Buffy sat up slowly, trying not to stretch the muscles in her shoulders that were screaming in agony. She groaned quietly, her head dropping backwards to look up at the ceiling. Leaning forward, reaching towards her toes, Buffy grimaced as her back let out a satisfying series of pops, the bruised muscles protesting furiously.

"You have the most uncomfortable couch," she complained to Spike whose head was buried inside his refrigerator.

"Well the armchair's not that much better," he replied, tossing a bottle of water over the top of the door towards her, narrowly missing the top of her ponytail.

"Would it kill you to buy a bed," Buffy whined, twisting the cap off the water and taking a long sip.

"Didn't think you were so forward, pet," Spike said, his face appearing beside Buffy's ear.

She jumped out of her seat, whirling around to face Spike before remembering her sore back.

"Ahh," she gasped softly, "that hurt."

Instantly Spike's face changed from suggestive to concerned.

"Still," he asked and Buffy nodded slowly.

"Yeah. Note to self, never try to kill a Dumare demon by jumping on its back."

Spike interrupted, "I was trying to tell you that it would fall backwards but you weren't paying attention."

Buffy's eyes narrowed, shooting angry glances in Spike's direction, her voice thick with sarcasm.

"Hello? Nine foot tall demon in front of me? With big claws? Talons? Whatever the hell you call those pointy nail-things. Didn't really have time for a lesson in fighting strategy."

Shaking his head, Spike sat down on the sarcophagus, "then stop complaining."

Buffy's lower lip jutted forward, "but it hurts," she insisted, giving Spike her best wide and innocent eyes.

"Not my bloody problem," he said, trying to act like her pouting lip wasn't driving him absolutely insane, "nobody twisted your arm into sleeping here."

Looking away from her, Spike continued, making an effort to sound as annoyed as possible.

"It's bad enough you were here all night, now you have to complain too?"

Holding up her right hand, Buffy pointed at Spike with her index finger.

"No, no, no. Let's get something straight here. I was unconscious. Emphasis on the not-awake part of that. Didn't really have a choice in where we went."

Spike didn't answer; he turned away from Buffy, searching for an open package of cigarettes. She was exaggerating, Buffy had only been unconscious for a few minutes, just long enough for Spike to worry that she was seriously injured. But they both knew that she could have gone back to her house after she woke up, if she'd wanted to.

For the past two weeks Buffy had started to rely on having Spike patrol with her; she was tired of imposing on Xander or Willow and it was too much of a pain to listen to Giles drone on and on about nothing. But Spike made the seemingly mundane patrols almost fun. He was constantly critiquing her style, telling Buffy when she was lifting her arm too high or not following through on a kick. Usually Spike just sat back and watched her fight, smoking a cigarette and correcting her. That is until his craving for a 'spot of violence' got to be too overwhelming and he leapt into the fray.

Buffy wished that she could watch him fight, she could see how fluid his movements were out of the corner of her eye, but she wanted to openly gawk. All in the interest of improving her technique, she reassured herself constantly.

Shaking her head, Buffy twisted the cap off the water and took another long sip. Her weapons bag was propped against the side of the sofa, her shoes beside it, and her navy blue long-sleeved t-shirt resting half on the pile and half on the dusty floor. The sleeveless top she'd been wearing was ruined, lying in a shredded mess next to the door. In the back of her mind, Buffy knew that she really shouldn't make a habit of staying at Spike's crypt; it was just giving him hope that there was a chance for something to happen between them.

Gnawing on her lower lip, Buffy took another sip of half-empty bottle. She hadn't meant to fall asleep on his couch, especially after she'd practically camped out there in the nights right after her nightmares started. But last night they'd been out until practically sunrise and Buffy really hadn't been in the mood to walk back to her house, especially when every muscle in her body felt bruised.

Besides, Spike's crypt was so close and it was easier for her to sleep on his lumpy couch then to go back to her empty house. It's just nice, she thought, knowing that there's someone here who loves me. And it's not like I'm encouraging him because he knows that I'm not in love with him, but sometimes I just feel….

"So what're you doing today," Spike asked, leaning against the sarcophagus, a cigarette dangling from his lips.

He curled his lips around the white filter and looked at Buffy expectantly; completely unaware that he had shattered her train of thought. Plucking at the stray pieces of hair falling out of her messy ponytail, Buffy tried to concentrate on answering his question instead of analyzing her feelings.

"I have to go talk to that lady over at UC Sunnydale," she said, "the one who's in charge of classes."

Spike took another drag on his cigarette, watching Buffy tuck her legs underneath her body as she tried to find a comfortable position on his couch. God she's beautiful, he thought admiringly. She was barefoot, wearing a simple pair of jeans and a tight black tanktop, her hair tied up in a complicated looking mess; to Spike she looked perfect, absolutely gorgeous. One of the spaghetti straps holding up her flimsy black tank top had fallen off her shoulder, and his fingers itched to push it back up her arm.

Buffy stopped talking, feeling his eyes on her.

"What," she asked, sitting up a little straighter, feeling like a little kid who'd been caught trying to sneak a cookie before dinner.

Her eyebrows came together, a few wrinkles of confusion appearing on her forehead as she stared at Spike, waiting for an answer.

He shook his head, flicking a long ass from the end of his cigarette, "nothing."

Narrowing her eyes, Buffy looked at him for another minute, waiting to see if he would say anything else.

When he didn't continue, she took a deep sigh and dove back into talking about her classes.

"The woman I talked to at the registrar's office said that it didn't look like there'd be a problem getting registered. I mean, I'm just kinda nervous, you know? Like my grades weren't the most terrific last time I actually showed up for class and I'm just kinda worried that…"

Spike shook his head, "you'll be fine," he said, his voice oddly reassuring. Almost concerned, Buffy observed, protective.

