Pushing the door of the crypt shut behind him, Spike slumped down against it with a low sigh of exhaustion.

He had stayed with Buffy, soothing her, trying to calm her, to convince her she wasn't to blame for Willow's death at the hands of the Nyala. Finally, she had given up, curled against his chest and cried herself to sleep.

It was the worst torture he could imagine, seeing her hurting like that, blaming herself for everything that had happened. He wished he could turn the clock back, stop it from happening at all, maybe even change things.

Even so, he knew he would hate to have another day like that. Nothing and no one could possibly ever change the arrangements of time for even a moment of happiness in the poor Slayer's tragic life.

As he fell into the oblivion of sleep, something happened.

Somewhere, somewhen, the Powers That Be gathered and had a good chuckle. A challenge had been issued and - as always - they could never turn down such an interesting and unexpected idea from the Mortal Realm.

Especially not from the only soulless demon to fall in love with the Slayer.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

"Sod off!"

The pounding on the door of the crypt increased in volume and intensity. Whoever was out there wasn't about to give up. Made the vampire grateful that he hadn't let Harmony fit the doorbell that played `Livin' La Vida Loca'.

Twisting his fists into his covers, he jerked them over his head, burrowing further into the muffled darkness they provided, the drumming in his temples becoming unbearable. "Bugger off!" He yelled, pressing his eyes shut, determined to sleep some more.

A squeak.

A sensation of warmth.

Crackling.

Hot!

Hothothothothot!

Rolling out of the light, still covered, he growled in fury. Blue eyes peered out from the cocoon of darkness he had enveloped himself in, settling on his morning attacker.

Standing in the blaze of brilliant golden light that flooded in through the door, the girl crossed her arms over her chest. "You should have answered the door." She said bluntly.

"Just cos I wanted some bloody privacy?" Grunting in disgust, the blanket dropped from his shoulders, his attention moving to the soles of his feet. "Bloody hell! Yesterday you burn the bloody skin off my hand...today, it's my feet. What did I ever do to you?"

Anya frowned. "What are you talking about, Spike? I didn't see you yesterday."

"You did!" Incredulous, he stared up at her. "You came here...at the same time as you did this morning...something about a frock for a date...wait a minute...what the hell are you doing here? Again? Didn't you hear what I said about the frock?"

"That's what I came to see you about...wait...you knew I was coming about a dress? Have you been having Buffy's weird dreams?" The former- demon's lips puckered in a frown of puzzlement. "You had a dream about me?" Spike shrugged, brushing some dirt off his bare feet. "Um...was it an orgasm dream?"

Spike lifted his head, an amused expression crossing his face briefly, recalling the only character that had featured in his `orgasm dreams' of late. She was blonder and tougher and Slayer- ier than Anya, that was for sure.

"You wanted me to choose a frock for you to wear on your date, luv. It was as simple as that." He chuckled. "Does that mean today is Valentine's Day?" If it was, it meant that the previous day had all been some crazy, twisted dream and that Willow hadn't died and Buffy hadn't laughed in his face.

"Yes. Xander is taking me to a..."

"I think you should dress up as a cartoon character." Her dainty nose crinkled in confusion. "He likes cartoons, so why not dress up as one, for him...say...er...Donald Duck?" Brown eyes gazed at him sceptically. "Okay, okay, Minnie Mouse...take yer bloody pick."

Pouting, the ex-demon turned on heel. "You're no help." She grumbled, stalking back out into the sun-lit cemetery.

"That's cos I'm a vampire, luv!" He called after her, laughing. "I'm not meant to be helpful."

Ambling over to shut the door, he pushed it shut. Pausing, he looked at his right hand. It was completely healed, as if nothing had happened to it, right down to the crusts of age-old nail polish around the edges of his bitten nails.

For that wound to be gone, for it to be Valentine's Day again, it all had to have been a dream or something weird. Maybe Anya was right. Maybe the Slayer's prophetic dreams were contagious. Whatever it was, it had seemed so bloody real.

And painful.

Settling down in front of the telly, he fiddled with the tuning, ready to watch what he had missed in the dream, thanks to the dozy demon girl. Maybe unlife wasn't quite so bad after all. And he still had to go and pay a visit to Buffy, maybe cheer her up before telling her.

Her reaction had only been a dream one and she had been cranky in it, so this time, he would make sure he got her under different circumstances.

