It was getting late in the afternoon, and Spike still hadn't left the bedroom. Usually, he'd be out asking for blood by now, but she hadn't heard a sound from him all day. Buffy tried not to care, but it wasn't working. She'd forgone her plan to stay in the kitchen after finding the wood, her curiosity at how he would act towards her once he woke getting the better of her.

But as it got later and later, Buffy started wondering if he was coming out at all. His duster was draped over the couch, which led her to believe he hadn't pulled off some sort of "escape" attempt. She wondered if he was avoiding her, as she had planned to do with him.

Finally, Buffy got up, walking towards the room where he was sleeping, her curiosity getting the better of her. She gasped as soon as she opened the door. Not only was Spike still asleep, but she learned something about him she hadn't known before—he slept completely nude.

Buffy gaped, knowing she should just turn and walk out of the room, but unable to tear her eyes away from the man in front of her. She'd always assumed he had quite a body under all that black leather, but this… She willed her mouth to snap shut again, cursing the Powers that Be. It wasn't fair that her mortal enemy be that gorgeous. Mortal enemies should be slimey, she decided. With jagged horns. And a strange body odor.

Not this. Not gorgeous, pale muscle, tight perfection like a marble statue. Unable to resist, she trailed her eyes up his body, allowing herself this one good view of a beautiful sight she didn't plan to ever see again.

When her gaze made it back to his face, Buffy realized she was staring into deep blue. She gulped. Spike was awake, and she was caught.

Spike stretched, giving her an even better view than what she'd had before. "Like what you see, pet?" he asked with a lazy grin.

"I…um…I came to see…you slept later than you usually do…"

"Yeah. Sorta wore myself out last night, hacking away at the forest an' all."

"Oh." Buffy looked down, unable to force the next words out of her mouth while looking at him. "Thanks for that."

"You're welcome. Only let's not talk about it again. Could hurt the Big Bad image a bit."

"What, you don't want it getting around the Hellmouth that you went all Paul Bunyan as a favor for the Slayer?"

"Um, no."

Buffy glanced up again, only to be reminded he was naked and looked away again. "Could you possibly put some clothes on?"

"What for, kitten? You certainly didn't seem to mind a minute ago…"

"Well, I do mind! I totally mind! And what's with the pet names?"

"They make you blush."

"No, they don't."

Suddenly, Spike was out of the bed and moving towards her. Buffy froze, her eyes wide as he backed her against the wall. "So why did you come in here again, pet?" he asked, smiling in amusement as her face colored at the last word.

"I…I told you. I…I wanted to see if you were awake."

"Oh, I'm very awake." Spike pressed against her, letting Buffy know in no uncertain terms exactly what part of him was 'awake.'

"Spike…I…we…"

"We what, Buffy?" Spike leaned in closer, pinning her body to the wall with his. "We 'can't?' I think we can."

"But…but we don't even like each other!" Buffy replied. Nervousness fluttered in her stomach. Never had anyone else made her feel this off her guard.

"S'not about like, Slayer. It's about want."

"I don't want you."

"Yes you do."

Spike crashed his mouth against Buffy's, kissing her with bruising force. Buffy only resisted for a second before melting in to him, offering no resistance as he hoisted her up against the wall, her legs wrapped around his hips.

"Cor, Slayer," Spike muttered, when she pulled away to breathe. Buffy's face was flushed, her eyes dark and unfocused. "Want you so bad, kitten." Buffy moaned, rubbing up against him, and Spike took that as acceptance. He carried her away from the wall and to the bed, stretching out on top of her.

Buffy whimpered as Spike kissed her neck, his hand under her sweater, running along her abdomen. His fingers trailed upwards, cupping her breast through her bra. As his other hand moved to the waistband of her jeans, Buffy suddenly realized what she was doing. She pushed up, knocking Spike off of her and on to the floor.

Spike sat up. "Buffy…"

"This is wrong, Spike."

"Felt pretty right to me."

"What do you know about right? You're just a…a thing."

Spike stood up, glaring down at Buffy who sat on the edge of the bed. "You walk a fine line, little girl."

"What are you going to do? You try to act like you're the 'Big Bad,' but look at you. Reduced to depending on the Slayer to bring you pig's blood. You're a pathetic excuse for a vampire."

Spike's eyes held a glint of yellow for a moment. "So this how you get your kicks, Slayer? Getting the vamps all worked up and then pulling this ice bitch routine? Too bad you didn't decide not to take it any further with ol' Angelus, innit? Maybe then there'd be a few less dead bodies in the world."

Buffy gaped at him for just a moment before taking a swing, her fist connecting with flesh and bone as it knocked Spike back down to the ground. "You stay the hell away from me," she said, her tone menacing, before leaving him alone again.

