Late that night into the next day:

Buffy was falling through the air at an astonishing speed. A bright light flashed all around her and the wind whipped around her prone body, lashing at her like a tornado. She seemed to be suspended in the wind and light, as if gripped in a thick, gelatinous net. She hung there, unmoving, for what was at once a fraction of a second and a lifetime. She could see her life flashing before her eyes. Memories of her mother and father, of Dawn, of her life in L.A., her friends in Sunnydale, of Giles and Merrick, Angel and Riley, and even Spike all flowed through her like faded snapshots in a long-forgotten photo album.

And then they were gone. The light was gone. The wind, which had been swirling from all directions, was now brisk against her face as she fell again. She could see the earth below rising up to meet her and she tried to scream, but nothing would come out. She closed her eyes, unable to watch as she plummeted face-first to certain death. Somehow, deep inside, she knew Dawn was safe and that gave her a moment of peace before …

“I gotcha, luv.”

Buffy blinked her eyes open and looked around. Spike had her in his arms, cradling her like a child, with one hand under her knees and the other around her back.

“You … got … how?” she stammered looking up at the now black sky above her that she’d just fallen through.

“Reckon your mum would be in a right state if I just let ya smash on the ground now, wouldn’t she?” Spike asked. “Love the lady, but I wouldn’t want t’ be on ‘er bad side. Even Big Bad has ‘is limits.”

“But … Dawn,” Buffy protested, looking around to try and see her sister. She didn’t see anything; they seemed to be surrounded by nothing – darkness as far as the eye could see.

“No worries,” Spike assured her, as he sat Buffy down on her feet and pulled a large, old-style, pewter skeleton key from his pocket and handed it to her.

Buffy closed her eyes and sighed in relief as she clutched it to her chest. “Oh, thank God!”

“Right, just be off then,” Spike told her, backing up a step.

“Wait! Where are you going?” Buffy exclaimed, laying a hand on his arm to stop him.

“Your mates will be along ‘ere in a bit. I best be off ‘fore they get ‘ere,” Spike explained, giving her the saddest, most forlorn smile Buffy thought she’d ever seen.

“But – you saved me – you can stay. You’re a Scoobie now … and I … well … I mean …” Buffy stammered, still clutching the key in her hand tightly.

For a second, Spike looked hopeful as she tried to get the right words to form on her lips, but, in the end, he just nodded and took another step back, pulling free of her hand on his arm.  “No worries, pet. One day the words’ll come, yeah?” he offered in a strained, resigned voice.

“Spike…” Buffy started but he suddenly began to burn, seemingly from the inside out. Within just a moment he was engulfed in bright, red heat and began to disintegrate right before her wide, shocked eyes.

“I love you!” she screamed, reaching for him, but just that fast, he was gone. She pulled her hand back and found a small, tattered piece of brightly colored, leopard print fabric in it, barely large enough to cover her palm.

She blinked at it, holding her hand out flat with the ragged piece of fabric atop it, trying to understand. Suddenly, the fabric swirled off her hand, floated up, and pressed against her chest. It felt warm against her skin and she got an indescribable feeling of wholeness as it sank into her own body. She watched with wide eyes as she saw it reattach itself to the muted pastels of the back-side of the fabric that was within her, leaving a vibrant patch of color over her heart.

In that instant, Buffy understood. She understood Spike; she understood why he was so different from other vampires. He still had a small, tattered piece of his soul down deep inside him somewhere. The demon hadn’t taken it all. A small part of William still lived inside Spike, inside the demon.

**~**

Buffy woke up in a cold sweat, her heart pounding against her ribs like a bass drum and her chest heaving with labored breaths. “Oh God,” she muttered, dropping her face into her hands as tears welled in her eyes. She shook her head as she held it in her hands, unwilling to face a day that was beginning just as she’d ended the night before – a muddled mess of emotions and confusion.

**~**

Spike finished dismantling the Buffy shrine about mid-afternoon. He’d slept late … well, not late for a vampire, but later than he’d been sleeping. He would’ve slept even longer, but he got worried that Buffy might take it upon herself to come and check on him, and that little montage of stolen goods in the corner suddenly seemed to scream ‘stalker’ to him rather than ‘undying love’. Plus, he didn’t really need the shrine anymore; he’d gotten a kiss from the Slayer – no wonky spell-gone-wrong required. He’d just had to dust the woman that he’d considered his destiny for over a century … but, hey – when it comes to love, you don’t count the cost. He packed up all the things he’d stolen from Buffy into one box, resolved to surreptitiously return them to her house as soon as the opportunity presented itself.  Other things, like the drawings he’d done and the mannequin, he packed up in a trunk and shoved under the bed, out of sight.