But only after Double Jeopardy.

***

After passing Xander and Anya in the park, insulting the girl's hideous, fuzzy pink number and getting a sock in the jaw from a defensive brunette human, Spike reached the bench where Willow and Tara had been in his dream.

And bingo!

There they were again, both sitting upright and gazing up at the wide, open expanse of starry sky high above their heads, the moonlight playing softly over the gentle, feminine planes of their faces. Red had never looked better, especially after her gory end in that bloody horrible dream.

"Ello, pets." Sauntering up behind them, he poked his head between them. "Whatcha doing? Up to mischief as usual, no doubt."

Rolling onto her side, Tara lay back, her head resting in her lover's lap. "You're n-not going to make me embarrassed again." She half-smiled nervously up at the bleached vampire, who raised his eyebrows.

"Me?" The image of her lying there brought back a surge of memories of the dream, a twist of fear churning his guts. "Would I do that, luv?"

"I think the better question is wouldn't you do that, Spike." Willow's eyes danced with mischief, raising her can of Dr Pepper to her lips.

"This is what I would do..." Lunging forward, he ran his cool tongue up the curve of the red head's ear. Grinning, he clucked in mock disapproval as her drink sprayed out of both her nose and mouth. "That wasn't very ladylike!" He chastised, winking at the giggling Tara.

Coughing, green eyes blazed fury at him, only to melt into laughter at the vampire's feigned innocence. "You really are a pig, Spike." She wiped her chin with the end of her sleeve, the tingling of the bubbles in her nose making her eyes water.

"Wh-what has he done now?" Giles voice interrupted the laughter of both vampire and blonde Wicca. The Watcher approached awkwardly, his arms cradling a chest lined with strange symbols. "And why are you here, Spike."

Straightening up, he poked his hands into his pockets. "I'm gonna drag the Slayer out on patrol." He replied. "I'm bored and she shouldn't have the most romantic night of the year alone, when she could well be battering the crap out of demons with me."

"Are you absolutely certain that's a good idea?" Frowning, the Englishman pushed his glasses up his nose.

"Would you wanna stay in, moping, if your main shagtoy had upped and left?" Spike could see the Watcher mulling over it. "I get the feeling you're the wrong guy to ask about that." He paused, then added. "I've heard there's a Nyala on the loose. We'll need the Slayer if it's true." It may have just been a dream, but there were too many coincidences going on now for him to ignore it.

"A single Nyala?"

"So I heard."

Giles nodded distractedly. "Right...good...you go and fetch Buffy. Try and track down the Nyala. If you find anything, we'll be at..."

"Lockston Cemetery. Right. Gotcha." Pivoting the vampire melted away with a swirl of his dark duster, leaving the trio staring after him in confusion.

"I didn't tell him that we were going to be a-at Lockston, did I?" Giles looked to the two girls for confirmation, seeing his own bafflement mirrored in their faces. "That vampire is rather strange, wouldn't you say?"

The two Wicca exchanged grins. "Definitely."

***

Tap.

Frowning, Buffy looked to the open door then turned her attention back to her hair, sliding another pin in to hold back a loose lock. Whistling in time with the song on the radio, she bounced on the balls of her feet lightly.

Tap, tap.

Nothing.

Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap...

"Slayer! Hey! Lemme in!"

Hazel eyes flicked to the locked windows. Beyond the smirr of the lacy curtains, she could easily spot the familiar bleached head against the dark of the night and the shadows behind the figure sitting there.

Gripping a stake between her teeth, both hands trying to position the final grip in her hair, she made her way across to the ledge, pushing the drapes aside with one elbow. Grinning around the stake, she batted her eyes and muffledly enquired. "Yeah?"

"Lemme in!"

Removing the wooden weapon from her mouth, she twisted it in her hands. "Gimme a reason...and not that you're here to sniff my clothes." She could almost swear the vampire flushed, but he still had the good grace to flash a glare at her.

"I have a bloody twig sticking up my bum and if you don't lemme in, I'll run to your mum and tell her you put it there and make you pull it out." Pulling her best-disgusted face to hide the amusement she always felt around the vampire, she sighed.

"Wuss." Pulling the window wide, she gestured him in, returning to her desk to stock up on weapons. "So, why not just use the doors, like you usually do? Felt like playing the sycophant stalker, did you?"

