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For A Dead Guy You Look Totally Alive

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"I'm worried about Buffy," Willow stated five hours later.

She, Xander and Giles had gathered in Xander's basement for an emergency meeting.

"Specifics?" Xander asked.

"She's lost it!" Willow replied.

"It is a bit disturbing, isn't it?" Xander agreed.

"There is nothing we can do," Giles muttered.

"She doesn't understand, Giles. She doesn't know Spike. She doesn't know what he's capable of."

"Except she does," Giles remarked. "She trusts you, obviously, why else would she have told you so much of how she feels? And you have hammered it into her over and over exactly who she's dealing with. Trust me, Willow, she does know. I just wish she could admit it!"

"She's retracted into some naïve state of denial, that's true. But what would the reason be, other than..." Willow trailed off, exchanging a look with Giles and then shaking her head. "No. No, that would be way too repulsive."

"What?" Xander asked.

Willow merely gave him a glance and then said:

"What about the other problem?"

"The big, bad problem?" Xander asked in Giles' stead and Willow nodded with a subtle smile.

"Well, as of now there has been no stagger of activity. Hopefully Adam will keep to himself for a week or two, give us some time to regroup," Giles said.

"Regroup? I think that's a slight understatement," Xander remarked.

"Research, perhaps?" Willow offered.

"Well, wouldn't that make you happy?" Xander said.

"Not really, under these circumstances," she defended. "I don't even know where to start. And if I did, I already started there about three times. Giles, I don't know what other books I can look through."

"It is starting to look rather dark," he agreed, both youngsters adopting abhorred expressions.

"Don't say that!" Xander exclaimed.

"Yeah! You're positivist guy! You're the one who has that bright idea just when we think it's starting to look dark!" Willow filled in.

"That's right. Shine on!" Xander nodded.

Giles looked at them, and then removed his glasses, polishing them in silence.

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Meanwhile, on the other side of town, Buffy was carefully entering the kitchen of the Revello Drive home. She closed the door behind her and paused before finally making herself walk forward. She was just about to proceed into the living room when there were steps down the stairs and soon Joyce's arms were around her daughter.

"Oh, thank God!"

Buffy hugged her back, but couldn't do so with as much feeling and soon Joyce picked up on it, letting the other go and pulling away, her gaze growing questioning as she looked at Buffy. The latter put on an as apologetic expression as she could, and Joyce took a step back.

"You're not coming home, are you?" she asked and Buffy shook her head slowly.

"I will. But not yet," she said. "I love you, mom."

Turning from Joyce's stunned face and walking back outside was one of the hardest things Buffy had ever done, but she did it, and well out in the sunshine she brought out the newly bought pack of pink bubblegum and popped a piece in her mouth as she headed for her first goal of the morning.

¤

Four hours later she jumped off the truck holding the furniture she had picked out. The guy behind the wheel got out, still curious about the spot she had chosen to unload. He helped her bring the loveseat, the coffee table and the divan to the ground and she smiled, thanking him.

"Do you need help bringing it in?" he asked, glancing tentatively at the crypt behind her.

"No, thanks," she replied. "I can pretty much take it from here."

She waved good-bye and he drove off still wearing a wondering frown. Once the truck was out of sight she pushed the door of the crypt open and grabbed one end of the loveseat, beginning to haul it inside. She dragged it through the door, left it there and went to retrieve the rest of the stuff. Last she grabbed the five or so bags that were left and finally shut the door behind her. She sunk down on the divan and tried to get her head straight.

"Where to begin..." she mumbled.

The divan was dressed in soft, dark green velvet. The loveseat was in dark blue fabric and the coffee table was made out of almost black wood. They were all used, of course, and she'd gotten them for a bargain; but something told her he'd like them. She decided to put the loveseat and coffee table in front of the TV and move the armchair to the side. Then she went to work with what was inside the bags.

The first held three heavy candelabras, which she placed strategically around the room so they'd spread equal amount of light in it. The second held a myriad of different sized candles; and these she placed not only in the candelabras, but also on the vacant spots of the deep niches holding the windows. The third held a few new blankets as well as a set of fresh sheets – she had noticed he might need them. She left the two last ones on the loveseat and began to drag the divan over to the place of the ladder.