When he finally dragged himself upstairs, he was greeted with a sarcophagus piled high with goodies. He felt like a kid on Christmas morning as he went through the boxes one by one. There was the requisite and expected cigarettes and whiskey. There was also another bouquet of flowers: red roses this time, a dozen of them, long-stemmed and fragrant.   There was a box of Swiss Miss hot chocolate mix with mini-marshmallows, and a rather wilted-looking flowering onion from the Bronze. The onion had obviously been there for a while, probably since lunchtime, but it still tasted good. His small fridge had been stocked with imported beer and a couple of quarts of blood. Of course, the import was from Germany, not England, and the blood was pig’s, not O-Neg from Willy’s, but, points to the Slayer for effort.

The things he prized the most, though, were more personal. There was a hand-written card from Joyce, thanking him profusely for helping Buffy and saving Dawn, a very obviously homemade Red Velvet cake from Dawn, over which she’d drizzled pig’s blood in his honor. It actually tasted pretty good. Best of all, though, was a note from the Slayer, that read:

William,

I’m not going to say thank you again, since I think Mom already did a fairly thorough job of that, and, plus, how could I compete with Dawn’s blood-soaked Red Velvet cake? Yum.

My friends tell me that frat-house keggers are the perfect cure for forgetting that a hell-god is trying to kill you, steal your sister, and end the world. I would, therefore, also assume it may help with the ‘I just staked my sire’ syndrome I imagine would be common for someone in your unique position. So, if you feel like drowning your sorrows with me, using someone else’s beer for a change, I’ll meet you at the party (directions attached) tonight around nine.

Dawn has, of course, spread the tale of her capture and your heroic rescue far and wide – over hill and dale … or, at least, among the Scoobies. Don’t be surprised if someone asks for your autograph … or doesn’t actually try to stake you or even beat you up tonight. I know it’ll be hard to handle, but I have faith in you.

See you later,

-Buffy

ps: Do you dance?

Spike smirked. “Why Slayer, are you askin’ me out on a date?” he muttered to the paper, quite pleased with himself.

pps: This is not a date. It’s just free beer. I never knew pet vampires were so expensive. I hope you don’t need shots and tags, ‘cos, really – I’m broke.

Spike laughed. “Three jokes in as many weeks? My, my, my – you are definitely gonna lose your union card, Slayer.”

**~**

Spike showed up at the party fashionably late. He hadn’t actually meant to be late, but he had gotten Buffy’s note so late in the day that it had taken him that long to get ready. He didn’t have any clean clothes and his hair needed a touch-up, he was out of hair gel … it was a nightmare. He tried to still the butterflies that were buzzing like bees in his stomach as he walked into the crowded frat house and looked around, searching for Buffy’s golden hair through the throng. He found her as his eyes scanned the snack table. The butterflies inside him started stinging when he realized she was talking to that git from the hospital again!

“Bloody hell,” he moaned, clenching his jaw in frustration. Maybe that pet vampire remark wasn’t a joke, after all. From where he was standing, it looked like her Bitches’ Union status was still firmly in place. He turned on his heel and started to leave, clenching and unclenching his fists in anger, but then he spun back around. “Bugger that! Free bloody country, innit?” he muttered to himself as he made his way through the gyrating horde of young people towards the snack table, his anger rising higher with every step.

Buffy had her back to him as she spoke to Ben. Spike could’ve probably heard what they were saying if he’d just concentrated and blocked out the music and other voices, but he really didn’t want to know; his heart already hurt enough. On top of that, that undeniable desire to kill the git had returned, and he was using all his energy just trying to keep his demon down.

He’d gotten within about four feet of her when Buffy suddenly spun around and looked behind her. Spike stopped and regarded her with narrowed, angry eyes, but she didn’t seem to notice. A bright smile washed over her face as she took a step towards him. “Spike! You made it! I was starting to think you weren’t coming!” she said brightly, reaching a hand out.