Grimacing at her, the vampire picked leaves from his hair. "Big words, Slayer." She flashed a 'Don't piss me off' glare in his direction. "Actually, there was...something kind of personal I wanted to talk to you about..."

"Trouble in Harm-land?" She smirked.

"Don't get me started on the dozy bitch." He sighed, inking down on the edge of the bed. "It was about you, actually."

"You want to go on about Riley again?" The familiar sadness rose in her eyes, followed by the usual surge of anger. "Look, I don't want to talk about him, so if it's about that, then you can just leave right now..."

"I love you."

"Because I don't want to he...wh-what?"

"Er..." The vampire shifted awkwardly. "I love you, Sl...er...Buffy." She blinked once, twice, wet her lips, stared at him. "Slayer?"

Her startled hazel eyes rolled back in her head, her body pitching over backwards in a heap on the carpet with a thump loud enough to draw Dawn from her room. Finding Spike kneeling over her sister's unconscious body drew a chuckle from the girl.

"So you finally told her how you felt about her?" The teenager grinned. Spike patted Buffy's cheek, not even giving her a cold glare. "And she fainted?"

"Sod off, Dawn." He grated.

"Well," Crossing her arms, her grin widened. "At least she didn't stake you."

***

All he had seen since they had left her house had been her back. She hadn't said a word to him, but the glares of fury, confusion and bemusement saying more than she really needed to with words.

Directing her towards the Lockston Cemetery, he trotted dutifully after her like an obedient puppy, his mental kicking becoming a full- blown, batter-the-undead-crap-out-of-yerself session...and it didn't even make him feel better.

The scene in Lockston Cemetery was the same as he had 'dreamed'. No sign of Willow, the Wicca and Watcher both lying half-conscious on the ground, bleeding and disorientated once again.

"This is your fault." Buffy grated, as they rounded the crypt. Once again, Spike was grateful that he hadn't told her what the demon was about to do. He wanted her still be able to fight. The bastard had almost killed him in the dream with that acidic blood.

"My fault? How? You're the one that bloody well fainted!"

"If you hadn't said..." Her voice trailed off as they came face-to- face with the Nyala, all colour draining from her cheeks. The stomach flap dropped open and Spike pressed his eyes shut. Not again! Not a- bloody-gain! "S-Spike?"

Minutes, hours passed in a blur until he was once again stumbling into his crypt, soaked with demon blood, his skin burned where the acid had eaten through the leather of his duster and his shirt damp with the tears of the Slayer.

Flopping onto the heap of his blankets in the corner of, he pulled the blanket over his head with a low groan. "Whoever sent me that bloody dream," He muttered darkly. "If I get my hands on 'em, I'll tear them limb from bloody limb."

Once again, there was mass hysteria in the ranks of the PTB as the vampire drifted off into dreamland.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

"Spike?" Something prodded at him, the scent of morning filtering slowly through the puffs of material that swathed around his head, concealing his face. The poker poked that little bit harder, a digit jabbing him in the eye.

With a groan of pain, the half-asleep vampire pulled his shelter down and looked up at his wake up call. "If you're here to tell me that Willow's dead," He muttered, rubbing his stiff neck. "I already know."

"Willow's not dead." Anya frowned at him. "You are weird, Spike, but I need you to tell me what to..."

The mask of blanket was jerked back over the vampire's head and the former demon was convinced she heard a muffled, strangely girly screech issuing from beneath the heap of material and fluffy covers.

Then the vampire was smiling up at her again, looking strangely demented. "So, you want me to help you choose a fancy frock for lover boy, eh?" She nodded, returning his smile and trying to make her own look as crazed as his. "Great. Just bloody marvelous. The worst bloody day of my unlife. Again."

"If you don't want to help..." Her lower lip quivered, a trick she had found very efficient for getting gifts and lots of sex from Xander.

"I'd rather go for a walk at noon, across a path of crosses, while it rained Holy Water." The psychotic grin never faded from the vampire's face, his folded legs straightening out. Wagging his toes from side to side, he watched the motion.

"So you won't help me?"

"Do I look interested in what the Boy-Wanker's ex-demon wears?" Looking down at his body, his position, he tilted his head quizzically. "Hmm...somehow...I went from there and fully dressed - " He pointed to the corner, ignoring the pathetic snuffles of the demon girl. "To here and half-dressed..."

