Chapter 12: On Again

"Two mochachinos, one green tea, one oblong tea, and one Yohoo. Xander, that's yours." Buffy gave him a comically stern glance as she handed him the chocolate milk.

"Didya get the swirly straws too, Buff?" Xander asked excitedly as he grabbed the bottle.

"No Xander, I'm trying to desperately maintain my identity as a twenty-something adult. Get your funky colored straws yourself." Buffy tried to suppress a smile when she saw his crestfallen face. She handed the mochachinos to Anya and Dawn and the teas to Tara and Willow. They all sat around the table at the Magic Box, burrowed deeply into heavy duty researching. Just like old times, all of them gathered, the usual comical banter flying back and forth, the feeling of ease and familiarity. This had been one the first outings out of the house Willow had made in weeks, and she looked so happy and so typically and Willowishly cheerful. She and Tara sat together, whispering quietly and smiling sweetly at each other, a resurgent spark of bad, lusty feelings glimmering in both their eyes. Anya and Xander were arguing as usual, Xander with the exaggerated hand motions and Anya with the petulant, whiny bluntness in her voice. Dawn just sat and was staring at the volumes of the old books, trying to find old engravings of strange, highly dangerous beings. For the first time in a long while, Buffy surveyed the cozy scene with a feeling of pleasantness, although a small chunk of coldness still remained in her heart. As much as she relished this old feeling of Scooby togetherness, she couldn't stop herself from reverting her thoughts back to a certain somebody. It had been so long since she felt the cool comfort of his body and as much as she reasoned to herself that she didn't need him, it was like an intoxicating drug that claimed her desire, her thoughts.

"Buffy!"

"Huh?" Buffy quickly shook her head to face Dawn.

"Zone out much? What was that? You thinking deep, hard thoughts? Although I seriously doubt that."

Buffy shot her sister a look. "As a matter a fact I was. I was thinking about Rack."

"Really? Cause you had this dreamy big-shirtless-guy-on-romance-novel-cover look. Rack must be a major stud."

Buffy gaped at Dawn, raising her eyebrows at an alarming rate. "What about romance novels?" she asked, her voice tinged with threatening apprehension.

"Umm . . . Not like I would know about that kind of thing. Janice's mom reads them by the dozen and she leaves them out all over the place." Dawn stammered, blushing a deep crimson hue. She ducked her head back into the book in front of her quickly. "Hey look!"

Everyone swiftly turned their attention to Dawn, who held up a book proudly. "Look it's Spike!" she said, pointing to an old engraving of William the Bloody, pre-bleached follicle days. Buffy stiffened, so slightly that no one except Tara could sense it. Xander raised an eyebrow and frowned.

"We care why?"

"It's just, I get excited every time I come across him in old books," Dawn explained. "I forget he's really old and world-famous and all that. I mean look, it's like finding him in like the 19th century of People's Weekly. If People's Weekly was more like Demon's Weekly . . . and well, you know what I mean."

"You don't know what it's like knowing someone world famous?" Xander asked pertly. "How 'bout having a sister whose a world known Slayer?"

Dawn wrinkled her nose. "Buffy's . . . Buffy. She clogs the sink and clips her toenails into the carpet. Spike's . . . cool." Dawn smiled playfully. Xander nearly gagged with disgust.

"Spike? Cool? If you mean him being lifeless and centuries older than your average 98.6 degree Joe, then yeah, he oozes cool." No one noticed how Buffy suddenly shuddered, remembering the feel of his ever-cool skin on hers. "Besides. How can you encourage this fanciful fixation you have with Spike when you have a studmeister like me?" Xander puffed up his chest proudly.

"I do not have a crush on Spike!" Dawn yelled embaressedly. "I don't---Buffy, did you tell them?!!"

"Huh . . . oh sure Dawn." Buffy replied hazedly.

"Buffy!!!!"

"Honey, you can't expect a teenage girl like Dawn to have a crush on you when she could have a crush on Spike," Anya pointed out.

"I do not have a crush on Spike!"

Xander used his arms to frame Anya in an exaggerated manner. "And presenting Anya. . . my ever devoted, always emasculating fiancée."

