Author's Notes:

This one turned out to be a bit harder to place in the timeline. Originally, I wrote it to come after 'Triangle' (when Anya and Willow release the troll), because I figured it would be easier to put Spike and Buffy together after they've had what appears to be their first post-Riley-leaving encounter (with the troll in the Bronze). But the script made it clear classes had already started up again, so I had to fit this before, since I'm determined to try to keep everything reasonably within canon. I rewrote it a bit... and hopefully Spike worrying about the Slayer blaming him for Riley leaving, even after this encounter, still works. If not... *shrugs*. Suspension of disbelief is your friend and mine.

Speaking of staying in canon... would you rather see a S8/AtS S5 New Year's Eve encounter, which would have to be AU, or have this end with S7?

Season Five - 2000

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Spike paced the downstairs of his crypt, smoking furiously, doing his best to ignore Harmony's nattering. True, he wasn't technically alone tonight, but the Slayer was. Wasn't his fault that she was, but she might see it that way.

Maybe. You never could tell with her.

Tonight was – their night. In a manner of speaking. And he didn't know if he should go to her, or hope she came to him. Hence the pacing. Being in love with the bitch didn't make dealing with her any easier. No, it made it harder. Because now, he cared. Now, he was afraid of bollixing it up.

"Spikey," Harmony whined. "Aren't we going out tonight? You said we'd go out."

If he'd promised any such thing, it had been in a moment of inattention, to shut her up. Spike's only plans were to spend tonight with the Slayer. Or barring that, alone. "Not feeling well, Harm. Why don't you pretty yourself up and head on out. Wouldn't want you to waste the night on my account."

"My poor Blondie-bear. I'll take care of you, Booboo."

Spike's jaw twitched. If she didn't sod off, he'd stake her, certain sure. And then he'd have to find someone else to shag, seeing as the Slayer wasn't likely to oblige anytime soon.

He'd almost decided to go out looking for Buffy when – bang, bang, bang.

"Sounds like the Slayer's here for you, ducks." He grinned. "Tell you what, you scarper, I'll keep her off your scent. Keep her occupied. All right?"

"Ohhh," Harmony cooed. "You're just such a sweetie."

"Yeah. I'm a right hero. Run along, there's a good girl, Harm."

Spike hurried up the ladder, covering the hole just as the door burst open. He opened his mouth to speak, and Buffy cut him off.

"Just – don't talk, Spike." He made to retort, but she turned those glistening green eyes on him. "Please?" Spike deflated. What else could he do, when she looked so lost? She'd chosen to come to him; there was no way in hell he'd make things worse for her. Truth be told, if he opened his mouth, that was likely all that would happen.

"Fair enough." He turned to the telly to snap it on, flicking through the channels until he found the station with the New Year's Eve celebration. He motioned to the ratty old armchair, an unspoken invitation for the Slayer to make herself comfortable. Buffy bit her lip, then sat stiffly, tension visible in the lines of her frame.

Spike longed to touch her. To ease the pain and hurt from her small body. Instead, he walked to his fridge, where he'd stocked sodas and other beverages earlier in the day. Just in case. He pulled out a diet Coke, deliberated, then put it back and grabbed the champagne instead. The girl wasn't in a celebrating mood, but she needed something to help her relax. Her eyes followed him as he popped the cork, pouring a liberal amount into his one clean glass. Without a word, he held the drink out to her, bubbles streaming upwards.

Buffy favored him with a small, sad smile, then reached for the glass, her fingers brushing his. "Thanks." She turned back to the telly, giving it her full attention as she took a tiny sip, nose wrinkling at the taste.

Spike watched her, his lips twitching at how bloody adorable she looked when she took a second sip, face scrunching in disgust once more. Still not saying a word, he settled himself on the ground near her feet, not touching her, but close enough to lean into her legs if he wanted to. He could feel the heat emanating from her, washing over him, and he sighed in pleasure.

When she'd finished the glass, she held it out to him for a refill. He did, then took a swig off the bottle himself.

"Fizzes in my nose," she remarked. "It grows on you after a bit, though." By the way she managed to take a drink without making a face this time, he imagined it did. Her cheeks were rosy now, her eyes glassy in a different way, and he thought it might be safe to speak.

