The moment didn't last long. Her lips barely tasted his, his lips barely registered what was happening, when she heard her name bellowed from below. With a groan, it was Spike who pulled away first, bewildered and almost wild-looking, as though she might grow angry and turn the blame on him. Trying to soothe the look of panic, Buffy reached a hand up to his face when the voice sounded again. She wanted to explore the look of awe he was gifting her, but she didn't want to descend the stairs into a fit of chaos, so with a sigh, she got up from the bed, offering Spike a look of regret.

"I'll be back, with more blood," she paused, rolling her eyes, "After we settle this latest crisis."

His eyes didn't leave hers, but the expression remained frozen across his face, and she tried to smile, before sighing again and stepping into the hallway.

"Buffy!"

It was getting harder to decipher whose voice rung out throughout the house anymore. High-pitched screams could be from any of the Potentials, Dawn, or Andrew, and all of them whiny. Reaching the kitchen, she took a deep breath before stepping around the corner to find a group of girls and Andrew arguing over what looked like a box of Poptarts. They all opened their mouths to state their points, but when Buffy glared at them, arms crossed at her chest, they stopped.

"Someone, uh, ate the last Poptart," Dawn offered, at least sheepishly.

With a lot less subtlety, Andrew said, "And that someone was not on the list for Poptarts."

"So just to be clear, we're out of Poptarts now?"

A lot of muffled responses echoed back at her and Buffy felt a headache growing.

"Then there's nothing I can do about it right now."

"But, someone- they need to learn a lesson!"

"Fine, whoever ate the last Poptart, don't eat the last Poptart without alerting everyone else in the house. "As protests rang out around her, Buffy stalked over to the fridge and flung open the door. "I can't bring myself to care right now. Every time I turn around, I've got another fire to put out. I have to work, train you all, somehow fit everyone into this house, and feed all of these endless pits you call stomachs, and I've got-"

Finding the blood, Buffy slammed the door shut to emphasize her point and looked at them.

"A vampire to feed?"

In the midst of girls, Buffy found one of them, Kennedy, she thought, eyeing her with judgment.

"Huh?"

"Is this about Spike?" Andrew's eyes looked gleeful.

Buffy frowned at the blood in her hand, but glared back at Kennedy. "He's recovering."

"Do we really think it's safe, having an obviously dangerous vampire living upstairs in your bedroom?"

Had the implication that Spike wasn't worthy of being helped not enough, Buffy would have lost it at the suggestive way she said bedroom.

"Spike is one of the good guys. We always help our team. Instead of fighting over Poptarts, why don't you all scrounge up something else to eat and just-"

"Morning, ladies-" a beaming Xander came into the kitchen, "And Andrew. I brought breakfast!"

At the bundle of grocery bags he plopped down on the table, more Poptarts among them, Buffy changed her eye roll into a grateful glance at Xander and escaped from the kitchen. She was raging at the lot of them. Buffy understood that none of them were here to appreciate all that Spike had done for them, and sure, his being a vampire didn't help, and she didn't exactly want to discourage their assumptions about demons, considering how few of them were like Spike, or Angel for that matter. But they had seen how she fought for him, how she'd fought and done for them, and for that, Buffy thought her judgment at least deserved some respect.

Still glowering as she made it back to her bedroom, she walked in to find Spike looking at her with wide eyes. Apparently, he assumed she was mad at him, again, and that stung too, his still not trusting her.

"Those girls," she growled, but with a slight smile.

"Oh- Right, uh, nothin' but trouble." He offered her a sympathetic glance, but seemed to sink in relief that the ire wasn't currently aimed at him.

"So, I- Here's breakfast. I have to get to work," and she didn't think she could convey how sorry she was to leave. "Do you think you'll be okay here? I'll ask Dawn to check in, though I can't promise she won't be overly doting. And I can check in with Willow and Tara to stop by between classes. If any of the girls, or Andrew for that matter, bother you, I want you to call me right away. I'll leave the number and-"

"I'm fine, Luv. Vampire healing. 'T's all I need. Just time. You go off to work and I'll just lie here and- I mean, I'll make it back to the basement, once it dies down a bit downstairs."

She tried to keep a stoic face at the panic rising in his voice. "Feel free to stay as long as you want. It's the last private space we've got left."

As she went off to shower, Buffy knew she was being cryptic. Right now, she did have to get to work and didn't have the time to have the conversation her and Spike needed. She didn't want to offer him promises she couldn't immediately prove, leaving him to make assumptions or second guess himself. The man was already broody enough.

When she came back, dried and dressed, she found the empty carton of blood sitting on her dresser and an empty bed.