"I'm serious. Why would Dawn pine after a gawky construction worker when there's Spike?" Xander started to gesticulate furiously. " . . . With his penetrating eyes, and that sexy accent . . . those high, chiseled cheeks . . . and his washboard abs . . . not to mention that killer bad boy routine. Being dead helps out with that bit. How could a girl resist his charms?" Anya cocked her head, smiling slightly while Buffy stifled a high pitched moan in her throat.

"You have got to be kidding me!" Xander exploded. "I mean, it's SPIKE. Scary, annoying, perverted, freakish Spike. Any girl who's dumb enough to fall for him deserves to become his next undead playmate." Buffy's eyes widened as Xander went on, lips quivering. "I mean look at all the other loves of Spike's unlife. Blood, carnage, a mental patient with a creepy fixation for dolls and scariest of all, Harmony. The guy's obviously lacking in the taste department. Except for you Buffy. But we can just put that under the "Not If You Were the Last Vamp on Earth" column right?"

"Right. Excuse me," Buffy said abruptly, rushing to push her chair from under her as she ran back to the training room. Tara looked up from Willow and got up to follow her.

"Was it something I said?" Xander said innocently, responding the to silence that pervaded over the room.

Tara found Buffy savagely attacking the punching bag in the training room. Punch after punch, the poor bag rattled and sagged and was about to combust before Tara lightly put a hand on Buffy's shoulder, and was promptly rewarded by a elbow in the eye when Buffy snapped her arm back.

"Ow!" Tara's hand flew to her eye.

"Oh my god, Tara, I'm so sorry," Buffy gushed apologetically, running to get an ice pack from the freezer. "I'm so sorry….are you okay?"

"Y-yeah, I'm fine" Tara stammered, accepting the ice pack. "Don't worry about it. I just wanted to see if you were okay." She looked back up earnestly at Buffy.

"Oh that," Buffy sighed, motioning towards the door. She slumped over to the couch and collapsed on it. "Xander's right," she mumbled. "He's was just reminding me of how seriously warped I am to even give Spike a second thought." She buried her head in her hands. "Oh god Tara. And I have been giving him second thoughts. And third ones. And fourth ones. What's wrong with me?!"

Tara sat to next to Buffy and edged her arm around her shoulder. "Buffy, it's okay," she soothed. "It's completely normal to be attracted to someone like Spike."

"You mean something like Spike?" Buffy's voice was razor sharp. "He's not a person, Tara, he's a thing."

"A thing that's staying away from you," reminded Tara. "Isn't that what you want?"

Buffy jumped up and wrung her hands. "I don't know!!! I don't know what the hell I friggin' want. I mean, I hate him more than any being on the earth. . . but . . . I can't stop feeling . . ." She gripped herself tightly.

"You can't keep denying this to yourself, Buffy, it's not healthy. You have feelings for Spike. Deal with it. Forget about what Xander said in there." Tara' voice had an unusual, but more frequent tone of firmness.

Buffy rubbed her head. "I can't. I can never forget. I'm the Slayer. I can never let myself have anything with someone like Spike. Besides," her voice softened. "It's not like anything could happen. It's pretty evident that he doesn't even care. I mean, I haven't seen him for days now."

Tara was becoming more and more used to Buffy's 180-degree jobs. She smiled. "He's probably staying away from you because he knows you'd only get more and more confused around him."

"Right, like I'm not already swirling in a hot, sweaty mosh pit of confusion," Buffy grumbled, ruffling her hair messily. "Trust me to make the Queen mother of mistakes to actually tell him that I . . ." Buffy tightened. "Love him. Uggghhh!"

"But Buffy, how is it a mistake if he's actually staying away?"

"It's not!" Buffy reverted back again quickly. "I mean, ends to means and all that, but the fact that I said that. He knows I didn't mean it. Why does he have to make such a big deal about it?"

"And he's showing his extreme overreaction by not talking to you and avoiding you? Face it Buffy, you're going way too fast. You have to think this through. Spike is not the problem here. You have to sort out what you want."

"Why, when it's so much easier to blame it on him?" Buffy curled her lip sulkily. "I know, you're right." She slumped. "I think I . . . miss him."

Tara smiled and patted her hand. "I know."

"What do you think they're doing in there?" Xander whispered to Anya in a conspiratorial tone.