By the time he had figured out everything that had changed around since he fell asleep the night before, Anya had fled, in tears. Probably going to tell dear widdle Xander that the big bad vampire had been mean to her.

Grinning, he grabbed his duster.

As long as he was going to screw up this day, for the third time, he might as well do it right and make himself look stupid properly.

How hard could it be?

***

"Mornin' Slayer. Ello shorty."

The two girls stopped short, both mouths gaping. The vampire leered at them, one hand on his hip, his other toying with the feather boa that hung around his neck.

"Uh...Spike...my underwear...you..." Blinking repeatedly, the Slayer looked like she had a severe tic in both eyes. Clearing her throat, she tried to brush the image aside, gruffly demanding. "What the hell are you doing here and why are you wearing my underwear?"

The bleach blonde looked down at himself, then back at her, a comic expression on his rouged cheeks. Slapping his hands up to his cheeks, he made a perfect 'O' with his lips, eyes wide as badly-mascara-lined saucers.

"I thought this was my underwear!" Reaching for the knickers, he moved to quickly pull them off. "Well, pet, if you want them back..."

"No!" Covering Dawn's eyes with one hand, Buffy's voice rose vehemently. Her sister giggled, trying to push the elder girl's hand aside, leaning this way and that to see the strip show going on in her sister's room. "Have you gone nuts, Spike?"

Ignoring her, he moved into a closet, emerging a few minutes later, clad in his own clothes, flashing a small smile at Dawn. "Just wanted to cheer you up, ducks." He said quietly, picking his duster off the bed.

"You're crazy." Glaring furiously at him, she fought every urge to stake the bleached freak.

He shrugged, toying with the lace of the bra. "If being in love with the Slayer is crazy, then I'm one hundred percent loony, luv."

"Being...in love with the Slayer?" Forcibly pushing the brunette girl from the room, the blonde shut the door and locked it, turning to face her one-time nemesis. "What kinda stunt are you trying to pull here?" Her eyes were filling with tears. "After Riley, you pull this crap..."

Turning away from her, Spike bit the inside of his lip furiously. No more tears. Not again. Not now, when he knew what would follow later, if he didn't get himself done in already. "It's not a stunt, you stupid cow." He forced out bitterly. "I don't know why or how or when, but I bloody well love you."

"And you expected what? Me to jump into your arms and say you're my knight in shining armour?" Her small hand on his arm whipped him round. The fire in those hazel orbs sent a roar of lust through his body. "You're just a demon, Spike, a monster. You kill, you torture...for fun! You expect us to walk off into the sunset, just because you *think* you have feelings for me? Oh no, you can't. It would be the Mister and Mrs Big-Pile-of-Dust scenario, wouldn't it?"

Swallowing hard, he felt the stinging sensation of tears prickling behind his eyes. "I don't think these feelings, Buffy." He lowered his voice to a whisper. "I know when I love someone, even when I want to hate them."

"And that makes it all right? You're still a demon, Spike. Beneath me." Her breathing was erratic, symbolic of her rage. "I don't want you. I could never want you. You're nothing to me, you hear? Nothing!"

Tears of anger and pain coursed down her cheeks and - more than anything - Spike wanted to brush them away, as he had the previous night. Setting his jaw, he forced his trembling hands still, blinking to force his own tears back.

For a long moment, they stood, silent, regarding one another. Buffy's contempt and obvious disgust for him made him wish he had just waited until that evening. He knew the reaction he would get then, but now...

Now, she hated him, despised him.

"Buffy...I...I'm sorry..." He reached out to touch her arm. She snatched it away, eyes cold.

"Leave. Now." Crisp and commanding. None of the fun-loving, hyperactive Slayer he'd come to adore.

This Buffy, he couldn't disobey. Gathering his jacket, lighter and cigarettes from the floor, he climbed out the window without so much as a backward glance, dropping off the roof and racing for the tunnels.

He never saw her drop onto her bed and bury her face in her arms, sobbing the tattered remains of her heart and soul out, the hurt of her last love still too close to the surface for anyone to even get near.

***

Flat on his back on the dirt floor, the ball rose and fell with a steady rhythm. Tossing and catching, Spike paused to glance at his watch with a low sigh before returning his attention to the small leather ball.

Red would be dead by now.

