Made for fun, not for profit. The Buffyverse belongs to Mutant Enemy and Joss Whedon, I just like to play there.

A/N: Sorry for the lengthy delay between updates. Chapters six thru ten are dedicated to juggling, whose review inspired me to jump back into this story and hack away at it some more. RL has not been kind to me the past year or two, and I've been focusing on other creative projects, but I will try to update this story as often as I can. I've got an outline and about 40 chapters total planned out for season 4, plus at least 40 more for AU season 5. I've just gotta sit down and actually write them. As always, everything I'm posting is un-beta'ed, so if there is a beta out there, I'd love to have your help!

"We must accept or refuse one another as we are.

I could tame a hyena more easily than my friend.

He is a material which no tool of mine will work."

~ Henry David Thoreau

6 - Alone At Last

It didn't take Giles very long to gather up the books he would need, and after several backward glances he finally headed out, once again admonishing Sam to 'be careful, for goodness sake!' before she closed the door behind him.

She leaned back against the door and her eyes closed for a brief moment as she sighed, "I thought he'd never leave."

Spike quirked an eyebrow at that. "So, luv. This mean you're my babysitter?"

She gave him a smile as she pushed off of the door. "Nope. I figure you have enough sense to not tear the place apart." She came back towards the table, but instead of reclaiming her seat, she started clearing the dishes.

He watched her move around. Instead of walking the plates and such around into the kitchen, she was just putting everything on the breakfast bar and pushing it over towards the kitchen side. Whenever she pushed something across, she wound up leaning over the counter and bent almost double, which gave him a very nice view of her bum, and then she would straighten up and repeat the process.

Well, this is as good a time as any to test the waters. Let's see how she reacts to the Big Bad…

He stood, wincing when his leg protested, and stepped close to her shoulder, invading her personal space. He was close enough to grab hold of the belt of her robe and toy with it, but he didn't use it to tug her closer. "And… what will you do if I step out of line?" He made sure to keep his voice low and silken; part seductive purr, part threatening rumble.

Her breath caught and she paused before looking at him. "I…" she dropped his gaze and stopped to clear her throat, but managed a smile as she went on. "I didn't really have anything planned. You got any suggestions?"

He let the belt slip out of his hands and, chuckling, handed her his plate. "Not gonna give you any help there, pet. You want to scold me, I'm sure you'll come up with something."

Spike smiled to himself as he watched her. He had made her flustered, and aside from how satisfying that was, flustered looked charming on her. Her heartbeat had sped up a touch, and because she wasn't wearing any makeup, he could see that she was blushing ever so slightly. Of course, this also added a check mark to the 'not putting on an act' column. She was feisty and bright, but still very much a girl, and she didn't strike him as the Mata Hari type. The way she had handled Giles had been a bit manipulative, but her motives seemed pure and she hadn't actually lied at any point. Spike cocked his head slightly, deciding to let his guard down a little in light of all that. Not much, though. Just a little.

She put the last of the flatware on the counter and flashed him a mischievous smirk. "How about Holy Water in one of those toy squirt guns?"

He chuckled again, trailing behind as she moved into the kitchen. "Not a bad idea."

She started setting the dishes up to soak. "Well, at least Giles already put away most of the serving stuff." She glared at a bowl on the counter, "except for the Satanic jelly. Seriously, what happened there? This is not a normal consistency."

Spike leaned in the doorway, just watching her. His silence seemed to make her nervous, judging by the glances she threw him as she hunted for the lid to the cranberry sauce. She gave him another, longer look, and he could almost see her trying to think of not-trite conversation-starters.

"Why don't you heat yourself up some more blood? I'm sure you're still hungry."

And there it is.

He nodded and stepped to the fridge, opting to leave the double entendre alone, although a few quips about how tasty she looked just then did flit across his mind. "Think I will." He scowled when he opened the door. The last pint bag was nearly empty. There was enough blood in it to fill a coffee mug and still have an ounce or two left over, but that was all. Unless Rupert was planning on doing an early morning run to the butchers, it looked like Spike wouldn't be getting breakfast the next day. His hand shook slightly when he grabbed the bag, and he stubbornly set his jaw. There was no way that he was gonna let the last of his foul, meager rations end up on the floor.

He must have been concentrating harder than he realized, because he blinked when a mug appeared by his elbow and looked over to find Sam smiling up at him. "Thanks, luv."

