Spike took one last drag on his cigarette before he tossed it to the ground. He stared up at the starry sky and definitely did not think about the way Buffy's eyes twinkle when she laughs. Which was absolutely not followed by the memory of the way her nose wrinkles and she tosses her back when she's finally let her guard down. He most assuredly did not think about how peaceful she looks when she's sleeping on the floor of his crypt with her golden hair splayed out underneath her...

No, Spike refused to think about any of those things. Instead, he took out another cigarette and lit up insisting on burying his emotions in layers of smoke and nicotine.

The burn in his throat made his stomach ache and the thought of warm, wet, blood pouring down his throat didn't help. He heard a scream somewhere on the other side of the crypt he leaned against. He groaned and imagined he was the one tearing into that woman. Warm, wet, living, blood. He wasn't sure he could stomach another night of microwaved butcher shop blood. The paper bag crammed full of beef and pig blood that resided in his refrigerator was probably the most repulsive thing he had ever seen (and he was nearing his bicentennial).

The screaming stopped. "Great," Spike muttered. Buffy was somewhere in the cemetery. He closed his eyes and sure enough, he could feel her. Alive and so very warm like she radiated her own personal light. A moment later he felt as though that light were flickering out. It struggled to remain alight. The smell of fresh blood permeated the air drawing all the bloodsucking things to its source.

The cigarette fell from his hand and hit the ground. His coat billowed out behind him and his boots thundered against the earth. He spotted Buffy swaying on her feet, struggling to stand. She stepped toward him and nearly fell.

Before he knew what was happening, he had his arms around her. Her warm body pressed against his chest and she went limp in his arms. An instinctive growl rumbled out of his throat as he felt eyes watching him. The spectators were quick to retreat at the possessive sound.

He carried her back to his crypt and set her on the coffin. He grabbed a bowl of water and a towel and gently cleaned the blood off her face and hand. He didn't want to wake her, but her wanted to check her knuckles for breaks. Hoping the pain wouldn't jolt her awake, he took her right hand and gently bent each of her fingers. Two fingers remained in position unable to move. He tore the towel into one long strip and wrapped her hand tightly.

He wasn't sure what else to do for her. Angelus had patched him up a million times and he knew what to do for a million different injuries, but Buffy wasn't conscious to tell him what hurt. He thought about the way she was standing and how she'd moved. Her legs seemed fine, so he decided it would have to be her ribs.

Spike pushed her coat off her shoulders and slid her arms out hoping she wouldn't wake up enough to stake him. He slid her shirt up over her chest. Her left side was covered in deep purple bruises. He ran his fingers over her ribs and felt each one still in place, but he doubted there wasn't a fracture or two somewhere in there.

Thankfully, he'd started keeping ice packs in his freezer shortly after he started hanging around the slayer. He retrieved one and laid it across her ribs. As long as she laid still for a while, the swelling would be gone in no time and her slayer healing would repair anything he couldn't.

He turned his arm chair around where he could watch her. He kicked his feet up and fell asleep as the sun began to rise.

Willow woke up after a long night of fruitless coding. She was on her back with Tara's head laying on her stomach and her laptop on her knees. Thankfully, she'd connected it to the charger and the code she had been working on when she passed out was still on the screen. She rubbed her head feeling a migraine forming.

She'd worked all day and night and was still exactly where she started. She absently ran her fingers through Tara's hair and tried to think of something she might have missed. She spent a long while braiding and unbraiding and running her fingers through her hair until it was smooth. She didn't notice when Tara slowly woke up, until she spoke.

"That feels nice," she said sleepily.

Willow smiled. "Good morning."

"Morning. Make any progress?"

"Zilch," Willow pouted. "I'm starting to think my computer skills are more than a bit rusty. They've already corroded and fallen apart into little skill-less pieces." She stopped playing with Tara's hair and rested her hand on her shoulder instead.

"You'll get it eventually. It's just a bit stubborn is all."

"Maybe, but I've been working so hard and the thing won't budge."

"You need coffee. What time is it?"

"After ten."

Tara sat up and attempted to fix her messy hair. "The cafe is open. I could go get some."

"That would be nice."

"Okay," she said standing up. "I'll be right back." She leaned down and kissed Willow's cheek and was out the door before she realized what she'd just done. She blushed and worried for a moment before she smiled.

Willow hardly noticed the unusual gesture as wrapped up in her thoughts as she was. When she did, she smiled and her thoughts went from computers to Tara. For a few minutes anyway. Then she was stuck by the panic that if she didn't get Buffy the information she needed, more people could die and it would be partially her fault. She got right back to work.

