"Spike? Spi-i-ike! Wake up, you lazy vampire..."

"Mmf?" Spike groaned in pain. He couldn't remember what the fuck he'd done to his neck, but it felt like he'd twisted his head all the way around. And then inside out for good measure. With a little whimper he disentangled his limbs from the chair he'd ended up in last night. He groaned again just for good measure and tried to remember where the fuck he was.

"Are you, like, dying or something?" came a curious and entirely too perky question.

He frowned and slowly opened his eyes. Blinked once, twice. Now, that just couldn't be right. "Slayer?" For a brief moment, he entertained the notion that this was some wonderful dream, except for the pounding pain in his spine. Didn't even need to pinch himself...

"I would perform CPR except, y'know, I'm all snotty still. That, and you don't need to breathe."

"Hmm?" He perked up at that thought and sat up. "What was that about—?"

"Good. You're up." She was sitting up in bed, wearing these cute little flannel pajamas with sushi on them, and smiling with that light back in her eyes. Then, for emphasis, she sniffed and gave him a pathetic look. "Can you get me some orange juice?"

He frowned and ran one hand through his hair. Great. His hair had mutated into a mass of poncy curls while he was out. Yesterday, Buffy probably wouldn't have noticed; today, she seemed more than conscious enough to notice that he was at his worst.

"You're the one bouncin' on the bed," he muttered sullenly. "Get it yourself." Wincing, he reached around to try to rub the knots out of his neck.

She bit her lower lip. "But I'm sick," she offered in a quiet, meek voice, suddenly looking ten times sicker than she had a minute ago.

His eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"And, y'know, I need to rest up, or it could come back."

Still highly suspicious. In fact, he was remembering hearing a little term bandied about among humans: '24-hour flu'. But, hey, if Buffy wanted a willing slave, all she'd ever had to do was ask...

"Sure thing, luv." He unfolded himself from the chair, and he almost imagined, out of the corner of his eye, that he saw her appraising him. Happy hallucination probably, but he still preened and stretched a little just to make sure. Gave her plenty of time to check out that everything was hard and fit and sleek. With a confident little swagger, he left her bedroom. And he was positive he heard her lick her lips just as his sexy ass vanished down the hall.

Well, now. This was certainly an...interesting development.

Not that she hadn't been plenty hot and bothered by his physique in the past. She'd never admit it, of course, but on more than one occasion during their 'hated enemies' phase, she'd smelled of arousal when she held him back against some wall or other, her hand lingering on her chest just a bit longer than was absolutely necessary...

Happy memories.

Humming softly under his breath, he rummaged about in the Summers' fridge. Dawn had left him a little note with the hospital number in case of emergency and a rather sarcastic comment about how Buffy's temperature was high enough already and she didn't need him heating things up more. He growled. His Bit apparently fancied herself quite the comedian. He'd been letting her get away with a bit too much lately, it seemed. About time he got in a few barbs of his own. What was the name of that wanker she'd been flirting with all through summer school again...?

Planning his revenge gleefully, he found the orange juice and glass. Without even thinking about it, he stuck two slices of toast in the toaster. Frowned as he stared at the device...

And shrugged. So, he was making his girl breakfast in bed. This was probably the one chance he'd get while she was all soft and needy, and he was going to take every advantage of it. Including going so far as to call her 'his girl' in his head. Ah well, the Scooby lot seemed to thrive on a little self-delusion, so it couldn't hurt him just to try it out for a day or so. Just until she kicked his ass back out onto the street.

"Are you all right down there?" Buffy's voice called out.

So she was getting impatient now. If she was still sick, he was the whelp's bestest bud. He frowned. OK, given the current non-existent state of certain people's social lives, maybe that wasn't the greatest analogy...

"Makin' you toast, pet," he called back. Always a good sign when yelling was the primary form of communication in a household. Made him feel right at home. Just so long as he didn't get too comfy, get too used to...

"Ooh! With peanut-butter? And peach jelly?"

He scrunched up his nose in distaste. But if that's what the Slayer's horrible taste demanded... "Whatever you want," he shouted back.

"And can I have yogurt, too? With honey in it?"

He made a face. "You're shittin' me, Summers," he accused.

"Am not!"

He chuckled. She sounded just like his Platelet right then when she forgot that she was trying to be "all mature and stuff." It wasn't a side Buffy showed to him often. Or, well, ever. The fever might've been gone, but the openness that had come with her illness was still there.

Slayer shields down to 15%...