Buffy sat in front of the fire, watching as the wood slowly burned. Spike hadn't left the bedroom since their confrontation, not even for blood.

She tried not to let his comment about Angel bother her, since she knew Spike had purposely said the thing that would hurt her most, but she couldn't help it. Spike was right. If she'd never caused Angel to lose his soul, less people would be dead. Jenny Calendar for one.

But even if it was the truth, what right did Spike have to say it? As if he could wag a moral finger at her. Where did he get off saying things like that to her?

"Maybe it has something to do with the fact that you called him a pathetic thing…"

Buffy frowned. Sometimes, she really hated her inner voice. Especially when it sounded that much like her mother. If she was honest with herself, she could admit that she'd reacted to Spike the way she did out of fear more than anything else. He was getting too close, almost getting her to let down her boundaries the way she had with Angel and Parker. And then what would happen?

He'd leave. She wouldn't even have to turn him evil. He already was.

Buffy glanced from the fire to the pile of wood that was still perched on the hearth. With that one simple act of getting it for her, Spike had thrown her whole perception of him off. Evil vampires did not chop wood for the Slayer in the middle of the night.

Her mind went over the events of the past few days.

Evil vampires didn't sit around watching Christmas movies with said Slayer.

Evil vampires didn't help the Slayer fight demons.

Evil vampires didn't save her life.

So what was Spike? He didn't have a soul, and she knew he'd balk at being called anything but "evil." And as far as "good" went, well, that didn't exactly seem to apply to Spike either. So where did that leave him?

Somewhere in between…

Buffy frowned. She didn't like to think about a gray area when it came to her being the Slayer. Demons were evil. She was good. Good triumphs over evil. End of story. But the longer she was around, the harder it was to make everything fit into that neat little worldview. First there was Angel. He was a demon, but he wasn't evil. Most of the time, anyway. But he had a soul, so she had always been able to write him off as a single anomaly.

Then came Anya. Sure, she wasn't a demon anymore, but she had been for a long time. She'd brought horrible, bloody vengeance down on men for centuries. Now, she was Xander's human girlfriend. Buffy was pretty certain she had a soul now, although she wasn't sure whether she had or not in her demon days. And even if she didn't, she certainly didn't seem to have the guilt issues that Angel had. In all honestly, she didn't even seem apologetic for the people she'd maimed or killed. But was she evil?

Buffy frowned as she thought about that question, and found she was unable to classify Anya as truly "evil." A bit annoying, yes, but not evil. And she seemed to genuinely care for Xander.

But what did any of this have to say about Spike? He was a soulless vampire—like Angelus—but he certainly didn't act like his grandsire. Buffy knew there was no sense in kidding herself into thinking that the soulless version of her former lover would have made any effort to save her life that night. He probably would've taken the demon out for a celebratory drink…

Again, that brought her back to what was Spike? As much as she didn't want to admit it, she knew he was capable of love. She'd seen it with Drusilla. She wanted to write it off as a sick obsession, but she'd seen the way Spike looked at the dark-haired vampiress. If that wasn't love, Buffy didn't know what was.

Everything was just so damned confusing. She wanted everything to fit into clearly-labeled boxes, to be the way Giles had told her it would be when she asked him to "lie to her" after she'd staked Ford. But it wasn't. And Spike was making sure she knew it.

And to make things worse, she was feeling guilty—for both how she'd let things get out of hand with him, and what she's said to him afterwards. She wanted to pretend that Spike didn't have feelings, but she knew he did. He'd made an attempt to make amends with her after their argument the night before, and she'd paid him back by treating him as lower than the dirt beneath her boots. If he was supposed to be the evil one, what did that make her?

Buffy stared back into the fire, wishing that being the Slayer could mean having all the answers.

Spike sat on the bed—now clothed—staring at the wall. Bloody Slayer. Letting him think he could have her and then kicking him back down again. He hated her. Hated the way she looked at him. He hated her smile, her hair, her eyes. Hated her voice, her skin, her taste.

He hated the way she made him feel.

He wanted her to make him feel it again.

Spike stood, roaring in frustration as he threw a lamp at the wall. Things had been so much easier in the past. He was a vampire. She was the Slayer. He killed Slayers. But this one, with her tiny skirts and shiny hair had never let him win. Never given him a chance to fulfill the death wish he'd been sure all Slayers had.

Spike whipped around when he heard a knock at the door. What could she possibly want? Hadn't she done enough for one day? When she knocked again, he yelled, "Sod off!"

Despite his order that she leave him alone, the door opened slightly, a mug peeking in through the crack. "Thought you might be hungry."

"Is that holy water?"

"It's blood. I…I tried to get it to the right temperature, but this microwave they have in here is on its last leg."

