Chapter Four: Morning After

Neither of them had slept.

They were trapped. She wouldn't look away from him and he could not stop drinking her in. Their eyes shone like the morning sun, which had already come and changed from gray to pale to bright.

And the street beyond the alley was starting to hum.

She clutched the white sheet to her breast and stood as he pulled up his trousers. She walked deliberately to her dresser and turned to lean on it as she gently tugged on her lip with her teeth, waiting…

He put his arm through his shirtsleeve and grabbed his coat off the floor, tossing it over his arm as he turned around for her. "Don't come to Heaven tonight," he offered without meeting her eyes.

"I can say the same, she replied sharply." Buffy crossed her arms in front of her and took a breath before she spoke again. This time her words came softer, "He knows, Will. Don't be crazy."

He half-smiled and lifted his eyes to meet hers from across her tiny room. "Got no choice, pet. Name's Spike—and you are what you draw in this lot," he gestured with a bow and a glimmer in his eye.

"Tell me about it," she countered with a bit of amusement in her words. She took a step closer to him.

"Would it help if I told you I made a promise to a lady?" he asked seriously.

She took another step towards him, shaking her head slowly as she held his gaze hypnotically and laced her arms around the back of his neck. "No," she admitted. "Kiss me."

He took her in his arms so that he was her whole world for just that moment and he held her there as he kissed her goodbye. Then he set her free when he took both her hands with his and pulled them away from around the back of his head. He brought her small hands to his cool lips and closed his eyes for a breath before he head back out the window onto the fire escape.

"See you tonight then, love," he promised her.

And then he was gone. As easily as he had come.

Or not so easy.

At the end of the alley where it met the now bustling street, Angel stepped out of his car on his way home. It had been a long night for him. He grabbed the paper from his seat before shutting the door and as he turned, before his foot landed one step ahead and took him away from the view of the alley, his eyes ended up on Buffy's window as usual. Not in possession or fear. It was harmless—the everyday instinct to make sure your home is in order. And he saw Spike climb out onto the ledge.

Angel quietly froze there for a beat of his heart.

He waited for the beat, but it never came. He was paralyzed, waiting in the moment between heartbeats to end. But it didn't—the silence stretched on inside his chest. And a footstep later he was out of sight just as Spike looked up.

Angel walked into the apartment without breathing and spoke to himself when he promised "Tonight," through clenched teeth and punched the wall.

"Tonight!" screeched Xander. "You can't seriously mean we are going back there TONIGHT?!"

"Like I said," Spike repeated, taking out a cigarette from the pack. "You're not to come tonight. They're going to be waiting for us."

"Which is exactly why I should be there." Xander nodded to himself. "They're waiting for US," he explained, puffing out his chest a little.

Spike shook his head and looked at his friend with his head tilted sideways. "Right then—no one listen to me. We'll all go to the sodding club tonight! And I'll try to keep us all alive."

His words hung in the air for a moment too long.

"Were you with her last night?" Xander asked suddenly.

Spike was a little wary at this question and took a long drag on his cigarette before answering with a slow nod. "I was."

"Can we trust her? I mean, the witch said you should trust her."

"And what does the bleeding witch know about anything?" Spike challenged a little too quickly. Then he turned his head and put his hat on squarely, tipping it just off center.
"I trust her," he said under his breath as he walked down the hall towards his bed.

But Spike's head was spinning.

Buffy's boss was his mark and the old stooge was like her father. He didn't know if he could kill her father. He didn't know if she would even let him.

There was such a strong draw to her he felt it even now as he lay down to bed and he cursed himself for it. It felt almost like a curse—like something deep inside him was opening up. He could not be certain why he was so full of her right now. Maybe it was the way she reminded him of death or the way eternity danced on her lips when she spoke. She was killing him slowly and if he didn't get to sleep soon, her sweetheart would be killing him quickly later tonight.

Angel. He was so pompous. So full of himself. Like he had some great purpose and everyone else's existence was meaningless—except of course for Buffy's. Spike knew Angel—he knew his dirty little secrets and he was certain Buffy never knew about them in that tiny room the man kept her caged in.

Angel would kill for her. He would kill for his father. Hell, he was just as much a killer as Spike. But Buffy wouldn't see it that way, he was sure of that.

But he was sure of that witch too.

So he closed his eyes and for the first time in as long as he could remember, he fell asleep with a smile on his face.