'Two weeks, two sodding miserable weeks.'

Spike glared at the bottom of his very empty glass and sighed. It'd taken him about ten days to get himself sorted out, the rest of the time he'd sulked in the bottom of a bottle. Thankfully, the now absent demon-girl had come through for him and now he was a not so proud homeowner. 'At least there's dosh rolling in from the rent.' He snorted and reached for the bottle of tequila and filled the glass to the rim. Good thing she had too, otherwise he'd have been picking vengeance demon from his nashers and to hell with her boss.

He winced at the tentative knock on his door. "Anyanka, wherever you are, I hope you know you're a sneaky bint and have a twisted sense of humour."

He drained the tequila with relish and let the tumbler fall from his fingers onto the table with a clatter. Pushing himself away with flourish, Spike mentally braced himself and swung open the loft door. "Wotcha Peaches, how's it hangin?" Spike rocked back on his heels and smirked at the wretch looming in his doorway and wondered why he'd ever looked up to him back in the day. "Not very low, I imagine," Spike sniggered. He hooked his thumbs into his waistband and smirked at his visitor.

Angel glared at his sozzled protégé, disappointment limning every feature of his normally stoic face. He was tired of constantly having to come get Spike from his place to go patrol. He ignored the small voice inside reminding him that it was only four nights rather than the eternity it felt like since the peroxided menace had invaded his unlife, again. But part of him was still sulking over the blatant refusal of Spike to live with him, so he wasn't inclined to be fair. He'd hoped that on some level that familial links and responsibility would've led to them spending time together. He was lonely, and tired of being on the outside looking wistfully in.

Instead, Spike had disappeared that first night, had stayed gone for a week and then reappeared in his life. Announcing himself in the bold brash way that seemed to have become his signature. He still could hear the caterwauling of Johnny Rotten and his so-called band.

The first morning the sound had echoed down the stairwell he'd fallen out of bed, positive it was the end of the world. As it was he'd only just gotten to bed, having spent the night shadowing Buffy while she fought and beat a cadre of vampires. Tired and lonely, he'd stumbled to bed still clothed, and fallen into a shallow sleep. Until he'd heard the not so dulcet voice of someone screeching about masturbating in the ships rigging – not something Barry Manilow had ever sung about.

"Peaches, wot you doing here?" Spike asked with a malicious grin, knowing full well why his Grandpops was standing there looking constipated. Well, as constipated as a vampire could on a liquid diet. He still couldn't figure out why Angel didn't eat. The tastes, textures and sensual experience of all foods was something he could never do without – he was not one for self-flagellation.

Angel shuffled from foot to foot; he was still nurturing a grudge over recent events, especially his new landlord. Angel sighed again and looked Spike in the eyes and wondered why he was having to pay rent to his pain in the arse Grandchilde. "Patrol," he muttered.

"Oh right, time to go be manly men and battle things that go bump in the night." Spike rolled his eyes, mentally cursing his lot in life and also having to have an Angel-sized pain in the arse limpet. Without another word, Spike slammed the door shut in Angel's face and stomped around his apartment, muttering under his breath. All his delaying tactics had finally run dry. Tonight was the fifth night he'd participated in the slippery slope of betraying his kind. He hated it, and having to lurk around gawping at the luscious arse of the Slayer like Humbert Humbert was starting to get on his wick. He was giving Angel one more night to introduce him and if he didn't then all bets were off.

Spike snatched up his duster and stuffed a couple of stakes Anyanka had gifted him with. Right smart ones with engraved and embossed silver handles, hiding a nasty surprise for his enemies. He'd discovered the hidden buttons in the embossed work, which released a thin silver blade from the base of both. Impressive weapons for a dirty fighter, she'd said with a grin. He swung his duster over his shoulders and then rocked on his heels, this was it. After this night, there was no going back.

"Spike, come on. I overheard Giles tell Buffy to patrol down by the docks. I want to follow her and make sure she's safe," Angel called, impatience colouring his voice and making him sounds surly. His dreams and hopes of having a protégé to mentor had not included chasing Spike around and trying to get him to help him.

"You mean you're going to stalk the bint and watch broodingly from the shadows," Spike muttered under his breath.

"You do realise she is the Slayer and can look after herself," Spike teased as he yanked his door shut and leapt agilely over the banisters, landing four floors down. Nonchalantly dusting himself off, he sauntered out of his apartment block and into the night, trailed faithfully but resentfully by his Grandsire.

~~~~~~~~~~

"Do we have to lurk behind the barrels of rotting fish? Not very vamplike, is it? Lacks a bit of class," Spike groaned. He lifted his duster and stared balefully at the suspicious smelling water stains. "Remember when we were the Scourge of Europe? Those were the days...Hang about. Even then you were one for running around and hiding in mine shafts." Spike frowned and looked over at Angel, 'he'd always been a pansy even when he didn't have a sodding soul!'

"Shhh...there she is!" Angel gasped and pulled Spike down next to him.

"What the fuck," Spike snarled as his backside became intimately acquainted with a heap of fish guts. 'Oh ruddy brilliant, wonder if I can rip his head off without anyone hearing him scream.'

Spike opened his mouth to let Angel have it and then abruptly slammed his mouth shut at the cow eyed look of love in Angel's eyes. 'Oh, for the love of Mike...he looks like a sweaty palmed virgin gawping at his first love.' Spike shuddered at the calf eyes and turned to look in the direction of where Angel's eyes were riveted.

He licked his lips at the sight of the Slayer. "Dressed to thrill, isn't she?" he teased, despite knowing that Angel would knock him on his arse, but the brooding nit was an easy target and he couldn't resist.

"Shhh, that's not nice, Spike," Angel whispered, his doting eyes never leaving Buffy's face. Spike stared at Angel, his sharp blue eyes missing nothing. The look that the brunette vamp was gifting the Slayer was one of adoration and adulation. Spike raised a scarred brow and his lips curled into a half smile. 'Well now...that's interesting.' He saw the bird as an ideal, not a flesh and blood woman with needs and dreams.

That could only end in tears, Spike shook his head at Angel and resisted the urge to light up.