He froze in horror, looked around nervously, and realized with a sigh of relief that he'd only thought that and – even if he had said it out loud – there was no one near enough to hear him. Just to make extra sure, however, he decided to use the ever-handy scapegoat. "Bleedin' Harris. Corruptin' me with his wanker-shows..."

Patting himself on the back for a job well done, he took the toast from the toaster – it was all right that half the toast was black and the other half was still cool from the fridge, right? – and plopped it on the much-used-and-abused tray next to her rather unfortunate taste in condiments.

"What's taking you so long?"

"Bloody bitch," he grumbled under his breath. He still took the tray up to her, though. Even tossed aside the notion of getting a little revenge. God, he was pathetic...

The way she smiled shyly at him made him feel anything but, though. He'd sort of expected her to take the tray from him, but she just sat there so he had to lean all the way over her lap, catch himself a whiff of the scent of her sweat.

Her nose scrunched up at the state of the toast at first, but she didn't complain about that. "You couldn't have put the peanut-butter on yourself?"

He snorted. Like he was the lazy one here! "So very sorry, pet," he retorted, lip curled. "Need me to peel a few grapes for you while 'm at it? Got any peas under your bed that need removing? Or, hey, how about—?"

"A word of advice?" She cut him off with a roll of her eyes. "Customer service? Sooo not for you."

"Seems to me it wasn't for you, either," he retorted. Casting an accusing glance at the back-breaker disguised as an armchair, he sat down on the end of her bed. It was a bit of a gamble, yeah, but if she yelled at him, he'd just point out that he'd brought her bloody breakfast in bed.

She didn't complain. "Oh yeah, that proves that we're soul mates," she muttered.

He raised one eyebrow. "Never said that," he countered.

She turned intently to peanut-buttering her toast. Once she was satisfied with that, she turned to stirring honey into her yogurt. Internally, he berated himself for souring her mood, but she was the one who'd brought up the 's'-word, now wasn't she?

"Mom used to make the best peanut-butter and jelly toast," she commented absentmindedly, eating her food.

"Yeah, well, no one can compete with that." He studied his fingernails carefully. Now, see, this was the sort of time when he needed the nail polish so that he'd have something to pick at. With no other choice, he settled for trying to get the dirt out. "'m not your mum, either."

"No," she agreed, "you're not."

There was a knowing cadence to her voice that made him look her. And he was surprised to find that she was looking at him intently, scrutinizing him almost, as if he were a particularly fascinating specimen she'd never seen before.

"You piss me off and make crappy toast and follow me around a-and say the stupidest thing at just the wrong time, and you're as far from perfect as you can get," she suddenly ranted, seemingly out of nowhere.

He tried to hide behind his black leather armor, shield the pain in his heart. But he knew only too well that it all shone through in his eyes. And, for once, she actually seemed to be looking, to be seeing. Damn.

"You've got all these faults, and they make you so...real." She breathed the word out like a caress, and suddenly it turned an insult into a sort of backhanded compliment. "You're the most alive person I know, and it makes me want to..." She shrugged.

"Want to...?" Fuck, like he was letting her get away with it this time. Fever gone meant no squirming out of traps she walked herself into.

She shrugged. "Tell you."

Now, he knew that wasn't what she'd been about to say. Was about to open his mouth to say so, too...

"B-Because you're here. Still. You're the one that stays and..." She trailed off again, and this time he let her. It was probably about as close to a declaration of love as he was ever going to get out of her, even if it was more of a declaration of understanding, maybe a little respect and affection thrown in to the mix.

She looked horribly embarrassed, though, and her yogurt had apparently become endlessly fascinating once more. Probably the shock of being nice to him was finally catching up to her. Best to distract her from her troubles. After all, it was what he did.

"You plannin' on napping after breakfast," he looked at the clock, "er...lunch?"

She finished off her yogurt. "After being unconscious for pretty much all of yesterday? I think I've gotten enough sleep to last me through eternity."

"Hmm." He took the tray from her and set it down on her desk before returning to the bed, scootching in just close enough that his body was at the borderline of her comfort zone. "Hafta come up with something to do with ourselves this afternoon then, right, pet?" He put an extra little grumble into his voice, and he could tell it paid off when her pupils dilated and her body's pheromones began responding to his presence.

"I..."

"Little thing 've picked up over the years," he purred. Oh, he was getting into this now. She was going to kill him, but it would so be worth it to see the look on her face. "Been practicin' up my skills for decades now, just in case 've ever got a lady who needs somethin'...consuming..."