She grabbed one of his hands and pulled him forward before Spike could say anything. “You remember Ben, right? He’s a doctor at the hospital,” she reminded him, leading Spike up to the brunette, still holding one of Spike’s hands in hers.

“Yeah, I remember,” Spike muttered sourly.

“Ben, this is my … This is Spike,” Buffy stuttered out.

Spike cocked a brow at her. What had she been about to say? This is my ‘pet vampire’?

“Hey,” Ben greeted Spike, trying to hide a look of disappointment. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise, I’m sure,” Spike replied dryly, not extending his hand. Well, to be fair, Buffy still had a hold of it, and Spike would be damned if he was gonna pull away from her to shake this git’s hand.

“Great party, huh?” Ben asked, looking around.

Spike looked around too, wondering just where that free beer was – he could reeeally use one right about now. “Well, reckon it could be better, everyone’s still dressed and vertical,” Spike observed dryly.

Ben laughed and nodded. “Night’s still young – there’s still plenty of opportunity for drunken wantonness,” he pointed out.

Spike nodded, unconsciously squeezing Buffy's hand tightly as he tried to keep his hatred from boiling over. Buffy gave him a strange look and squeezed back until Spike's fingers popped and he realized what he was doing. He relaxed his grip immediately, but didn't let go.

“Speaking o’ which, could ya point out the bar?” Spike asked the berk. “Reckon Buffy could use a bit of a push towards the dark side.”

Ben pointed to a corner of the room and Spike nodded. Spike looked over at Buffy and asked, “Shall we commence with the drownin’ then?”

“Drown away,” Buffy agreed. “See you later, Ben,” she called as Spike turned and began to lead her away.

“Later,” Ben called back with a note of resignation.

“Soooo,” Buffy began as they moved through the crowd towards the bar. “What was with the Iron Man act?" she asked, wriggling her fingers in his hand.

"Sorry, pet. Had a ... cramp," Spike excused.

Buffy looked at him suspiciously, clearly not buying it. "Did I detect a note of jealousy in your voice back there?”

“Pfffft!” Spike snorted. “Jealous o’ that prat? P-lease! Like t’ see him knock the Slayer down, take a stake to the arm, save the girl, and dust ‘is ex.”

“Oh, well, as long as you’re just comparing the size of your balls and not the length of your dicks, I guess it’s ok, then,” Buffy replied sarcastically.

Spike ran his tongue over his teeth slowly, then assured her, “I’d win on either count, pet.”

Buffy rolled her eyes as if disgusted, but that now familiar tingling sensation began to congregate below her belt again. She remembered sitting on his lap during Willow’s ‘my will be done’ spell and she knew that he was not just blowing smoke about that.

“So,” she asked, changing the subject as he handed her a beer and took one for himself. “Do you dance?”

Spike made a pained expression as techno music blared from the speakers. “Not t’ this rot,” he contended.

“Ok, what then? I’ll have the DJ play something,” Buffy suggested. “Who do you like?”

“Doubt they’d have anything,” Spike hedged.

“Ok, then I’ll pick something,” Buffy asserted, finally releasing the hold of Spike’s hand. “Wait here.” Within a second she’d been swallowed up by the crowd. Spike sighed and took a long drink of his beer; he had a feeling he was gonna need it.

Buffy got back just as Spike was downing the last of his second beer. She set her half-empty cup down, took his hand, and began leading him to the dance floor. Her song would be on next, the DJ had promised her.

“Slow down, Slayer … ya know, it’s been a while since I danced,” Spike objected as he followed her.

“I hear it’s a lot like riding a bike,” Buffy offered dismissively.

Spike prayed that she hadn’t picked some disco song. You could not look cool dancing to Saturday Night Fever. They found an empty space on the dance floor just as the music changed. Buffy smiled and turned to face him. “Do you want to lead, or shall I?” she asked with a teasing smirk.

Spike pursed his lips and rolled his eyes. “Be a cold bloody day in hell when I let you lead me in a dance,” he retorted. Spike was pleased to hear that she’d picked a slow song. In fact, as she melted against him and they began to move as one in a graceful synergy that belied the fact that they had never actually danced before, he was very glad that she’d suggested it. Very, very glad.

