“Look out! Vampire!”  It was Dawn’s voice, sounding remarkably calm amid the shrieks of horror that rose from the throats of three of the Potential Slayers.  Buffy gave an unladylike grunt of annoyance as she dashed down the alley towards the source of the screaming.  The entire point of this hunting expedition was to practice killing vampires.  She hoped the silly girls weren’t going to shriek like characters from a horror movie every time they saw one.

      She rounded the corner and saw the vampire.  It was big and male, and she knew immediately that it was older and more cunning than most.  Not the best practice material for a bunch of newbies.

     But Xander was there fighting, and he was no newbie.  And Buffy’s little sister had more experience than all the Potentials combined.  It was Dawn and Xander, and not the wannabe Slayers, who were keeping the creature at bay. 

      Giles came up behind Buffy, panting.  Willow and Kennedy were behind him, and more footsteps echoed beyond them.   Buffy grimaced.  A gaggle of Potential Slayers and the entire Scooby gang should be able to handle one vampire without all this noise.

      Now one of the Potentials was on the ground.  It was a whiny one—what was her name?  Damn it, most of them were whiny—how was Buffy supposed to tell them apart!  The Slayer rushed to the girl’s rescue.  The vampire saw her coming and ran.

      My reputation still can scare some of the big bads in this town, Buffy thought as she tore off after the monster.  As she ran down the street, across someone’s lawn, and into a small graveyard, she heard the others fall behind.  Except for one set of footsteps, which pressed hard at her heels.  She didn’t need to turn around to see who they belonged to.  None of the Scoobies or the Potentials could keep up with her.  But he could.

      Buffy smiled as she ran.  Things started to fall into place in her head.  She felt as if all was at least momentarily right with the world as she and Spike tracked the vamp.  She was doing what she did best, and she knew that if she started to veer off the trail—

      “You’re losing the scent, Slayer!  Follow this leader!”

      She turned and saw Spike head down a narrow path into a wooded area beyond the graveyard.  She pursued him, redoubling her speed to catch up.  Now, she felt some unease.  She didn’t like him leading the pack on this hunt.  He still wasn’t fully recovered from his ordeal—

      Before she could finish the thought, she stumbled down the end of the path and into a fight.   She remembered this place as an empty lot, but the space was now filled with lumber, machinery, and the bulk of some new building.  Spike had the creature they were hunting backed up against a wall, and the two were trading blows. 

      Spike was tiring too quickly.  He was pulling back, dodging blows without returning them, and merely trying to block the other vampire’s escape routes.  A puff of dust rose into the air, and Buffy gasped.  Then she saw that both combatants still stood, and she recognized the smell of sawdust. 

      This was obviously a construction site.  With all this wood around, a weapon shouldn’t be hard to find.  She ran to a pile of lumber and saw a long, thin shaft of timber with a nicely pointed end.  Snatching it up, she turned to see that the vamp had Spike pinned against the wall of the building. 

      A moment later, another puff of dust rose up, and this time there was no smell of sawdust.

      But the heavy piece of lumber she had grabbed had torn through the vampire’s body with more force than she anticipated.  The point of the makeshift stake was now resting against Spike’s chest.  The deadly wood had torn aside his already ragged shirt, revealing the horrible scars left by the Bringers.  The tip had pierced his skin and was a bare inch from causing his destruction.  He stood deathly still, making no effort to push her weapon aside. 

      “Cutting it a bit close, Slayer,” he commented, his expression oddly calm.

       Horrified, Buffy pulled her weapon back and tossed it from her.  She reached out mindlessly to pull Spike to her, and a moment later she was kissing him, tasting ambrosia after a long famine.  It was almost like returning to heaven.

      Until he pushed her away.

      He shoved her hard, so that she staggered backwards and had to struggle to regain her footing.  She stared at him, astonished and bereft, as he glared back angrily.

      “No, Buffy,” he said.  “Not again.”

      She was incredulous.  “I just want—” she started to say.  But at his emphatic gesture of rejection, the words “to tell you—” died on her lips.

      “I know what you want.  We both know what we want.  It would have been better if we’d never found out.  Better if you’d never touched me again.  Because tomorrow, or sooner, you’ll be disgusted with yourself for wanting it again, and I’ll have to watch that look of loathing on your face—hatred for me, and hatred of yourself.”  He nodded at a point past her shoulder as voices sounded through the mist.  “And then you’ll start lying to all your little friends, because you won’t want them to know.  And you’ll hate yourself for keeping secrets. I won’t go through that again.  I won’t put you though that again.”