"I-I don't think..."

He leaned in close so that his lips almost brushed her ear. He could feel her warm exhale against his cheek. No fever today. Just pure Buffy Summers fire. He smirked as a little tremor raked through her body at his nearness and dug around in his duster pocket for the object he was looking for.

"Nothin' wrong with passing a few hours in pleasurable company." He leaned in closer, and she didn't pull away. Oh yes, he was distracting her quite nicely... "So," his voice dropped to a husky whisper, "ladies always deal first." He dropped the deck of cards into her lap and pulled back, thoroughly chuffed.

She blinked in confusion for a second before she realized he'd led her deliberately astray. "Jack-ass!" she exclaimed, fuming. Somehow, one of her pillows ended up hurled at his head at frightening speed.

"Of course, if you want to romp among the pillows with me instead, 'm more than happy to oblige." He caught the pillow up from the floor where it had landed after impacting with his head – right in the nose, as usual – and handed it back to her.

She gave him a look and then started shuffling.

Feeling very self-satisfied and downright giddy that she'd almost let him get away with seducing her, he lay across the end of the bed and watched her, smirk firmly in place.

"What are we playing?" she asked petulantly.

"Whatever you want, baby. I know 'em all. Decades of experience, remember?" He curled his tongue up under his teeth and leered at her.

With a wicked smile on her face, she placed the deck between them. "Slap-Jack, it is."

And he gulped. Slayer strength plus that vengeful gleam equaled pain for good old Spikey. But it seemed to be a playful sort of pain, and any game she wanted to play, he'd willingly follow. It was a good life and hell all at once. Especially since she hadn't cut her nails...

A soft sigh caused Spike to look up from his game of Solitaire. Subconsciously, he rubbed at the pink flesh on the back of his left hand. Slayer had quite a slap, and (un)luckily for him, her reflexes were pretty much consistently just a split-second behind his. It made for many brutal assaults on the back of his hand with, of course, her full Slayer strength getting into the game on top of everything else.

In fact, he'd almost been relieved when she'd fallen asleep halfway through their third game. He didn't much fancy crying 'uncle' and watching that smug smile cross her face.

Her sleeping face, now that was another matter. He'd rather enjoyed himself these last few hours, lying beside her in bed, only half paying attention to the games of Solitaire before him, and drinking in her every movement with his eyes. Occasionally, she'd murmur in her sleep. Sometimes it was a distressed murmur, and he'd stroke her hair softly and whisper nonsense to her. And sometimes it was a happy murmur, and he'd allow himself the brief delusion that she was dreaming of him the way he'd dreamed of her so often.

But, for the most part, she'd just lain there silently, deep within her sleep, perfectly comfortable having him right there by her side. It was a gesture of trust he didn't think he'd be able to repay if he lived to be a thousand.

Another sigh escaped her lips, and he watched her eyelashes flutter. So fine and delicate. In fact, so much about this girl looked delicate and feminine, while underneath was a strength even greater than his own. The best of all worlds. Was it any wonder, really, that he was madly in love?

"Mmm..." Her eyes blinked open to meet his. Not even a moment of hesitation, and she smiled. "You let me fall asleep?"

"Need your rest, luv," he reminded her softly.

She stretched slowly, languidly. "How long?"

"Almost three hours."

"And you just sat there bored out of your mind all that time?" she asked in disbelief.

Hard to explain to her that watching her sleep had been anything but boring to him. It was also exactly the sort of thing that would freak her out. So he just shrugged it off.

"OK, then. I guess your persistence more than makes up for your total lack of bedside manner. And your cooking skills." She scrunched up her nose lightly, but she was smiling, turning it into a joke rather than an insult.

"All evens out then, right?" he countered, head cocked to one side as he looked at her. "And you have no idea how persistent I can be..."

She gulped, her cheeks flushing. "I think I'm starting to get an idea," she admitted softly. She sat up, clutching the sheet to her chest unnecessarily given that she was still wearing those thick pajamas. "It's almost two," she added, seemingly out of the blue.

He blinked at the clock. "Huh? Right..."

"Don't you watch that dorky show now?"

He shrugged again. "Figure lookin' out for you is more important. And how did you know what time—?"

"You're not gonna watch?" she asked, sounding somewhat disappointed.

He froze up at that. "You want me to go, just say so," he retorted, tone bland as he hid behind every emotional shield he had.