She shifted it carefully down, her strength coming in very handy when struggling not the break the heavy thing, and once it was down she climbed after. It was standing on end and she brought it onto its legs, pushing it further into the room. She found a good spot for it and turned her head to look at the still soundly asleep Spike.

She cocked an eyebrow and then approached him, blowing a bubble with her gum and letting it pop as noisily as it possibly could.

It was a no-go.

She smirked, having a seat on the edge of the bed and observing him where he lay. She bit her lower lip as a thought occurred. She waited for a few more moments, to make sure there was no reaction from him, and when she felt convinced there wouldn't be she reached out a hand and tugged at the sheet covering one shoulder and most of his torso. She moved it carefully down, her eyes widening a little as his bare chest came into view.

She smiled crookedly, letting the sheet come to rest by his hips as she simply didn't dare to take it further than that. She was flushing without really noticing it, and her heart beat was elevating. Her hands were growing clammy.

She swallowed, then moved one arm forward and let her hand place itself right beneath one of his collar bones. Her heart was beating even harder as she gently slipped her fingers over the taut muscles of his chest; moving down to his stomach she was nearly trembling with both the act of doing something so intimate and something that felt absolutely forbidden.

All of a sudden he eased his eyes open.

She was on her feet so fast she almost lost her balance, backing away from the bed making stuttering noises that were supposed to resemble speech, but did a poor job at it. Her head was reeling from trying to think of a good enough excuse for her to even be down there.

"I was moving some stuff into... here, and I'm... I'm sorry I woke you and... and... sorry," she finally got out, smiling at her idiocy and already backing toward the ladder.

He had propped himself up on his elbows and was watching her departure part quizzical, part bothered and part humorous. As she finally reached her escape route she climbed it quickly and stood in the crypt on shaky knees, clamping her hands before her face, not knowing whether she should laugh or cry.

Spike blinked, still not all convinced that it had actually been her hand he'd felt touching him. He found it more probable that he'd been dreaming. Not about her, of course, but of... someone. She wouldn't have been...

His eyes landed on the new piece of furniture and both eyebrows rose. He got up and pulled on a pair of jeans before heading for the ladder.

Buffy was sitting on the loveseat, rummaging through bags four and five, as he reached the crypt. She kept her gaze down and away from him, seemingly completely immersed in whatever it was she was doing. He looked at what she was seated on, and then at the table.

"What're those?" he finally asked and she brought a hand out of one of the bags, holding up a folded sweater.

"Clothes," she said. "Some color won't stake ya," she added with a fake-coy smile and her eyes met his for a few seconds, her posture stiffening as well as the smile before she looked away again.

He studied her profile, and he got hit with the truth that it hadn't been a dream. She had been... He was no fool; he'd noticed the signals she'd been sending out. Hell, ever since their first encounter she'd looked at him in a certain way. But this? He'd thought it was a simple attraction, something about him that mystified and made that brain of hers work overtime to try and solve him. A curiosity, just like she'd said. Since nothing else that was supposed to fit, did – she clung to the one thing that wasn't supposed to, and made it.

And then again with the "but this?"

She was placing sweaters and shirts on the back of the loveseat.

He couldn't think.

"What're you doing?" he got out, a sudden anger irrepressibly growing within him.

"I'm unpacking the..." she began, but he was by her and tearing her to her feet before she could finish.

"Get out," he said and she stared at him in surprise.

"You said that I could..."

"Bloody well leave!" he burst, turning her around and shoving her to the door. "Go on. Go!"

She spun around, putting her hands against his chest and pushing him off her with a glare of fury.

"What's your problem!" she exclaimed. "You said I could try and make this place into a... place! You said as long as I kept away from anything pastel-ish! Do you see any pastel in here! You said I could stay as long as I kept out of your way!"

At that she grew silent, her words catching up with her and he nodded a little.

"So don't wake me up in the middle of the afternoon," he emphasized.

"Hey, I was in here for half an hour shuffling furniture around, I even brought that piece downstairs and you didn't move a muscle! How the hell was I supposed to know you'd wake up just 'cause I sat down next to you?"

"That's not all you did."

"Well... I said I was sorry! Why are you freaking out on me?"

He didn't know what to say to that, and so he kept quiet, his hands in fists.

She wore a frown, but it soon smoothed and she crossed her arms over her chest.

