As much as she tried to convince herself otherwise, Buffy still wanted him. When they patrolled, a week and a half in a row now, despite his initial pattern of pouting, starting the night with a reserved distance between them. As the fighting progressed, there was no denying the attraction. It was as though their bodies were magnetic. Hers would find his and his would seek hers, back-to-back, her high kick, his fist against jaw, he'd hold the vamp steady, then she'd stake it in the heart. Adrenaline rushed through her system and she wanted more, of him and the feelings he stirred in her. When she was with him, she felt more acutely than she did in other facets of her life, and it scared her because it wasn't just passion or hate or even chagrined acceptance. It was messy, complicated, and real. With him, she didn't have to pretend.

In her "real" life, with her "true" friends, she acted the part. They knew she had been ripped from Heaven and was struggling to adjust, but they didn't understand how it affected her. Neither did Spike, she thought, but then, he'd never pretended like he did. He just accepted it, and her, for what she was. To her, he was relief, in a number of ways, and right now, walking back to his crypt, their fingers dangling dangerously close, her heart racing, body thrumming, she wanted that relief in a particular way.

She wondered, for just a moment, how he would react if she acted on that urge. Passion like that did not just fizzle overnight. What they shared, it was powerful, and Buffy was starting to admit, if only to herself, more than cold comfort. But she wasn't willing to consider that idea more. If she were to help Spike, that meant she needed to have some self-control.

Striding up to his crypt, Buffy took focused, deep breaths. She watched as Spike stood in the entryway, shuffling his feet, scratching at the back of his head, and looking nervous. The pout of his bottom lip made her bite down on her own and she took a step forward. Control be damned, she thought.

As if he knew, Spike looked up at her, sudden and alert. A hint of his smirk on his lips, he uttered a quick "Night, Slayer," and shut the door in her face.

Well, she thought, thank God for self-control, as though she had anything to do with not taking things further tonight.

That almost slip-up aside, Buffy thought they were making progress. At the beginning of the night, Spike would pretend like he wasn't going to join her on patrol, put up a big fuss as though he was being forced into doing her duty, and complain that she ought to stop sending her friends over during the day to check up on him because he was a Big Bad Boy and could take care of himself. Never mind that Tara, Dawn, and Clem, his most frequent visitors, all said that he lit up when any of them visited, taking snacks and blood with them. Buffy lured him out with promises of blood, guts, and gore, and the implication that she thought his skills to be waning, and off they would go into the night, if only for him to prove himself. Lost in his thoughts, Spike would not talk unless prompted, just in the beginning, because once she got him going, it was difficult for him to stop, even though she could see it in his eyes that he wanted to tell himself to shut up. Sometimes, if she wasn't careful, Buffy too would get caught up in her own day and her own thoughts and so neither one of them would say a word almost all night, but somehow that felt alright too. Then they would fight, and Buffy would forget the daily little issues and the really big troubles that made up her daytime life, until it was over and they were covered in dust or slime, and she'd look at him, and those feelings deep in her core would rise, and she'd have to bite her tongue and keep her hands in tight fists by her side, to avoid regressing into terrible, bad, no good habits, like jumping on him and ripping his clothes off. Not that he had ever complained about that aspect, or any really, of their relationship. She wasn't just helping Spike learn how to be good, soulful Spike, but working on herself be good, self-controlled, and careful Buffy of the non-violent variety, except on deserving demons.

Back at home, Buffy found Dawn sitting at the kitchen counter doing her homework, Willow presumably monitoring as she typed on her computer and surrounded herself with textbooks. With a wave and a hello, Buffy stuck her head into the fridge for something edible and very much not made at the Doublemeat Palace, and spent a good long time in the shower. Checking again on a now sleeping Dawn and saying goodnight to a nervous-looking, over-energized Willow still at her computer, Buffy fell into bed, preparing herself to go through the motions all over again tomorrow.

The next day started much like the last, hitting snooze on her alarm clock and stepping out of bed, calling Dawn out of bed, one, two, three times before threatening a more forceful approach, and trying to concoct something nutritious for breakfast. After she was certain Dawn was off to school, she met Willow in the kitchen on her way off to campus, and Buffy flit around the house, doing chores or running necessary errands before changing into her uniform and heading off to work. Behind the counter, she counted down the minutes until she could walk out the door, stop in on Dawn and Willow, and meet Spike at his crypt to coax him out. Even though he was a pain, it was something in which she actually enjoyed because exchanging jibes was kind of their thing and no one else seemed to appreciate her puns or bitter humor so much as he, especially now.

An hour to go until her shift ended, Buffy found herself staring up at Riley Finn from across the counter, looking powerful, put together, and not altogether happy to see her.

"Riley."

"Hiya, Buffy," and that sounded more like the Iowa-bred boy she knew, "I need your help," but then it was back to business, but at least this was somewhat different than usual.

Fortunately, or maybe not because she didn't know the deal yet, Buffy's coverage came in for work early and she was able to sneak off. On the way over to her house, Riley had caught her up on all of the changes in his life, except for the big, I've got a wife thing, until she had almost been knocked over by the equally intimidating, put together woman, who didn't look altogether unhappy to be meeting her. There was something about a doctor and some eggs, but Buffy didn't listen so much as act when she saw the large, lumbering demon pursuing them and she chopped off his head. That had, of course, been the wrong thing to do and so she spent the next few hours feeling dumb and ashamed, which were at least feelings if nothing else.

She left Riley and his wife to do their impressive things with their impressive selves and stalked over to Spike's. The vampire, for all his needling and whining that he wanted to be left alone, was found pacing the upper level of his crypt, muttering something about "Slayer does as Slayer wants" and "keep a man waiting until he whittles away into nothing" and "soul be damned," and Buffy found her mood lightening as a giggle escaped her lips. Looking at her, the same panicked, alert expression he so often graced her with now, he tried to come off stern, but sounded more relieved.

