Disclaimers: I wish I may, I wish I might . . . but I still won't own Buffy. So don't be sue-happy, please.

Feedback: Si vous plait!

Author's Note: Jeez, I've really grown accustomed to doing this every chapter. So I might as well keep it up even when I don't have something to say (it's my theory that people actually read these and deem me funny - or maybe I'm the only one that amuses myself). Hope you like this chapter; I'm taking valuable loafing time to bring it to you . . . then again, maybe this writing is a good thing. It forces me to get up and type, as opposed to lying around eating cheez-whiz all day and becoming 900 pounds. I couldn't afford it (I've heard that piano-case coffins are steadily rising in price! I suppose they're more in demand than ever before . . .). Thank you, creative muse!

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

The air in the room was thick with anticipation and cigarette smoke, as the men sitting at the table glanced over at one another distrustfully. Each one was hunched over his cards as if they were priceless, darting a glance over at the surrounding players with unease. Spike leaned back against his chair, hiding a slight grin and trying to keep his poker-face. Not that those he was playing against were the smartest in the world, or perhaps even in Sunnydale, but they wouldn't be fooled if he grinned every time he had a winning hand. But it was very, very difficult to keep himself from mocking them, throwing his luck in their faces. It was growing harder by the second.

"I see your tabby and raise you one Siamese."

The large-pawed demon on Spike's right finally spoke up, grabbing two kittens from the basket next to him and placing them on the table with surprising care. He glanced over at Spike nervously, a small trickle of sweat running down his red face and coming to a stop on his chin.

Spike glanced down at his cards, pretending to study them, furrowing his brow. After a dramatic pause, he spoke. "I see your Siamese and raise you two calico."

A hushed murmur swept throughout the room, and several sets of worried eyes were now focused on him. Spike supposed that they were trying to read his face, hoping to catch a glimpse of a bluff in his eyes. Or maybe, he thought idly, they were trying to read his mind. He raised his eyes from his hand to catch the gaze of a small Katroth demon that had been staring at him. The Katroth glanced away quickly, his beady weasel eyes focusing on a spot on the wall that had suddenly become fascinating. Spike felt an urge to grin smugly, but suppressed it.

'Still got it,' he thought, glancing down at his black-lacquered nails.

The red demon (a Tyagrlemen, if Spike's memory was correct) was now sweating even more profusely, large droplets of opaque-blue running down his forehead and sliding down his neck. He tugged at the neckline of his sweat shirt nervously, causing a small rip to form in the fabric. The Tyagrlemen glanced down at it, embarrassed, and dropped his hands to his sides once more. Apparently it wasn't the first time he had broken something accidentally.

Spike moved his eyes to the Tyagrlemen, staring at him defiantly, daring him to up the ante. The demon glanced up and saw his opponent's stare. He shifted in his seat, anxiously trying to avoid the piercing gaze.

Spike raised one eyebrow, and the Tyagrlemen gave a startled jump, his nerves clearly on edge. Finally, he threw his cards down in defeat.

"I give up!" he cried, banging his fists down on the table in anger, "I can't take it anymore! You win, alright? Just take your fucking kittens!"

He pushed the mewling cats at Spike, who gathered them into his arms eagerly. Spike pulled the kittens up in handfulls, placing them into the large wicker basket next to him. The Tyagrlemen glared at him with distrust, eyeing the kittens angrily.

"That's nine times in a row, Spike," he growled out, eyes narrowed into little slits, "Nine times and twenty of my kittens."

Spike secured a blanket over the animals before turning his attention to the pissed-off demon who's bad temper was flaring up. "It's called luck. I can't help it that yours is really lousy."

"Luck? That's too damn lucky," the Sharpletling demon to his right said, voice high-pitched and upset, "No one is that good at poker. Not even you, Spike."

"Hey, guys, no need to get upset," Clem piped up, his flabby features scrunched in disquiet, "It's just a lucky streak. You'll win your kittens back."

"Yeah, I will." The Tyagrlemen demon stood, his massive 8'5 frame dwarfing everything around him. "I'll get them back right now."

Spike joined suit, pushing the chair back and rising to his feet, hands curled into fists and held in front of him in a fighting stance. "I'd like to see you try."

The Tyagrlemen grinned in response, his own massive hands curling into fists. "Then I guess today's your lucky day."

The demon advanced on Spike, picking up the poker table and flinging it against the wall. Spike eyed him warily, his adrenaline pumping and his senses suddenly heightened. Suddenly a demon from the main bar ran into the room, his one eye wide and alarmed.