She rolled her eyes. "God, are you always this flighty? I meant, I'm sick and in the mood for mind-numbing television."

It took him a moment to process these facts. Sort of a case of 'once burnt, four million times shy'. Logically, he arrived at the appropriate conclusion. But something deep inside him still couldn't believe... "You wanna watch with me?"

"Yes, please," she announced with a bounce and a cat who ate the canary smile. The smile of a girl who'd just gotten her way. With him. The world must have been ending...

"Uh...sure..." He got beyond his surprise at the situation to the inherent humor therein. "You gonna be strong enough to walk downstairs, or do I have to carry you, too?"

She licked her lips, and that sweet scent of arousal came back to him. Damn. The notion was giving the Slayer ideas, too. But, finally, she just rolled her eyes at him, slipped on her slippers, and headed downstairs.

He followed after. Like a good little puppy. And kicked his thoughts while he was at it. He found her curled up on one end of the couch with a blanket, the television already on. He gave her a quizzical look and bit, sitting on the other end of the couch.

"So, like, that's the really lame guy my mom liked, right?" Only a hint of sadness when she mentioned her mother. Of course, most of it was probably deep inside. "And you're obsessed with the puppet?" Her nose scrunched up in distaste. "Did I ever mention I have a fear of dummies?"

"A miracle you keep Harris around then," he grumbled under his breath. He caught her scowling at him and gave her the most innocent look he could manage.

"Play nice," she retorted. And then, with a sigh, she lay down, pillowing her head on his thigh. "People actually watch this show?" she asked in disbelief at the summary in the 'previously on' bit.

His entire body had tensed the instant her cheek touched his thigh, and he was half convinced he was going to rupture something if his muscles didn't loosen up soon. Bloody good thing he didn't need to breathe, or he'd have passed out by now.

"You're comfy," she commented absentmindedly. Her fingers found a loose thread by the knee of his jeans and began playing with it absentmindedly.

Oh, this was sweet torture, indeed. It felt like his whole leg was on fire. But not the painful, dusty sort of fire. More like there was a fire within her, warming his dead flesh, making him come alive again for the first time in far too long. Certain parts of him were certainly stirring once more.

She asked him some question. Little and inane, he knew, but his mind just seemed unable to wrap itself around the words and decipher their meaning. He grunted in response, and apparently that satisfied her. She snuggled against him a bit more, squirming in his lap, and he bit his lip to stifle a groan. This had to be simultaneously the most satisfying and unsatisfying hour of his entire unlife.

And, hey, he missed the whole episode. Good thing he'd set the VCR back at home...

He realized belatedly that she'd been quiet for quite some time. And somehow his hand had come to rest on her back, rubbing small circles into her spine. "You awake, Slayer?" he asked cautiously.

"Mmm..." she murmured in agreement, shifting in his lap and...

"Bugger." He tried to pull back in time, but he wasn't fast enough to keep her cheek from rubbing accidentally against the monster in his pants.

She froze for a second, wide-eyed, before practically leaping back off his lap. "Uh...I...uh..." Her cheeks flushed bright red, and she looked pointedly anywhere but at his lap.

And, with that, his twenty-four hours of bliss ended. The Slayer might tolerate him, might accept – even welcome – his company. Might play games and smile. Might even enjoy a bit of harmless flirting. But, in the end, she didn't want him the way he wanted her, and that was never going to change.

He rose hastily. "Right. Best be off, then." He gestured to the television where the end credits were rolling, but they both knew it was the flimsiest excuse in history.

"It's daylight," she pointed out, but she still wasn't looking at him. "Hey!" she exclaimed in protest when he snatched up the blanket that was around her. "That's mine."

"'ll try not to catch it on fire," he retorted gruffly, wrapping it over his head. He found his coat by the door and grabbed that, too.

"I'm still sick." There was a whimper in that voice that almost stopped him, but Junior wasn't the only part of his body aching right now.

"Bit'll be home from school in a few minutes. Be home all weekend, too." And, with that, he fled into the light.

Coward. One half of his mind was insisting.

Realist. The other countered.

Spike tried to ignore them both as he made the dash for the sewer entrance, tried to see the bright side of all this. After all, alone in his crypt, at least he'd have the privacy to alleviate the tension that had been building horribly after a day surrounded by her presence, her scent, the sound of her heartbeat...

It was a cold comfort.

Mih. I couldn't resist the urge to have one mildly angsty part. ~_^ More to come soon, of course...