Buffy barely slept that night. Worry about how her friends would treat her now that they knew the truth of her battled with an unexplainable giddy-nervousness about seeing Spike the next night. She’d had sex with Spike plenty over the last weeks – in every place and every way imaginable. But he had been right about one thing: they had never made love. In fact, she’d rarely even looked him in the eye during those too-intense moments. This would be different – it would mean something to both of them. But, did it have to mean something? she wondered as she tossed and turned in her bed.  Yes, came back the exhausted reply as she finally fell asleep just as the sun was breaking the horizon. It needed to mean something, she just wasn’t sure what.

Buffy got out of bed that afternoon in time to pick Dawn up from school. None of her ‘housemates’, Willow nor Giles, were home when she got up, and for that Buffy was eternally grateful. She knew she couldn’t put off seeing them forever, but just a while longer felt almost like a death-sentence reprieve.

“So…” Dawn began as she climbed into the Jeep in front of the school. “How’s Spike?”

“Fine … I guess. I haven’t seen him today,” Buffy replied, trying to keep the nervous excitement out of her voice at the mention of his name.

“But, you’re seeing him later, right?” Dawn prodded hopefully.

“Yeah, I guess … probably. Maybe on patrol…” Buffy hedged as she pulled out and started for home.

Dawn snorted sarcastically. “Oh, c'mon! I’m not five, Buffy. I really do think it’s great … you guys together, I mean. So, when does he move in?”

“What!?” Buffy exclaimed. “Spike’s not moving in! I mean … he … wouldn’t … he has the crypt and …” Buffy cast a wide-eyed glance at Dawn. “Do you think he wants to move in?”

Dawn shrugged. “It would save all that time you spend ‘going on patrol’,” she pointed out, using air-quotes around the last words. “If he were living with us, then you might actually go on patrol once in a while, huh?”

“I patrol!” Buffy objected. “I do! I just don’t … patrol that … long lately,” she admitted.

Dawn shrugged happily. “There ya go! Problem solved. Spike can move in. You guys can take Mom’s room, Willow and Tara can make up and move back into their dorm at school, and Giles can … do whatever Watchers do.”

“I’m so glad you have all our lives figured out,” Buffy groused, rolling her eyes. “We can’t afford the house even with Willow contributing.”

“Spike could contribute,” Dawn suggested.

Buffy snorted. “With what? Kittens?”

Dawn frowned. “He’s like a century old – he has to have some money somewhere … doesn’t he?”

“If he does, I’ve never seen it,” Buffy pointed out. “He’s a vampire – he’s never needed money, Dawn. I doubt they have a long-term disability or workman’s comp that will kick in, like in case they’re captured and chipped by a secret military organization.

“On top of which, you do realize that if he moves in then he’ll be the fangy, over-protective, really scary, older brother greeting any date that comes to pick you up … That is if I ever let you date, of course,” Buffy warned.

Dawn cringed, suddenly re-thinking her life plans for everyone. Maybe Buffy was right – Spike would probably prefer to keep his crypt and his privacy. He’d never want to live with a hormonal teenager and a bitchy Slayer 24/7.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten that I’m supposed to be yelling at you for lying and putting yourself at risk and … and going into the park with strange vampire boys,” Buffy pointed out, shifting the conversation.

Dawn sighed and rolled her eyes. “I know,” she groaned. “It was dumb, but I thought … it was Halloween. Spike always said that real bad-guys don’t come out on Halloween.”

“Yeah, well – that would make him wrong, wouldn’t it? Just because Spike has scruples and follows the rules doesn’t mean all demons do.”

Dawn cocked a brow at Buffy. “Did you just admit that Spike has scruples?”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Shut up.”

**~**

Buffy started getting ready for her eight o’clock ‘date’ with Spike at five. Showered, moisturized, and coifed, Buffy turned her attention to what to wear.

