and pound her into the ground.

With a big grin on his face, he strolled down a path in Peaceful Glen Cemetery, heading for the grave of his newest fledgling. The grin faltered as the sounds of fighting reached him and he ran forward. Rounding a mausoleum, he saw about fifty yards in front of him Buffy fighting the vampire he was looking for. Before he could intervene, his first fledgling for his new clan was dust.

"Buffy, that was Mr. Garner, my math teacher," Willow said as she crept from behind a tombstone.

"Well...you won't have that big test tomorrow that you were complaining you didn't have time to study for."

"I didn't even know he was dead. Shouldn't there have been an announcement or something?"

"That was my fledgling, Slayer," Spike growled, making Willow squeal as she saw him approaching. Buffy spun around and glared at him.

"Now your turning people? Uh uh, no way, Spike." Ignoring how incredibly hurt she felt, and not allowing herself to ponder why, Buffy drew a fresh stake from her waistband.

"Drop the fucking stake." Demon free, furious at her for killing the one person with a brain he'd managed to find to turn in the last two weeks, Spike let out a low, long growl as he watched her carefully.

Buffy flung the stake.

Spike caught it two inches from his heart.

They both stared at each other, shocked, until Buffy grabbed Willow's arm and took off running back down the path.

Spike stared after her, holding the stake to his chest until his hand began to tremble.

She had nearly killed him.

The demon melted away, and an incredible pain filled him. Slowly he dropped to his knees.

"This is not good, this is not good," Willow chanted as she and Buffy hurried down the street towards the school. "We've got to tell Giles that Spike's back, and, Angel... maybe he knows why or can help us." She kept looking over her shoulder, wringing her hands, as she remembered the last time Spike had come to Sunnydale.

"He's just another vampire," Buffy muttered. "I'll just...take him out like any other vampire." Squaring her shoulders, she marched into the school, knowing that if she didn't tell Giles, Willow would.

Spike hunkered down in the bushes outside the front door of Buffy's house, watching her walk up the driveway and into the house. Silently he leapt for the porch roof and lifted himself up. As he reached her window, the light to her room came on. Spike started to slide through the aperture, only to be knocked back.

"Damn bitch," he yelled.

Startled, Buffy spun around and stared at the window, then jumped back as Spike's demonic face came into view. "Go away," she choked out.

"How many times are you going to put this fucking barrier back up?"

"Be quiet," she hissed. "You'll wake my mom."

"Good." But, he didn't really want Joyce to find him peeping in her daughter's window. "Fine," he said in a softer voice, but one still filled with anger. "Get your ass out here."

Buffy stared at him in disbelief. "I'm not that much of an idiot."

"You nearly killed me tonight. Do you think I'm going to let you get away with that?"

"So, what do you plan to do? Hit me?" she snapped. "Beat me? Rape me? Fuck off and die!" Striding to the window, she slammed it down and yanked the curtains closed.

Spike stared at the curtains for a full two minutes before he growled in frustration and leapt off the roof. Stalking down the street, he tried to think rationally, but he was still too angry that she had tried to kill him, and still too hurt, which he didn't want to think about at all.

Time to get seriously drunk.

Belching out mangled lyrics to 'Anarchy in the Uk', Spike staggered into the mansion, a nearly empty bottle of Jack Daniels in one hand, his other swinging around wildly. Draining the bottle, he let it crash to the floor, then ran into the wall, before reaching the main room.

The poof was there--Angel, his soul-filled sire--staring blankly at him from in front of the fireplace where he sat reading a thin book.

"Reading poetry," Spike scoffed, as his vision blurred. "Can't diddle the Slayer, so you jerk off to bleedin' poetry."

Angel's voice was totally neutral as he slowly rose to his feet. "Spike. When did you get back in town?"

"Oh, weeks and weeks ago. Got bored, came home, got me a new clan, bunch of idiots, but they're mine. Got any booze?"

"I think you've had enough."

Spike growled and stumbled forward, weaving and falling against the back of the couch. Slumping forward and hiccuping, he dragged himself over the cushions and into a sitting position, his foot nearly knocking a lamp off the end table. "'s only polite to offer a guest a drink."