"Something lesbiany," Anya replied absently as she leafed through a bridal magazine.

"Sshh!" Xander motioned toward Willow and Dawn, absorbed in volumes of books over in the corner. "You really think so? God, and right in front of Willow too. Have they no shame? I have a half a mind to go in there and join them, I mean reprimand them." Xander rubbed his hands back and forth in excitement. "I mean, it was obvious enough with Tara moving back in suddenly---but this!"

"Hey where's Tara and Buffy?" Willow called from the table. Xander looked over in worry and alarm.

"They're just probably doing each other," Anya quipped, her voice devoid of emotion.

". . . Nails!" Xander supplied quickly seeing Willow's quizzical face. "They're doing each other's nails. Buffy's taking up the hobby of painting nails lately. She told me she wants to go to cosmetology school, you know get back up on that occupational bandwagon o- fun." He breathed a sigh of relief when Willow shrugged and looked back at her book. "I can't believe what they're doing to Willow." Xander shook his head. "It's bad. It's as bad as---" Xander's eyes widened when Spike sailed through the door breezily. "Him."

"What's up ducks," he announced, his voice full of mocking fun. "Red. Nibblet." He nodded towards the table.

"Spike!" Dawn jumped out of her chair to wrap her arms around him. "I haven't seen you for such a long time! I was just thinking of you! We found this old picture of you."

"Oh yeah," he remarked, gazing down at the yellowed picture of him in the opened book. "Back in my early snacking days. Good times, Good times." His eyes gleamed with nostalgia.

"As fun as sharing time has been," Xander cut in critically. "Why the hell are you here Spike?"

"Don't get your knickers in a twist, Harris," Spike smirked. "I'm just picking up some taggis root, as usual. My blood's pretty partyless without it." Xander gagged.

"Stay!" Dawn insisted. "We're just researching that Rack feller. Hot drinks, musty books, what else could you ask for in a fun-filled evening?" Dawn gave Spike her best puppy dog face.

Spike wavered and looked around to glance at Willow's warm expression, Anya's indifferent one and Xander's enraged one. How he glowed with smirkish joy inside to see Xander like that. Almost as much as seeing Buffy's gleaming smile. Buffy. "Umm, she's not 'ere, is she? Slayer, I mean." His face was lined with caution.

"Like you would be really crestfallen if she was, Spikester," Xander sniggered.

"Well I'm not much for her bitchy antics tonight," Spike snarled. "I just want to get my taggis root and get on my way."

"No you have to stay Spike!" Dawn was tugging at his duster. "I never see you! You don't even visit." Dawn's face hardened.

"Now Platelet, you know that wouldn't be very kosher, with me not bein' the most welcome houseguest at chez Summers. You know you can visit by crypt anytime you want."

"I know, but Buffy---"

"Buffy." Spike's eyes drifted past Dawn to the back door. Buffy stood framed in the doorway, looking beautifully fearful as her eyes locked into his.

"Spike." Everything around them was disappearing, leaving only hazeled and blued orbs, tied to each other. Worried, disgusted faces became blurred and Buffy could only see the soft clarity that was his eyes.

"I, uh . . . just came to get my root." .

"Oh." Buffy's voice was so much softer than Spike expected. It had been nearly two weeks since he last touched her, and the memory of what she felt like around him, her velvety, sweat-slicked, honeyed skin, was driving him crazy.

"How ya been, Slayer?" His head cocked.

Buffy squinted. "What do you care?" she shot back, remembering his response that one time.

Spike straightened. "Don't." he growled. He whirled to face all of the other Scoobies, who by this time was totally confused by this recent display. "I'll just go down stairs, get m'root and be off on my way." He rushed towards the basement door, his black duster trailing behind him.

Everyone was silent for a moment while Buffy fidgeted where she stood. She waited a few minutes before announcing to the rest, "I um . . . have to get something downstairs . . . a book." With that, her heels clacked the floor as she rushed downstairs.

Xander turned to Anya. "What was that about?"

Anya shrugged. "Dunno." Her eyes widened. "You know what?! I bet Spike knows about her and Tara and she's going downstairs to get Spike not to tell."

"You don't think—" Xander asked , his eyes widened.