What difference does it make what you wear? she tried to tell herself. You won’t be in it long, anyway.

Still, she tried on outfit after outfit. Most now lay in a huge pile on her bedroom floor, dissed for one reason or another: too many blood stains, too worn and torn, too tight, too loose, too girly, too short, too heavy, too utilitarian, Angel’s favorite, Riley’s favorite, Mom’s favorite … And no money meant no shopping for something new. Sigh.

“Why don’t you wear this one?” Dawn suggested, pulling a long, fancy dress from the back of the closet. “I don’t remember you ever wearing it.”

Buffy frowned. “Mom bought that for me – remember she was gonna take us out to that upscale restaurant in LA … when she … got better,” Buffy’s voice trailed off forlornly at the end.

“Oh yeah,” Dawn agreed, her voice sad as well. “But … Mom liked Spike and … it’s a shame to not wear it just because … she’s gone now. I think Spike would like it. I bet you never got dressed up for him before.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “My clothes never seemed to be Spike’s main focus,” Buffy pointed out.  “Except if they were hard to get out of,” she added, mostly to herself.

Dawn held the dress up in front of Buffy and Buffy turned to look at herself in the mirror. It was off-white with a full, flowing, floor-length skirt with wide pleats. The heavy pleating gave it a layered look, and allowed the hem to drape nearly to her ankles in an elegant, uneven cascade. It was a simple muslin fabric but it had lacy accents around the gracefully full hem, as well as the form-fitting bodice. The top was like a halter, but the wide, diaphanous strap crossed over her chest before wrapping around her neck, leaving her arms, shoulders, and upper-back bare.

“I don’t know…” Buffy balked, chewing on her bottom lip. “It’s kinda … fancy.”

“And? Don’t you think he’d like to see you all dolled up?” Dawn wondered.

Buffy cocked a brow. “Dolled up? What am I, a Barbie?”

“It’s what I’d wear if I had a date with Spike…” Dawn mused, pulling the dress away from Buffy and holding it in front of her taller frame.

“It’s not a date … tonight’s nothing special, it’s just … Spike,” Buffy argued, although she knew better.

“Buffy, even I know that the night after you tell the world you’re with Spike will have to be something special … if you don’t blow it, of course.”

“How would I blow it?” Buffy wondered, concerned.

“You tell me – you’re the expert,” Dawn shot back, her voice scornful.

Buffy started to argue, but just sighed instead. There was no real arguing with that. She was the expert at driving men away. That’s probably what they should’ve put on her gravestone instead of that crap about saving the world. Maybe she could get it changed … you know, for next time.

“Fine,” Buffy said finally, yanking the dress back away from Dawn. “I’ll dress up like a doll and try to keep my mouth shut.”

Dawn smiled in approval.

**~**

Buffy hesitated outside Spike’s crypt. She was early – by half an hour. She’d been too keyed up and antsy to stay home – plus Giles and Willow would be home soon and she really didn’t want to even start that discussion, especially not ‘dolled up’ in a fancy dress. She’d walked slowly on her way to the cemetery, but even that hadn’t been enough to make up for her early start. She couldn’t patrol – not in this dress and the strappy heels she'd picked to go with it – so here she stood, waaay too early. She’d never have hesitated before; she would’ve just barged in, regardless.  But they’d rarely actually set a time before – anytime was fine. God, was this actually a date?

Buffy jumped when the door to the crypt swung open. Spike leaned against the doorjamb casually, a cocky smirk quirking his lips as he studied her.

“Uh, sorry – I was … early and … ummm,” Buffy stammered as she took him in. He had dressed up too. He was still in black, but his normal t-shirt and jeans had been replaced with an open-necked, black, suede dress shirt that showed off the smooth, alabaster skin of his chest, and black, pleated, dress pants, which hung elegantly from his slim hips. The bruises and scrapes he'd gotten in the fight the previous night from the fight with Justin were already gone, completely healed.

