TITLE: Light At The End Of A Very Long Tunnel
AUTHOR: Barb (Once Bitten Spike) Stewart
PART: 1 of 2
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing, including my house. This was written out of my love for the series, Buffy The Vampire Slayer, and my fondness for a certain bleached blonde vampire. So sue me for copyright violation, and you'll get only blood. But please don't, as I am saving that for Spike.
DISTRIBUTION: You see it, you can have it, but why?
RATING: Maybe PG, for some language, and sexual innuendo.
SPOILERS: All the way up to and including 'I Was Made To Love You' Season 5
PAIRING: Spike is really trying hard to make it B/S
FEEDBACK: Stake me good and proper. Just kidding, don't hurt me!!!!! Unlessthis story really gags you, and then I'll break my typing fingers. There's only two of them, anyway. So there.
SUMMARY and NOTES: Spike's just being a home boy, minding his business, and Buffy comes to disturb him. Again. The only thing that's happened more times than this in Joss' universe, is them having to save the world. That's it.
DEDICATION: To all the people who sent me little stories and emails and included me in their fictions to cheer me up after the loss of a dog I'd had for eleven years. I needed that, and thank you!

Spike leaned closer to the television screen and squinted at the fuzzy picture. It seemed that his pilfered cable hookup was malfunctioning again. Or maybe it was just the VCR that he had 'borrowed' from the local Mall.

"Bugger it all! I must be losing my touch." He poked at some buttons and frowned. He could just make out the opening credits of his favorite daytime soap, 'Passions'. He used to lose sleep catching it during the day, thus the need for a VCR, but the show had become a habit, and he actually felt a bit panicked at the thought of missing an episode.

He scowled. How much lower could a vampire sink?

Perhaps, he thought, he could slip into the Slayers' house if they were all out somewhere, and see if Joyce had taped it. She loved it as much as he did. Hell, if Joyce was at home she'd probably watch it with him...maybe get out the cocoa and the...

He jerked in surprise as the door to the crypt burst open and hit the stone wall with a crash, the vibration causing the TV set to teeter on its' duct-taped stand. Spike steadied it with one hand while groping for a weapon with the other, but only came up with an empty beer bottle.

He leaped to his feet and whirled to face the door, landing in a defensive stance. When he saw that his killer demon was only the Slayer wearing her usual pissed off expression, he relaxed and walked over and flopped into the nearby chair.

"Door's open! Come on in!" he said, with a grand sweep of his hand. He took a sip from the not quite empty bottle, making a face at the bitter taste.

Seconds later he found himself tackled and flying through the air.

He landed hard on the stone floor underneath the tiny blonde Slayer. Buffy's hand was like a vice around his throat, her body straddling his in a way that could have been quite enjoyable if not for the fact that the stake she gripped in her other hand was jabbing him in the chest.

She was breathing heavily and he wondered if she'd sprinted all the way here from her house.

Spike couldn't be sure that she'd come from home but he figured it was possible since he'd seen her there, and he'd only just left his worn spot in the grass below her bedroom window about an hour before, due to running out of cigs.

He stayed completely still, not wanting to startle her into doing anything that he might die to regret.

"Buffy?" He queried, and to his horror, his voice sounded all squeaky. He tried again, still frozen. "Slayer?" It sounded a bit like Lauren Bacall that time, which wasn't great but would have to do.

Buffy glared down into his face for a moment longer and then shifted a bit and blinked down at him as if just realizing that she needed to do something besides lie there. Spike relaxed a little, partly due to the warm fuzzy feelings he was having below the belt buckle, but mostly because the stake had shifted a bit.

"What did I do this time, Slayer?"

It wasn't as if he was able to take a leak in the bushes around her house, for Christ's sake. He wasn't even sure she knew he was out there nearly every night.

He chanced a wriggle, and tried not to look too comfortable, even if there *was* a stake poised close to his heart.

"So, Blondie. You gonna get down to business here, or is this just a practice run?" He moved his hips suggestively. "Or is it something else you wanted?"

Realizing that she was giving him a happy, Buffy put her feet down, and stood up. Stashing her stake in her back pocket, she stepped over his still prone body , stalked to his chair and sat down in his recently vacated impression, noting that it was of course, not warm. She resumed glaring at him.

Becoming uncomfortable under her gaze, he arose from the floor in as dignifying a manner as possible and fished a pack of cigs from his back pocket. Lighting one and tossing the match, he blew the smoke in her general direction, and smiled.