"'M sorry, love. 'Bout Riley-"

"I don't – just… I don't want to talk about it, okay? Not tonight. God, not tonight. Don't remind me about – that place."

Another time, then. He still wanted to apologize, and wasn't that a kick in the pants? Him apologizing to the Slayer? But not tonight, like the girl said. He wasn't sure what to say anyhow.

"No Harmony?"

He shrugged, then realized she still wasn't looking at him. "Nah. We're not really a thing, just…" Wasn't a lie, not really. He'd throw the bint over the minute something better came along.

"She's just convenient for you. Got it." The way Buffy said it, it sounded like he'd disappointed her.

"Love?"

She didn't elaborate. Instead, she sighed, "Maybe Xander was right. Who knows? Maybe that's all he was to me too. But – it didn't give him… He was still all wrong about me." Her words didn't make a lick of sense to him. Spike waited, hoping she'd continue on her own, and she obliged. "I am not attracted to vamps. Not one little bit. Angel – I fell for him long before I knew he was undead creature of the night. And Dracula… he had that whole thrall thing. Plus, you know, Dracula. So he doesn't count either.

"It wasn't a fair thing to say," she sulked, holding out her empty glass. "This is good. You got any more?"

Spike refilled it for her while he pondered what she'd said. He'd mostly been yanking the git's chain when he'd claimed Buffy preferred her men bumpy in the forehead region – he didn't really believe Buffy had a thing for vamps, hope though he did that she might someday have a thing for him – but the berk must have taken his words to heart.

He drained what was left of the bottle, watching as Buffy did the same to her glass, then got up to fetch something with a bit more of a kick to it. He'd just located his Jack when she began to speak again, the bottle nearly slipping through his fingers at her words.

"Now, if he'd mentioned you that might have been a bit different. I mean, come on, how many times have I not killed you when I should have? Or – he was all worried I wouldn't be interested in him after he lost his superpowers, and who did I say I'd date if I wanted a guy with superpowers? You. But no, he didn't say a word about William the Bloody. Even with that whole faux-engagement thing we had going on last year."

Spike sunk down next to Buffy, doing his best not to react to what she'd admitted no matter how it made his heart try to thump in his chest. He reached for her glass and said carefully, "Know a thing or two about losing superpowers, pet. I imagine it spun him right round 'till he couldn't think straight anymore. Obviously he's toddled half-way 'round the bend. No way he would have walked away from you otherwise."

He didn't add his suspicion that Riley hadn't mentioned him precisely because the wanker was afraid that Spike had made Buffy's short list of vampires she found attractive. The ex wouldn't have wanted to admit the possibility by putting words to his fears, especially when he knew how Spike felt about his girl.

"Why aren't you rubbing it in my face? That Riley left?"

"Know how it feels to be kicked to the curb for something out of your control. Wouldn't wish that on even my best enemy. Not tonight, at least."

She nodded sagely, then took a sip of the whiskey and choked. "Bleargh. Ew."

Bloody adorable.

"I should stake you, you know." She'd produced a stake from out of nowhere and he scuttled away in surprise, inching back when he realized how unsteady her hand was. "I don't like you. I don't trust you. You're evil and deserve to die. And yet, I don't do it. Why?"

Spike removed the stake from her limp hand, tossing it into the corner of the crypt. "Because you'd miss our New Year's Eve dates?"

"Not likely. I think it's because I feel sorry for you," she said primly. "You're helpless, just like when you were in the wheelchair."

Maybe Buffy was drunk, and maybe he felt a touch responsible for how things had gone with the soldier-boy, but Spike wasn't going to be pitied, no sodding way. There was no call for her to be a mean drunk, not when he was doing his level best to be a good companion against all his instincts. He opened his mouth to argue with her, but she cut him off.

"It has absolutely nothing to do with those lusty dreams of you, you know."

Oh.

Oh.

Well that changed things.

Spike figured it was a good thing she wasn't looking at him, because if he looked as gobsmacked as he felt, he looked bloody ridiculous right about now. He rearranged his face into a leer, knelt before her. "Wanna tell me all about the little nasties you've been dreaming of doing with Big Bad?"

