Buffy was headed through the early night, toward the graveyard, and Spike, and herself. It had all been so hard, so violent and nuts and frustrating, to arrive here, at the point where her need met her understanding.

She grinned to herself, awareness making her smile at the irony that was always present in her life. It was funny, and simple, really; there was no one on earth who could possibly understand her, love her, challenge her and meet her on her own turf, but Spike. William the Bloody Infuriating. William the Bloody Cocky. William the Bloody Paradoxical. William the Bloody Tempting.

Spike. Her Spike. In all his swagger and bravado, all his violence and tenderness, all his loyalty and gentleness and savagery, he was hers. He. Was. Hers. And she was his. The Spike through her heart. Who gave her heart and love and laughter and passion and wickedness and need.

She needed him. Odds are, the self-confident idiot knew it. Yeah. He knew it. And now, so did she. She was not made less by the knowledge, but more. More powerful, stronger, steadier and more loving. More human, not less.

She passed the Bronze, heard a distinctive note of laughter, and stopped. Her heart swelled and she pushed the door open. He was here, and she'd heard him laughing.

She was going to share her discovery with him. It was bright and hot and loud in the Bronze, and her clarity of mind felt the same. And always, the hunger for him. She'd show him, not tell him.

Spike was sitting on a couch in a far corner of the Bronze, laughing with vampiric delight at the sight of Tara covered in barbecue sauce as she munched on hot wings. She looked like a small child, tucking into those wings like they were her last meal.

He'd run into her on the way to the Summers house. She was whistling to herself, badly, stumbling through a tune and laughing at herself.

Spike's stride was eating up the ground as he walked, his mind on nothing but his new understanding, the clarity and shining of it- telling Buffy. He'd had his head down, his mind was racing, and he'd stepped right into Tara as he rounded a corner.

She let out a short scream and backed up, apology already falling from her lips as she looked up.

"I'm s�hey, Spike." She beamed at him, albeit a little nervously.

He looked at her without really seeing her and then realized...Oh. Witch. "Hello, cutie. What's so funny? "

Tara grinned crookedly and shrugged "Was at a movie on campus. Dracula. " She started giggling.

Spike cocked an eyebrow at her. "It was a comedy? "

"Nope...just...I mean, I've *met* Dracula...and all I could think was...'he doesn't act anything like the Count Whinyass I met.." and then it occurred to me that that thought was just too odd. I mean, " here Tara let out another soft laugh, " *I* MET* DRACULA*..where else but Sunnydale would that thought NOT get my butt into a Psych ward, all expenses paid? "

Spike grinned and shoved his hands in the pickets of his duster. Admittedly, it was a little warped. But, all things being twisted in Sunnydale.... "Fairy bastard owes me money, too."

Tara laughed louder. "DRACULA owes you money? "

"Eleven pounds, with several decades' interest."

"Okay, that's just bizarre." She couldn't contain her smile.

"What is, pet? "

"You're worrying about interest on money owed to you by Vlad the Impaler, Spike." A smirk took over his face, making it appealingly dangerous. Tara raised an eyebrow.

"I was planning on taking it out of his high and mighty hide, actually." Tara shrugged, not surprised. "Hey, where were you going in such a hurry, anyway? "

"I was hungry...going to the Bronze for some company and food. Willow's...well, she's spending a lot of time in the house and ...I figured I might find Anya and Xander, you know? "

Spike realized how lonely Tara must be, now that she wasn't with Willow. She had always been a little on the outside of things, a little apart. With the Scoobies, but not of them. Helping, but peripherally. Like him. He was hungry too...and maybe Buffy would be at the Bronze. He knew it wasn't likely she'd be home, anyway. Patrolling, or at the Magic Box...his message could wait. The feelings weren't going anywhere, and they never would.

He offered his arm to Tara. "Wings, love? I know I'm a vampire...but I can be company, too." He lifted a brow at her. " Male company, I know...but hey...give `em a shock." Tara laughed again. It was more than she'd done in a while, and her silly mood made her not care that Spike was...well. Spike. And besides, she'd always liked him. She knew he loved Buffy; secretly, she'd always cheered silently for the two, hoping they'd break down each other's defenses and just love each other. She took his arm, shyly. "Sure, Spike. "

And so there they were, laughing uproariously and getting their fingers all mucky with barbecue sauce, when Buffy walked through the door of the Bronze, following the sound of Spike's happiness. It was amazing, the way that laugh seemed to pull her toward it, like a guiding hand toward love.

She made her way through the crowd, intent, smiling a little as she pictured Spike's face when he saw her.

And then she saw him, sitting with Tara, laughing. His eyes were focused on the circles Tara was making with her hands as she told him something, and sauce from the mess of wings on the table was flying all over the place. He was grinning that wicked happy grin, and Buffy's heart seemed to leave her chest and rest in the palm of his right hand, sitting open and curled a little on his thigh. His left hand held a beer, which he sipped between nods at Tara's story.

