Good enough." he said enthusiastically, and leaned towards her again. She put a shaking hand against his chest, lighter than a feather, and he stopped. He watched her eyes change color. "Pet ?"

"Don't." she said helplessly. "I... oh, don't."

"Don't what ?"

"Make me want to kiss you again. Please. Not now." she glanced around at the coat, which had somehow worked its way off of her shoulders and across the room. At least the shirt was intact. "I- I have to go."

"You just got here." he joked, but there was no humor in his voice. She had come, and she had kissed him, and she'd decided it was a mistake. That he was a mistake. Bloody freaking mucked-up sodding- his mind began shouting, but she wasn't getting up. She was just sitting there, looking at him and the door, as if choosing between two expensive pairs of pants.

"I have to go." she said again, and got up. Then she turned and wrapped herself around him again, but without the same passionate urgency. There was need in it, but not the kind of need that fueled Spike's hungry dreams. She'd spent that on the kisses. He looked down at her, her arms wrapped around his neck, and realized he'd needed the same thing from her, not two days ago. Comfort. Strength. Whatever. There wasn't a name for it just now, but there was something he could do about it.

He held her to him, rocking ever so slightly.

"There, love." he whispered. "There, pet." I'm sorry, he wanted to say, but there were no words for that.