“’S alright, luv,” he assured her, moving inside and inviting her silently to follow. “Just couldn’t figure why a Slayer was hanging about out ‘ere … not barging in like she owned the place. Thought maybe that other Slayer-bird had jumped the wall and come callin’. Never figured it was you.”

“Ha-ha,” Buffy replied flatly, rolling her eyes as she followed him in.

Spike smiled at her and led her to the small kitchen area he’d set up in one corner of the upper crypt. The whole interior of the crypt was bathed in soft candlelight. Small groups of white candles in all shapes and sizes – from fat pillars to delicate tapers – were scattered around the room. Buffy thought the air smelled faintly of gardenias and garlic – definitely not the crypt’s typical scent. It looked warm and inviting – almost as cozy as the downstairs.

Soft music played from somewhere Buffy couldn’t see. It sounded … slow-dance-y and romantic. Also not Spike’s typical choice of frantic rock played at truly ear-shattering levels. He’d obviously gone to some trouble for this … whatever it was. It certainly wasn’t their typical booty-call. Was there a name for a ‘making love’ rendezvous? Hmmm … probably that would be a date.

“Drink?” he offered, holding up a bottle of champagne.

Buffy’s brows went up but she nodded. Whiskey had been replaced by champagne. That must mean something as well. “Sure, thanks.”

Spike opened the bottle, sending the cork flying across the room for dramatic effect, and poured them both a glass. New glassware, too, Buffy thought. They were tall flute glasses, appropriate for the beverage. It felt like real crystal in her hand and they matched – which probably meant they hadn’t come from the city dump.

He held his glass up after handing hers to her. “To …” he began, lifting his brows for her to finish.

Buffy cleared her throat uncomfortably. “Ummm …” Her mind raced, trying to figure out what to say. A hundred different things whirled through her brain, each one quickly considered and discarded as too sappy, too revealing, too smart-ass, too dumb, too brazen, or too childish. Finally she said, “Life after death.”

Spike cocked a brow and gave a small nod. Then he touched his glass to hers as he repeated her toast, and they both sipped at the sweet, bubbly liquid.

A moment of awkward silence followed, then they both started talking at once. “You look…” they both began.

Spike bit his lip and Buffy laughed. Spike waved a hand and bowed slightly, indicating she could go first. Buffy took a deep breath and said, “You look nice … really … nice. You clean up good.”

Spike’s azure eyes sparkled and he took a step forward towards her. He let his eyes wander over her face, her silken hair, her bare neck and shoulders, and then down her dress. “You look like an angel, pet,” he whispered as he lifted a hand up and ran his fingers along the bare skin of her upper arm.

Buffy tittered nervously. “I wasn’t sure what to wear for … ummm …. What is this? Is it a date?”

Spike studied her in earnest. That was something she’d asked him once before. That hadn’t ended well – at all. He steeled himself and repeated the same thing he’d said that night, his mouth going dry and his voice husky, as the words came out. “Do you want it to be?”

Buffy fretted her bottom lip with her teeth, then gave him a small smile. A nearly imperceptible shrug tugged one bare shoulder as she said, “Yeah … I guess … I do.”

Spike’s heart soared. He had waited, battled so very long for this. He’d endured her scorn, her mistrust, her death, her re-birth and finally – finally – he’d made it to the peak of the mountain. It had been a long, arduous journey, but he had overcome all odds to be here.

“Then, it’s a date,” he concurred. “Probably not the best you’ve ever been on,” he offered, ducking his head shyly and rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably.

Buffy harrumphed. “You have no idea the dates I’ve been on,” she assured him. “You’ll be lucky if you survive,” she only half-kidded as she took a step past him, her brow furrowed.  Next to the old fridge and microwave in the designated kitchen area was a small, propane gas stove – that also was new. The aroma of the garlic was coming from there.

Spike turned and followed her with his eyes. “When did you get an actual stove?” Buffy asked as she bent down and opened the oven door. “And when did you learn to cook?”