Sam gave him a friendly nudge when she handed the mug over. "No problem." She looked over his shoulder at the pint bag and frowned. "Is that the last of it?"

"Looks like." He made a disgusted noise, briefly wondering whether he should try to ration out the remaining blood so there would be some left for him the next morning. Hell, what had he been reduced to?

She shook her head, giving an annoyed sigh. "I'll call Willow's later, when they've had enough time to get back, and remind him to pick up some more."

He fixed her with an incredulous look. "And you think he'll listen?"

She shrugged one shoulder, twisting her mouth to one side in a humble half-smile. "To me? Yeah. Long as I don't push my luck too much, he pretty much gives me free reign. You think a gallon or two is enough to last you though tomorrow?"

He blinked at her, surprised again by her matter-of-fact attitude but more thrown by the unsolicited generous offer. "Yeah. That... that should do me fine."

Sam patted his arm. "Okay. I'll ask him for two, so he won't have to keep going back there every day. Also, I'm guessing that since you're injured…"

He nodded, finishing the thought. "Yeah, I'll prolly need more than usual. Ta, luv." She hadn't moved her hand from his arm, and her fingers were idly moving over his comparatively cooler skin. The contact made him smile, but he hoped that she wouldn't notice the slight muscle tremors which had started flitting up and down his arms. He was almost certain that Sam genuinely wanted to help him, but there was enough doubt in his mind that he wasn't sure about letting her know just how unsteady he actually felt.

She grinned. "Here to help." Her eyes suddenly darted down to his arm, where his traitorous muscles had just started doing the bloody cha-cha right under her hand. Her grin melted into a thoughtful frown and she fixed him with a stern look. "Something you want to tell me?"

He looked away from her and shifted uneasily, wincing when the action sent a painful twinge up his leg. "Bloody hell." Right, here he was, standing less than a foot away from a girl who was clearly no slouch in the brains department, trying to pretend that his arm wasn't shaking like he had bloody Parkinsons. Just who was he trying to kid?

"Luv, I…"

Spike met her eyes again, but no more words would come. He liked this girl and didn't want her to be cross with him for being less than honest, but this was pretty much uncharted territory for him. What the hell was he supposed to say now? What did people, normal people do in this situation? It wasn't as though he had a vast repertoire of cordial relations with human women to draw on for guidance.

This time, Sam didn't seem bothered by his silence. She still regarded him thoughtfully, but the stern expression softened into a smile and she gave his arm a gentle squeeze. "It's okay. With all the crap you've been through lately, I don't expect you to be a hundred percent." He blinked at her as she went on. "How about I set the mug up while you get comfy on the couch or wherever, and I'll bring it out to you once it's nice and warm."

He shook his head, hardly believing what she was saying. This was just… new. Beyond uncharted territory, they weren't even on the same table, hell, in the same room, as any maps he was familiar with. "Sam, I…"

The grip on his arm tightened, and her other hand drifted over to take hold of the pint bag. "Please? Just let me help you."

So this was how it felt on the other side of the looking glass. He shook his head again, smiling wide in his surprise, and let her take the bag. "Not arguin', pet. Just havin' a bit of trouble adjusting to one of you lot being so damned considerate."

She flashed him a cocky grin as she filled the mug. "Well, get used to it, mister. As long as I'm here, there's gonna be at least one person who treats you decent."

He felt that warmth bloom in his chest again, that happiness, and gave her a nod. "Thanks, luv. It means a helluva lot." He started to limp out of the kitchen, hoping that she was too absorbed by the task she had set for herself to notice anything else. Letting her pour out was one thing. He appreciated it, actually. Not a big concession, and it didn't hurt his pride any, letting her do that, but if she saw how much trouble he was having just trying to bloody walk, well, he didn't know if the tattered shreds of his dignity could handle that. Fortunately, it seemed be working out the way he had hoped; Sam's full attention was on setting up the butcher's blood, or at least it was until he turned towards the hallway and most of his weight shifted to his injured leg. He winced and let out an involuntary hiss at the pain, then lost his balance and stumbled against the doorway. Stumbled loudly, with a clearly audible 'thud'. Bloody brilliant.

"Spike! What happened? Are you okay?"

