Angel walked slowly towards the house, thinking. Well, to be honest, brooding. After so many years, it seemed like the obvious, all-purpose response to any situation. He still wasn't sure what he should say to Buffy; how to make her understand what she did to him, how much control it took to touch her the way he should. He was afraid – afraid that if he told her what wanted to do, what it goaded him to do, she'd never see him again. He couldn't take that.

He supposed he could have just driven, but the evening was nice; the one place he still felt at home. His soul hadn't taken that away, the way he fit perfectly into the darkness, watching. He was grateful for that, at least. Plus, the walk had the added bonus of ensuring he'd arrive after Joyce had gone to sleep. It wasn't that he didn't like Buffy's mother. Or that he was doing anything wrong, he thought, defensively. It was just that he found himself profoundly uncomfortable around Joyce. She stared at him as though she could see every transgression, every evil thought, every lustful fantasy of Buffy he entertained during the long daylight hours. Stupid, he knew. It wasn't like Joyce knew...after all, she thought he was a college student. But the way she looked at him....it was just easier to avoid her altogether.

He saw the lights from the ambulance long before he made it to Buffy's street. It whooshed past him, siren blaring, red lights hurting his eyes. He frowned, worry prickling along his skin. As he came up the street, he smelled it: blood. Recent, and human. He could just make out a tiny, dark smear on the doorframe of the house opposite where he stood. Not five doors from Buffy's house. Shit. He started running; scaled the tree in nothing flat, only to find her room empty. She must have chased whatever did it, then...or was she on patrol? Either way....he dropped quietly to the ground and turned towards the street. Maybe whatever it was had left a trail; he was fairly certain that it hadn't been a normal accident. Really, in Sunnydale, odds were decidedly against normality. He hurried along the street, following the ever-fainter scent of blood, till it stopped in someone's yard. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. Now what?

He stared across the lawn, trying to decide what to do. Wait. There was a little cemetery in that direction, wasn't there? Made sense that whatever it was might go to ground there. He'd try there, first.

***

She'd never felt this before, this electricity racing over her skin, blood blooming to the surface all over her body, hot and heady. Her head spun, trying to hold onto the implications of his admission, as Spike touched his mouth to her skin, still locked into the moment where there was nothing at all but skin and lips and trembling limbs. He dreamed it, too? Just a moment, and then she felt his mouth begin to open, and her brain finally, finally lurched out of stasis to shout at her:

Vampirevampirevampirevampire!

She raised her hands to finally push him, push him away from her throat, and felt him stiffen above her, hovering near her ear, his face buried in her hair. Waiting. What was he waiting for?

***
God, she felt like liquid fire, flushed and slick, igniting a terrible craving within him. Not for blood, though as he bent to press his lips against her throat, he could smell it, intoxicating and arousing. He couldn't think, for a moment wasn't sure it wasn't still a dream, opening his mouth to taste her, tongue running smoothly along her skin, nothing real except his desire, his need. Her hair flowed against his face, cornsilk-fine, full of fragrance. A spark of recognition finally penetrated the fog; he realized that her hair carried an older scent, not oranges or flowers, not sweat or desire. Darker, familiar somehow; it made his hackles rise, and pulled the beginnings of a growl from his chest. Angelus. She smelled of Angelus. His hands tightened against her. Goddamn it! He'd not have it, not again. Dru was his, and he didn't have to come second after mister-high-and-fucking-mighty Angelus any more.

Dru.

Oh, fuck. Dru. What the hell was he doing? He stiffened, suddenly, and realized with a start that the Slayer's hands had moved from his body, waiting. What was she waiting for?
Moving slowly, he raised his head, eyes still glazed, looking for the stake, finding only her empty hands, raised in a warding gesture. No death for me, he thought, wildly.

They stared at each other, frozen in shock, bodies still tight together, each waiting for the killing blow. Buffy groped for words, could only shake her head, desperately.

"Don't," Spike managed. "I – don't – " His face twisted with some strong emotion; Buffy couldn't tell what. Hatred? Lust? Need? She took a deep breath and said "Spike – "

"Buffy!" Angel's voice cut across the chill silence. The tension coiled between them snapped in two, galvanized them into action. Buffy shoved Spike off her, hard, and he fell backwards, rolling up gamefaced and glaring at them both. He hissed something unintelligible and ran, fast, to one side, shoving Angel as he passed, evading the hastily thrown blow from his Sire. Shit. She'd forgotten he was so quick, so old.