Spike moved up to her and closed the oven door. “You’re lettin’ the heat out, pet,” he told her. Buffy took the lid off a pot atop the stove and found the source of the garlic – inside were whipped potatoes – apparently smothered in garlic and cheese.

“What … is this?” Buffy stammered, eyes wide, as Spike took the lid from her hand and replaced it on the pot.

“Dinner,” he answered simply.

“Dinner,” Buffy parroted. “But … you cook?”

Spike shrugged. “I’ve lived for-bloody-ever, Buffy. Had t’ fill my time somehow, didn’t I? Couldn’t just be … terrorizing villagers at all hours, now, could I?”

“So William the Bloody learned to … cook?” she asked disbelief evident in her voice.

“Why’s that so hard t’ believe?” he wondered, wounded slightly by her tone.

Buffy shook her head in disbelief. “I … guess … it’s not. It’s just … wow … you can cook.”

“Spent a few years in France, Italy … Greece. Might say I soaked up the local culture,” he explained. “Lot about me you don’t know, luv. I’m more than just a pretty face.”

Buffy laughed. “I guess that’s true,” she admitted. Buffy took another sip of her champagne and leaned her back against the counter. “So, garlic and cheese potatoes,” she continued. “I thought garlic was a big no-no for those of the undead persuasion.”

Spike shrugged. “Reckon it’s true enough that newbies don’t like it much, but I’ve built up an immunity to it over the years.”

“You’ve always been a rebel, huh?” Buffy teased him.

Spike smirked. “And always will be, luv.”

When the oven timer dinged, Spike went to work getting the pan out of the oven as Buffy stayed out of the way and watched.  “What are we having?” she wondered as she watched him get two matching plates out of a box – new plates, she deduced – and place slices of the meat onto them.

“Beef Wellington with garlic and cheese potatoes,” Spike announced. “I hope you like it.”

Buffy furrowed her brow and looked at the slices of Beef Wellington. “Ummm … I don’t think I’ve ever had it before. What’s … that outside part?”

“Prosciutto coated with duxelles and covered in puff pastry,” Spike explained. “Don’t worry, I didn’t use any pâté de foie gras.”

“Oh. Ummm, good,” Buffy stammered, studying the plates curiously as Spike dished some potatoes onto them next to the meat.

Spike looked up at her. “You do know what duxelles is, right, Slayer?”

“Ummm, sure – of course … Duke Sell. Everyone knows that would be the Duchess Sell’s husband.”

Spike wrapped his tongue over his upper teeth and tried to bite back a laugh. He cleared his throat and coughed to cover his inability to stop the strangled chortle that came out. “Right,” he said at last. “It’s also finely chopped mushrooms, shallots, onions, and herbs sautéed in butter.”

“I knew that. I was just testing you,” Buffy covered with a nonchalant shrug. “Sounds yummy. Probably much better than eating the Duchess’ husband.”

Spike couldn’t stop the laugh that burst out from his throat. “Got no argument from me, pet. I recall the one Duke I ate was kinda bland – needed a Tabasco chaser just to get ‘im down.”

Buffy rolled her eyes, hoping he was kidding but not 100% sure, and followed him to a small table he’d set up off to one side of the crypt. It was just large enough for the two of them and covered in a white tablecloth. There was a bud vase in the center that held a single red rose. Spike set the plates down and moved around to pull one of the chairs out. As he did that, Buffy pulled the other chair out and sat down.  When she looked up, Spike was standing behind the other chair, holding it out for her. He cocked a brow at her, then looked down at the chair.

“Oh! Uh …” Buffy stammered, flushing pink and jumping back up. “I … sorry,” she continued to stutter as she moved over to the other side and sat down as he slid the chair under her. He took a linen napkin off the table and laid it across her lap before going to the other side of the table and seating himself.