Spike curled their joined hands up against his chest and laid his other hand gently in the curve at the small of her back. Buffy settled her head on his shoulder, her other hand resting on his hip, as they began to sway to the slow beat of the song she’d chosen. Spike was afraid that he’d wake up at any moment and find this whole thing had been a dream. Perhaps he’d been knocked out, probably by the Slayer, and this was all a product of his overactive, libido-driven, imagination. Well, if it was a hallucination, then he was going to enjoy it; he was going to try and memorize everything about it. Every tingle where her warm, soft body was touching his, every waft of sweet scent from her hair, every sigh, every breath, every time her hip moved just so and pressed against him, every word of the music.

He listened to the words a moment and nearly stopped dancing, certain that it was, indeed, a dream.

♫Would you tremble if I touched your lips?
Would you laugh, oh please tell me this
Now would you die for the one you love?
Hold me in your arms tonight?♫

Spike closed his eyes and imagined kissing her. Would she tremble? Would her knees go weak? He was sure his would. He remembered her sweet, honeyed lips against his last night and a thrill ran down his spine. If only he’d been expecting it, he would’ve returned it, would’ve tasted her more deeply.

♫I can be you hero baby
I can kiss away the pain
I will stand by you forever
You can take my breath away♫

“I will, ya know,” Spike whispered to her, his voice deep with barely-concealed emotions. “Stand by you forever.”

Buffy looked up into his eyes. “Spike, I…” she began, but stopped. Her emotions, her thoughts, were all over the place. Something inside her wanted to dance with him forever, but another part of her kept screaming that ‘this was Spike! Spike! Who you loathe with every fiber of your being. Remember Spike?’ it asked her, ‘You know, the vampire that’s tried to kill you for the last four years?’

Buffy bit her lip and tried to still the warring voices in her head. She tried to listen to her instincts, but even they were at odds, some telling her to run away and others telling her to never leave. She finally forced herself to focus on why she’d invited him here, and all the voices calmed: he’d dusted Dru to save her and Dawn. If he would do that, then he would do anything; that was fairly incontrovertible.

“I believe you,” Buffy said at last, laying her head back on his shoulder.

♫Would you swear that you'll always be mine?
Would you lie, would you run away
Am I in too deep?
Have I lost my mind?
I don't care, you're here tonight♫

I believe you, her words echoed in Spike’s mind. The words flowed down into his unbeating heart like sweet nectar from a beautiful flower, where they joined with the kiss from the previous night and fanned the flames of his love.

♫You can take my breath away
I can be your hero♫

“I can be your hero, Buffy … if you’ll let me,” he whispered, burying his face in her silky tresses, his lips pressed against the side of her head. Buffy didn’t reply; he didn’t know if she’d heard him or not. He didn’t have the courage to say it again.

Buffy had heard him but her throat had tightened up too much for her to speak. She clenched her eyes closed and the dream she’d had of him catching her and saving the Key washed over her like a waterfall. Most times her dreams were just dreams, but that one had felt very real, especially the part of him burning up from the inside out, and served to churn and blend her conflicting emotions into such a muddled mess that she could no longer distinguish one from another.  She sighed and leaned against him a bit harder. The one thing she knew for sure was that it felt good to be dancing with him. She clung to that one thought, like a life preserver in a sea of confusion, as they swayed to the music.

**~**

“That’s just wrong,” Xander moaned as he watched Buffy dancing with Spike.

“Looks like they’re doing it right to me,” Anya replied, also watching the blondes on the dance floor.

“I think they look good together,” Tara remarked. “They fit, ya know?”

“No! No fitting! They totally don’t fit! They are the epitome of unfitness,” Xander argued vehemently.

“I think Tara’s right,” Anya contradicted her boyfriend. “Look at the way their hips move together perfectly and she fits against him … they totally match. They’re like Legos.”

“It’s really sweet the way he keeps his hand on the small of her back,” Tara continued. “I really thought Spike would’ve … well, you know," Tara ducked her head and blushed as she finished "… had it lower.”

“This is not happening,” Xander growled in frustration.

“What’s not happening?” Willow asked as she walked up to the group and handed Tara a fresh drink.

“Spike and Buffy! Just look at the way he has his hands all over her! Look at the way he’s pressing against her! It’s obscene! It’s disgusting!” Xander explained passionately.

Willow rolled her eyes. “You heard what Dawn said – Spike saved her … and Buffy. He staked Dru. I hate to, you know, jump to any conclusions, but it sounds kinda like he’s … changed.” Willow cringed slightly at the death-ray glare Xander shot her.

