Chapter Three

"Training Day"

"Are you saying that instinct wins over tactic? Because if you are, I think you are so out of your league." Kennedy stated, hands on her hips. Spike narrowed his eyes.

"All I'm sayin' is that for a hundred bloody years I've—"

"Look, Big Bad, I don't think you honestly know what you're talking about. Just because you're a big creepy vampire, doesn't mean I couldn't kick your ass." She replied, cutting him off and pressing her nose close to his face. Spike's jaw twitched, eyes closing in frustration.

"You think you can train them?" he asked bluntly. Kennedy shrugged and looked backwards at the Potentials.

"At least I can teach them tactic. Maneuvers." She said, crossing her arms. "Which is more than I can say for some." Spike shook his head slightly.

"Fine. 'Ave at it, luv." He finished coldly, turning and throwing open the back door. He was in no mood for her. Or really anyone for that matter. He quickly padded down into the basement, taking his jacket off and tossing it over the washing machine. With a defeated sigh, he slumped down onto the cot, hands to his forehead.

Buffy should have left him. For all the wishing he did while the First held him captive, he began to feel as if he were a burden. A burden who could fire off at anytime. The trigger was still active. All the First had to do was say the word. Or at least sing it. He knew she'd come back. He believed it inside. But there was always the doubt. Always the nagging feeling that maybe she shouldn't have risked everything for him…

"Getting too rough for you?" a voice asked from the stairs. Buffy. Spike looked up with a grunt. He shook his head and leaned back against the wall.

"Teenagers. Think they bloody well know everything." He replied with a smile. Buffy nodded knowingly.

"Kennedy."

"Yeah." He nodded. "S'alright. I'll let 'er have a go for a bit, then come up an' show 'em how it's done." He smirked, pointing upstairs. Buffy crept down into the blank darkness, only lit by a stray light bulb. After a moment's silence, she cut through the dark.

"So, are we O.K?" she asked deeply. There was no sympathy in her voice. It was a question pointed more at a wounded warrior than at a soulful vampire. Spike mulled the question over in his brain. Should he tell Buffy? Explain that he should go. No, she would just tell him to stay. She wouldn't let him go. So, instead, he just shrugged and nodded.

"Yea. Peachy." He replied, standing. Buffy crossed her arms and gravely pursed her lips.

"Good." She turned to go, glancing at him slightly. "Good."

"Buffy?" Spiked asked sharply, a pang of sudden worry in his voice. He didn't really know why he had done that. Stupid. She turned back from the stairs, looking quizzacticaly at him. Words. Where were the words? What was he going to say?

Oh, yeah…

"Thank you."

Buffy nodded, no smile gracing her face. It was an expression of a tired soldier. A soldier who had saved someone from death, but never registered it as anything more than her job. So, without another word, she opened the door, the inevitable dull click following shortly after.

Spike sat back down on the cot. Hands finding his forehead again and he starred at the floor.