Buffy, afraid of making a further faux pas, sat with her hands in her lap and waited for Spike to start eating. He, being the host, sat and waited for her to start eating. After a few moments of sitting and waiting, Spike asked, “Is something wrong, pet?”

“Uh, no. I just … wasn’t sure if … you were gonna do anything else chivalrous. I didn’t want to mess it up,” Buffy stammered uncomfortably.

Spike tilted his head and studied her. She looked so cute all discombobulated like that. It was a new look on the normally confident Slayer. “Haven’t been out with many gentlemen, I reckon,” he offered as he went ahead and started cutting the Beef Wellington on his plate.

“I guess not,” Buffy agreed as she followed his lead, feeling oddly like Julia Roberts in ‘Pretty Woman’ – completely out of her element. Thank God there were no snails. “You know – strong, modern, Cosmo woman here. I’m perfectly capable of opening doors and pulling out chairs.”

“Not about being incapable or weak, pet,” Spike explained. “About respect. About treating a woman like a treasure. ‘Cos you are, ya know? A treasure.”

Buffy looked down at her plate and blinked the moisture from her eyes. “Got a few guys that would disagree with you,” she offered quietly, still looking down.

“Bloody fools,” Spike assured her. “Not a lick o’ brains between them gits.”

Buffy looked up at him and gave him a small smile. His eyes shone with surety and fire and adoration. Meeting his azure gaze made her heart catch in her throat, but she didn’t look away this time. She let him see – he needed to see inside her. He needed to know what he was getting himself into, because it wasn’t a pretty picture.

Spike bit his lip as he studied her face, her eyes, her posture. “Not gonna scare me off, Slayer. You gave me an inch – you should know I’m gonna take a bloody mile.”

“It may be the longest mile of your life,” Buffy warned. “Falling in love with me is like sailing on the Titanic: doomed from the start.”

“I’m tough – plus, I can swim,” he assured her.

Buffy gave him a shaky smile and took a bite of the Beef Wellington. Her eyes widened as she chewed and all the flavors of the beef, herbs, mushrooms, prosciutto, and pastry exploded in her mouth in a taste-riot. Buffy moaned in delight and her taste buds sang a blissful chorus as she savored the rich flavor and vivid textures of Spike’s creation.

“And you can cook!” she exclaimed in delight after she swallowed the first bite. “Oh my God! You are in sooo much trouble now!”

Spike bit his bottom lip and grinned at her, a sweet boyish, swoon-worthy grin. “That mean you like it?”

“Like it? No – I definitely do not like it!” When confusion furrowed his brow, she added, “I love it! This is … I’ve never had anything like this before! It’s sooo much better than my meatloaf – which even the stray cats in the alley won’t eat. I can’t figure out what I’m doing wrong … but now I don’t have to! You can cook!

“Wow! I thought I’d have to live my whole life eating Doublemeat burgers, cold Pop Tarts, and burnt microwave popcorn!” she continued to gush as she took another bite and moaned again, closing her eyes as she enjoyed the flavor-gasm.

Spike’s grin returned as he watched her tuck into the meal like a two-hundred pound truck driver.  He could watch her all night. He felt like a kid that had been allowed entry into the candy store after years of standing outside watching everyone else go in. He just wanted to soak it up, burn this memory into his mind so he’d never lose it – just in case someone figured out he didn’t actually belong in the candy store.

“So,” Buffy began after she realized she should slow down and not eat like a linebacker. “What other hidden talents does William the Bloody possess?”

Spike thought a moment, then held up both hands in a Vulcan salute, with his little finger and ring finger going one way, and his other fingers going the other to form a ‘V’.

Buffy laughed and held up her right hand to try it. She failed miserably, unable to hold her little finger and ring finger together at all, forming a kind of sideways ‘W’ instead. “I knew you had talented fingers,” Buffy teased, giving him coy smile. “But I never knew you were that good.”