Her heart still pounded, but she couldn't tell if it was merely fear, adrenaline, or.... She colored deeply, looking off into the shadows. Angel. Oh, god. What did he see? How could she explain this to him? Sorry, honey, I let Spike kiss me because....why? She didn't know.

"Are you ok, Buffy? Did he bite you?" Angel reached out to brush the hair from her neck, his fingers just touching her heated skin.

"He tried, but I'm fine. I just forgot how fast he is." Relief flooded over her; he hadn't seen. She scanned the ground, looking for her stake, giving herself a reason to move away from Angel until her emotions subsided.

"I told you he was dangerous, Buffy." She sighed in frustration. God, did he think she was an idiot?

"I know. It wasn't a problem, I was handling it." She gave up the stake-hunt; she'd have to come back in the morning.

"Without a stake? You could have been killed."

"I could be killed all the time, Angel," she said, quietly. "Come on, walk me home."

***
He didn't get far; didn't make it to the gate, even, before he wheeled back around in a fury. Fists clenched, eyes blazing, he was pure demon, full of rage, and his body vibrating with the sheer power he possessed. He'd be damned if he ran from that ponce. He was a fucking LEGEND, everybody was afraid of him, and by god Angelus would be, too.

He started striding forward, picking up speed. He did what he pleased, and he was gonna kick their sorry asses – He stopped dead in the path. Fuck! Legend he might be, but there was no way he could fight both of them at once. He whirled 'round, slammed his fist into a tree. That damn Angelus. He ruins everything, thought Spike bitterly, running in here cocking things up just when he was about to....a cold weight settled in his stomach. About to what? Kill the Slayer? Not bloody likely, unless you'd planned to fuck her to death.

His mouth twisted in a grimace, he began to pace, nervously. She could have killed him, that bitch. Had her hands free, and what was she doing with them? His body still ached from her fingertips against him. Pure luck, that was. She'd had the stake, he'd be gone. And him! What the fuck was wrong with him? He had her, could have had out her throat in a second. He'd won! Why didn't he kill her? And if Dru found out – He stopped, the thought sobering beyond belief. Angelus. What the hell had he seen? If he knew – if he told Dru – he felt a momentary flicker of....fear? Sod that, he wasn't afraid of anything. Instead, he let anger ignite inside him once more. He wasn't gonna let that happen, bet on it.

He heard them well before he saw them; elephants couldn't have made more noise than the two of them, coming up the path. The Slayer he understood, but Angelus was a vampire, supposedly a creature of the night. Surely he knew how to tread a little more quietly? Spike shook his head in disgust, melting back into the trees to one side. What did Angelus see? Couldn't hurt to listen a bit.

"Buffy, I'm just saying that you need to be more careful. You can't–"

"Angel, don't." Buffy held up her hand to stop him. "Don't tell me how to do my job, and don't tell me what I should think about my dreams, either."

Angel's face was tight and serious. "Spike won't ever change, Buffy, and he won't stop till you're dead. You saw that, yourself."

"Yeah, I did," she said. Wrapping her arms about herself, she turned towards the trees, gazing out at them with an unreadable expression. Something flickered across her face, just for a moment, and Spike froze. Had she seen him? The moment passed, and, sighing, she turned back to catch Angel's hand, tugging him towards the front gates of the cemetery.

Spike waited till they passed the gates and turned towards the street before stepping back out of hiding. So he didn't know. Wouldn't have been that calm if he had; Angelus - oh, excuse me, Angel, didn't like to share. What a nauseating appellation. "Angel". Always impressed by himself, always prettying up his clothes, pretending he was better than everyone else. Bastard. Spike stared after them, his mind a tangle of emotions, then shook himself, and followed after.

***
Climbing up to her room, Buffy was acutely aware of Angel's presence behind her. Nothing new, actually. It was like if he was in the room, nobody else existed. But tonight.... as they climbed up, she wasn't thinking about how cute he was, or how much she loved him. All she could think about was What if Angel finds out? She wondered if Angel would realize, if he could look at her and tell. She could still feel Spike's kisses on her lips, her skin still tingled where he had touched her. She felt.... She took a deep breath as she slid through the window. She didn't know how she felt. How could she have done that to Angel? She loved him! How could she have let Spike –  well, let's be honest, she thought, "let" isn't really the right word. She was so confused.