      She met his eyes as he turned to gaze at her.  She swallowed hard, seeing the longing in his face even as he rejected what he thought she was offering.  “I hurt you,” she said.  “When I insisted on hiding.  I used you, and I hurt you.”

      “Yeah, you hurt yourself,” he said. 

She didn’t question his odd wording.  She knew that he felt her pain more deeply than he did his own.

      She gave a little nod and turned to call in the direction of the insistent voices, “We’re here, guys!” 

The clamor of Scoobies and Potential Slayers increased in volume and intensity.  The mob was coming to shatter the intimacy of this moment.

      When she turned back to Spike, she saw that he had slumped back against the wall, clearly disappointed and bereft, for all that it had been his decision to separate them.

      “So,” he said.  “The world comes rushing in.”

She stepped forward until she was less than an arm’s length away.  His anguish was like a blow in her gut, and she had to take a deep, careful breath before she could speak again.  Kissing him had been pure impulse; now she acted out of a cold conviction that he deserved the truth.

      “I love you,” she said.  She was surprised by how steady her voice could sound when her whole body was shaking.

      His head snapped up, and he stared at her with an expression of incredulity and near dismay.  Did he think, perhaps, that the First had somehow taken her place again, to tell lies in order to inflict some new and horrible torture on him?  She brought up her hand quickly to touch his cheek, letting him feel the warmth of her flesh.  “I love you,” she repeated.

      That time, her voice did quiver, and what was left of her self-control snapped a moment later.  She kissed him again, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pulling him close.

      The resolve he had demonstrated just a minute before might have been proof against her touch, but it had clearly vanished at her declaration.  His arms were around her again, more strongly this time, and with no hint of ambivalence.

      After a time, a sea of words and voices slowly penetrated her consciousness, and Buffy pushed Spike away, but only to arms’ length.  He looked bewildered, like a child waking suddenly from a pleasant dream.  She put up a hand to gently caress his cheek again before turning to look at the audience that had formed on the grass verge.

      Only Willow looked a bit sympathetic.  Xander was frowning mightily, and Giles was polishing his glasses.  Anya’s gaze was merely curious and analytical, but Dawn was glaring as she slapped one palm rhythmically with the stake she held in her other hand.  The Potentials were, as usual, confused.  Most of them were frightened as well.  They peered over the Scoobies’ shoulders in bewilderment.

      Buffy stared at her sister.  Dawn met the Slayer’s eyes evenly, but after a few seconds the hand holding the stake dropped to her side.  However, the severity of her expression did not waver.  “So,” she said evenly, “I guess this means you two are back together again.”

      “I don’t know,” said Buffy.

      “You don’t know?” demanded Anya.  “That looked pretty together to me.  Not that I blame you—”

      “I don’t know,” repeated Buffy, loudly interrupting whatever comment Anya was about to make.  She looked at the vampire, who was still staring as if he couldn’t believe his eyes.  “That’s up to Spike.”

      “Up to—well, there’s a toughie.”  Xander’s voice.  “Like there’s any question about what he’d decide.”

      “I wouldn’t be so sure,” said Buffy, but even as she spoke, the last vestige of doubt faded from her mind.

      Spike stood up a bit straighter, his expression suddenly intent as he looked from her to the mob staring at them.  She watched him carefully, waiting for the moment when he realized that she had deliberately staged this confrontation with their unwitting audience, and that her actions amounted to a public avowal of her feelings for him.   She struggled for a calm expression, wanting to let him be the one to make the choice, but in spite of herself a slow, anticipatory smile crept across her face.  She was so very sure what he would choose.

      A moment later, he had snatched her up into his arms and was kissing her with a passion that completely failed to acknowledge the presence of their audience.

      She responded wholeheartedly, only lifting her head when she needed to gasp for breath.  She pulled the air into her lungs in a rush and let it out in a strange sound that took her by surprise.   A moment later, she realized she was laughing. 

      Spike gave a low growl that turned into an answering purr of laughter as the mob watching them began to disperse.  Buffy heard Giles murmur something about seeing them at the house—eventually.  Dawn’s voice promised a long talk in the morning, and Willow was informing Anya that it was completely inappropriate to stay and watch.