As of ten minutes ago, if he got his timing right. No doubt, the Slayer - no longer called by her first name - would have butchered the Nyala demon easily in her rage and fury that she had been sporting earlier that day.

Toss.

Catch.

Toss.

Catch.

Toss.

Catch.

"Stupid bitch." Toss. Catch. "You didn't have to be so bloody harsh." Toss. Catch. "Why can't I just hate you?" Toss. Catch. "This bloody love thing buggers everything." Sitting up, the ball dropped to the floor with a soft thump. "I'm sorry, luv..."

"You...you don't need to be..."

Whipping around, the vampire's mouth straightened into a tense line. "Slayer."

"It...it was horrible...so much blood..." Tears were leaking from her eyes, arms crossed over her chest, shaky hands rubbing uneasily up and down her upper arms. "I tried...we fought and he...he...I thought I could...but Will..." Those lost, appealing hazel eyes locked on his desperately. "Willow's...she...oh God..." Her knees buckled, but Spike was by her side in time to catch her.

Arm around her, he pulled her close, both of them sinking to the rough floor. What had he been thinking? Leaving the poor kid to face that bloody demon on her own?

Her own blood's scent reached him, mingled with the splashes of Willow's blood combined with demon-ichor. "It's not your fault, princess." He stroked her hair tenderly, drawing her onto his lap like a baby. "You can't blame yourself..."

Cursing the powers that had found it amusing for him to be trapped in the worst Valentine's Day ever, he rocked the sobbing Slayer, holding her close and soothing her until the sobs subsided and she fell into an exhausted, dreamless sleep.

Walking through the deserted streets of Sunnydale with the girl he loved cradled protectively in his arms, he reached her home without trouble, knocking quietly on the door and carrying her swiftly passed Joyce and Giles.

Laying her in her bed, he pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Hopefully, tomorrow, none of this will have happened." He whispered, before turning and walking out. His crypt and a new day were waiting...maybe.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Opening one eye, he peered through a crack in the blankets, rolling off his bed to land with a solid thump on the hard floor.

Appropriate really.

He hadn't hurt himself in two whole Valentine's Days.

Cursing the bugger who invented toes, convinced the only reason they existed was for the purpose of being stubbed painfully against a useless coffin, the blonde vampire shuffled over to the television, rubbing a hand through his sleep-tousled hair.

Sitting down to watch the 'All New' Double Jeopardy, he scratched his neck, groping for a packet of cigarettes with his free hand. Nicotine and blood were the perfect things to wake up to in the morning.

Several minutes after the credits, Spike cocked his head, blowing out a feather of smoke, a crumble of ash dropping to the floor. "Five, four, three, two and..."

"Spike?"

"Yeah, ducks?"

"Can I ask...?"

"The pink one, ducks."

"How did you..."

"I'm psychic..or is it psychotic?" He nibbled his thumbnail pensively. "One of them. Can never bloody remember which..."

"So the pink one..."

"Just take a bleeding hint and go."

There was a moment's silence. "Thank you...I think." then the door shut, discreetly, leaving the vampire to watch the same game show he had half-watched on and off for the last three Valentine's Days.

Another fine day to make a bloody pillock of himself. Now, how, he mused, would he be able to get his point across without having the precious blonde baby weeping and wailing all over him or passing out...

***

"It's four in the afternoon. Do I want to know what you're doing here?"

Shrugging, the black-clad vampire stepped across the thresh hold and pushed the door shut, dropping his tatty shield-blanket. "I could say I vant to suck your blood, but I think its been done before a few too many times."

"Uh...huh..."

"Got a phone?"

Her brows came together in a frown. "Huh?"

"A tel-ee-fone." Fighting back a weak grin, he continued. "It's a method of communication. You talk in one end and someone on the other end listens. Lots of wires and cables are involved. And they are very popular among teenage girls, I hear."

"I know what I telephone is, you stupid pillock."

Raising an eyebrow at her choice of language, the vampire smirked. "May I use it? And could you listen in...very important stuff...you'll find out I'm a millionaire and immediately want to shag me senseless..."

"I'll listen." She agreed mildly, then wagged a finger at him. "But no shagging." Spike nodded, waiting for the question he knew was coming. "Are you really a millionaire?"

Tapping one finger against the side of his nose mysteriously, he grabbed the receiver and dialed the number, his fingertips drumming impatiently on the surface of the island in the middle of the kitchen while he waited to be connected.


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