"You're not a guest."

"Never did have any manners, bloody wanker." Spike tried to stagger to his feet, but kept falling back and finally gave up, humming under his breath as his head rolled back and forth on his shoulders.

"Where's Drusilla?"

At the mention of her name, Spike stiffened, his demon springing forth, fury tightening every muscle. "Don't you fucking mention her name. You have no right to say her name!"

Concerned, even though he really didn't want to be, Angel let the subject drop, but couldn't help wondering if his most beautiful childe was dead. Surely he would have felt something...

"All right. Then why are you here, in my house?"

"Huh?" The anger fled along with the demon, and Spike rubbed a tired hand over his face. "Oh...slayer bitch. Gotta stop her from killing my fledges. Never be able to take over the Hellmouth with her killing all me fledges. You can control her."

"And why would I want to stop her from killing vampires? It's what she does."

"Fucks 'em too."

Angel scowled and glared down at his blithering childe. "Mind your mouth, Spike."

"Thought you liked m' mouth, 'daddy'." Spike snorted and closed his eyes. "Tired, horny, got any girls around here?"

"No."

"Flaming poof..."

A snore broke the sudden silence, and Angel sighed as he realized Spike had passed out. "Lovely," he muttered, then reached down and lifted his childe into a fireman's carry, heading up the stairs with him.

Amazing how guilt over creating this monster made him feel the need to take care of him...

Spike awakened with a groan, his head pounding, his tongue swollen, his mouth tasting like something had died in it about two weeks earlier. Experimentally, he moved one finger, then groaned as a fresh throb of pain arced through his skull. After a few minutes, he tried again, this time cracking one eye open.

Wherever he was, the room was dimly lit and silent. Slowly he became aware of the soft mattress beneath his back, the warm, thick blanket over his naked skin.

Naked skin...

The second eye opened and he blinked blearily into the darkness. Gradually he made out dark, heavy furniture, the bottom posts of a four poster bed, a Tiffany chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Turning his head just a tad, he blinked at thick velvet curtains.

The room was vaguely familiar.

Turning his head the other way, he nearly threw up.

Laying facing him, asleep, was his sire...his unclothed sire. The blanket rested low on his hip, and Spike swallowed back the bile as he looked down to just past Angel's navel at shadowy parts he really did not want to see.

"Fuck," he whispered, trying to remember what had happened the night before.

Obviously he'd had a bit to drink.

He groaned again, and this time Angel stirred. An arm flopped across Spike's chest, and a hand began to caress his shoulder.

Fuck the headache! Spike batted at the hand and rolled off the bed, crashing naked to the floor. "Oh, just stake me now..."

"What a lovely idea," Angel replied, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

"Angelus?" Spike asked, suddenly fearful. Surely he hadn't given his sire a 'happy'!

"Get up, my boy, and get your white ass back in this bed."

Nearly blind from the pain in his skull, Spike found himself obeying the order of his sire. Kneeling on the bed, he looked down into Angel's humor filled eyes, and realized Angelus wasn't back.

"Prick!" Spike yanked the blanket around himself and flopped back down on the bed, growling and groaning in pain.

Angel decided to take an ounce of pity on him and explained, "The other rooms are full of dust. This is the only bed that's made, and I knew you'd be more comfortable undressed."

"Hopefully the long-dead taste in my mouth isn't you," Spike replied waspishly, making Angel chuckle.

"Your virtue is intact."

"Bloody hell..."

Muttering under her breath, Buffy walked down the sidewalk, hands in her jacket pockets, eyes on the ground. The night before she had endured nearly ninety minutes of Giles pondering and plotting about Spike's return. By the end she had been nearly ready to shout that she was fucking the vampire, just to shut her watcher up. It hadn't helped that the worst cramps she had ever suffered had set in about ten minutes into the lecture.

Finally Giles had told her to be careful and sent her home.

Of course, her blond nemesis had been waiting for her.

A slight shiver ran through Buffy along with another cramp, and she dug her fingers into her waist, as she stomped across a deserted side street.

Somehow, if it killed her, she was going to find a way to blame these menstrual cramps on Spike.