      Buffy’s mind barely registered their absence, but classified it vaguely as a good thing, something that allowed her to get on with the business at hand without any annoying distractions.  Then she felt herself being propelled backwards, into the darkness of the building being erected on this site.

      The inside was cavernous, and if she had spared a moment’s thought for anything beyond the feel of Spike’s hands as they slid under her blouse or the touch of his lips against her neck, she would have wondered what type of structure needed such a vast, empty space.  Then there was a something solid behind her, and she felt herself being lifted up on a long, low wooden table. 

      But there was no concern in her mind for anything except him, the touch of his hands as he disrobed her, and the rough denim of his jeans under her hands as she tugged at his zipper and slid his pants down over his hips.  The sensation of two bodies that knew each other well, coming together as they had so many times before and as if for the first time.  The gasp of astonishment as she realized that this time, it was better than it had ever been before with anyone in this world, even with him. 

      Desperately, she pulled his head down towards hers as he thrust inside her, wanting the touch of his lips, and craving the sensation of a gentle exhalation against her cheek.  Wanting to pretend, as she always did, that it was real human breath she felt and not just the release of air that he needed to draw into his lungs to speak. 

      “I love you,” he murmured with that false breath.

      The force of her climax took her by surprise at that moment, and she screamed involuntarily.  She felt the rush of something salty and warm in her mouth as his body shuddered against her, and he too cried out in release.

      He collapsed on top of her and she lay back, suddenly conscious of the weight of his body pressing against her, of the chill air wafting through the doorway, and of the smell of sawdust that surrounded them.

      He rolled over so that they lay side by side.  She could barely make out his features in the dim light that crept in from the street lamps outside.  She raised a cautious hand to his mouth, suddenly realizing what she had tasted in those last amazing moments of their lovemaking.

      “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

      “Sorry?” 

He looked distressed, and she hastened to add.  “Your lip.  I—I bit you.”  She touched her own mouth in bewildered remembrance.  “I hurt you.”

      “My—?  Are you apologizing to me?” 

His astonishment wrung her heart, and she hugged him closer.  “You always hurt the one you love,” she murmured.  “But, I promise, Spike, not any more.”

      She thought he looked even more astounded at this than he had when she told him she loved him.  Guilt at the way she had treated him previously made her eyes shift from his.  “Where are we?” she said at last, sitting up and looking around the huge room.

      “Another of Harris’s building sites,” he replied, accepting the change of subject.  “A new church.  It seems hope springs eternal, love, even in Sunnydale.  Almost complete, but they haven’t put in the pews yet.”   He ran a hand along her naked back.  “Just as well our audience took themselves home.  No place for them to sit.”

      She looked down at their makeshift bed.  It was a long table made out of some lovely hard wood, so dark she could barely make out its length in the dark.  It was smooth to her touch, and had offered no splinters to hurt them and distract from their lovemaking.  For the first time since she had kissed him after staking the vamp, she was truly appalled at her own behavior.  “Did we just have sex on an altar?”

      Once, he would have laughed.  But now, sensitive to her distress, he looked grave.  “It seems so.  Sorry, love.”

      But her second thoughts were of relief, not horror.  “Another church!  With crosses and things.  At least nothing in this one hurt you,” she said.   She reached out her hand to his lip.  “Except me.”

      “Just a love bite,” he said.  “And, no, there’s nothing in here to hurt me.”  He looked around the huge room.  “No crosses yet.  And nothing’s been sanctified here.”

      She looked down into his eyes, her hand gently stroking his cheek.  In the dim light filtering in from some street lamps, she thought he looked happy but still hesitant, like a man unable to believe his good fortune.  Not sanctified?  “I love you,” she said.

      He pulled her down toward him and she felt his body tremble.  She closed her eyes, grateful that she had at last found herself able to utter those words.  It had been even harder than she expected to say them the first time, but now they came easier.  And speaking this truth had granted her an amazing freedom.  She felt not just happier, but stronger, better able to face what would come next.

      Perhaps, she thought, someday I will be able to tell him the rest.  What a relief that would be, to be able to share it all with him.  Perhaps someday—

      But she knew that day would never come.  She could never tell him.

      Chapter Two