Lucky Number

Chapter Three

Buffy had been standing at the cemetery gates for five minutes, indecision and obligation combining to glue her feet to the ground. She really had to thank Spike for saving her life when they went up against the Forgath demon. He'd pulled her out of the rubble, kept her calm, killed the demon and crawled on hands and knees through the tunnels with her unconscious body on his back. That had to qualify him for some Buffy gratitude.

Of course, if he hadn't been following her, she might have killed the demon before he brought the tunnel down on top of her. And she'd saved him as well by clearing away the rocks that had landed on his back. But it was a little unrealistic to expect an evil vampire to write a k yok you note.

Sighing, Buffy faced the truth. She was too embarrassed to go to Spike's crypt. It had been two days since the cave incident and he hadn't been near the Magic Box or her house. He should have healed by now - she had after all - but it was possible that he had been hurt more than she realised. Her forehead creased slightly as it occurred to her that he might have been staying away to spare her feelings. Was Spike capable of that much delicacy and sensitivity?

Unbn, an, a memory of his husky voice unfurled in her mind like the petals of a rose in the noonday sun. He had spent an hour reassuring and encouraging her as she lay trapped, struggling to move the rocks that pinned them down. His words had been spiced with his own, particular brand of sarcasm but that had spurred her on more than anything. And he hadn't once mentioned what had happened before she began to move the rocks, almost as if it had been as dreamlike for him as it had for her.

Ten minutes of hesitating now - and a scream from the cemetery solved her dilemma. Rolling her eyes at the stupidity of people who lived in Sunnydale and went anywhere near a graveyard at night, no matter if it was a short cut, she began to run. "They save, what, five minutes?" she muttered as her feet pounded against the grass. "And that's worth the risk of losing sev pin pints of blood, your soul and oh, yes, the rest of your life?"

She hurdled a gravestone and landed on the back of a tall vampire who was menacing a pair of young lovers. Their attempt at finding a quiet place to cuddle had turned into a nightmare. They still held each other close but their eyes were squeezed tight in terror and their mouths were open in a scream.

Buffy had a stake in her hand and she aimed as she jumped, the momentum pushing the stake throuhe vhe vampire's back and dusting him before her feet smacked down on the turf. She looked at the cowering teens and smiled a little grimly. "You can open your eyes now," she informed them. "And - word of advice? Stay out of places like this. It's really not a romantic spot what with the corpses and the dying violently. Trust me."

She got mumbles in return, incoherent attempts at thanking her, and then they shot off, heading for the bright lights of town, innocence shattered, the t fot forever rendered unfriendly. Buffy watched them go, arms folded, feeling very old.

"I think it's romantic here," said a voice she knew too well.

"You have different definitions of lots of words, Spike," Buffy said, not turning around, feeling a quiver of anticipation deep and low. Her heart began to hammer and she took a calming breath, spinning on her heel to face him.

He was a few yards away, leaning casually against a crypt, hands dug deep into the pockets of his duster, the moonlight shimmering on his white-gold hair. He looked almost tranquil, his mouth not curled in a sneer, his eyes friendly, if wary.

"How do you mean?" he asked, wanting the conversation to continue. To his experienced eyes, Buffy looked ready to bolt. If she did, he would have lost his final chance to build on what had happened in the cave. With a determination that he wisely kept buried, he began the fight to keep her close.

Buffy held up her hand, ticking off words on her fingers as she prepared to elaborate. "Obsession is love, pain is pleasure, killing is fun -"

She heard the snap of his leather coat but she didn't see him move. Suddenly he was in front of her, his eyes gleaming angrily. Her breath caught in her throat and unthinkingly her chin came forward in a gesture of defiance. This was Spike. She was the Slayer. She wasn't backing down. Ever.

The anger left his face and he chuckled, the sound caressing and intimate. "You got two out of three right, Buffy. Want to guess which one you missed?"

She compressed her lips and gave an impatient shrug of her shoulders. "Why don't you tell me?" she suggested.

