They decide to go out for patrolling later that night. Angel still isn't back from the offices, so Spike scribbles a note, leaves it on the kitchen counter. Goes upstairs to find Buffy. He stands in the open doorway and sees her, facing the wall, back to him. Watches as she pulls her shirt over her head, lets her jeans fall to the floor.

Sensing his presence, Buffy sneaks a glance over her shoulder, grins and tosses her blouse aside. Shimmies into a skin-tight, silver dress. Not exactly demon-killing wear, Spike thinks, but then, the patrolling is most likely just a cover anyway, if the look she's sending in his direction tells him anything for sure. She turns, smiles mischievously, and saunters over to him.

She's a glittery sliver of aluminum in her dress, ready to drop of bomb of summertime on the world outside the window. Beautiful, she is, but then, that's never a surprise. Been a long time since he's seen her all dressed up, though. She used to wear skirts for him; long, leathery things, as black and dark as her heart had been in those times. Had liked to make him fight for it, to hike them up just far enough. He'd always been able to manage. Back then, he'd have done anything for her.

These days, he's managed to salvage some scraps left of his pride, but still. When she looks at him that way, when she's wearing that, he thinks he'd do anything for her at this moment. Probably would even stake himself if she asked.

"Zip me?" Buffy asks, turning so her bare back is exposed.

He nods silently, fingers tracing downwards, a soft waterfall touch trickling to her spine. A small shiver escapes her as he stops at the small of her back and takes hold of the small zipper. Tugs it up until it reaches the top, and then his hands glide up onto her sun-bronzed shoulders, slipping the tiny silver straps back into place. She spins, his hands still holding her, to face him.

Almost eye to eye, he leans down, the flesh of his lips shyly brushing past hers, sweeping pretty pink onto her cheeks and touching her lips with gentle pressure. Slowly he kneads the kiss into her lips, spreading the lusciously candied familiarity in every breath she takes. He feels so soft to her, so gentle, and she wants to spend the rest of the night rooted right here, standing with his lips on hers. His kisses blow her to pieces, every time. The arm around her waist is the only reason she's still able to stand, and she melts against him, hands laced around his neck.

Every kiss with him feels like the first.

"Patrolling," he finally says, breaking away. "We should go."

"Right." She sighs, starts to walk out.

It's raining outside, mostly just a light drizzle, but neither of them mind the weather. They walk down the street, side by side, arms tucked together as they watch the streetlamps flicker like fireflies beneath the weeping clouds. Cars honk rudely and people pass by, not giving them anything more than a second glance. They're just a normal couple, after all.

If they only knew.

Spike wishes it could always be like this; evening strolls, her walking so close to him, as if they have no cares in the world. But he knows. She is still a Slayer, even if she is not the only one, and he is still a vampire, even if he has a soul. They will never be normal. He'll never even be able to see her in the sun, will never walk with her in daylight. She doesn't seem to mind. He's still not sure if he does.

All he is sure of is that he is in love with her, and he knows by now that's one thing that'll never change.

They discover a trio of vampires behind a nearby apartment building, and they shift into action. Whip out stakes and begin to go at it. Buffy swiftly stakes the first, having trouble kicking in her short dress. Spike is quick to finish off his own and rushes to her aid, staking the vamp from behind. It explodes, and once the dust clears, it's just her, against the brick wall, breathing hard and staring at him.

"I could've handled him by myself, you know," she says.

He grins, steps closer. "I know."

In a flash, his hands are on her. Pressing her back against the red brick, running all over the contours of her body, from the curve of her breast to the flat of her stomach, travelling their way slowly down her sides and resting at her hips bones. Lips on her throat, kissing her pulse point. She brings her hands to his face, forces his mouth to meet hers. A rough, reckless kiss that leaves them both dizzy.

"Spike," she gasps between kisses, "you love me, right?"

"Of course I love you," he responds, covering his lips with hers once more. "Not again, it was never even gone. Not for a moment."