"Geez, can you believe this shameful deception that's taking place? I mean, it's so obvious how can Willow not tell? Honestly, these things are totally in front of one's nose, who could be stupid enough to ignore them?" Anya tsked pointedly as she walked away.

Spike waited a few minutes for the sound of Buffy's footsteps on the basement stairs. As he waited he reflected on the past few days.

Bloody torture. Every night, he lay awake, writhing and thrashing in discomfort, wanting her warmed body beside his to lure him to sleep. Feeling the only way for release was in her arms and on her heaving chest. He wanted her so much he could hardly breath. Not like he needed to breath, but the irony was not lost on him. But he had stayed away. Because of her bloody hurtful words, her continual denial, her total willingness to continue to play with him like some beggin' wanker. Because he had to do what he could to retain the little pride he had left. Because of the shamed look in her eyes that night she told him. Those three little words that made time stand still and made Spike feel totally complete for the first time in his existence. He could never forget the way she had so quickly forgotten, how she continued to sit content in her own bloody walls.

He thought he could stand it. Maybe ease her out of those walls gradually. Tease her, irritate her with his usual smarmy cockiness. But he couldn't. He hadn't expected it to hurt so much. It had hurt when she was gone and dead, but this. He writhed in pain at the inconceivable idea that she could possibly love him, and he had somewhat dulled the pain by giving up entirely, yet dreaming of her still. But now that he tasted her, he touched her, there was no way he could pretend that things could ever be the same. He was so close, yet so painfully far. For her to know how deeply he was devoted to her, how quickly he would have staked himself to dust for her, and to still play with his emotions, curling her lip over seductively and stiffening it the next minute, twirling his emotions up and down like a friggin' Chinese yo-yo . . .well, that made darker than anyone he had ever met. Yet he hated and loved her with a passion he could barely comprehend.

Buffy gingerly walked down the steps and found Spike sitting on a crate, smoking a cigarette. She had expected him to have jumped out from her in the darkness, his cool hands possessing her mouth and hands. But he just sat there, tired and angry. Not the fiery Spike she knew. She had done this to him. Tired him, but never, ever made him leave. She stood in front of him uncomfortably.

"Spike, I----"

"I know what you're gonna say Slayer." He held his hand up affirmatively. "Nothing's between us, I'm a monster and the rest of that jazz. You can save it, cause we've soft shoed this dance more than once, and I'm in no mood."

Buffy lowered her head. "Spike, why did you come here?"

"I told you, for my root." Yet he was just sitting there, with no root in his hand and no intention to move.

"Really? Then why are you just sitting here when you know all the taggis roots are in the crate over there?" She pointed towards the far side of the room. Spike scoffed slightly.

"Can't a bloke sit around for bit, smokin his fags? This is a public place and I'm not botherin' no one."

"Spike," Buffy repeated. She took a few steps towards him, her hair glistening in the dim light of the basement. Her smell was intoxicating, lavender and vanilla, as well as the distinct scent of arousal. Spike could never get that smell out of his clothes no matter how hard he tried. Her small breasts were erect, as she stood straightened. Spike was so tempted to bury his head in what she was currently offering. "I know you've been avoiding me."

Spike hesitated as he smirked and cocked his head. "What, you can't imagine that a creature of the darkness has other things to do than moon after the likes of you?"

She continued to slither towards him slowly. "I . . I know that you're angry . . . and well, impatient with me."

Spike's eyes widened. What was she trying to say. Was she actually apologizing?

"And I know that I can send mixed signals sometimes . . ." She was cut off by Spike snorting.

"That's the understatement of the year," he smirked.

Buffy paced herself. "But, I just wanted to tell you that . . ." she took a deep breath. "I missed you."

Spike could not believe what he was hearing. Her? Missed him? Could it be that she wasn't all namby-pamby happy when he was strangledly trying to stay away from her? He paused to look into her eyes and could see the telltale sign of desire in them. He breathed out sharply as she moved in and stood only a few inches from him. "Spike?" she repeated gingerly for the umpteenth time.