He opened his mouth and she held up a hand, halting him. "No, wait. I see where this is going," she said unexpectedly. "You'll annoy me until I punch you and we'll be back to normal. That's not why I - that's not what I want."

Spike felt as if she _had_ punched him. He was lost and bewildered. "What do you want then, love?" he said, his tone gentle, not suggestive. He seemed to be genuinely curious.

Buffy glanced around. "Can we go to your place?" she said.

Spike reached out and cautiously prodded her with one finger. "You feeling OK, Slayer? Because I have to say this mood of yours is unsettling."

She smiled, feeling the balance of power shift towards her. "Good."

***

Inside the crypt, Spike settled down on the stone slab he used for a bed sometimes and looked levelly at the adversary he had come to love and desire. Truthfully, there was no battle left to fight between them. Buffy had won the war when he fell in love with her. She didn't know it, of course, and he was damned if he was going to tell her, but she could strip away every layer of attitude that he had built up around him with one smile. Not that he could remember being on the receiving end of many Slayer smiles.

He had stayed away from her, not out of consideration for her feelings, but because he wanted to protect the memory of them being together. It was as fragile and as beautiful as an iridescent soap bubble. If she popped it with a scornful glance, a cutting sentence, shamed him in front of the Scoobies - and she was quite capable of all of those - he had a feeling that his reaction wouldn't be pretty. Ironic really; he was protecting his memory of Buffy from the reality of Buffy.

His head tilted and his eyes narrowed as he considered her. She was biting her lip and she looked flushed. With arousal? He picked up her scent. Hmm, yes, more than a little. But she was apprehensive too. He wondered why.

"So what did your pals think of our little adventure?" he asked suddenly. She flinched and he pursed his lips. Touched a nerve had he? "Giles going to come around and award me a medal for saving his Slayer?" he pressed. She looked miserable and he nodded with dour satisfaction. "Thought as much," he remarked. "You didn't bloody well tell them, did you?"

"I was unconscious!" she protested, shifting uneasily and glancing at the door.

"No, you weren't."

"How do you know?"

"You really think I'd haul you miles and then dump you where any passing nasty could take a bite? I was going to take you home when I heard the cavalry arrive. Like the gentleman I'm not, I decided to sod off home instead of getting earache about me standing over your limp and helpless body." He smirked. "Or are you going to tell me Xander would've asked questions and then thumped me? Way my ribs were aching, I decided tss."ss."

"I was going to tell them but I was, well, confused. When I remembered everything, they all assumed I was alone and well -"

Spike threw his head back and stared at the roof in disbelief. "You didn't have to share all the details! You could've just told them I bumped into you in the woods and you asked me to tag along as a back up. No one would've raised an eyebrow at that. And I'd have got some credit for being a bloody hero for a change."

Buffy looked abashed. "I should have done. I'm sorry." Her voice grew stronger. "And - thank you. You saved my life. Thanks."

Spike jumped off the slab and walked to her, his face open and defenceless. "How do you _do_ that?" he whispered.

"Do what?" she asked, taking an involuntary step towards him.

"I'm angry with you, ready to rip into you and you just, you say that, and it's like I'm gutted. Some weapon." He smiled ruefully. "Something they teach you at Slayer school is it?"

Buffy grinned, a flash of humour lighting up her face. "I think it's more a girl thing," she confided. They shared a smile.

She thought for a second and then looked at him, mischief in her eyes. "I'll give you a choice," she said. "As a reward for being a hero, I'll either tell them what you did or you can, uh, kiss me." Her voice stumbled over the last words and she cringed at the look on his face. Disillusionment wiped out his momentary happiness that she'd both apologised and thanked him.

He turned his back on her and strode across to a bottle of vodka on a rickety table. Taking a long swallow, he looked at her with contempt. "Nice choice, Buffy. You offer to do what you should have done in the beginning and tell them. But you don't really want to, do you? So you dangle a kiss as well, hoping that my 'obsession' makes me choose that. And, oh, look at this. Not only do you avoid an embarrassing sharing of the glory but you get what you really came Ano Another taste."