Spike stared at the mug, wondering if he'd fallen back asleep and this was some really bizarre dream. "Buffy?"

Buffy poked her head in then. "What?"

"I thought you were, um, mad. You know, the whole 'You stay the hell away from me' thing."

"Yeah. I just…" Buffy looked down. "Spike, what's going on here?"

"I don't know."

"I hate you."

"I hate you, too. But sometimes…"

Buffy looked up and said softly. "You don't hate me so much?"

"Yeah."

"Me, too. Er, not that I don't hate me so much. I mean, I don't hate me either. But…" She thrust the mug at him. "Just take your blood."

Spike chuckled, taking the proffered drink. It was hard for him to stay really angry with her when she was like this. He took a sip, noticing it really was right about at the perfect temperature. How in the world had Angel put up with this girl and her crazy mood swings?

Then he looked at her and knew exactly how.

"When you're done, um, eating, do you want to go patrol with me? I doubt we'll run into anymore of those Green Breath thingies since Giles says they move in groups of three, but maybe they'll be something else around to kill."

Spike gave her a smile that made her feel all tingly. "Sure, Slayer. I'd love to go find something to kill with you."

Buffy smiled back. "Great. I'll just, um, wait for you out in the living room."

"All right, pet."

Spike watched as Buffy left the room, musing on the events of the day. Seemed like somehow he'd gotten back in the Slayer's good graces without doing anything at all.

He quickly finished his blood, deciding he'd take advantage of this for as long as it would last.

"So what did you do for Christmas when you were a kid?"

Spike blinked, looking down at Buffy as the walked together in the snow. "What?"

"I asked what you did for Christmas when you were a kid," she repeated, rolling her eyes.

"Why did you ask that?"

"Uh, cause I wanted to know. Duh."

"Um, well… My father died when I was little—too young to remember him really—so we'd usually go over to my mother's brother's house. Spend it there. Big family get together sort of thing."

"We?"

"Me and my mum."

"No brothers or sisters?"

"No."

Buffy stopped, regarding Spike for a moment. His mother had been a single parent, raising just him on her own. It was weird, suddenly realizing she had something like that in common with Spike. "Were you close to her?"

"Mum? Yeah. I…I loved her very much."

Buffy saw pain flicker in his eyes and decided to try to steer the conversation back towards better memories than whatever the one he seemed to be thinking about right then was. "So what would you do at your uncle's?"

"Well, we'd go to church first, then we'd go to his house, and I'd spend most of the day before dinner avoiding my cousins like the plague they were. There was usually singing, and a tree, and after dinner we'd exchange gifts and pull the crackers."

"Pull the what? Crackers? As in little flour squares covered in salt?"

"No, you bloody little American. Crackers as in little wrapped up bits of sweets and toys that pop when you break them."

Buffy frowned, trying to picture what he was describing. "Like tiny piñatas?"

"Sort of. Less beating and blindfolding, though. You just pull them apart, and they break, spilling whatever's in them."

"Oh."

"Did you have Santa Claus?"

"Yes."

Buffy smiled, picturing Spike as a child, eager, his blue eyes twinkling as he woke on Christmas morning to see what Santa had brought. Without thinking, she reached up to push back a bit of his hair that has falling on his forehead. She liked his hair better the way he'd been wearing it for the past few days, without the gel slicking it back.

Spike sucked in a breath at the feel of her hand on him. Even through the gloves she was wearing, he could feel the heat radiating from her skin. "Buffy…" he said softly, his eyes sliding closed.

Buffy pulled back, her hand trembling. How did things keep becoming a "moment" with him? "I…I don't think we're going to find anything tonight," she said, stepping away. "Let's go back inside. I'm cold, and we've only watched A Charlie Brown Christmas three times."

Spike shook off the disappointment he felt from her pulling away from him again. "Yeah. Doesn't seem like we're going to be getting any action out here anyway."

Buffy frowned, wondering if he meant the double meaning in those words. He didn't give her a chance to call him on it, as he turned and walked back towards the cabin. Buffy followed him, and suddenly an idea crept into her head that she couldn't force herself to ignore.

Spike could tell when the Slayer stopped, and wondered what she was doing back there. He turned around, only to have a snowball smack him in the chest seconds later. "Oi!" he cried in outrage. "What did you go and do that for, Slayer?"

Buffy giggled. "Couldn't help it."

"You know I'm going to have to get you for that, don't you?"

"Like to see you try, fang face."

"Oh you are so asking for it, missy."

Buffy's only response was to stick her tongue out and take off into the woods.

Spike stalked through the trees, knowing the Slayer was near. Her scent was strong, and that was one he'd know anywhere.