Spike bit his bottom lip and narrowed his eyes in a seductive leer before saying, “Turnabout’s fair play. What’s your hidden talent, pet?”

“Ummm …” Buffy thought a moment. “I can hook both my feet behind my head.”

“That’s not really big news t’ me, Slayer. Keep trying,” Spike insisted.

Buffy heaved a frustrated sigh. “I can skate … ice skate,” she revealed.

Spike raised his brows. “Can ya, now? Do ya wear those little short skirts and twirl around so everybody can see your knickers?” he asked smirking and whirling a finger in the air.

Buffy smiled. “Yeah … well, I used to be able to do that. I might still be able to twirl a bit and not fall on my ass.”

“Let’s see then,” he demanded, twirling his finger at an open area next to the table.

“I don’t have any skates … or ice…” she objected.

“I showed you mine, you show me yours, Slayer. Twirl,” he insisted.

Buffy rolled her eyes but got up, setting her napkin on the table. “Technically, doing this without ice and skates is like … ballet or something, so don’t expect too much,” she hedged.

“One twirl,” Spike agreed. “With knickers.”

“Spike! I have on a long skirt!” she objected again.

“Better make it a good twirl, then,” he advised as he crossed his arms over his chest and sat back to wait for the show.

Buffy heaved a sigh and hiked her skirt up as high as she could. Spike leaned over to get a better look at her legs, which looked even more golden-tan against the nearly-white dress.

“Good start,” he commented appreciatively.

“You’re a lecher,” Buffy huffed as she took a breath and envisioned twirling.

“Too right,” he agreed, grinning.

Buffy began twisting her upper-body back and forth, building up her nerve and momentum. After a few half-twists, she rose up onto one toe and twirled around as fast as she could on the concrete floor.

“No knickers,” Spike informed her. “Try again.”

Buffy rolled her eyes and tried again. “Nope,” Spike told her.

On the third try, she twirled around then simply lifted her skirt and waved it around like a can-can dancer before dropping it back down. “Ta-da!” she announced, flinging her arms out and stepping one foot back to take a deep curtsy.

Spike laughed but applauded as she quickly took her seat again. “Brilliant, pet. And those knickers are a bit of alright.”

Buffy inclined her head in a small bow as she took up her napkin and silverware to finish her meal. “Play your cards right and you might get to see them again tonight.”

“Got dessert, too. White chocolate parfait topped with shaved dark chocolate and cherries,” Spike announced, a sly, knowing smile on his face.

“Chocolate is always the right card to play,” Buffy agreed, grinning wickedly.

As the meal went on, Buffy relaxed more and more. The champagne might’ve helped, but she found herself laughing as Spike told her funny stories about his life before Sunnydale just as much as he laughed at stories of her life before Slayer-dom. By the time she’d finished off the white chocolate parfait he’d made, she had nearly forgotten about her worries of messing this up. She was having fun. How strange was that?

To top it off, none of her friends had barged in to save her from the evil dead and not a single demon had crashed their dinner. It was almost unheard of. For once, the universe seemed to be conspiring for them.

One thing had been bothering Buffy though, and she just couldn’t keep herself from bringing it up. Things had been going too well – she had to toss a monkey-wrench into the evening somehow. “Spike, if I ask you something, will you tell me the truth?”

Spike blinked. “I always tell you the truth, Slayer.”

Buffy snorted softly, raised her eyes to the ceiling and began parroting back things Spike had said to her in the past using a horrid English accent. “If you let Dru and me go, we’ll never come back to Sunnydale,’” she began. “‘I’m gonna kill you on Saturday. You have stupid hair. Out for a walk, b …’”

“Those weren’t lies – those were … misjudgments and … defensive measures,” Spike objected, interrupting her.

Buffy gave him an indulgent smile. “Ok, Mr. I-shall-not-tell-a-lie, where did all this come from?” she asked, waving a hand at the food, the stove, the dinnerware, and champagne.