Panic flushed through her and she stormed down the stairs, past the chattering, curious, and devouring Potentials who looked at her like she was insane.

"Your vampire friend went downstairs."

Not stopping to inquire more, Buffy flew open the basement door and ran down the stairs.

"Buffy-"

"Xander," her eyes flashed, alight with betrayal. They'd had this conversation before she'd gone and gotten Spike back. He knew better than this. "What are you doing?"

Looking sheepishly at the chains he held up to Spike's wrists, he turned towards Buffy.

"I asked him to, Luv. Didn't want to bother you and-"

"Bother me. Bother me- Spike, I- I told you to take all the time you need. Being down here, tied up like that, it's not-"

"You're not going to be here today and there's no telling when the First will come back and- You're my best defense, Buffy. And I know you've- you've been great, but I won't- I can't hurt them. Or you. So chains, it is."

"I-" She glared at Xander. "I-" She could feel the headache growing and the day had barely begun. She turned back towards Spike and saw how weak he still looked. "I won't argue on this. At least not now. If it makes you feel better, fine, wear the chains. I'll be back later."

As she stomped back up the stairs, she heard Spike mutter, "Could've been worse, yeah?" as Xander chuckled, and there was a glimmer of hope in that.

Each day seemed busier than the one before and yet so few things had happened in regards to a preventative apocalypse plan. Every morning, Buffy stopped in the basement to offer him a pint of blood and each night she made sure to tell him goodnight, the pleading for him to join her upstairs on the tip of her tongue. She thought she'd made it clear when she brought him to her bed in the first place, but Spike was most content these days in chains, and it made her heart hurt. The work days offered a brief, controlled-sort of chaos compared to home. After afternoons of training, Buffy patrolled each night, Spike joining her like a shadow, as she took a few of the Potentials with her at a time.

After one particularly nasty long day, Buffy was considering the benefits of running away, when Giles mentioned taking the Potentials away for a retreat. She didn't need the lengthy list of details he was droning on about before she checked out of the conversation, nearly drooling at the freedom it offered, however temporary. By the end of the day, she suggested Dawn and Andrew join the girls on the trip, convinced Willow and Tara to take some time away for themselves, and hinted that it would be an excellent time for Xander to expend some extra energy on Anya back at his apartment.

Feeling particularly joyful as she waved them all away in the early morning, Buffy enjoyed a leisurely breakfast and shower before heading downstairs to the basement. Spike was still sleeping, which was the only time she could really inspect his injuries, though if she ever dared get to close, he'd wake up growling. This time, she found him sitting up in bed, a book between his chained hands.

"Where'd the Potential Parade get off to this early?"

"Oh," she said with faux enthusiasm. "Did I forget to mention? Giles took them off to a retreat for the weekend."

"Tragic."

She grinned at him and sat down on the cot, feeling warm. It was so rare these days to see old sense of humor, however sarcastic, and she missed it.

"So we've got a few days to ourselves-"

Spike looked hopeful for a moment, but then chagrined that he should even allow himself that hope and she sighed.

"I thought we could take some time to figure out that trigger. Get you out of those chains."

"Buffy-"

She waited, her argument ready, to hear him out, but then he didn't speak.

"Yeah?"

"Ow-"

"Ow?"

Spike's hand shot up to his forehead. "Ow. Ow!"

"Spike?" She stood up, unsure of what to do as he convulsed in pain. "Spike?"

"'M fine," she could tell he was gritting his teeth. "Just- ow!"

Taking the hand clenching at the blankets, Buffy felt helpless, rubbing soothing circles on his palm and waiting for him to ride out the pain. Once he had finished, resting for the moment, she ran upstairs to get tissues for his bleeding nose and ice for his forehead.

It happened a few times, sudden and powerful, leaving both of them exhausted messes. She was on the verge of tears, unwilling to leave his side as he fought through it, but wanting to do something to help. Once he was sleeping, she snuck out to call Willow, asking her friend if she knew anything about the chip the Initiative had implanted so long ago now. That it was firing without provocation was worrying her more than the First's hold over him. At least with that, she could slap it out of him, though she was sick of causing him more pain. Willow hadn't had much more information than her, and Tara offered to make a healing remedy.

Even if she had been able to reach Giles, Buffy wasn't sure that she would. Spike was already a sensitive topic between them and she wasn't going to provide him anymore ammunition against Spike. Sighing, and knowing exactly what Spike would think about the suggestion, Buffy tried reaching out to Riley to no avail.