"Y'know, Luv, it never ceases to amaze me, the differences between us. You carry a nasty sharp, bloody great splinter in your back pocket, while I have but a pack of smokes. Makes one wonder just who *is* the 'Big Bad', now doesn't it?"

In spite of herself, Buffy nearly grinned back at him, which was especially hard not to do when she saw his hand tremble as he lit the cigarette. Big Bad, indeed.

"Cut the chit-chat, Spike." Buffy jumped up from the chair and stood before him, her arms folded in what she hoped was a stern pose, not realizing how it enhanced Spikes' view down her shirt. "I'm here for some answers."

Spike was a bit rattled from the scenery but did his best to look her in the eye. Finally he gave up and snorted in disgust with himself. "Bloody close your shirt front, or step back a few, if you want me to pay attention."

Buffys' face turned bright red and she dropped her arms to her sides, but remained where she was, which suddenly seemed way too close. "Sorry."

"You should be."

"What?!"

"Comin' in here, half dressed, at this hour.."

"I am *not* half dressed, and it's not that late, and besides...". She trailed off as she saw by his smirk that he was baiting her and changing the subject, something that he excelled at.

"I want my shirt back, and I want it right now." She glared up at him.

Spike took a deep drag off of his cigarette, wondering as he often did, how he was able to do that, and replied, "Gone and lost some clothing somewhere Slayer? Been playing it a bit fast and loose, eh?"

Buffy continued. "I don't have time to banter this back and forth with you, Spike. My favorite sweatshirt is missing. The one that says 'I Love L.A.' on it. I want it back now, or your next home will be a dust buster."

Spike smiled, his half smoked cig hanging from one corner of his mouth. "The blue one with the frayed sleeves, all soft and smelling of fabric softener?"

"That's it."

"The one that you can wear wrong side out if you want to?"

"Yes."

"And it kind of slips down on one shoulder real sexy like..when you wear it?"

"That's the one..Uh..I mean, not the sexy part, but...Just give it to me!"

"Haven't seen it."

She ignored his low laughter, but her cheeks were pinking up nicely. "Spike, Angel sent me that shirt for my birthday. It can't possibly mean anything to you."

The blonde Vampire snorted and flicked some ashes onto the toe of Buffy's shoe.

"Why should it mean anything to me? If the big 'Poof' wants to send you an article of clothing instead of a dozen roses or a phone call, that's your problem." He made a mental note to himself to burn the shirt, first chance he got. Angel, indeed.

Now he wasn't going to bother to reveal that it had been her baby sister, the Nibblet, who had left the shirt in his crypt in the first place. Let her stew.

Buffy felt her blood pressure climbing. Looking over Spikes' shoulder she spied the missing cotton garment on top of the chunk of stone the vampire often napped upon.

She shoved past him and grabbed it, waving it triumphantly over her head.

"Gee, I wonder what this is, you lying sack of.."

In three long strides Spike was nose to nose with the Slayer, tossing his spent cig to the floor.

"Let's not resort to name calling, *Elizabeth*, or I'll be forced to join in as well!" Then he foolishly added, "'Little Miss Can't Keep a Man'!"

The swift punch landed him on the stone floor, blood from his nose splattering his shirt front. The nose. Why was it *always* the nose? Did she have a fixation?

Buffy stood shaking her hand, amazed at how hard she'd hit him. She hadn't meant to, and suddenly wished she hadn't even come to the crypt at all. Why did he bring out the bitch in her? He was only replying to her in the only way he knew how, and he hadn't really deserved a bloody nose. But she was not about to let him sense a chink in her armor.

"Get up from there and tell me, if you can form words that are not lies, *why* you seem to have half of my wardrobe in your crypt?" Yes, she knew about his little clothing fetish, but was having a hard time accepting it, anyway.

Spike was tired. She was always hitting him, sometimes before he could even get out a word of explanation, and it was getting monotonous.

"I like the view from the floor just fine, thank you very much. Knew I'd be down here soon's you came through the bloody door." He folded his arms behind his head. "So, if you don't mind, I'll just stay down here and make it harder for you to reach me."

Buffy sighed. Suddenly the whole thing was almost funny. Her recent past was a blur of things that she mostly did not want to remember.