There's thunder clapping loudly, rain falling down and drenching them both, but it fades into the background, and none of it matters. Spike's hands are possessing every inch of her body now, and she leans into his touch willingly, imploringly. He craves her little shrieking gasp when he pushes her hard up against the wall and entangles his persistent fingers in her wild, loose hair. Buffy loves it this way, him pressing into her so that she can hardly breathe, her legs wrapped around his waist and pulling him closer, body trembling with desire for the feel of his hands on her skin.

Spike's hands are just sliding down to slip under the hem of her dress when she blurts out the question.

"Where were you?"

He freezes, promptly removes his hands as if scathed and lets her feet drop back down to the cement. Takes a quick step back. "What are you talking about?"

"Where we you?" she asks again, voice more persistent this time. "After the amulet. And the Hellmouth. Where were you?"

An emotion flickers across his eyes, and he actually scowls at her. "Why are you asking?"

"Because you never told me," Buffy says indignantly. "I wanted to know."

There is a long pause, and then he finally answers. "I don't remember."

"That's what Angel said."

"Wait-you talked to him about me?"

Buffy senses the distraught tone in his voice. "Not really-I mean, just a little."

"Why didn't you just ask me?" he questions crossly.

"It wasn't like I was talking behind your back," she replies. "I just wanted to know."

"Well, I already said. I don't remember."

She narrows her eyes. "I don't believe you."

"What?" Spike blinks at her, surprised. "I don't!"

"You don't have to lie to me, you know."

"Why on earth would I lie?"

"You tell me. Why aren't you sharing everything? Why didn't you tell me about the nightmares?"

"Nightmares? Oh, bloody hell! What exactly did Angel tell you?"

"He told me enough. I want to know what you dream about. I want to know where you were."

"Buffy-"

"Was it hell? Was it heaven? Why can't you tell me?"

"I don't remember."

"You have to. Tell me what happened, Spike."

"I told you!" he bellows, angry and upset. Almost shaking. "I don't fucking remember, okay? I don't."

It's the truth. Buffy can see it written in his face; he never was that great at lying. Guilt seizes her. She shouldn't have pressed so hard, shouldn't have made accusations. They're still so new to this, still getting used to this new thing they have now, and she knows that it's still sometimes frightening for the both of them. They have to take it slow. The relationship they share is still fragile, and the wrong words could easily destroy what they have. Buffy doesn't want it to be broken because of her.

"Spike-" She comes forward.

He's pacing a little now, seeming all right with talking since he's been kick-started into it. "All I know is that there was something.there. That I'm missing something, like there's some kind of-void where the memory should be. There's this big space of black nothingness, and I can't-I just can't. I wish I could remember, but I can't."

"Spike." Buffy sets a calm hand on his elbow. "It's okay."

He meets her gaze, sighs, stops moving around. "Yeah. Yeah, whatever you say."

"I understand," she says softly. "It's fine. It is."

She reaches up for a kiss, but he brushes her away, begins to walk off. Hurt, she tries to look at him, but Spike won't meet her eyes.

"Spike, don't be like-"she starts, coming closer, but he shoves her hands away.

"Just back the fuck off!" he barks out.

There's an akward silence, both of them staring at each other motionlessly. Finally Spike just turns on his heel and stalks off, and Buffy follows him.

"Let's just go," he tells her gruffly, not looking over his shoulder. "Getting late."

They say nothing to each other the rest of the way back to the Hyperion.

***

Buffy lies fragily upon Spike's sleeping stomach, eyes wide, deep in thought. Yes, he let her back in tonight, but she knows. Knows she was so close to pushing him away, and she can't help but feel that he's starting to slip from her. The honeymoon period is over, it's safe to say. She can't help but wish that it wasn't; that first night, it had felt like they'd had a love that would last until the stars all faded, until eternity came crashing between their locked arms, inseperable and everlasting.

Tonight they'd lain awake for hours in the darkness of the bedroom, just staring into one another's souls, no words able to breach the confused silence. Buffy thinks about the way that he looked at her. It is almost as if he was looking for the answers to all his questions in her; she knows that she hopes to find all the answers to hers in his.