As he was once again a reluctant patient, Buffy was trying not to get annoyed with Spike, but if he suggested one more time, however much he tried to phrase it as a joke, that it would be easier to stake him, she was going to dig into his skull and pull the chip out herself. But wasn't that an interesting idea? The chip. He had the soul now, had gotten the soul for her trying to be better. He didn't need the chip anymore. Yes, it had been convenient in the beginning, particularly in stifling his Big Bad tendencies, but in the end, it had brought her Spike to her, had shown her his good side, and so she couldn't hate it for that. But it was wrong, ultimately, and put him at even more risk.

"Buffy," he gasped at her after another bout of pain. "Not sure how much of this I can take, Luv. I know- you're doing the best you can and- I keep, but-"

Sitting up, the idea now firm in her mind, Buffy ignored his rant.

"Do you trust me, Spike?"

"Course," though she noted he didn't look her in the eyes.

"Let's go."

"Where-?"

The bird was dafter than he even suspected when he'd first met her. He was in her bed now, hours later, the slayer in question asleep beside him, a little out of it, but recovering. The chip was gone, had been on her orders. Turned out the bint had made a call to her ex when he'd been incapacitated and for once, the solider had delivered. Apparently, she thought it was better he be chip-free entirely, rather than doing a quick-fix. Part of him admired her for it, appreciated that she didn't want to see him in pain, and that she trusted him, the soul, enough to be off his leash. The other part of him was panicking. Not only had he proved how easily controlled he was by the First, but now the rest of the people in the house had reason to worry. Spike wondered what she'd tell them, if she'd tell them, and decided he'd keep his mouth shut. No bragging to the Whelp about it with empty threats, not that he spoke to any of them very often anyways. He'd worry about it more in a few hours, when the house was full again and he was back in his cot and chains, away from the warm body resting beside him.

Buffy didn't seem bothered by the lack of chip in his head. He watched her, carefully, over the next few days to see how she reacted, though for her, the chip hadn't been working for awhile so maybe it was just muscle memory. As a test, he allowed himself to spend a little more time with Dawn, helping her with homework or sneaking in an episode of Passions when the Potentials were busy training. He'd even gone chain-free for a bit, when Buffy was home and close, and he'd walk around the house, grabbing blood from the fridge or watching one of the training sessions.

In his observations, he'd been seeking any sign of discomfort or suspicion: a flinch, narrowed eyes, anything. She paid equal attention back, but there was no malice behind it. Instead, he noticed her eyes light up when he walked in the room, encouraging Dawn to take his advice, joining them on the couch for a few minutes and asking endless questions about the episode, and inviting him to spar with her or talk battle strategy.

The thing that had really knocked him off his feet was her reveal to Giles and the Potentials that she had the chip taken out of his head. None of the other members of the Scooby gang looked surprised, and that shocked him too, that they'd already had that conversation and the boy hadn't tried to stake him. She, and he following her lead, acted like naughty children caught in a forbidden act, as the Watcher glowered at them, but she remained unapologetic. So that was something, along with all the other somethings, that were making him feel far more hopeful than he should allow himself to feel.

Chain-free life was happening more frequently and Spike found he liked being up and moving, both from a physical and emotional healing standpoint. Even the Potentials who eyed him warily, were warming to his presence. Sometimes, he even allowed himself all of these different fantasies of how he might find himself invited back into Buffy's bed, even if it were just to sleep. But then he'd catch the bint, or one of the many other of them, staring at him with weird looks, and he'd shake himself out of it.

It had been a particularly average day, busy with girly things, but not overly annoying, and he thought he might make it a little better by suggesting just him and Buffy go out for patrol that night. It was hard to call it a coincidence that she seemed happier, lighter than usual since he'd been less mopey and more present, and he was getting a little braver from it, testing his limits.

The Potentials, along with the Dawn and Andrew, and supervised by an annoyed and reluctant Giles trying to read in the corner, were crowded around the TV in the living room watching one of those teen rom-coms he'd seen once with Dawn. The witches were off in the library, which he suspected was their favorite and best excuse for alone time, while Anya was off cavorting with some old demon friends of hers, trying to get some information on the First, but probably just causing mayhem somewhere.

He'd looked everywhere for Buffy. She wasn't among the crowd in the living room, nor was she in the kitchen. He'd even double-checked the basement to make sure she wasn't looking for him there. A bubble of excitement was growing in his stomach, thinking that she might be upstairs and what could happen with everyone else down here and blissfully ignorant, when he came face-to-face with the Whelp, devouring a bag of potato chips.

"Vampire."

"Have you seen Buffy?"

"What?" he said between mouthfuls, suddenly looking awkward and unsure. "I- uh. She didn't tell you?"

Spike's stomach dropped, but he felt the rest of him tingle, the warrior in him anticipating a possible fight.

"Tell me what?"

"Well, uh, she's out with the principal. On a date."