“Leopards do not change their stripes,” Xander insisted.

“Spots, dear,” Anya corrected him. “Leopards have spots, tigers have stripes. Unless it’s a Leopardiantiam demon, then it kinda has blotches of scales with…”

“Whatever!” Xander interrupted her. “Evil dead things do not suddenly become fine, upstanding citizens. He’s a vampire! It’s some kind of trick – a new scheme! Why am I the only one that can see that?” Xander wondered, looking at the women around him.

“Well, I agree that we need to keep an eye on him, but …” Willow shrugged. “It looks like Buffy’s doing a pretty good job of that to me. She’s got a very close eye on him.”

“I think people can change,” Tara offered. “I mean … everyone deserves a chance to change, don’t they?”

“He is not a people! He’s a demon,” Xander reminded them again.

“Is that how you really feel?” Anya asked, looking angry and hurt. “Once a demon, always a demon? No second chances?”

Xander gawped at her a moment. “I didn’t mean you!” he insisted. “Just … it’s Spike!”

“And Buffy’s a big girl,” Willow argued. “I’m pretty sure she can take care of herself against a neutered vampire.”

“In a fight, yeah! But look at her!” Xander insisted, waving a hand towards the pair. “She’s getting all goo-goo over him! And listen to this song he picked! ‘I can be your hero!?’ Seriously?? Who does he think he is, Spiderman?”

“He would look good in those tights,” Anya offered with an appreciative leer in Spike’s direction.

“Oh brother,” Xander groaned. “I’m putting an end to this right now.”

“I don’t think …” Willow started, but Xander was already stalking across the floor towards Spike and Buffy.

He came up behind Spike and tapped him on the shoulder. “Hey, Evil Dead, my turn,” he demanded just as the song Buffy had picked ended and another one, with a slightly faster beat, started.

Spike turned around and looked at Xander for a moment. “Alright, but I’m telling ya, I lead.” Spike smirked as he took one of Xander’s hands in his and cradled it against his chest, then placed his other hand at the brunette’s back and yanked Xander’s body against his. Xander shrieked in surprise and pulled away with all his strength.

“What the hell are you doing, you freak?” he demanded as Spike released him.

Spike shrugged as Buffy stepped forward and stood next to him, both of them facing Xander. “Thought ya wanted t’ dance.” Spike sighed, as if resigned. “Ok, you can lead, but just this once,” he acquiesced, moving towards Xander again.

Xander held up a warning finger and backed up. “Stay away from me!”

Spike stopped and shrugged. “You’re really taking the whole ‘playing hard to get’ thing a bit far, Harris.”

“You’re a psycho!” Xander shot back.

“I’m not the one that asked you t’ dance, Special Ed,” Spike pointed out.

“I didn’t ask you to dance! I was cutting in!”

“Oh, well … didn’t sound like that t’ me. Ya didn’t say, ‘can I cut in’, did ya? If you need some dance floor etiquette lessons, I reckon I could spare a bit o’ time tomorrow. Just stop by the crypt … no charge for you, big boy,” Spike taunted, giving Xander his best smoldering, ‘come hither’ look.

Xander paled, then looked at Buffy, who had a bemused expression on her face. “I hope you know what you’re doing with this … thing!” he snarled at her.

The half-smile on her lips faded into a thin, angry line. “Xander, this man saved Dawn’s life and mine yesterday when he didn’t have to. That’s earned him respect in my book. He’s gonna be helping us with Glory, which, I might remind you, we desperately need, so I suggest you get an attitude adjustment and put your petty jealousies away.”

“Jealous!? Of that?” he snapped, pointing at Spike. “You think that’s what this is?” Xander retorted incredulously.

“Yeah, pretty much,” Buffy replied, folding her arms over her chest.  “And it really doesn’t suit you.”

“Fine,” Xander ground out between clenched teeth. “But I sure as hell hope you know what you’re doing, because I don’t get it at all.”

“Trust me, Xander. Spike’s changed.”

“Leopards don’t change their … spots,” he spit out.

Buffy’s dream of the multi-colored, leopard-print-fabric soul washed through her mind and she smiled. “No they don’t,” she agreed.

Xander shook his head and walked away, completely confounded.