Finally, Buffy is no longer able to hold her eyes open, and they drift close. Though she's sad to lose the beauty of his gaze, she's too tired to care. His arms are wrapped around her back, her head resting on his chest, ear pressed to where his heart should be beating. She feels his lips press softly into her hair, and she wonders if he even realizes he is doing it at all. Her dreams are filled with his scent, sweet and sharp; so real she can almost taste it.

Buffy wakes up with a start in the middle of the night, still in his arms, the skin smooth and warm against her back. She looks down and wonders what he's dreaming about. She hopes that it's her. But she knows better now. His dreams are nightmares, full of darkness and pain.

She slides out of bed, slips into a robe and glances over her shoulder at his sleeping form.

They are dreams he will never share with her.

***

"You're back."

The second Angel walks into the kitchen, he sees Buffy, standing next to the table with her arms folded over her chest. She appears to be considerably upset, mouth turned downward in distress, eyes clouded with anixety. Something is going on with her, but then, isn't there always? Shrugging off his coat, he tosses it onto the table along with his keys, glances at the clock.

"It's three in the morning," Angel states simply, as if she doesn't know.

"What's your point?" she asks.

"Shouldn't you be with him?" he snaps at her.

Buffy swallows visibly. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about."

"I'm not sure that I'm in a talking mood."

"Just listen to me, please?" Her voice is trembling, and when he looks at her, he sees she's fighting tears.

His anger melts upon seeing her pain. "What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry about earlier." Buffy glances away from him. "I shouldn't have assumed. And I shouldn't have thought that it'd be okay with you. You're right. This is your place, your home. I should've respected that."

"You shouldn't be." Angel sighs heavily, stuffs his hands in his pockets. "I told you I was okay with it. I shouldn't have been attacking you." He furrows his brow, walks over to her. "What happened?"

She answers softly, "I have so many things that I want to say to him, but I just don't know how."

"Oh." He looks slightly put off by this, and when he speaks, his voice comes out a little strangled. "Buffy.you love him, don't you? Are you sure? Because if you're not."

"I do," she chokes out, built up tears leaking trails onto her cheeks. "I just don't know. I don't know if I'm enough for him. I don't even know if he believes that I do at all, and it kills me. I want it to be enough, but I just don't know if it is."

"Sometimes.sometimes it isn't enough." Angel puts his hands on her shoulders. "I don't know what you want me to say."

Looking up at him with glistening eyes, she leans forward, letting her forehead be buried in his chest. "Tell me that I can love. Tell me that it's worth it. Tell me that it doesn't always end badly, and it can work. I really want it to work. God, I want it so bad."

He puts a tentative hand on top of her head. Strokes her hair gently. "He makes you happy, doesn't he?"

She nods, even though he can't see it. Sniffles loudly. "He does. More than anything."

Angel tilts her face upward, cupping his cheeks in her hands. "Do what makes you happy. It'll work itself out."

Buffy remembers that's what Willow had said, before Buffy left from England. Do what makes you happy. She hadn't been sure of it then, but she is now. Only if it were that simple. If only she could hold onto it, keep it in her grasp. But she's so scared that he'll slip away from her, the way everyone else she's ever loved has.

"I'm scared," she whispers to him truthfully. "I'm just.scared."

"Don't be." He sweeps his lips delicately across her forehead. "Don't be."

A calming shushing sound comes from him, and she closes her eyes. And only because it seems like the natural thing to do, he leans down and brushes his lips against hers. A light touch, a shared breath, just the barest whisper of a kiss. So familiar and warm. Comforting.

But she remembers. Pulls back.

"Angel," she breathes in discontent.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, draws away. "I shouldn't have done that."

Both Buffy and Angel are too shocked at what's happened and caught up in one another, and neither of them even notice the echoing sound of footsteps padding on the wooden floor as a dark figure with blonde hair hurries back up the stairs from which he'd come just minutes ago.

Spike's seen enough for his liking tonight.