“The market … mostly,” Spike hedged.

“Uh-huh,” Buffy agreed suspiciously. “How much did it cost and how did you pay for it?”

Spike pursed his lips, folded his arms over his chest, and looked at her warily. “Don’t reckon that’s a really polite question for a guest t’ ask,” Spike defended.

“No, probably not – but it’s a question I need to know the answer to, Spike. You’ve got … well, I don’t know, but probably a couple of hundred dollars worth of stuff – assuming you scavenged that stove from the dump – more if it’s actually new. I’ve never seen you with that much money, unless Giles or I have just paid you for something, which we haven’t done lately. Face it, kitten poker just doesn’t pay that well. So, please explain to me where this stuff came from and how it ended up in your crypt.”

Spike remained stoic, his lips pursed and arms crossed. When he remained silent for several long moments, Buffy met his eyes in silent challenge to answer her. She could see wheels turning behind those azure orbs, but, unlike him, she had no idea what that meant. Was he trying to concoct a lie to cover up the very real possibility that he’d stolen all this stuff, or was he simply hurt and angry that Buffy would assume that’s what he’d done?

Finally Spike seemed to come to a decision and some of the tension waned from his posture. “I didn’t steal it if that’s what you think,” he assured her.

“Okay … then how did you get it?” Buffy pressed.

“I bought the bloody stuff, didn’t I? Told ya before, Buffy: I can get money. Offered t’ take you outta that rat-infested dive you call a job. You don’t need t’ work there; beneath you, it is. I can get money if I’ve a mind to.”

Buffy narrowed her eyes at him. “Where?”

“Gettin’ right personal, you are, luv,” Spike deflected.

Buffy barked out a sarcastic laugh. “You’ve been in my panty drawer, Spike – hell, you’ve been in my panties! Doesn’t get much more personal than that, does it?”

Spike smirked but didn’t say anything for another few moments. The crypt suddenly seemed as cold as a tomb – funny that – as Buffy waited, her impatience growing with each passing second.

Spike knew he was playing a losing game. To not tell her the truth would send her scrambling back away from him, he was sure of it. He wasn’t certain what her reaction would be to the truth, but he’d just have to chance it. “Right,” he began just as he felt Buffy’s impatience about to boil over. “‘Ere’s the truth of it, then. I got a bit o’ dosh … stashed away for a sunny day,” he admitted. “My family wasn’t exactly … poor, and after my mum passed … I … well, let’s just say compound interest is a bloody beautiful thing when it’s the bank payin’ you.”

“You have money?” Buffy asked in disbelief.

Spike nodded.  

“In a bank.”

Spike nodded again.

“What kind of bank is open at night for vampires?” Buffy wondered.

“ATMs are open twenty-four hours a day, Slayer,” Spike informed her, quirking a brow. “Welcome t’ the twenty-first century.”

“B-but … you … never …” Buffy stammered, looking around the crypt. “Why do you live like this if you have so much money that you need a bank to keep it?”

“Vampire, remember? And not a bloody ponce like the Immortal or that cheapskate wanker Drac, either. Got an image t’ maintain, don’t I? Plus, it’s just more fun t’ weasel money and blood outta you and your Watcher.”

“So you have … actual money? Not … just kitten money?” Buffy continued, flabbergasted.

Spike rolled his eyes and sighed heavily. “Try t’ follow, pet. Yes, I’ve got money – more than a quid or two. Got enough that you don’t need t’ work at that bloody … place. I can help you, if you’ll let me, Buffy; in more ways than one.”

“Huh,” Buffy said flatly, sitting back in her seat, her eyes unfocused as wheels of comprehension turned in her head. “What other surprises do you have lurking under that evil, yet wickedly handsome exterior?” she wondered at last, looking back up at him, a teasing tone in her voice.

“Haveta hang around t’ find out, I reckon,” Spike replied with a smirk.

**~**