**~**

As the party wound down, Buffy said goodnight to Willow and Tara, and headed outside with Spike. Xander and Anya had left earlier, Xander complaining that he couldn’t bear to watch Buffy dancing with the Evil Dead another moment.

Spike had never been on a ‘not-a-date’ before; truth be told, he hadn’t been on a date – not as the word was defined these days. He wasn’t really sure what to expect next. He knew what he’d love to have happen, but that voice in his brain, which was small and distant, but as insistent as a bee buzzing around his head, kept telling him to wait, let her come to you. The pair walked down the steps of the frat-house together, turned on the sidewalk and headed back towards their side of town. It had been warm earlier, but now the night had cooled down considerably, and Spike saw Buffy wrap her arms around herself and shiver slightly to ward off the chill.  Risking looking like the git he was, he slipped out of his duster and draped it over her shoulders as they walked.

Buffy started, momentarily surprised, but then clutched it around her and snaked her arms into the sleeves. “Thanks,” she muttered, giving him a smile that warmed him more than the duster ever could.

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Looks better on you.”

Buffy raised her brows and gave him a wry smile. “I really doubt that,” she told him in a teasing tone.

Spike bit his bottom lip to keep from saying that the only way it could look better on him would be for him to be flat on his back atop it, with her on top of him. The night had been so perfect – even Harris hadn’t ruined it – in fact, the prat had made it better. Buffy had come to Spike’s defense – stood up to Special Ed. Spike had nearly toppled over in shock and awe when she did that. He didn’t want to ruin it now by saying something wholly inappropriate.

“What? No remark like … uhhhh … ‘You’d look better out of it’, or ‘You’d look better lying on the ground on top of it’?” Buffy asked, with a teasing glance at him.

Spike opened his mouth in surprise, but recovered quickly. “Slayer, I’m shocked! Never occurred t’ me. You, on the other hand, got a dirty mind,” he accused.

Buffy rolled her eyes but smiled. “Yeah … I’m starting to get that,” she agreed, the teasing tone fading.

Spike pursed his lips a moment, slowing a bit and sliding in behind her to allow a woman walking the other way on the sidewalk to pass. When he caught back up to her side he asked, “Is that bad?”

Buffy shrugged. “Jury’s still out.”

When they reached the front of Buffy’s house, she stopped and turned to face him. “Well … this is me,” Buffy said lamely, looking at the house instead of at Spike. “I … had a good time,” she offered shyly. Buffy mentally rolled her eyes. She felt like she was thirteen and on her first date. Her stomach was flopping back and forth like a fish out of water and the cool air had suddenly become too warm.

“So did I,” Spike replied as Buffy shrugged out of his duster. He took it from her and slid it back on. Butterflies tumbled around in his stomach like a Russian gymnast on speed and he cleared his throat. “Right then,” he said uncomfortably. “Reckon I’ll see ya…”

Just as she’d done the night before, Buffy had taken him by surprise by lifting up onto her toes and kissing him. This time, though, Spike was a little more prepared and he immediately wrapped his arms around her body, pulled her against him, and returned it. She tasted like heaven: beer, Chex Mix, cheese and Triscuits, and a hint of chocolate … Where the hell had she found chocolate? he wondered. All those tastes mixed with the indescribable flavor of ‘Buffy’: tart and sweet, spicy and salty, warm and, above all, passionate.  Her lips were soft and pliant under his and they parted when he darted his tongue against them, needing to taste more of her. A low moan purred from her throat and Spike thought the buttons on his jeans would pop at any moment – he wanted her so badly. More than he could ever remember wanting anyone before.

Then, too quickly, she pulled away. He felt a palpable sense of loss when the contact was broken.

She stood unmoving, breathless and gasping slightly, her face flushed and, even in the cool night air, a sheen of perspiration had blossomed on her forehead. After a moment to catch her breath, she gasped out, “Ummm … right … tomorrow then … maybe … patrol.” Then she nearly sprinted down the walk, up the stairs, and into the house. Spike thought he saw her knees wobbling as she retreated into the house.

Spike smiled, biting down on his bottom lip with his teeth. “That was more like it, then,” he smirked to himself, still looking at the closed door through which she’d just fled. He turned and started for his crypt, adjusting himself to lessen the strain on the buttons of his jeans, still smirking.  As he walked, he wondered how hard it would be to install a water heater in his crypt. He was starting to think he might not need those cold showers very much longer.