"The Slayer!" he cried, arms flailing wildly, "She's coming!"

The demons in the poker room glanced around at one another before bolting for the door, pushing and clawing at the exit. The Tyagrlemen remained, however, and continued to circle around him.

Spike grinned wickedly, slipping into game-face, amber eyes flashing. It had been too long, he decided, much too long since he had had a good spot of violence. He had some serious catching up to do.

"Aren't you going to go with the rest of your mates?" Spike queried, smiling all the while. The Tyagrlemen glared at him.

"I will. Right after I kill you."

With that, the Tyagrlemen leapt at him, going for the element of surprise. Spike, however, saw it coming from a mile away, and grabbed the demon's huge red arms with his hands, flipping him over his back. He fell to the ground with a loud thud, laying completely still, dazed. Spike took this opportunity to grab one of the fallen metal chairs and slam it over the Tyagrlemens head, relishing the sweet clanging noise it made when it connected with his skull. He then pounced on the Tyagrlemen, smashing it in the face with his fists, laughing jovially.

"Already dead, you stupid sod!" Spike exclaimed, continuing his assault, "And I wasn't even cheating this time; you're just a blood lousy poker player."

The Tyagrlemen moaned and gurgled through his bloody mouth, then finally went silent, his arms falling limply to the floor. Spike threw in a few more punches for good measure before getting to his feet, grinning at his handiwork. "Now that is one good looking --"

A gasp from across the room brought an end to his monologue, and Spike spun around to face the intruder. "Buffy!" He exclaimed, staring at the shocked Slayer, "You're here. Why are you here?"

Buffy stared at the remains of the demon, her face pale. "I didn't - I - what - what happened?"

Spike walked over to her, smiling evilly. "Bloody wanker underestimated me, that's what happened. Didn't expect the Big Bad."

Buffy turned her gaze to him and, for the first time, noticed the blood streaking his face and arms. "Oh my God, are you okay?!" She ran her fingers over his chest, checking for wounds. Spike smiled at her worried expression, slipping back into his human visage. He wiped the blood from his lips before bending down and kissing her deeply, exploring her mouth with his cool tongue. Buffy arched into his grip, before pulling away and inhaling sharply.

"Does that answer your question?" Spike replied cockily, slipping his hands into his duster and searching for a pack of cigarettes. Buffy smiled lazily.

"Well, I know your lips are intact. But what about the rest of you?" She asked, her fears still not completely qualmed.

"If you want," Spike said, taking a single smoke from the pack and putting it to his lips, "I could give you a private showing later." He punctuated the statement with a lewd raising of his eyebrows.

Buffy snorted a laugh. "I might have to take you up on that," she answered coyly, "But not tonight. Or tomorrow."

Spike, who had been flicking his lighter, stopped. "Why not tomorrow?"

"That's what I'm here for," she explained, smiling weakly, "I can't train with you tomorrow. Or, rather, you can't train with me. I have to patrol."

"Let me guess? The vampire'll slow you down?" He flicked the lighter once more and it lit up brightly. Spike brought the flame to his cigarette, waiting until it caught before inhaling the smoke deeply.

"Nothing like that," she said, her voice tinged with regret, "Willow and Xander want to go patrolling with me; they were feeling kinda left out. So tomorrow's kinda 'Bring Your Friends to Work Day'. But, if it makes you feel any better, I'd rather be out with you."

"Or so you say," Spike pouted, taking another drag from the cigarette, "I see how it really is. It's just one big conspiracy to get rid of me, right?"

Buffy smiled. "Since when have you believed in conspiracies?"

He arched an eyebrow and pointed to his head. "Since *this* happened."

"Okay, stupid question," she scolded herself, taking hold of one of his hands and smiling, "But since I can't be with you tomorrow, I don't see the harm in spending a few more hours together tonight. I mean, it's just making up for time missed, right?"

Spike grinned in response, entwining his fingers with hers. "No faulty logic there, pet."

Holding her hand tightly, they stepped over the massive body of the fallen Tyagrlemen demon and out into the night. Gazing up into the black sky, Spike's poetic side couldn't help but think that the stars had never shown brighter before, even as his demon side recoiled in disgust at the saccharine thought. It didn't matter to him, however. Nothing else mattered except being with Buffy, his Slayer.

'When I'm with her, everything else melts away. And *that's* the truth.'

His demon, for the first time in it's existence, did not try to contradict him.

= = = = = = = = = = = = = =

TBC . . .