Clearing his throat he continued, a devilish smile flickering over his face, "but if she needs a little convincing, just say the word."

Arching her left eyebrow, Buffy interrupted, "you'll what? Vamp out and end up rolling on the ground with a migraine? Yeah, that'd be a big help."

"Forget I even offered," Spike growled, but there wasn't any anger behind his harsh words.

"I gotta get going," Buffy said, pushing herself off the couch and tossing the bottle of water back at Spike.

"See you tonight?"

He nodded slowly, watching her walk out the door, into the welcoming early morning sunlight.

Moving across the crypt, Spike picked up the blanket that Buffy had left in a rumpled heap on the sofa. Folding the frayed material, he brought the blanket to his nose before throwing it over the back of the cushions. He could still smell her, the light citrus scent mixed with her shampoo and a scent that was uniquely Buffy.

"I really love that girl," he said softly, flopping onto the sofa that she had just vacated.

He could still feel her warmth on the badly worn cushions, making Spike feel like he was surrounded by her essence.

Willow peeked at her watch, suppressing a groan when she saw that it was almost seven. Behind the cash register of the Magic Box, Anya was ringing up the last customer.

"And have a nice day," Anya chirped, her face frozen in a permanently wide smile as she passed the plastic bag over the counter and into the hands of the elderly man. He nodded, shuffling slowly out the front door of the shop.

Once the door slammed shut, Anya leaned her elbows against the glass surface and looked over wearily at Giles. "Are we done yet," she asked, tangling her hands through her newly-dyed brown hair.

Taking off his glasses, Giles swiped halfheartedly at the lenses with his shirttail, "I suppose so, though I'm surprised that you're willing to give up any potential sales in order to close early."

Lifting the wooden shelf that separated the counter from the main floor of the shop, Anya shook her head.

"Early?! It's three minutes to seven! I've been here for ten hours," she whined, swinging her purse onto her shoulder.

Willow mumbled something in agreement and Giles turned towards the redhead. "What did you say," he asked, smoothing out his rumpled gray button-down.

"I said that I've been here for at least eight," she repeated, resisting the urge to fall asleep at the research table.

Tara broke in, "and I got here before you did."

"I say next time we close two days before and two days after," Xander chimed in.

Giles shook his head in exasperation, "but if we close, then that defeats the entire point of the sale. We want to get rid of things and we can't do that if the shop's closed."

"He does have a point though," Willow said, "we might have more luck with the sale if we weren't so tired."

Pushing herself up from the table, she walked into the back office.

"Anybody want a drink while I'm back here?"

A chorus of no's filled the shop, interrupted by the tinkling bell at the front door.

"Hi guys," Buffy said, her loud voice resonating through the still room.

Everyone shuddered at the noise and Buffy giggled softly, "sorry." She crossed the room, perching on the edge of the wooden research table.

"So how was the massive 'yah! the world didn't end' sale?"

Before Giles and Anya could start to tell her about how much money they had made, Xander broke in. He really didn't want to hear Anya's views on the wonders of capitalism, especially since he had been listening to the same spiel for the past week.

"You're in a good mood, Buffy," he said, hoping that he wasn't crossing some social taboo. Glancing around quickly to make sure that Willow and Tara weren't shooting him identical looks of disgust, Xander figured that he was safe.

Buffy tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and smiled sheepishly, "guess I am," she said softly.

"So everything worked out with the registrar," Willow asked, coming back into the main room with a bottle of water in her hand. Nodding, Buffy reached for a cookie on the center of the table.

"Yeah, she said that I can start classes in the fall and that I won't really have that much to make up."

"That's good," Tara replied, smiling encouragingly, "at least she didn't give you a hard time."

Buffy nodded again, grimacing at the terrible taste of pecan, chocolate and something else that she couldn't identify.

"Who made the cookies," she asked, choking down the bite before dropping the rest onto a napkin.

"I did," Anya chirped and Buffy shook her head in understanding.

"That makes sense," she muttered under her breath, causing Giles to break into a sudden coughing fit to hide his laughter.

Oblivious to the fact that her cookies weren't fit to be fed to animals, Anya continued on, "and I couldn't get the cake to look like the one on the box, so I dumped all the ingredients into a muffin pan and made muffins. But they turned black so I had to use all my leftover supplies to make the cookies. I was a little worried about using lemon sherbet instead of lemon juice, but they turned out alright. Didn't they?"

Xander chuckled wrapping an arm around his fiancée's shoulders, "they're fine Ahn."

Needing to change the subject, Buffy turned to her Watcher. "So the sale went well," she asked, swinging her feet back and forth against the rung of the chair.

Giles nodded empathetically, "it went surprisingly well," he said, his enthusiasm a result of the never-ending supply of coffee that Tara had kept brewing in the back room.

Laughing softly to herself, Buffy sat down at the table, "sorry I missed it," she mumbled.

Before Giles could ask Buffy how her patrols had been the last two nights, the phone rang. Sighing, the Watcher pushed himself away from the table and made his way over towards the counter.

"Hello," he asked, resisting the urge to yawn into the receiver. The instant he heard a familiar voice on the other end of the line, Giles straightened his back, his eyebrows coming together in a concerned v-shape.

"Right… I see… No it's not a problem…. I'm sure… Oh… No, I didn't know that…. Right… Oh…. Oh… Dear Lord… Alright. Tomorrow then."

Hanging up the phone he turned to face the Scoobies who were gathered around the table and Spike who had slipped in through the back door while he was talking.

"Who was that," Willow asked, almost afraid of the answer judging by the grave expression on Giles' face. Swallowing hard over the lump in his throat, Giles replied, his voice eerily calm and quiet.

"Quentin Travers. It seems that we have a problem."