Buffy was growing ever more impatient. Once Giles offered his latest apocalypse spiel and she reluctantly welcomed the so-called Potentials into her home, more kept coming. She could no longer ignore the impending doom with the First back in play, this time with more power and threat behind it. Her house was overrun by a slew of young girls and she had no privacy, food, space, or, as she mentioned before, patience. Worse, Spike had gone into seclusion to the basement, even from her, somehow convinced that since named, the First was suddenly more dangerous.

They hadn't continued the conversation she had started, rather bravely she thought, what with Spike adopting his isolation, Giles insisting she understand the gravity of the situation, and the Potentials pestering her with questions. She was either researching, babysitting, working, or slaying, though those demon prospects continued to dwindle, and now they knew why.

Spike would join her on patrol, but he was quiet, almost hesitant, and sometimes, if he fell into the shadows, she forgot he was there. Conversation consisted of the apocalypse and their place in it, as well as Spike's occasional insistence that everyone was better of if he remained in the basement, like some sort of secret, while she tried to convince him it wasn't the case. It wasn't just his lack of engagement, interest, or nerve, but she had lost her confidence, wondering if he'd even be in a good place for a relationship right now, and yet, part of her felt like she'd go crazy not telling him.

Not only was he hiding downstairs, but he insisted he remain tied up, but considering he hadn't been affected in weeks, she felt like it was silly. When she told him as much, he offered a small, sad smile with a shake of his head, telling her that it would be too much of a risk giving him free reign of a house filled with so much innocent, free blood. She'd rolled her eyes, to make a point of it with a disgusted snort, but he'd remained firm.

Two weeks of this and Buffy was ready to sacrifice herself to save the world, again.

At work, the principal acted oddly suspicious, hinting at a knowledge of the demon world and yet, never quite revealing anything definite. This was on top of the stream of teens who flooded her office with problems she wished had been the extent of her own high school issues, like needy or passive significant others, unfair teachers or parents, and wonderings about college. Back at home, she dealt with the usual Dawn dramatics of homework, boys, and chores, magnified by a hundred now that she had minions in the form of scared, confused, and excited teen girls. Giles was hounding her with questions, suggestions, and insistences that it was time she adopt the behavior of a war general. Xander was busy making things up to Anya, fixing things around the house, and working a full-time job, and Willow and Tara were still trying to finish school and keep away from the infested house. To make things worse, Andrew made his timely return to Sunnydale with more knowledge and threats of the First, and they had no other choice but to hold him their willing captive. He acted more like a welcomed visitor of the house and was wearing everyone down with his antics. She'd rather be tied up in the basement with Spike, but then that opened up an entire world of interesting scenarios she wasn't allowing herself to think about right now.

Except, lying in bed, her floor crowded with sleeping bags and whispering teens, she still felt so alone. But it wasn't just about the loneliness, despite a crowded house. She missed the confidant in which she had grown so dependent on these past few months. He could make her angry, happy, sad, annoyed, and silly in a matter of seconds with his shift from brooding to snarky to shamed to content. When she talked, he listened, like actually took in every word that she was saying, his eyes warm and invested, yet he never judged or offered overly wordy advice. He knew what she wanted and needed, what she could handle and what she had to ignore. And when they had danced, and even when she just thought of him, her body tingled and melted, and she wanted him to know that. Placated and determined that she'd tell him in the morning, Buffy finally gave into sleep.

Confusion and yelling laced the energy of the house, but stirring, Buffy's slayer senses focused on the problem immediately. Shoving out of bed, she dodged the Potential-made obstacle course on her floor, the bodies crowding the hallway, the concerned expressions lining her friends' faces, and raced down to the basement to meet a snarling, stricken Spike fighting his chains. He was vamped out, feral-almost, growling at an empty corner of the basement that Buffy was sure held the energy of the First. She went to him, but his cuffed fist made contact and knocked her to the side. If she stepped within reach, he'd snap at her neck, his limbs as wild, loose, and desperate as his demeanor, but still somehow drawn to the space in the corner. Without hesitation, she slapped him across the face and she watched as his eyes cleared. Staring at her, he shook his head, appearing as lost and bewildered as she felt, and all she wanted was to reach for him and hold him tight. Acting on impulse and not daring to stop to think of the consequences, she stepped towards him, but he staggered away.

When he spoke, his voice was a thick and emotional whisper, but he didn't quite meet her eyes.

"Shoulda staked me."