Spike...He had been so angry the night before, and she had felt a tinge of real fear. Somehow, with all the hot sex, she had forgotten that he was a demon. She had let a demon touch her, and do more than touch her.

And she had liked it... a whole hell of a lot. Her only salvation at the moment was the revocation spell, but she couldn't stay hidden in her house twenty four hours a day. She'd just have to hope that his anger would fade...

And that the nearly blinding lust she felt for him would fade, too.

Ahead of her, the mansion loomed in the late afternoon sun. Opening the door, she stepped inside, a little apprehensive at talking with Angel, whom she had been studiously avoiding since her first...meeting with Spike.

Would he know? Could he tell? Did she look different? Did she *smell* different? Spike was his childe. Was she marked in some way that Angel would know?

And would it always hurt to see the love of her life and know that they had no future?

Mounting the stairs, Buffy silently made her way towards Angel's bedroom.

The sight that met her eyes made the room swim before them. Angel lay on his side, head propped in one arm, grinning down on Spike, who lay on his back, arm over his eyes. The sheet was at their waists, but they were so obviously naked. Dizzy, Buffy leaned against the door jam, mouth agape, managing to gasp out one phrase. "Oh my God..."

At the sound of her shocked voice, both males shot up in the bed, staring at her.

"Buffy..."

"Slayer..."

"OH MY GOD!"

Buffy turned and ran back down the hall, unable to believe what she had seen.

"Shit," Angel cursed as he jumped from the bed, grabbing a pair of pants off a chair and struggling into them.

Spike stared at the open door, his headache getting worse.

Buffy sank down onto the couch, knowing that she couldn't leave, that she had to face this situation. Her mind whirled with too many weird and frightening possibilities: her ex was fucking her current, or sort of current; Angelus was back; Spike had told Angel about them.

All of them were freaking her out. What was Angel thinking? What was Spike? Were they really...together? And, if they were, what did that mean for her? For her and Angel? For her and Spike?

And when did she start thinking of a 'her and Spike'?

Angel ran into the room, wearing only a tight pair of black pants, his hair mussed from bed. Buffy's mind blanked on that thought.

"Buffy, it isn't what it looked like."

A smug voice came from behind him. "Peaches, of course it's what it looked like. We've been doing each other for two centuries, luv."

Angel shot Spike a dirty look, then looked back at Buffy's pale, shocked face. "Nothing happened, Buffy," he stressed firmly. "Spike passed out. There's only one bed made."

"And...naked?" she choked out.

Spike grinned evilly over his sire's shoulder, standing on tiptoes and wrapping his arms around the taller male's waist. "Leads to lots of fun."

Growling, Angel elbowed him none too gently in the ribs and Spike staggered back, grunting. Angel shrugged helplessly and Spike glowered at him before collapsing in a chair.

"I'm not sure what he's doing back here. He wasn't very coherent last night."

"I'm right here, peaches."

Both the slayer and the ensouled vampire ignored the petulant blond.

"I came here to tell you that he's back," Buffy said slowly, trying not to look at Spike, not to look at his gorgeous naked chest, the evil smirk on his face. She swallowed and concentrated on Angel's concerned expression as he sat down on the coffee table in front of her.

"He did mumble something about you killing his fledglings."

"Still here!"

"My job," Buffy mumbled. "Um...so, you know he's here. Can you make him go away?"

"Short of killing him, I can't think of a way to do that, Buffy," Angel replied. "It would be impossible for me to entangle myself in the politics of the Hellmouth as long as I have a soul."

Her shoulders slumped and she stared at her hands clasped in her lap. "So, I guess I do it."

"Good luck," Spike snorted, rolling his eyes in his aching head. Suddenly, he stiffened and his gaze flashed to her. "I smell blood."

Looking up, Buffy caught his knowing gaze and reddened in mortification. Jumping to her feet, she dashed out the French doors and into the fading afternoon sun.

"You have the sensitivity of a slug," Angel growled.

Spike just smirked at him, then groaned as another wave of pain crashed over his skull.

