"Help you with something, blondie?" The vampire had wandered up to the roof, even though it was the wrong night for a sparring session.
"Thought you might be up for an extra go-round, you working out every night an' all." Spike flicked his cigarette away. He wore only his boots, black jeans, and a dark t-shirt.
Grey shrugged. "Why not?" As always, he wore blue workout clothes. He had a powder-blue sweatshirt on as a nod to the weather. They faced each other in the center of the roof.
"Ready then?" Spike asked. The auror nodded.
He had never seen the vampire move so fast. In an instant he was taking blows to the head and chest. Ducking behind his forearms, he frantically tried to back away. Spike pursued relentlessly, tossing the occasional kick or knee into the combination as he drove Grey across the roof. His target tried to spin away and get behind him, but Spike dropped him to the floor with an elbow in the kidney. He began to kick the prone figure in the back and stomach. Hard.
Grey wondered what had gotten the vampire so worked up. Angry now, he rolled over and scrambled to a standing position. He hit Spike with two right jabs and a left cross, followed by a whirling kick to the head. The vampire staggered back a step. A hard elbow to the chin and a knife-hand to the throat sent Spike reeling further. Grey grabbed his shoulders, pulling him back in to meet a waiting knee and a furious head butt. The vampire went down, his game face out and his eyes bright yellow.
"What the hell are you thinking?" The auror asked. "Or should I keep beating the shit out of you?"
"Thought you might be holding something back, hero." Spike knew the man loathed being referred to as 'Boy Hero.' "But I'd hardly say you're beating the shit out of me."
"You haven't answered my question."
"The Slayer wanted me to send you a message." He hopped from his back to his feet liquidly, then advanced on Grey. Faster than the eye could follow, he dove into a low tackle, taking Grey's knees out from under him. The auror fell face first onto the asphalt roof with an audible crack. Spike rolled away, climbing to his feet and slamming a steel toe into his head. He grabbed the collar of the blue sweatshirt and tossed Grey effortlessly against one of the blunt outcroppings at the edge of the platform. Punch after punch landed on the dazed auror, who idly wondered if part of the message was him dying.
"What's that?" Grey croaked out, leaning forward and spitting blood. Spike hit him with an uppercut that sent him sprawling. Grey lay there, barely conscious, wondering how he could have been stupid enough to allow the vampire to beat the snot out of him. For the first time in months, he hadn't been ready for a vicious attack, and Spike had let him have it.
"Hurt Willow, and she'll come back to finish the job."
Thirty minutes later, Grey limped to his room.
"Pardon me for saying so, sir, but you look like the dragon won this round," Sir Cadogan said as a greeting. "Perhaps I should take your place the next time valiant deeds are required?" Grey chuckled.
"Thanks, Cadogan, but the dragon just caught me unprepared. Coralvanda."
The warmth of the fire bathed his face. Willow, her feet curled under her and one of his paperbacks in her hand, occupied a chair in front of the hearth. He stopped to stare. Gray sweatpants, one of his navy blue sweatshirts, red hair in a ponytail with the firelight dancing across it. Her eyes were narrowed in concentration and a frown line split her forehead. She looked absolutely stunning. He hobbled over and slumped down in the other chair.
"Hey," he said, disturbing her reverie.
"Oh! Hey. Didn't hear you come in. What are…" Seeing his battered face, her expression shifted to concern. "What happened?"
"Some rough sparring with Spike. No big deal."
"No big deal! That bully. He can't…" Grey cut her off with a raised hand. He understood that Spike and Buffy were protecting their friend, and he respected that. No harm, no foul.
"I gave as good as I got. We were just feeling antsy." The concern didn't fade from her features. "Really, it's nothing a hot shower won't cure. What are you doing up here?"
"Bored," she responded. "Thought I'd see what you had to read." She gestured to the seven-foot high bookcase he had filled. "You have weird taste in books."
"Why do you say that?" He asked, easing out of the chair and walking to his closet. "Don't turn around. I need to change."
"Okay, I won't." Yeah, right, they both thought. "You've got fantasy, sci-fi, tons of mysteries from guys I've never heard of, and an entire shelf of history books." He pulled off his blood-stained t-shirt, replacing it with a clean blue one. Willow, meanwhile, admired the taut muscles of his back. She had never seen him with his shirt off, and realized that he was built like a beer keg. Square with broad shoulders. It was quite a sight.
"You have a problem with any of those?" He replied over his shoulder. For modesty's sake, he decided to stay with the dirty pants.
"Somebody's defensive, huh?" She asked as he sat down again. "No, Mister Toy Collection, I don't have a problem with them. What's with all the history, though?"
"I like to read about military history. American especially."
"Why?"
"Interesting people, interesting times. Some of those guys could change the entire planet with a word. What did you grab?"
"Voodoo River."
"Elvis Cole. Good choice. If you like that one, there's more, plus a few other guys who write like Crais does. Are you a mystery fan?" She shrugged.
"Not really. Never read too much fiction like this. I was always into schoolwork and heavy reading, y'know? Plus, my whole life seems like a horror novel or the plot for some tv show."
"There is that," he conceded. "So you figured that you heard my password once, you were welcome to come in and read my books anytime you wanted?"
"Well, I … no, I mean …" Suddenly flustered, she began to babble. She hadn't expected him to be mad.
"Relax. I'm just teasing. Of course it's okay." She glared at him, but couldn't hold it and began to laugh.
"No fair. I'm easily confused."
"Don't I know it." They both laughed at that. Grey marveled at the woman next to him; two months earlier he had been dead certain that he never wanted to laugh again. When Jess left, he had wiped every other reason for living out of his mind. He had hoped to become an angel of death, descending swiftly on Voldemort and his followers and then just as swiftly fading away.
Now, he silently wondered if, when this war ended, he might not return to the friendly, outgoing man he had once been. Without Willow, he doubted it. But she was here. Her presence held the promise of the one thing he dared not hope for since the night Voldemort returned: rebirth.
Maybe it's already happened, he mused.
Shaking off the heavy thoughts, he caught Willow staring at him.
"What?"
"Hello? You've been sitting there doing the Angel thing for, like, five minutes."
"The Angel thing?"
"Brooding."
"Oh, right. Buffy's ex-boyfriend, the one who fights evil in L.A. now."
"He's big with the broodiness. Also with the lurking and not talking. You guys would get along great." She smiled as she thought of Grey and Angel in a brooding contest. Too close to call.
"Probably be boring for everyone else, though. Two dangerous-looking guys sitting silently in a room."
"Definitely." She rose from the chair. "Now that you're home safe, I should go. Early class with Giles." She paused, waiting for the invitation to stay. He wanted to offer, but the voice in the back of his head wouldn't allow it. The silence grew awkward.
"Okay. I should be lurking as usual. Magic lesson tomorrow, right?"
"Uh huh. Oh, and there's another project I need your help with." He gave her a questioning look. "Too much to explain now. I think your generals over there would call it recon. We'll talk tomorrow." On her way past, she swooped down and kissed him lightly on the cheek. It broke the rule between them, but he wasn't upset. In his mind, he could see the blush creeping beautifully up her neck as she left.
He sat in front of the fire for an hour, savoring the feel of her lips on his face.