He could smell her; had been able to since they started back towards the house. It was fraying his nerves; how could he be expected to think clearly when he had this effect on her? Had she already forgotten how close she'd come to being killed....or turned? How else could she be that....that turned on so soon after? And her perfect little ass, swaying in front of him, as he climbed. Focus, he needed to focus. He clambered through the window after her, ready to continue their argument. She had to understand how dangerous Spike was, how dangerous–

"Buffy?"

She was turned away from him, bending down to slip off her shoes, her hair falling forward to hide her face. "Shh....Mom might hear."

"Right." Silence fell between them, for a moment, awkward and thick. "Buffy, I don't want to make you mad. I'm not trying to tell you how to be the Slayer. I'm just....I'm just worried about you. I don't want to lose you."

She felt about two inches tall. Here Angel was, worried about whether she'd be ok, after she'd... She bit her lip, and looked at the ground. "I know, Angel. I shouldn't have yelled at you. Just – you know, everybody thinks they know better than me, and it really pisses me off." Well, that would have sounded a lot more mature if I weren't in my jammies, she thought.

She crossed to the bed and sat down, drawing her knees up beneath her chin. "Ok, so sometimes they do know better than me. Still makes me mad."

Angel smiled. "Look, I don't mean to say that I know better than you, but –  well, I do, I guess. Spike is –"

"I know about Spike, ok? I already have a Watcher, you know, you don't need to lecture me about him." She got back up, hands on her hips. Crazy nympho she might be, but who did he think he was, her dad? Her Watcher? She frowned. "Again, we're back to you trying to tell me how to do my job."

"No –" Angel ran a hair through his hair, shook his head in frustration. "Buffy, he could have killed you tonight. You have no idea how fast he is."

"Oh, I think I do."

"I wasn't finished. You came so close to being hurt or killed, and I don't think you do realize how close, because you've already conveniently forgotten it."

"How can you say that?" Buffy demanded. He only stared at her, lips pressed into a thin line, nostrils flaring. Buffy abruptly blushed, heard clear as a bell Spike's voice in her ear, I could smell you. She felt her stomach drop with fear. Angel...he... She gathered herself up. "I didn't forget anything, Angel."

He was at her side in an eyeblink, hand at her throat. "He could have killed you, Buffy. Just like I could, right now. You wouldn't be able to stop me in time."

It was almost as though a switch had been thrown; her eyes shuttered, Buffy gone. Her voice went flat, expressionless, sent a chill snaking up his spine. "Try me." He realized with shock that she held a stake just touching his shirt, her eyes cold. For a moment, the air was charged with something ancient, some promise of violence – then he slowly (oh, so slowly) took his hand from her neck, backing away till he saw her eyes soften once more, and she tossed the stake onto her dresser.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I didn't mean....I should go."

"Yeah, fine, just go."

He'd really screwed that up. He cast one longing glance in her direction, and began to move towards the door.

Buffy turned suddenly, stopping his mouth with a desperate kiss, deep and urgent, driving her tongue between his surprised lips, her arms clutching at his shoulders, his back. Surprised, it took him a moment to respond, until she slid her hands down his back and pulled him hard against her. He pulled quickly away, took one, two steps backward, staring. "Buffy, don't."

Anger and frustration warred on her face, her mouth set in a petulant frown. "Angel, what is wrong with you?" she demanded. "You act like – don't you like me anymore?"

"Oh, Buffy, you know I do. I've never cared about anyone like this."

"Then why won't you touch me? Why don't you want me to kiss you?" Her voice trembled, tears threatening to spill from her eyes. Angel looked away.

"Buffy, when I'm near you, all I want is to make love to you." Christ, just the words made him hard. He closed his eyes, trying to rein in the rising whispers. Want to suck you bite you fuck you make you over make you mine make you like me. Hesitantly, he tried to put words to his fears. "I'm afraid –  you don't know how hard it is, Buffy, to have you in my arms and not touch you.....the way I want to touch you." His voice was low, urgent. Please let her understand.

"I want that, too."

His head shot up, eyes wide. "What?"

Buffy stepped forward, reached out for him. "I want –" He could feel her blushing as her hand brushed his. "I want you to touch me more," she whispered. "I'm not ready for...well, you know, but there are lots of other things that we could.....I love you, Angel." She gently pulled his hand to her breast, traced his jaw with her own hand, breathing gently against his neck. He surrendered, lowering his mouth to hers, so lost in the wonder of her beneath his fingers that he didn't wonder why she tasted faintly of cigarettes.

Neither noticed the grim-faced figure beneath the tree, staring up at the window while white smoke curled upwards from his cigarette towards the black, empty sky.