Spike was clicking through the TV channels listlessly when he heard a familiar knock. The Slayer. He'd been dreading this moment. He'd also been waiting in his crypt for two days for her to drop by.

"Spike? Are you home?" Always astounded him, that she had to ask if he was there. He could smell her, hear her the minute she was outside the concrete wall. One of the drawbacks of being human, he supposed. Buffy had told him once that her sense of smell was hardly enhanced, though her eyesight and hearing were "better than the average bear," was that the adorable way she'd put it? They'd been at the cemetery gate the day before Halloween and she'd been wearing pink trousers and a white hat, not that he'd committed it to memory.

"No, I'm out, gone for a jog, come back later, thanks." He couldn't help but smile when she burst through the door anyway. God but he wanted her. He could feel the heat rolling off her in waves from where he sat. But he had some pride. Not much, but some. "Are you deaf or daft, love? I'm not here. Sod off."

Thankfully Buffy ignored him. She came over to his chair, more tentative than usual. "So I came to you-"

"For a shag and some blows, I know, love, not interested." He clicked the remote for emphasis. He longed to touch her. He wanted to pull her down to him, feel her weight in his lap, run his hands through her soft and golden hair. He had about five more minutes of bravado in him, and he was going to have to use them. To tell her it was over. No need to fill her in on the details like Tara wanted. Had nothing to do with the fact that he was bloody terrified. Just not necessary, was all.

Buffy stepped in front of the television. "No, Spike. We have to talk." She was hugging herself, probably cold. Spike wanted to get up, to warm her. But having no body heat was a bitch, and she probably wouldn't appreciate his black duster draped over her. What had she called it, the skin of another Slayer? Yeah, bad idea. Also, physical proximity would unravel the last of his nerve and he'd be a blubbering mess, begging her to stay.

She started again. "I need you to know what I was thinking, when we brought the house down."

Spike gave her a leer. "It was a virtuoso performance built of convenience, love." She didn't move. What was it going to take, to drive her away?

Buffy winced. "I...I shouldn't have said that, Spike." No you damn well shouldn't have, pet. Why didn't he say that out loud? Why was he giving her a stiff nod instead?

"But you shouldn't have told me I came back wrong, either." Buffy balled her fists, and Spike felt himself start to rev up, for the fight, for the dance, for whatever she'd spare him. "I gave you my secret, Spike, and you threw it back in my face. Told me I was wrong. And you want me to believe you love me? Really?" Her voice was high and thin.

Spike conjured up the memory of Tara's hand on his arm. "I told you that because I'm a bad man, Buffy."

Buffy rolled her eyes, but her hands relaxed. "Right, you've always been bad." The crypt was very quiet. They were at a standoff, and Spike wasn't sure how to end it. Kiss her or kill her, the demon whispered.

Buffy jerked her chin. "So you got rid of the disgusting-ness that was the shrine, huh?"

Spike glanced at the clean-swept corner. "Yeah."

"You used it for the robot, didn't you."

"I told you, it wasn't-"

"Is anything real to you Spike? Is anything real to William?"

Spike clenched his jaw. Oh no, she wasn't going to get away that easily. She couldn't transfer all her love and affection to the dead man inside him. He got up. "William was a git. A poufter. William didn't have a killing bone in his body. William couldn't fight side-by-side with you, love. William was pathetic."

"He's a part of you Spike."

Gotta stop this. Now. "Sure, sweetheart. Just like the demon is. You can't get out of the mess you're in by caring about dear William."

Buffy's stare was like ice. "I'd say we're in this 'mess' together, Spike."

"You know that's the first time you've referred to us as a couple, right?"

He saw her take a few deep breaths. "I want to hit you so bad right now."

Yes, the demon roared.

Buffy started pacing. "But I won't, because I'm not about - distractions, not this time."

Spike lit a cigarette. "Pity, that. Look, already told you, not interested. Thanks for stopping by. Shove off."