"What kept you?"

"You won't like it."

"Alright then," and he sat down on the couch, accepting this.

"Really? 'Alright then?' The old Spike would have-"

"The old Spike wouldn't be sitting around his crypt waiting for you to-" Buffy raised an eyebrow in amusement. "Well, the old old Spike wouldn't have anyway."

"Hmm," Buffy sat down next to him on the couch, still maintaining a healthy distance. "Sometimes I miss him."

"He'd have killed you by now. Consider yourself lucky."

She snorted and he looked at her, exasperated.

With a muttered, "silly bint," he stood and gestured to the door.

"I think we should take a night off actually."

"I've been cooped up here all day. There's got to be something out there to kill."

"Oh, I'm certain there are plenty, but right now, I'd rather just not have to run into the Agents Finn."

"Now I'm curious." He sat back down.

"You said you didn't want to know."

"I lied."

Another sigh, "Riley's back and he brought his wife with him, which whoopty doo for them, but they came asking for my help and then said I did it wrong."

"Kill 'im?"

"Uh huh."

"You forget the Initiative folk like to keep their prey and torture 'em."

"He's not Initiative anymore. I destroyed that, remember?"

"Why are you here then?"

"I just needed to get away for a bit."

"Oh, but of course," he jumped off the couch. "Need your cold comfort direct from the source. Feel bad for yourself, come running to the other miserable in your life. What will it be then?"

"What are you on about?" Buffy stood too, facing him. She could feel her face flushing, not from embarrassment, but the heat of this moment. So close, he was so close, and if she just reached out-

"Fists or fu-"

"Don't finish that sentence, or I swear I'll-"

"What? Stake me?" He stepped even closer and Buffy balled up her fists, her heart racing, heat rushing through her entire body. "Do it. Do me a favor, you will. Won't have to bare this- these- feelings anymore."

And there it was, the soul again. Buffy took two major steps backwards and a deep breath to collect herself. She had wanted him, more so than she ever had, and yet, she couldn't do this to him, not now, not ever. Not like this.

"I'm not looking for anything more than you can offer, okay? Spike? I just- can we watch something? Or just sit here for awhile?"

His expression softened, and for a moment, Buffy fought the inexplicable urge to throw herself in his arms for a far more gentle motive. Instead, she sat back down on the couch and focused on her breathing. After a few long moments, he joined her.

She wasn't sure how much later, but the crypt was surrounded by darkness, even the flickering from the television diminished, when she heard movement and a strained moaning from Spike as he woke. Squinting into the darkness, she saw Riley's shadow looming over them, looking furious, but calm. Awake fully now, Buffy realized that she was lying across the couch, plastered against Spike, though clothed. At some point, they must have fallen asleep, but how they got into this position, she had no idea. Next to her, Spike was softly growling as Riley raised a cross-bow at him.

"Riley," she started, but he remained focused on Spike.

"Want to tell her why I'm here, 'Doctor'?"

Something in Buffy broke. Pushing away, she stumbled off the couch and put as much distance between her and Spike as possible. Somewhere, in the deepest part of her mind, she could hear Spike's denials, could see the betrayal in his eyes and sorrow flickered through her. But all she could allow herself to feel was the numbness, the resignation that no matter how much she tried, how much he appeared to change, he just couldn't break bad habits. And what did that say about her?

"Where are they?" Riley tried again.

"What are you on about?" Spike glared at Riley, then turned his gaze back on her. "Buffy, I-"

"Save it. I won't ask again, nicely. Where are they?"

Buffy found her voice, but it was shaky. "Eggs?"

Riley nodded, but did not break his concentration from Spike.

"Downstairs," she coughed out. "They're probably in the lower level."

She gestured to the familiar hole in the ground and Riley finally looked at her, then to it, as he nodded.

"Then I hope we're not too late."

Spike was shouting at the both of them, Riley was reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out something Buffy didn't recognize, but all she could do was stand there. Her and Spike could do nothing but watch as Riley flicked some kind of trigger and threw the device into the lower level of the crypt.

Legs like jelly, Buffy felt herself roughly pulled out of the crypt by Riley and could see enough only to know that Spike had followed as there was a massive explosion, causing an uproar of dust and grime and chaos.

Something like regret ran through her and she wanted to stay lying on the ground, but instead, she forced herself to sit up, watching as Spike knelt on the ground, eyes wide, staring at his decimated home. Riley coughed behind her, standing, and walking over to the crypt. She followed, needing to see the evidence, needing to know that she had been right to betray him, despite not knowing what Riley had planned.

Buffy refused to think as they burrowed through the wreckage. The upstairs didn't look too destroyed, but the downstairs was a disaster zone. Despite all the broken parts, much of Spike's belongings, of the place she had come to know so well, remained recognizable. Dread filled her, shook her, overtook her, as she broke down into dry, heaving sobs as Riley stood in the middle of the crypt, hands on his hips and a deep frown marring his face.

There was nothing resembling eggs.

Spike had done a number of terrible things that deserved punishment. He focused on this discouraging, but somehow comforting thought as he curled up under a light blanket on Clem's couch. The worst of it, the punishment had to come when he was trying so hard to repent. Just as he was thinking that with this soul, he might be worth fighting for after all.

His house, everything he owned, destroyed, over something he hadn't done. He didn't know what Captain Cardboard had been seeking, but Spike had never referred to himself as any kind of Doctor, and he definitely never had any eggs.

Good to know that Buffy was so quick to think so, he thought, as he rolled over and resigned himself to the belief that some things can never be changed.