Tara came back with the coffee and knelt down on the bed beside Willow. She handed her the warm cup.

"Thanks," Willow said offering her a small smile. She took a sip of her drink, eyes never leaving the computer screen.

"Oh that's it!"

"What's it?" Tara asked between sips of her own coffee.

"I just assumed that it was with an asymmetric algorithm, but then it hit me. A hexagonic key pattern. It's gotte be-"

"Hey look, you did it!" Tara exclaimed nearly spilling her coffee in her lap.

"I haven't even started typing in the code yet... It must be programed to self decrypt after a certain point. That is so annoying! It's like somebody blurting out the answer to a riddle just before you've- I mean yippie! We have the information."

"Yippie is right. Look at that."

"Woah. We have got to call Buffy."

The phone rang and they shared a look.

"Or Buffy has got to call us?" Willow said with a shrug.

Tara picked up the phone. "Hello? Yeah she's right here." She held the phone away from her face. "It's Mr. Giles."

Willow stood up and took the phone from Tara. "Hello?"

"Have you gotten anything off of those disks?" Giles asked.

"Finally. I just finished decrypting them. Well, they decrypted themselves," she pouted.

"What do they say?"

"I think we'd better call all the Scoobies together for this one."

"Well, we'd better make it quick. There's been another death."

"What? Who?"

Tara watched her face with concern.

"A student, Forrest Gates."

"He was friends with Riley. I wonder if he has something to do with the Initiative."

"It would seem likely. I think it would be wise to get this demon taken care of as quickly as possible."

"Agreed. We'll be there as soon as we can." She hung up.

"What was that about?" Tara asked.

"Someone's been killed. Forrest. He was a friend of Riley's."

"And you think he could have been one of the commando's?"

Willow looked back at her laptop. "I'm pretty certain."

When Buffy woke, it took her a moment to figure out where she was. The last thing she remembered was crashing into a headstone. She must have passed out and somehow ended up in Spike's crypt. Light filtered in through the dark stained window and she wondered how long she'd been out. She sat up and groaned as her ribs ached. A warm ice pack slid off her chest and hit the floor with a wet slap.

Her right hand was wrapped tightly in a rag and she thought better of testing the fingers. Even with slayer healing, breaks take a while to heal. She lifted her shirt and looked over the bruised skin. Her entire side was covered in an ugly yellow and brown splotch. It wasn't swollen, but it definitely hurt move. She decided she could be a lot worse off. Admittedly, that was probably to due to the blond menace sleeping in the arm chair not five feet away.

She swung her legs around so her feet dangled an inch from the floor and hopped down. It was like being punched in the chest, but she remained on her feet. She took a step forward and though it hurt, she declared it a success and even managed a small smile. She'd just get home, swallow down some painkillers, and get some rest. It was gonna be a long walk.

"How far do you really think you'll make it like that, love?" Spike said somewhat sleepily.

"As far as I have to." She took a few more steps wishing she'd learned how to drive.

"Where's the fire?" He asked looking amused as she stubbornly insisted on movement and swayed finding it difficult to more very far at one time.

"You're the fire. The hot, deadly, no good fire," she grumbled.

"I'll take that as a compliment." He smirked.

"That's not what I meant." She rolled her eyes.

"True though i'n't it? I think you hold me at arms length for a reason, pet."

Buffy sighed. "There is no holding. You're a vampire, I'm the slayer. You're evil and I kill evil things."

"So why am I not dead?" He stood up so he could catch her the second the pain knocked her legs out from under her.

"Because you're still useful. We've been over this."

Spike tilted his head. "I was there, slayer. In that cave. You felt something then. When I touched you. There was a spark."

"You're delusional. You're taking this crush of yours too far and I'm not interested. There are no feelings here, no sparks. We have a business arrangement and that is all we have," she said sternly, but she was thinking about what Willow said. Something about feelings and it would weird if they weren't there and it was okay for them to be there, but they weren't. Because there was absolutely no feelings of any kind and she reminded herself of that.

Spike was suddenly very close very fast and Buffy realized she was in no condition for quick movement. "I think," he said. As lacking in breath as he was, his low voice still wrapped around her, warming her skin. "You've been singing that tune for so long, you can't hear anything else."

"What's that supposed to-"

He leaned close and his lips brushed against her's. She shoved him away from her and he stumbled back a step. Caught up in a sudden wave of anger, she didn't notice the pain in her ribs until she was half way home.

Spike wasn't the least bit upset by her reaction. In fact, his dark eyes made his smile seem that much more gleeful. She may have said no, but it didn't escape him that the closer he got, the hotter she burned. Eventually, all that ice would melt and only shining golden light would remain.