"So tell me more about William." Damn her singular bloody-mindedness. She wanted to know more about the dead poet? Maybe that was just what he needed to drive her away.

"Fine. Here. Let me show you something. If you want to know more of who I was. Whether you could have loved the ponce," he muttered. He stubbed out his cigarette and pulled a sheet of rumpled paper from underneath the chair.

He brandished the page in front of her and - couldn't do it. Couldn't give it to her. He remembered the night he'd written it, drunk off his gourd, three days after she'd told him she was ashamed of what they'd done. He'd sipped blood from a mug like the neutered fool he was and scrawled poetry to made himself feel better. He'd even used a quill, for what, old time's sake? Then he'd gone and dusted a few vamps, which did wonders for his mood. He almost burned this poem too, but somehow it kept escaping the flames. Buffy was waiting expectantly, beautiful and bold. He'd kissed her, been inside her, done things with her he didn't have names for after a hundred years, but looking into her hazel eyes, he was...frightened.

Buffy's voice was surprisingly gentle. "Would you read it to me, Spike?"

He scoffed. "It's bloody awful, Buffy. Remember the laugh you and the Scoobies had when you found out what my name was? William the Bloody, terrible poetry? Hasn't changed, pet." He put a sneer in his voice. "In fact it's gotten worse. Romance gets drained out of you when the demon takes over." That last part was a lie, and it looked like Buffy knew it.

"I'd like to hear it."

Spike stopped, and started, and stopped again.

"All right. One, stop smirking, love."

Buffy feigned innocence. "Smirking? No smirking. Genuine, one hundred percent curiosity here, Spike." She was daring him to do it, because she thought it would work, and she was right, damn it, because he couldn't resist a challenge, not from her.

"Two, I can't - I can't look at you when I read this, all right? I can't."

Buffy perched on the edge of his chair, patted the arm. "Could you sit with me?"

It was the first intimate gesture she'd offered. But she had him cornered, and she'd made him angry, and as much as his heart leapt to hear her offer, he couldn't help pushing it, and he needed to force her to leave. "You want to be next to an evil, soulless thing and have him spout poetry? You sure, love? Vampire, creature of the-

"Shut up, Spike." She sounded tired, defeated. "It was a lot to ask. I get it. I'll go." She got up with that blend of feral grace that moved him in ways he wished he could ignore, and started for the door.

When he began, he sounded hoarse to his own ears. He saw her pause out of the corner of his eye.

Starlight and moonlight

Are not my foes.

But sunlight and your light

Are the source of my woes.

The pieces you give me

Of who you really are

Slayer, warrior, lover

And my constant north star

Are never enough. They never could be.

I want all of you, sweet girl.

So I can give you all of me.

But we can't. I know it. So, farewell my love

I'm here in the shadows, where I should be

While you reside, fair and wondrous, far, far above me.

If it had been quiet before, the silence was deafening now. He watched her. Her head was down. Then she tossed her hair over her shoulder - god, that hair, needed a poem of its own, it did - and spoke.

"You're wrong."

"A poem isn't right or wrong, pet."

"This one is. I'm not above you. Or below you." Buffy stepped closer. "You stopped me, from dancing, when we were stuck in the...musical from hell. Why?"

"That dance would have killed you." He sighed. "Buffy, you know why."

"'This isn't real,' that was my refrain, wasn't it?"

"That's about the size of it. You were right, love. It can't be real." Maybe he could make Tara proud, explain how they were wrong for each other, how he'd just keep hurting her if he stayed.

"I lied, Spike. I lied. It is real, and I swear to you if you don't let me get this sentence out-" There were tears on her cheeks. He ached to go to her.

"If I love you..." She was trying the words out, seeing how they sounded. "If I love you, I might as well turn in my stake right now." She gave him a half-smile. "I don't expect you to understand."

"No? Try this on for size, pet. You're the Slayer, need to fight evil, the forces of darkness. Which includes yours truly. And if you could love me, then those creatures you dust with such deft and perky strokes could have hearts and minds of their own. You can't risk that." He reached out to touch her cheek, then remembered himself. "You shouldn't have to."