"I- the chains-"

"Held this time, but we can't be too sure. If you'd given me another minute-" he shook his head.

"You came out of it, right when I slapped you."

"Lucky strike. Had I gotten one in you coulda been-" he didn't finish his sentence, but this time he met her eyes.

"What was it saying to you?"

Spike held the gaze, firm, to prove his point, but broke off with a sigh.

"Same as before. Ghosts of my past and all that rot. Trying to stir up my bloodlust. Worked."

"What triggered it this time?"

"No idea. One second I was sound asleep, next, everything's hazy and all I want is to kill, and then I'm staring at you with a sore cheek."

"I-"

"Buffy?"

She turned, finding Giles standing at the bottom of the stairwell, his glasses on the bridge of his nose, hair messy from sleep, and a stern expression on his face. She knew what he was trying to convey without words and she wasn't giving into him. He hadn't really understood the Spike of the past few months and even though Giles had been impressed by Spike's soul-getting and admitted it was as spectacular a circumstance as it was strange, he could never fully trust even an ensouled vampire. Not after Angel, with Jenny. It was Spike who broke the tension.

"Watcher, think it's time we took care of the problem."

Blinded panic rushed through her system at his words.

"Find the trigger and remove it-"

"Or take out the problem in its entirety."

Buffy chilled at the nod Spike offered Giles in agreement. She refused to remain silent.

"This is bigger than all of us, Giles, Spike. The fight, it's mine, and it's yours, the Scoobies, and all of those girls up there. Bad things are happening and we all know worse will follow because that's how it goes. But we face it, together, with as few sacrifices as possible because it's not necessary, not unless you're left with a last second, save-the-day decision, and I've already used our allotted one. You don't get to make that sacrifice just because it feels more convenient."

"Buffy-" both Giles' and Spike's voices meshed, Giles trying for firm, Spike's desperate.

"Tomorrow, we will start to take aim at the trigger, whatever the hell is ticking you off. If we don't find it, we try again the next day. I need my soldier at his best Giles, and I need my-"

She thought about which word should follow. Friend, lover, support, vampire? All of them were relevant to an extent, but not all-encompassing. Spike decided to make the issue irrelevant.

"Tomorrow might be too late, Luv. Who's to say you scared it off for the night?"

With a knowing smirk, she looked at him as though it were the most obvious answer in the world.

"Me."

His eyes widened and warmed for a moment before they turned back to their usual confused and concerned flashing.

Turning towards Giles with a dismissive stance, she said, "I'll keep an eye on him tonight. Tomorrow-"

With a sigh, Giles muttered, "Tomorrow," and walked up the stairs with reluctance.

"Buffy-"

"Talking is not of the good right now, Spike. We're both too stubborn and on opposites sides of a major argument that can't be solved by words anyways."

"You need to sleep. I should-"

"What? Leave? Be more of a danger to the rest of the town? You're safer here where I can protect you."

"'T's not me who needs protecting."

"You're right," she said, and was satisfied at the flash of hurt in his expression, before she mollified, "I do need sleep."

"What-?"

Following her own orders, Buffy didn't respond with words. Instead, she walked closer to him, a finger on her lips, and took his hand, leading him over to the cot. Finding a position that did not include having chains digging into her tender skin proved difficult, as well as a reluctant vampire who was looking at her as though she was the crazy one. Ignoring his muttering, she laid down next to him, shifting her body closer to him every time he tried to back away, until the wall prevented any further separation.

Her heart was racing at his nearness, his unnecessary breaths a relief. After a moment, she felt him settle, his arms coming to rest around her body, and suddenly, she couldn't wait to wake up in the morning, just because they could.

Spike hated how much he loved the feeling of Buffy asleep in his arms. The bint was stubborn as all hell, and fearless, but he'd already known that. He hadn't realized just how stupid she could be, not only insisting that he stay in the house, though he understood the need to keep an eye on him, but to lie down in his bed? His unbeating, blasted heart was bursting, his soul stretching his physical and emotional parts to the extreme. The desire for the First to take a hike and leave him be, for his regrets and his guilt and his past to no longer weigh so heavily on his mind, and to just enjoy being a man with his woman kept him awake a lot longer than Buffy.

He didn't really want to sleep right now anyways, not when his dreams were coming true.