Buffy laughed, then slurred, "No way, vampire, you'd use it against me if you ever knew about those dreams. I'm never going to tell you about them."

He snickered. The chit didn't realize it was too late for that.

"Hey!" She poked him in the shoulder. "The ball's about to drop. Turn it up."

He obliged, then turned back to face her, the countdown echoing in his ears.

Twenty… nineteen… eighteen…

"You're a really good kisser, you know that?"

Spike couldn't help but smile. She was slumped sideways in his chair, one leg swinging over the arm, her hair completely mussed, a look of intense concentration on her face. "So I've been told, love."

"But not by me. No way, Jose. I would never tell you that, because you're bad and evil and I don't like you even a little bit."

"No worries, Slayer."

"So, you gonna kiss me or what?"

Five… four… three…

"Yeah. Gonna kiss you good." Spike leaned in, his lips brushing hers.

Happy New Year!

Buffy moaned, her hands tangling in his hair, mouth devouring his. Spike's cock stood at full attention as he slipped his hands under her shirt, thumbs caressing the underside of her breasts while she mewled into his mouth, and he wondered how far he could take it. If she'd let him take it all the way. He stood, lifting her with him, wrapping his body around hers.

And stopped. Pressed his forehead to hers, groaned in frustration.

He could take what he wanted. Spike was sure of it. But if he did… best case scenario, she'd stake him in the morning, when she came to her senses. Worst, she'd run him out of town, never talk to him again. Buffy whimpered, wriggling against him, and he almost said to hell with it, gave in to his desire. It would be worth it, to die, if he got to shag her first.

Somehow, he held himself back.

"Happy New Year, Buffy."

Her head lolled on his shoulder. "You too, Spike."

"I'm going to walk you home now, all right? You're in no condition to go traipsing about on your own."

Buffy nodded, and he helped her with her coat, then wrapped his arm around her waist, guiding her outside, relishing the feel of her warmth pressed against him. She didn't speak until they reached her street.

"You got me drunk."

"Only a little. 'Sides, you're a cheap drunk. Not my fault it went straight to your head."

"It's because you're evil. You're evil, and you got me drunk, and now you're walking me home."

Spike chuckled. "You sussed out my nefarious plan, Slayer."

"And you talk funny," she grumbled.

When they reached her porch, she put her hands on his chest. "Whatever I said tonight doesn't count, you know. Because you tricked me into saying it."

"Well, I am evil. As you've mentioned. Repeatedly."

"That's right." She nodded, listing sideways, and he straightened her out.

"I won't hold you to anything you said, Buffy. Mum's the word."

A hand flew to her mouth. "Mum? My mom? Is she here? She can't see me like this!"

Spike opened the door for her. "She's safe and sound in her bed, Buffy. You, uh, want me to help you up to yours? Tuck you in?" He couldn't help but leer as he said it.

"No. Pig." She shook her head. "I'd stake you if you touched me."

"And that's my cue to leave."

Buffy grabbed on to his shirt. "Spike?"

His heart tried to thump again. "Yeah?"

"I hope you have a good year. In a non-killing sort of way, I mean. I don't want to be your jinx this year."

Brow furrowed, he asked, "What brought this on?"

"Our lives have sucked too much lately. I can't take anymore."

Spike pushed a lock of her hair behind her ear. "Think it's the lot of the Slayer, love. Things aren't meant to be easy for you. And yet you handle it all with grace and strength."

She glowered at him. "Don't."

"Don't what? Why?"

"Just… don't. I don't want to like you. Not even a little bit."

He smiled. "No worries. We'll be back to our usual antipathy tomorrow. Hurt each other good and proper."

Buffy squinted at him, trying to suss out if he was teasing her. Giving up, she stumbled into the house, then twisted back to him. "Thanks for getting me home, Spike. Sometimes, I don't hate you so much." She blanched. "And I'm going to blame that on the booze. Because I so obviously didn't mean it."

She turned away, closing the door behind her. Spike stared at it for a long, long time.