Buffy looked stunned. "Um, yeah. That's pretty much exactly it. Wait, did you figure that out on your own?"

Spike grinned. "Not as stupid as I look, pet."

"Tara. It must have been Tara."

Spike gave up. "Yeah that bird's smart. She's right too. So you see, now. We can't. I won't put you in that bind, Buffy."

He felt her fingers trace his cheek. All the promises he'd made to Tara, to himself, vanished the second she touched him. He wanted her, wanted her fire, wanted her beneath him, surrounding him. He held himself steady. Her hazel eyes were huge.

"I fight everything else, Spike. I can't fight you. I want to dance, Spike, but differently. I want - I want to go slow."

He drew her to him finally, finally running his hands through her hair. She twined her arms around him and he groaned. He'd go fast, slow, whatever she wanted. She didn't know that, yet, but he intended to convince her to by the time the night was over.

"Then lead, love." She kissed him, softly, and he matched her, pulling her down to the chair, letting her settle in his lap. He was hard already, god, he'd been hard the minute she walked in. But now she was his whole world, with her hair hanging like a curtain around them and her tongue dancing with his. She pulled back and he moaned at the loss of contact. He almost reached for her again, but saw the question in her eyes, and waited.

Buffy swallowed. "Wow. And, um, you don't mind? Going slow? You don't need the pain?" Spike would have been hurt if she hadn't looked so uncertain.

He cupped her cheek. "Don't mind it. Don't need it, pet."

She rested her forehead on his. "Your eyes are the hardest part."

'Not other parts, love?" He tried to keep his tone light, his hold on her loose. He'd never seen her this vulnerable.

"No. Your eyes. The way you look at me, like - like I'm not a monster, like I'm worth..."

To him she was an onslaught of light and heat and blinding energy. To think she could inhabit think that beautiful, tight, curvy - stay focused Spike - body and not understand...

"I could show you, love." He was purring, sliding his palms over the curve of her waist. He could hear the rapid beating of her heart. He drank in her scent as he kissed her neck, gently, grinning as she twisted and turned above him.

"More, Spike, please, I-"

"Think this would be easier without clothes, kitten, as much as I enjoy the challenge."

"Really? Tara got Dawn to like bananas?" Buffy wrinkled her nose. She and Spike were walking up to her house, together. Like they did, now. Buffy even had her hand tucked into his arm. Spike felt like he was floating, like he hadn't come back down to Earth since...well, since he'd woken up with Buffy next to him, and it hadn't been a dream, and instead of punching him in the head and running, she'd curled up next to him and sighed happily.

Spike kicked a pebble with his boot. "Yeah, s'pose they got all kinds of nutrients and minerals, right?"

"Name one."

"Potassium. A-ha! Thought I wouldn't know, didn't you?" The thwack Buffy gave him was worth it. Spike made a show of rubbing his shoulder.

Tara and Dawn were both waiting at the door. Spike looked at Tara with a silent plea in his eyes. He didn't want Nibblet to fret, and he didn't want to have to go through with a long explanation, not if he didn't have to.

He needn't have worried. "Thanks for the bananas, Spike," Tara said warmly. She ushered them both into the house. Spike saw the table was set for four.

"Yeah, a big thank you for the gross addition to my breakfast." Dawn pouted. Buffy wrapped her up in a hug. "That's enough Dawn. Bananas are good for growing up tall and strong. They have potassium, you know."

"You told her," Tara murmured as he followed her into the kitchen, silently. Spike nodded, a little lost. Tara kissed him on the cheek. Daft, Red was, to leave one so sweet and kind. "Good job. You both look happy."

"Listen...thanks, Glinda, really, for everything." He wasn't sure how to put what he felt into those words.

"You're family, Spike," Tara said, as if that explained it all. And maybe it did, at that, Spike thought, as they dug into dinner together, Buffy's hand resting on his thigh under the table.