Riley leaving her, Glory a constant threat to her family, the possibility of Drusilla still being nearby, and this stuff with Spike..feelings she was having towards him that she didn't care to examine, not to mention the ones that he'd declared for her. She could blow Spike's off as the wild fantasies of a sick vampire mind, but her own were harder to analyze.

She thought of the little Buffy Shrine that she had discovered in his 'basement' just before he had chained her up down there and made her listen to his proclamation of love. He was 'drownin' in her', indeed!

She nearly smiled, and then remembered the fact that he had fed from a human, and hadn't tried to stop the death in the first place. A new development in the chipped vampire file.

That was most definitely *not* funny.

Buffy walked slowly to where he lay looking up at the ceiling and stared down at him.

If she were truly the Slayer, she should have staked Spike long ago. If she were to drop dead on the spot at this very moment, wouldn't he drain her dry as swiftly as he had that poor guy at the Bronze? *Why* did she always walk away? Well, ok, she usually slugged him first, but still..Her eyes narrowed.

Spike tensed at the expression on her face, and wondered what was going through her mind, and if at last, this might be the end of the line for him. If her patience had finally run out. Or if she was just going to stomp him in the eye with her pointy heels.

When she sat down cross legged just behind him and took his head into her lap, it scared the hell out of him.

Not that it wasn't comfortable. Extremely so. Oh yeah, there was lots of warmth and comfy feelings pooling into mostly one region.

But while that alone would have been more than enough for the 'old Spike', there was suddenly a 'new and improved' version who was sensing that this was new territory for both of them.

In other words, (new Spike explained to old Spike who could be a bit dense) despite all her protesting to the contrary, Buffy was wavering in her resolve to hate him. What else could this mild version of a lap dance mean? Why wasn't she dropping his head on the floor about now, just to hear it thump? Just to remind him that he existed only for her amusement?

And why was she just sitting there staring into space with his head in her lap allowing his mind time to come up with wild fantasies?

As if in answer, she slapped his cheek lightly with one hand while keeping the other firmly under his chin, which forced him to look up at her.

"Wakey, wakey." She smiled grimly down at him.

"Huh?" was his brilliant reply.

"Sorry, I thought you'd fallen asleep. Your eyes were all glazed over like you were dead. Oh yeah, you are. I keep forgetting that part."

"Oh, HA HA. That's very droll, isn't it? Aren't you just the funniest little thing? Excuse me you silly bint, but you just knocked me across the bloody room and most of my last meal is leaking out, which, due to you clutching my head in your powerful slayer-grip, I can't lick back up. Do you mind?" He looked pointedly down at the hand that gripped his chin.

She looked down at him for a moment and allowed her expression to soften. "Spike, I have all day. And if it takes that long, you are going to explain to me why you keep following me, stealing my clothes, popping up wherever I go.."

She paused, then continued. "When I give you NO sign of any affection. When I break down your door constantly, and then follow it up by breaking your head! When I *de-invite* you from my home! Why? Why do you want me to abuse you? Are you a sicko? Do you get off on it?"

Spike smiled up at her as she looked down at him, their faces only inches away from each other. This was his chance. At last he could tell her how he felt, and this time, she wasn't even chained up. With wide, innocent blue eyes, he spoke.

"Y'know, Slayer, a woman your age needs to be more careful. Do you have any idea what gravity does to your face in that position?" Bloody Hell. The old version of Spike just hadn't been able to resist that one. He closed his eyes and made a face, waiting for the blow that was sure to make him see stars.

Buffy gave him what he expected. Disgusted that she had even tried to talk to him at all, she leaped to her feet and let his head fall back to the floor with a thud.

Then she gave him what he was *not* expecting. Before he could pick himself back up she landed on his chest, straddled him, and kissed him as hard as she could. It wasn't a peck, or a Scooby-type smooch, but a bruising hard kiss that continued until she ran out of air and realized that the blood on his face was on her tongue. Which meant it was all over her own face, as well.

"Eyeeew!!!" She sat up, still seated on him, wiping at her face wildly.

Spike didn't know if he should be offended or not. At least she wasn't spitting his blood out, not that it was his own blood, anyway, and she had kissed him, and he wasn't staked, and *Buffy had kissed him!*

No witches spell this time.

He'd likely have lain there all day thinking about it, but as she wriggled around on him he began having even more interesting thoughts and sensations.

And besides,... He was fairly sure that he'd heard one of his ribs crack. Buffy had his midsection in a vice like grip with her thighs. Such a tiny package, with such power. It never ceased to amaze him.