Peering from behind a tree in the neighbor's yard, Spike watched the Slayer leave her house with her red-haired friend. They strolled down the street away from him, and he watched until they reached the corner and turned, disappearing from sight. Running one hand over his hair to make sure it was all in place, he headed for the front door.

After ringing the bell he waited for a moment, then smiled as Joyce opened the door.

"Spike, this is a surprise. I wasn't aware you were back in town."

"Well, I got a hold of that collection we talked about the last time I was here." He held up a small duffle bag. "I thought you might like to look at a few of the pieces.

Her eyes lit up and he smiled even wider. "Yes, of course, please come in."

He could almost feel the barrier melt away as he stepped across the threshold.

Thirty minutes later, on his second glass of brandy, Spike watched as Joyce carefully examined the Peruvian pot.

"It's lovely Spike." She gave him a suspicious look. "And how did you come by these items?"

Chuckling, he took another sip of his drink, then set down the glass. "Perfectly legal, luv. I have the papers and everything. I thought maybe you might want to sell them in your gallery. I have three more pots and two more statuettes, all in the same style and from the same period."

"I'd be thrilled to have such lovely items for sale. How much do you want to offer them for?"

Buffy kicked irritably at the dirt on the path as she and Willow made their way through the fourth cemetery that night. "This is so boring. Aren't you bored? I'm bored."

"Well, it has to be done," Willow replied matter-of-factly. Buffy glared at her and Willow continued, "You've been a little um jittery lately. Maybe all this exercise will be good for you."

"Jittery? I've been crawling out of my freaking skin." Buffy kicked the dirt harder, then stumbled over a buried root. "FUCK." Reaching down, she ripped the root from the ground and flung it across the cemetery.

"Um...Buffy?"

"What?" the Slayer demanded, panting slightly from exertion.

"Are you okay? 'Cuz you really don't seem okay."

"It's that time of the month," Buffy shot back, "and I'm pissed off."

"Oh, okay." Slayer PMS--something to be avoided at all costs.

They continued on in silence for several minutes, before Willow found the courage to broach a subject that had been on her mind for hours. "Um...did you see Angel?"

Buffy flushed and felt sweat break out on her forehead. Had she seen Angel? She'd come about an inch from seeing a part of Angel she hadn't seen for over a year. Swallowing against the image of Angel leaning over Spike, a half smile on his face, Buffy nodded. "Yeah. He knew."

"That Spike was back in town?"

"Uh huh."

"Oh. Does he know why?"

"We...didn't get into that."

"Did you fight?" Willow asked hesitantly.

Buffy sighed, and sat down on a tombstone, facing her friend. "No. We don't do much of anything anymore. He said he couldn't make Spike leave except by killing him, which he so obviously doesn't want to do."

"Why?"

Feeling herself flushing more, Buffy groaned silently and stared at the ground. "I don't know. Sire childe thing, I guess."

"I wonder why Angel sired a man? I mean, made a man a childe, not just a minion. I've been reading up on the subject and found all this stuff about domination and submission." Willow giggled nervously and fiddled with her hair. "Can you picture Spike on a leash?"

"Willow!"

"Oh come on, he's cute."

Buffy groaned and pushed herself off the tombstone, muttering, "I'll never get to sleep tonight."

Willow just gave her a curious look and followed her out of the cemetery.

As Buffy tossed and turned in her bed, her body feverish with lust, anger and pre-menstrual symptoms, Spike crouched outside her window, watching her. He silently debated on whether or not to enter the room, finally deciding to wait a few days.

Some girls just didn't like guys to touch them at that time of the month. Even though it had been two centuries since he'd been involved with a mortal woman for more than a one-night stand, he remembered that much.

Joyce had told him she was going out of town the next day for a week long buying trip in British Columbia. Hopefully she wouldn't mention to her daughter that he was 'back' in town. Spike didn't think it was likely. Joyce knew how much Buffy disliked her relationship with him, so she probably wouldn't bring it up.

Which meant the lovely, little Slayer wouldn't know that the barrier was down...and in five days she'd be in for the surprise of her life.

Carefully, Spike hopped off the roof and headed back to his lair.

 

The End

 

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