Shell-shocked by her determination to discover the source of the trigger, he tried to remind himself that it was due more to the need for him to be her soldier, though he'd never forgive himself for not letting her finish her sentence. What was he to her beside the unwavering warrior? Her what? He had a lot of answers to that question, dozens that he could only ever hope to be uttered from her mouth, and an imagination that had been built over a hundred years. But he never quite knew with Buffy, especially this softer, kinder Buffy who sought him out, treated him like a man, and spoke to him as though his opinions mattered. Love for her was the only thing that prevented him from dusting himself, her presence the only factor that had any chance of shaking him from the First's clutch. How long that would last, he didn't know. Since Giles, the girls, and Andrew had arrived, things around town seemed more ominous, dangers pressing, and Spike knew this was only the beginning.

But here she lay, in his unworthy arms, despite his respite into loony-town and the threat of how easily it could happen again. Tonight, Spike would allow himself to enjoy it, as well as hope for tomorrow, that they really could solve the trigger issue so that he could clear his mind, fight the badness, and then figure out what in all hell was going on with Buffy and her perspective on their relationship.

Tomorrow, he thought, tomorrow might be good, as Spike succumbed to sleep.

Buffy was trying not to let her impatience show, Spike could tell. He was tied to a chair in her bedroom, at his own suggestion, just in case. Red and Glinda were there, pouring over old textbooks; Niblet was trying to distract him with stories from school while Buffy and Giles argued in hushed voices in a corner of the room; and the Whelp and Demon-Girl made moon eyes at each other. Spike hoped his longing for Buffy wasn't quite as pathetic as the look currently on Xander's face, but he suspected maybe it was worse. To his horror, Andrew had slid repeatedly into the room, until it became too much of a burden to keep kicking him out, and was trying to get Spike to reveal his bumpies. For whatever reason, Dawn was engaging the boy, regaling him with past stories of her own survivor stories, and saying, with a causal shrug, how it was nothing compared to the real deal, late at night, in the middle of a cemetery, but Spike was too tired to argue.

It was late, taking all day, and probably going to be longer. Everyone was losing hope, but Spike tried to hold onto the feeling of the morning, when he'd opened his eyes to find Buffy staring up at him, concern and kindness evident. She'd whispered a 'good morning' with a grin and Spike was certain he'd been dreaming, but then she'd pinched him back into the moment and the sly, clever smirk she graced him with then, proved reality. He'd almost kissed her, his head had started to descend, even though he was trying to stop himself, to tell himself not to ruin this perfect moment, but Buffy reacted faster.

The determination from the night before had awakened and she was up, pulling him behind her as she released him from the chains and dragged him upstairs. All of the wary and terrified faces of the Potentials did nothing to diminish the feel of Buffy's hand still in his as she somehow stuffed down a bowl of cereal and forced him to down his mug of blood before distracting the girls with a movie marathon and congregating the Scoobies upstairs in her room. Hours later, the excitement was fading. He was sore from sitting, his head aching from concentration, and it was dark outside. Of course, when they were trying to make it appear, the First would not attack.

Buffy must have broken away from Giles because she was before him then, an unreadable expression on her face. Hope flared fresh again as she leaned down towards him and Spike was hoping for reprieve for the day. It seemed silly almost, that she was about to kiss him, which would have been extraordinary, and not only because it was in front of all of her friends.

Stopping just as her lips were hovering over his, before her knees came down to rest on his thighs, or her hands on his shoulders, she whispered, "Isn't this cute? And all sorts of pointless?"

It happened in a second and though they were trying for it all day, their first instinct was to freeze. Spike vamped out, suddenly fierce and easily broke away from the chains that tied him to the chair. Shoving Dawn out the bedroom door, she watched in horror as Spike grabbed Andrew from behind. She intervened just as his fangs were about to penetrate flesh and tossed him from the room. Part of ushering out her friends was to protect them, but she also didn't want Giles making any rash decisions. Slamming the door behind her, she turned expecting to face Spike and smack him back into himself.

In a moment, she was certain she'd feel like a damned fool because of course, the First would reveal itself during a moment when she was too busy arguing with Giles to pay attention. She really wished it were corporeal so she could kick some ass. Poor Spike was no longer a suitable option.

Instead, she watched in horror as she realized the room was filled with the silent bringers who packed a strong punch. Wish-granted, she supposed, and then Buffy was punching, kicking, and slaying as she was born to do. It felt good, satisfying to make solid contact, to hear the crack of knuckles against worthy victims. Then, as suddenly as it had approached, the whirlwind of flying limbs disappeared.

Buffy surveyed the room, her legs wobbly and lungs missing air, as she realized it was completely empty. Spike was gone.