"Slayer." She ignored him and kept rubbing her face. "Buffy!" She peered down at him with the cutest little blood mustache.

"WHAT?"

"You're crushin' my bleedin' rib cage. Either get off, or come back down here and finish what you started!"

Buffy stood up and moved off of him swiftly in one fluid motion. She stalked back to his favorite chair and sat down in it heavily, all the fight gone out of her. Where the hell had that come from? She'd kissed him, yes, but it wasn't just a kiss. It was almost like she'd wanted to punish him with it, but she realized that the feeling she had now was not disgust, or even shock, but a kind of resignation. Her eyes widened and she moaned softly. Was it possible that she *did* have feelings for him? Was he right, after all?

And was she ever going to wipe this blood off of her face?

Spike scooted over to sit at her feet. Strike while the iron is hot. Or, in this case, while the stake is pocketed. Buffy had crossed her legs and was swinging one booted foot dangerously close to his ear. He grabbed it and stilled it, trying to keep his expression neutral.

"So, Slayer. What do we do next?" Spike had some ideas that he was going to keep to himself for the time being. They involved Slayer sweat. Lots of Slayer sweat.

"Shut up, Spike." She was wondering why she hadn't run out the door this time. Usually when she finished bashing things out with Spike, she stomped out of the crypt either in a huff or in victory, but the key word here was *out*. Why was she still there?

"Actually, I thought I was pretty quiet, under the circumstances. I didn't yell 'rape', or anything, did I?" He pretended to examine the sole of her shoe.

She found herself smiling back, pushing her inner questions aside for the moment.

"Well, Spike, that hardly surprises me, knowing how easy you are."

Spike sat with his jaw gaping for a moment, then replied. "Isn't that the bloody pot calling the kettle black?! I'm not the only one with an odd love life y'know! And I won't even bring the bleedin' great Poofter into this."

Buffy stopped smiling. "You'd better not. I left my dust buster at home."

Spike snorted, continuing to hold her booted foot, his fingers stroking the leather. He'd broken the unspoken rule. Never talk about Angel. "You can drop the threats, Slayer. If I had a nickel for every time.."

She jerked her foot from his grasp and bonked him on the head with it.

"OW!"

They continued to sit there for a few breaths (hers, not his) and she sighed. He was right, and there was no denying it. But she knew it wasn't love. She glanced at him as he wiped his nose with the back of his hand and licked the blood off. He turned away so she wouldn't see. Oh God. It just *couldn't* be love!

She changed the subject a bit. "So, the sweatshirt, all my other missing clothing, you just slip into my home whenever you like and take what you want. Don't you find that a little bit wrong?"

Her eyes widened. "Hey! I didn't miss that shirt till today! How did you get in? You *can't* get in!"

Oh dear. Buffy was glaring at him again. He decided that even if the bite sized one *had* left the stupid shirt in his crypt, he might as well come clean with the rest of it.

He folded his hands in his lap, and tried to look as innocent as a choirboy.

"Well, Slayer, there's a fox in your hen house...or is that a mole in your garden? Anyway, it seems that I have a sympathetic ear at your house. Did you really think you could keep me out? If it hadn't been one, it would have been the other. Joyce always enjoyed those little talks. The hot chocolate. The marshmallows...."

Buffy, distracted by the thought that Spike looked just like an evil choirboy realized what the vampire was getting at and tensed up in her seat.

"What? Who? When did this happen? You're making it up! You talked Dawn into forgiving you, and she's bringing you things, isn't she?"

"I talked the nibblet into doing more than that, Buffy."

She ignored the shiver. The one that ran clear down to her toes after making a stop in another area, at his use of her name. "What do you mean?" She hoped her voice wasn't shaky.

He put his chin on her knee ignoring her involuntary flinch and looked up at her, his feelings for her written all over his face.

"Come on, Luv. Your baby sister may be brand new at this 'life' thing, but she isn't stupid. She knows damned well I'd never hurt you, or her, or your mom. I extend that to your bloody little Scooby gang, Giles, and even Xander. And believe me, *that* aint' easy. If you only knew how often I've thought about breaking *his* neck. 'Evil Dead', indeed!!"

"So, in your own comforting little way, you're trying to tell me that Dawn invited you into the house?" Buffy sagged in the chair. This was it. This was the breaking point.

Part Two



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