He heard Sam come over to him before he even had time to open his eyes. Her heart was beating too fast, and he could almost taste the adrenaline from her worry. He sagged slightly. There was no faking her reactions. She was genuinely worried about him. Genuinely cared. Her hand was on his arm again, this time closer to his shoulder, and he found its warm weight almost too comforting. This wasn't what he wanted! After everything, he just wanted somewhere private to lick his wounds. Not to fall for yet another bird. He wasn't ready to be crushed yet again.

"Spike?" Her voice was small, pitched a little higher than usual, and she had started to rub a small circle on his shoulder. It felt so nice, the way she touched him, but he knew that it didn't mean what he wanted it to.

"M' okay," he muttered unconvincingly, still grimacing as he pushed himself off of the door frame.

"Here, lemme help," Sam grabbed one of his arms and tugged it around her shoulders, obviously planning to help him walk the rest of the way.

Something snapped deep inside of him at the man-handling, and he snatched his arm back. "Gerroff of me!" he growled, instinctively going into gameface.

She gave him a push. Not nearly as hard as she could have, but more than enough to make him wobble and fall against the opposite wall. Sam glared down at him, one hand closed into a loose fist while the other gestured emphatically. "I'm just trying to help you, you stubborn jackass! Why won't you let me?"

He met her glare with one of his own as he tried to regain his feet by bracing himself against the wall. "Because I bloody hate this! I hate bein' so soddin weak, I hate bein' at the mercy of the Scoobies… and I don't want to like you!"

All traces of anger gone, she just blinked at him, clearly confused, and let out a breathy laugh. "Why don't you want to like me?"

His gameface receded and he let his head fall back against the wall, feeling less steady by the minute and fervently wishing that he could at least be sitting down for this. "Come on, the watcher wasn't keen about leavin' us alone, practically threatened to stake me for lookin' at you when you came down in your bloody bathrobe. What d'you think he'd do if he saw us like this?"

She let out a sarcastic huff, almost sounding Buffy-esque. "You mean yelling at each other? I really don't think he'd care."

Spike gave her a look. "You know what I mean."

She sighed, "Yeah, I do." Sam shook her head and joined him in leaning against the wall. She turned to face him, and he was surprised by how sad she looked all of a sudden. "What makes you think I'd let him hurt you? Spike, you big dummy, haven't you been paying any attention tonight?" She bumped his shoulder with hers. "I like you, too."

He nodded heavily. "I know you do, luv." She liked him as a puppy-project-thing, a guy who who needed a friend. That was all. There was no romance on the cards here, with her. Unfortunately, his stupid undead heart didn't know the difference and it had already started composing dreadful poetry about her flashing eyes and bright auburn hair.

"Will you let me help you to the couch now, or d'you wanna stay here?" She nudged him again, smiling wickedly. "Of course, if you wanna crawl the rest of the way, that's an option, too."

He closed his eyes briefly, smiling despite himself when he looked over at her again. "The couch sounds lovely, pet."

"Okay, lets try for round two." She offered him a crooked smile and a hand up.

He accepted both with good grace, and this time, he let her support some of his weight as he limped toward the living room. He even smiled a little when her arm snaked around his back. Seemed like she wanted to make absolutely sure that he'd keep his balance. "Thanks." He leaned into her a little more, relaxing against her warmth.

"So, what happened to your leg?"

"Chumash arrow. Think part of the bloody thing's still in there."

She gave a sympathetic wince. "Owch." Her arm tightened slightly around his middle, just enough that the action was probably involuntary. "I'm sorry. It must hurt like hell."

He swallowed, surprised and touched by just how gentle she was with him. She didn't handle him with kid gloves, so it wasn't as though he felt molly-coddled, she was just… kind. Stubborn and bloody brilliant and kind. How was he supposed to not fall for her? He pushed those thoughts aside and forced a chuckle. "I've had worse, luv. Buffy dropped a bloody church organ on me once."

She nodded, reaching up to pat the hand he had wrapped around her shoulder. "Yeah, I know, but that doesn't make this any more fun for you." They reached the couch while she was speaking, and she helped him get settled. "I'll set the mug up while you get comfy out here."

He propped his foot up on the coffee table and absently rubbed at his leg, nodding. "Thanks, luv."

She gave him a cheeky smile and jerked her head at the tv. "Think you can find something worth watching?"

He grinned, hunting around for the remote. "Sure thing."

TBC