Buffy shook her head, tears stinging her eyes. "No!" she protested weakly.

Spike was relentless. "Going to tell me you haven't thought about it?"

Buffy looked at the floor of the crypt, summoning up all her courage. Raising her eyes she stared at Spike, her flush fading. Three steps brought her within arm's reach and she stood before him. "I've thought about it," she admitted. "And I've thought about what it means, too. If I'd been trapped like that with Xander, it wouldn't have happened." Spike made a heartfelt sound of relieved and disgusted assent that almost made her giggle, despite her misery. "I thought I was going to die, I was terrified by the idea of being trapped in the dark and I used you to calm down because I knew you would -"

"Rise to the occasion?" he asked with a wicked smile.

She came perilously close to pouting. "Yes."

Spike nodded thoughtfully. "No strings, no guilt, no worries? Charming." He studied her. "Want another chance?" he asked quietly.

Her eyes flew to his face, startled. He sighed. "Another chance to 'reward' me," he clarified. Suspicion lurked in her eyes but contrition made her nod. Spike smiled slowly and drew her over to the long sofa he'd managed to haul from the dump with a little help from Clem. Sitting down so close to her that his knees touched hers, he faced her and closed his eyes slowly.

"Count them," he said simply. "Get it right and you can do as you like. Kiss and tell, stay quiet, anything."

Buffy gasped as she realised that he'd heard her words to Giles but Spike's eyes remained firmly shut. "And if I get it wrong?" she asked, her voice hesitant.

"I'll think of something," he promised darkly.

Buffy shivered and then rallied. "How do you know the number anyway?" she asked.

Spike opened one eye a crack. "I've been in this body for nearly two hundred years. I know all of it I can reach. Trust me. Eyelashs ths the least of it."

Buffy swallowed and said uncertainly, "W-well, fine. I'll count. Hold still."

For six minutes Spike endured darkness as Buffy tallied his lashes, one by one. They clustered so thickly that she sometimes reached out a fingertip to brush them apart, placing one hand on his thigh to brace herself. Her warm breath was like the sun on his face and her scent encircled him like a soft ocean breeze, invigorating and evocative. Finally she leaned back and said decisively, "Six hundred and three."

With his eyes still shut he drawled. "Wrong. Six hundred and four."

Buffy tapped him on the arm and he lazily lifted his eyelids. Silently, her face expressionless, she held out her hand. Lying in the palm was one eyelash, curved like a bow, dark against her skin.

"It fell out and I caught it," she said simply.

Spike nodded slowly, never taking his eyes off hers. "Thhe che choice is yours."

Buffy regarded him steadily. "I'll tell them."

Spike looked at her and smiled. "Can I watch?"

"Don't push it."

Buffy hesitated and then turned to walk away. Spike let her take three steps before saying her name. She turned to look at him, raising a cool eyebrow. Spike looked at the pulse hammering in her neck and smiled.

"You cheated," he said and crooked his finger. "Come here, Slayer."

Buffy looked indignant. "Did not!"

Spike stared at her and she cracked. "It was one of mine," she admitted.

"I know. It had mascara all over it. Did you hear me? Come. Here."

Once again Buffy felt frozen in place. Spike swore under his breath and got up from the sofa. Buffy found herself grabbed by the arms and kissed, an impatient, bruising kiss that simmered down into a leisurely exploration of her lips and throat. Spike raised his head, eyes focused and intent, hazy with passion. "That's for getting it wrong but still saying you'd tell," he drawled.

Buffy brushed a kiss over his full lower lip and her hand over the outline of his erection. "And for cheating?" she asked, her voice teasing and ripe.

Spike lifted up her hand and kissed each finger slowly, using his teeth and tongue to devastating effect. "For that? You get nine of the best."

"Isn't it usually six?" Buffy asked, wondering if he were serious.

Spike arched an eyebrow. "I know it was dark, Buffy, but really!"

The End