"I know I shouldn't have done... what I did," she said, forcing her gaze not to drift down to his still bare chest, ignoring the slight unfamiliar suction she felt in her stomach at the memory of how his skin had felt underneath her hand. "I dunno why I even did it! I guess, maybe, it was 'cause I've never seen any living dead asleep before."

He cocked an eyebrow.

"Without clothes on," she admitted. "I was curious!" she defended at his other raised eyebrow.

"Seems to be a lot of that lately," he remarked.

She tried a smile and he rolled his eyes at her, which made the smile widen. Glancing at his torso and then back into his gaze she said:

"I was a little surprised... Not that I didn't expect... Not that I'd thought about it... Oh, boy." He furrowed his brow, small smirk on as he observed her interestedly. She blushed. "It's just you look so... healthy. I mean, for a dead guy you look totally... alive."

He contemplated that, still smiling slightly, and then reached out a hand to take hold of her wrist, bringing her palm up to the place of his still heart.

"Don't feel alive, though, do I?" he murmured.

She stared at him, caught completely in his eyes, and then she smiled in return before pulling her hand out of his grasp. She took a step backward and turned, walking back to the project she had been in the middle of. She began putting the sweaters into a pile and he came up to her, looking at what she had chosen for him.

"Buffy," he said, but she didn't acknowledge him.

"I thought you might like red," she said. "And blue goes well with your eyes, so..."

"Buffy, what are you doing here. Really?"

She met his gaze at that, a smile soon spreading over her lips. He couldn't interpret it, and he couldn't return it, it unsettled him too much.

"I'm going back to bed, stay away from there 'til I'm bleeding well awake again," he warned and she gave a nod; observing him as he walked up to the ladder and descended.

Once he was out of sight she leaned against the piece of furniture before her and drew a slow breath. She wished she didn't have to be such a jabbering ditz whenever he was near her. She wished she knew exactly what to say and exactly what to do in the exact moment it needed to be said and done for him to look at her and... see her.

He didn't see her.

She sighed, looking at the sweaters and shirts and feeling young and silly. What had she thought? That the road to a vampire's heart lay through cotton?

What's the use...? she wondered. Soon I'll be outta here anyway. Back with Andy, and what exciting things will ever happen to me then? I'll forget all about this. Won't I?

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Spike woke with a start; sure that it had been from a nightmare but unable to remember it. He got off the bed groggily, wiping sleep out of his eyes and stretching as he walked up to the ladder. A spot of blood and then he'd head out. He climbed up and was met by candle light. He wondered what time it was. Seven, maybe. He had to admire the candelabras. They reminded him of an epoch of his life long since passed, when the women had been dressed in gowns and the men had been true gents.

He looked around the crypt, seeing no sign of her but for the TV being on.

Walking up to the loveseat he stopped behind its back and looked down at her, sleeping with one of the new blankets spread over her.

He tilted his head a little to one side as he watched her. Slowly he walked around to be able to see her face better, squatting down beside her.

She's a child, he thought to himself. But that fire she has... it's there, even now. Even at this young.

He watched her for a little while longer, then reached out a hand and shook her hard.

She sat up with a yell and he straightened into a standing position.

"Said you wanted to come," he merely stated at her disoriented expression and she frowned, an incensed pout appearing on her mouth.

"Guess we're even," she muttered and he smirked at that.

Going into the imitation-of-a-kitchen part of the crypt he brought out a fresh bag of blood and tore it open, drinking greedily. Still seated, Buffy observed him with her frown deepening. Then she shuddered, making a disgusted noise as she stood.

"I can't see how you can do that," she said, grabbing her backpack and beginning to bring clothes out of it.

"I just showed you," he shot and she gave him a look.

"It's so gross! That has to be the worst part about being a vampire. Speaking of – how can you choose to become a vampire when you know that you'll have to suck the living dry to stay on your feet? Personally it would take a lot for me to even consider it, and in the end I don't think I'd go through with it. Immortality and all that... sounds like it might get boring in the end."

"In the end is when it starts to get the most intriguing," he assured.

She smiled.

"You wanna see what happens? That why you became a vamp? Embraced the forever? Jumped into the clutches of undeath and no-liveliness?"

"Hey, there's plenty of liveliness left in these bones, don't you worry 'bout that."

"You'll get a chance to prove it tonight."