~~~~~~~~~

"Stupid Giles, sending me down here. Doesn't he realise, fresh nubile girl on docks at night equals disgusting old farts perving on me? And thinking I'm a hooker." Buffy kicked at the ground and pouted. "I am soooo not a skanky ho-bag." Buffy pulled her jacket around her tank top and surreptitiously tried to pull her mini skirt down as far as she could get it to go.

She froze mid-step and stared around her suspiciously, her sharp eyes scanning the shadows and the boats docked. Shrugging, Buffy carried on walking. She'd been positive that there had been a snort of laughter and then a scuffle.

"Now if I were a stinky old demon, where would I be?"

"Behind you! Oh bollocks..." a voice shouted from the shadows. Buffy whirled around and received a mouthful of demon fist. She went flying over the side of the docks and hit the water with a resounding splash.

Spike slapped a hand over his traitorous mouth and leapt after Angel, yelling, "You get the slimey git, I'll get the girl." With that, he barrelled past a stuttering Angel and leapt with a howl of glee into the briny depths.

"Wait, no...I'll get the..." Angel growled once and then sprang into action. He fought the Gishgar demon half-heartedly; he wanted to be the one leaping into the sea saving her. Not Spike.

Angel's head reeled back from a blow and he snarled angrily, spitting blood and what looked suspiciously like an incisor out onto the wooden docks. He threw himself at the pale yellow demon with a roar, letting his game face slip to the fore. He sent a sharp jab to the throat of the Gishgar and then proceeded to get the stuffing beaten out of him by the slithery aquatic demon..

Spike hit the oily water with a resounding splash. He sent a mental glare at Anyanka as he felt himself start to sink. 'Sodding wish.' He vamped out and tried to pierce the murky gloom of the filthy water, searching for a shock of blonde hair. Swimming in the direction of some bubbles, he scanned the dark depths. Keeping his mouth shut—not wanting to swallow bilge from Guatemala or anywhere else for that matter—he saw it towards the rapidly petering out bubbles. He had no idea what would happen to him if the Slayer snuffed it; his curse was tied into her and for now he was stuck with it.

Above his head, Angel fought tooth and nail, his concentration divided between the fight and the water below him. His face was cut in several places from the demon's razor sharp fins and his left eye was swelling shut. He fell to his knees when another of the Gishgar's friends appeared and slammed a packing crate over the dark haired vampire's head.

With a series of clicks and pops, the two demons communicated swiftly and then heaved Angel's slumped form off and disappeared into the night.

~~~~~~~~~

Spike squinted through the sludgy murk and then let out a mental whoop of success. He could see a thin red thread of blood spiralling up from the depths just to his right and below him. He swam downwards, his amber eyes piercing the gloom. Spike reached down and grabbed hold of the limp wrist that was floating just under him and pulled hard.

Two dark heads broke the surface of the water, neither of them drawing a breath of the air around them.

"Come on, pet. Let's get you somewhere warm." Spike grunted and then swore long and loudly when he realised she wasn't breathing. Her soft full lips were turning blue as he lugged her over his shoulder and climbed the rickety ladder before tossing her onto the abandoned dock.

"Peaches, get over here and help her," Spike shouted as he rolled Buffy's lax form onto her back. Her hair was plastered to her face and her clothes were clinging wetly to her still form.

"Oh buggery," Spike rolled her onto her side and smacked her on the back, watching as what appeared to be gallons of water poured out of her slack mouth. Pushing her onto her back again, he began to give her mouth-to-mouth. He mentally thanked himself for being a smoker and using his lungs more often than other vamps, ensuring his body had never really forgotten how to breathe. Then he noticed how sweet her lips tasted and how they gave under his firm pressure. 'She tastes like honeyed wine.'

Kneeling over her, he began to count out the gentle pumps to her heart. Watching and waiting for her to take a breath, he wasn't sure how long a mortal could survive like this. In the past he usually left them for dead, not worked on keeping one alive—especially a Slayer. Those he'd killed and left in the dust without a backward glance. But this one was different. It almost seemed like they were tied together by dumb luck and curses – but he wondered if it was something more than that.

Spike shook his head, and pushed aside the musings of a Williamesque nature. "Not now, Spike. Sod the 'what ifs' and 'wouldn't it be nice's' and focus on the drowned rat who'll decide the fate of your unlife. Breathe you sodding bint, breathe!" he chanted, pumping hard at her chest. He lunged down and began to give her mouth-to mouth again. His demon purred at the miniscule amounts of blood that were seeping into his mouth from her spilt lip.

Spike ignored the shaking in his hands, dismissing it as a reaction to the cold of the water. He pushed her hair off her face, mentally noting its softness. He covered her mouth and puffed more air in, a prickle of fear running down his spine. 'Come on, gorgeous. Breathe for Spike, stop bloody scaring the fangs out of me.'

And then she answered his mental pleas.

Buffy lurched upwards and turned her head and coughed up some more water. Great heaving coughs that cleared the water and helped her breathe again. She greedily sucked in the night air in massive gulps.

Spike rocked back on his heels and stared down at the girl he'd just saved. He, the Slayer of Slayers, William the Bloody had just saved a Slayer's life. He was damned, his rep was toast and if he wasn't careful, then he'd be a target.

But then she turned her hazel eyes up at him and he blinked, all thoughts gone as her hand reached up and caressed his mouth.

"Pretty..."she seemed to whisper in awe.

With that, Buffy passed out.