Suddenly, he grabbed her head and rammed her lips to his, hungrily seeking her tongue. She needily gave it to him as she wrapped her arms around him and panted against his mouth. He brushed his hands through her long locks and his mouth drifted to her neck. She groaned softly and he lifted her up, hands cupping her backside, drawing him close to the valley between his legs. He whirled around, settling his weight on top of her, with her leaning against the crate. Grinding his hard arousal between her legs, he smirked at the small gasp emitted between Buffy's parted lips. She instinctively curled her legs up against his hip, drawing him into her waiting, pulsing warmth that lay beneath the light obstructive layer of silk and lace. Groaning low in his throat he ripped open her buttoned shirt, causing her to fly into a fit of giggles as he continued to trail kisses down her neck. Arching her up, he positioned her so that he could have her right there, on the crate.

"What's taking so long?" Xander fidgeted from the front desk. "Oh my God!" his eyes widened in shock. "What if . . . oh no."

"What Xander?" Anya asked, trying to ease an answer out of her cherry tomato colored boyfriend.

He grabbed her arm and whispered anxiously into her ear," What if Spike does tell? What if Buffy is taking so long because he's blackmailing her? Like, he'll tell everyone if Buffy doesn't give him what he wants? That undead lowlife would do a thing like that too, anything to get to Buffy." He rammed his fist into his other hand, threateningly, but later winced from his own strength, shaking out his hand. "We can't let this happen!" He fretfully said to Anya, who by now was too absorbed in admiring the money in the cash register to care. "I mean, we can't just let Spike come in with his 'bloody hell's' and his hideously bad imitations of Sid Vicious and break up our well formed pool of Scoobiness. The Scoobiness must be preserved." Xander stuck an assertive finger in the air. Anya, unimpressed with his firm declaration, continued to count the money.

Buffy came back upstairs by herself, looking unusually disheveled. Her clothes all looked slightly awry and her shirt was buttoned wrong. No one had seem to have noticed. She was eternally glad that the basement was for the most part soundproof, since she was paranoid that she would come up to questioning looks about the large amounts of thumping noises coming from downstairs. As well as the alarming amount of "Oh Gods" and stifled groans. She was also glad that there was a window that Spike could furtively whisk out of downstairs, leaving her only with a passionate kiss and a promise to see her later. She tried to smooth her tangled hair, noting that some of his musky scent still lingered there. Trying to be casual, she plopped into a seat next to Tara who gave her a knowing smile.

"Where's Spike?" Xander asked apprehensively, seeing the furtive exchange between Tara and Buffy, and noting the sudden disappearance of Spike.

"What, huh?" Buffy turned with stiffened fear at the acknowledgement of Spike by Xander. "He, um, left, you know, right after he got the taggis root." Xander did not look convinced.

"Where's the book?" Dawn questioned casually.

"Huh? Oh . . ." Panic spread through Buffy as she rushed to find an excuse. "I couldn't find it downstairs. I tried looking everywhere, and I couldn't find it."

"What were you looking for?" Willow's voice tinged with her old, remarkable alacrity.

"Umm . . . ." Buffy was horrible at this lying thing. She couldn't understand how she was able to keep the secret of her slaying habits from her mom for so long. "Magical . . . Chronicles by John . . . Brown," she said, inwardly smacking her head for thinking of such a lame title.

"Here it is," Dawn said, giving her sister a puzzled look. "It was sitting right in front of you all evening." She handed her the voluminous book that Buffy accepted with a thud.

"So you and Spike are. . . . 'cool' right?" Xander tried to give Buffy an understanding nod, but only provided confusion and sheer panic on Buffy's part. Oh my God he knows! she cried internally.

"If you mean 'cool' in a fifties dancing street gang sort of way, no," she garbled breezily, trying her best to sound as flippant as possible. "If you mean 'cool' in a casual, professional slaying type of way, yes." She looked up at Xander and was immensely relieved to see the suspicion drain out of his eyes. Wow, she thought, noting the relaxed acknowledgement in Xander's eyes. I can't believe he's handling this so well. Oh well, that's one less person I have to tell. Suddenly feeling much lighter, she turned around to face to utterly confused faces as Dawn and Willow exchanged worried eyebrows. They looked about as lost as Tokyo business tourists. She suddenly began to spontaneously giggle, feeling so much better about these frequent slayer cram sessions they had than she had for a long time.