He smirked once more, throwing the bag away and walking up to the ladder.

"So, what's this place like?" she called after him.

"Classy crowd. Good beer. You'll like it," he called back.

"Anything like the Bronze?"

There was a moment of silence, and then he replied:

"It is what you make it, pet."

"Just figuring what I should wear."

Another silence, then:

"Something small and black."

She gave the ladder a glance, her eyebrows rising slightly, then she shrugged and thought she just might take his advice... Or should that be request?

"Are you telling, or asking?" she called down, but this time there was no answer.

She raised one shoulder in a shrug and decided on a killer black dress she had dug out from some forgotten corner of the closet in her dorm room. She changed, beginning to brush her hair as he ascended again, now wearing not only a black T, but also his duster. She smiled at him, holding up one hand and spreading her fingers as she said:

"Five minutes."

He didn't look as though he believed her, but she ignored it and kept brushing, starting the search for the shoes she knew would go perfectly with the outfit.

Spike eyed her from across the room. How she moved, how the low-cut dress exposed her back – showing off just how gently it bent as she leaned forward to pick something up from the floor, how her locks easily swept themselves behind her shoulders as she straightened her posture. He realized his mouth had fallen agape and he closed it with a snap, forcing himself to look away from her.

"I'll... wait outside," he grumbled, stalking up to the door and nearly tearing it off its hinges before stepping into the chilled evening air.

Half an hour later she finally saw fit to join him, wearing a black thigh-length coat and black shoes.

He began to walk as she closed the door, flicking away the cigarette he'd been smoking.

"Aren't you gonna lock up?" she inquired.

He merely glanced over his shoulder and she looked skyward, shaking her head at herself before she followed, catching up with him. He turned his head to her, looking her over and she raised her eyebrows questioningly.

"What?" she asked.

"Did it really have to take all that time to...? Yeah, exactly what did you do?"

She stopped, hands on hips.

"Hair, make-up, moisturizing – it takes a surprising amount of effort to look this effortless!" she argued and he faced her, once again looking her over.

"Honey, all you needed was the dress," he shot, beginning to walk again and she narrowed her eyes.

"Was that supposed to be an insult?" she asked and the swagger in his step seemed to falter slightly, but then he merely signaled for her to come along.

She did, again walking beside him, though this time she was smiling.

"Stop," he muttered and she wanted to kill it off, but couldn't.

"Sorry," she apologized. "It's just... the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me!" she added with a quick hug to the arm of his which was closest to her.

"No really – stop," he protested.

"Oh, lighten up!" she laughed.

They walked on in silence, her smile remaining. Him wanting to feel more uncomfortable in the situation, and failing. Finally they reached the bar and he could breathe a fictional sigh of relief. At least now he'd be surrounded by his own, in a space he knew. Having the upper hand completely. Finally.

He held the door open for her without thinking, but she didn't seem to think any more of it either, simply giving him a smile as she passed inside. He grumbled to himself as he followed her.

She looked around the room, dimly lit and occupied by creatures she could scarcely fathom were real. She kept her cool, heading for the bar as she slipped her coat off her shoulders. Pretty much every single pair of eyes was now being directed at her and she jumped up on a stool just as Spike joined at her side.

"Should you be in here?" Willy asked the vampire.

"Bygones," Spike smirked, remembering exactly why he appreciated his designated company for the evening, turning his head to Buffy. "What'll you have, darling? Anything you want, 's on me."

"Sweet! I'll have a daiquiri," she told Willy.

"I'll have the usual," Spike stated and was soon served a glass of blood.

Buffy curled her lip in dislike.

"Oh, lighten up," he smiled, taking the glass and walking up to an empty booth.

She mirrored his smile, bringing her drink and getting off the stool to follow him.

"Slayer," a voice said behind her and she turned to face a large demon sporting horns and fangs galore.

"Oh, ew," she said, then smiled brightly. "Sorry about the last part... I think. And... yes?"

The demon furrowed the part of its brow that it could furrow and then said:

"Shouldn't you be running with your own crowd?"

"Firstly – it's none of your business. Secondly – can't run in these heels."

She proceeded up to Spike and sat down, taking a mouthful of her drink and meeting his gaze.

"What the sod am I doing with you?" he murmured and she smiled brightly.

"We'll see," she answered.