He stopped, closing his eyes and trying to get a better sense of where it was coming from when something cold and wet dropped on his head. He looked up to see the Slayer in a tree above him, a second snowball coming at him before he could react. "That's cheating!" he declared, shaking the snow out of his hair.

"Yeah, but it's funny, too."

"Oh yeah, I'll show you funny," Spike replied, making his own snowball and launching it up at the Slayer.

"Hey!" Buffy replied as it hit its mark. "That's cold!"

"Well, duh, luv," Spike replied, giving her a crooked grin.

Buffy hopped down from the tree, landing right in front of him. "It's not nearly as funny when you do it," she said with a pout that Spike found absolutely adorable.

"I think it's even funnier," Spike said, closing the distance between them.

"You would," Buffy grumbled, taking a step towards him as well.

"I'm about to kiss you, you know."

"I know. I'm about to kiss you, too."

Buffy felt the fire she'd come to associate with Spike's kisses flow through her again as she pulled him closer, digging her fingers into the leather of his duster. Spike reached down, placing his hand on the small of her back and bringing her closer. Buffy melted into the kiss, into his embrace, letting herself go. A tiny voice in the back of her mind told her she shouldn't be doing this, but she didn't want to listen. This felt too good, and she didn't want it to stop.

Spike moved his lips from her mouth to her jaw, kissing a path up to her ear. "I want to take you inside, Buffy—and then I want you to take me inside."

Buffy whimpered, his silky voice making her knees weak. "Spike…oh, god…yes."

Spike hoped beyond anything that she didn't push him away this time. He lifted her up, cradling her against his chest as he carried her back to the cabin.

Spike woke the next morning to find the Slayer staring up at him from her position on his chest. "'Mornin', kitten," he said, his voice husky from sleep.

"You're here."

"Where else would I be?"

"I don't know. I just…I've always woken up alone."

Spike silenced her with a kiss. "Don't think about them right now, okay, luv? They don't exist here. Just us."

Buffy gave him a small smile. "Just us," she repeated.

"So you want me to show you what it's like to wake up next to a man?" Spike asked, wagging his eyebrows suggestively.

Buffy giggled. "Yes, please," she said, her naughty grin and the grip she had on him belying her polite answer.

Spike pounced, determined to make her forget about either of her other lovers.

Joyce walked into the darkened cabin, searching for any sign of the two people who were supposed to be occupying it. "Buffy? Sweetie, are you here?"

Joyce frowned when she didn't get a response. She looked in both the kitchen and the larger bedroom, but was unable to locate her daughter. Seeing as it was still daylight, she knew at least Spike would have to be there. Slowly, she opened the door, gasping loudly at the sight she was greeted with.

Buffy turned, her eyes bulging. "Mom!" she cried, struggling to get off Spike and pull the covers over herself. Joyce said nothing, only turning to leave, shutting the door quickly behind her.

"Oh my god!" Buffy said, burying her face in her hands. "Please tell me my mother didn't just walk in on us."

"Um, your mother didn't just walk in on us?" Spike replied.

Buffy peeked at him through her fingers. "Okay now can you make it true?"

"Wish I could. I think this may be the most embarrassing moment of my existence. And I'm including that time you dropped a church organ on me."

"You're embarrassed? She's my mom, and she saw me…oh god…"

"Trust me, pet, I'm not thrilled by the idea that Joyce walked in on me shagging her daughter. She'll probably hate me now."

Buffy looked at him quizzically. "You really do like my mom, don't you?"

"Told you I did."

"I know…" Buffy hid her face in her hands again.

Spike rubbed her back soothingly, and kissed her forehead. "It'll be okay, pet. Let's just get dressed and face this like adults. She's probably just as embarrassed as we are."

"Yeah, just with less embarrassment and more anger," Buffy replied. She dropped her hands. "I can never look my mother in the face again. Ever."

"It's not as bad as that, I promise."

"But…she…we…oh god…"

There was a knock at the door, and both Buffy and Spike looked up sharply. "Um, when the two of you are a little more…presentable, I'd like to have a word with you," Joyce said from the other side.

Buffy whimpered, wishing she could disappear. "Just a minute, Joyce," Spike replied before focusing back on Buffy. "Come on, sweetheart."

"Kill me. You used to be my mortal enemy, and all. Kill me."

"It's not… Wait…used to be?"

Buffy frowned. "Do you still want to be?"

"No, I just…you don't want me to be?"

"Um, not really. But I don't know what I do want, so don't go inferring anything, okay?"

"Okay," Spike said, poorly masking his disappointment. "Let's just talk to your mum now."

Buffy nodded, getting up to gather her clothes. Spike sighed, getting dressed as well.

Those Summers women really should learn how to knock… lol

Review please and let me know what you think!