Buffy just stood, watching, not intruding. She saw the smile that was on Spike's face was also in his eyes, his delight in Tara's company unfeigned, his restlessness quelled for the moment. She saw Tara's body lean forward to emphasize a point, her motion unconscious and without the caution that marked the body language of all her other friends, and even Giles. Especially Giles. She saw Spike's relaxed, easy pose and his usual defensive expression replaced with one of...contentment. That was new, almost. She'd almost never seen Spike totally without defenses. It was like seeing a bit of William, the human. Sitting with a friend and telling stories. She wondered if he'd gotten to do this, when he was William. She was glad he was doing it now.

She moved forward, coming to Spike's side just as Tara was saying, " I'm cured! I want the boys!" and breaking into laughter again. "...So Will grins and goes' Am I going to have to fight to keep you? Cause I'm not large with the butch."

Spike laughed, and looked up. His expression grew more joyful; Buffy was amazed that that was possible.

"Tara, hey. Spike." Buffy smiled and pulled up a bit of couch, next to him.

"Love." Spike almost purred it, but he didn't make a move to touch her.

Tara smiled, and reached for a napkin for the sauce all over her hands, "Hey, Buffy. Spike and I were just hanging out..." She looked at Spike, whose grin looked permanent.

"I'm all for that. Looked like you were having a lot of barbecue fun." She pointed to the sauce that was still decorating the corner of Spike's mouth, as well as Tara's sticky hands.

"I was coming to see you, Slayer. Then I ran into the Witch, here...or she ran into me..."

"Funny...I was just coming to see you, too. Coincidence? I think not. " Buffy reached for a wing and munched, one eye on Spike as she savored the spice of it. She was hot, all of a sudden, and it wasn't the wings. Tara coughed, loudly, and Spike and Buffy both turned, snapped out of the moment. She smiled at them both, and rose to go.

"Well, it's been great, Spike, but I'm all winged out. You two can keep each other company. I have to sleep or I am going to be useless as a student tomorrow." She waved at them both and moved off, thinking, Buffy, Spike. Yep. Only in Sunnydale.

Buffy leaned into a corner of the couch and looked at Spike. "You were looking for me? "

"I usually am, love." He looked at her with that ever-present half smile and she couldn't stop the teasing tone in her voice.

"In the Bronze. With Tara, and the wings you can eat? "

His smile grew warmer, his eyes darker. "I was ...hungry. "

Buffy's smile grew slightly wicked. "Did it help? "

"No."

She moved close to him, put her mouth to his ear, and her hand rested on his denim-clad thigh. "I have something to tell you, Spike," she breathed. He shuddered, once, hard. "But not here."

He drew back to look at her, the intensity of his gaze giving everything to his words. "Where, love? Anywhere."

"Is this a your-place-or-mine-moment?" She drew her hand up to his face, to trail light fingers over his jaw, his cheek, one thumb moving over his mouth. Her eyes never left his face. Spike groaned. It was a small sound in the din around them, but she heard it, and it went straight to her heart, and then farther, seating itself in her being as the sound of Spike's need. "Yes." He moved in to touch his lips to her mouth, soft, restrained, tasting a little of the sun and the light that was Buffy. He could smell her desire and feel the waves of hunger that were startlingly similar to his own. His eyes on hers, he searched, looking for an answer in the bright hot depths. It was there. Need like his own, hunger like his own, love like his own.

"Buffy...love...how.." He stopped, wordless, just looking.

"I know. I know how you feel now. I understand...for the first time...how it feels for you...." She kept her eyes on his, watched his tongue peek out and take the tip of her thumb into his mouth. Slowly. Carefully, even guardedly, he sucked. She gasped and her eyes were wide with something akin to shock but closer to longing. He took her hand and set it in his lap, resting at the ache that was quickly becoming his whole world. Still, his eyes on hers.

Still, the asking. "What did you do, love? A spell? Gods, please, don't...for me..." He trailed off again, his voice low and raw.

"No, Spike. No spells. No hocus -pocus. " Her hand, small, hot, strong, lay in his lap, and she stroked him, infinitely tender, through the denim while his mind tried to keep up with what his eyes and his body were telling him. The look in her eyes. It was there...the one he'd seen while he was...seeing her in his head. The need, the gentleness, the passion, the strength and resolution. That craving that ran in him like water. The pull, ceaseless, relentless. It was his, and somehow now, past all reason, it was hers, as well. She held his gaze and said, simply, "Let me show you. Let me tell you. Not here."

Standing, she drew him with her and led him unseeing and bewildered through the Bronze, out the door, and toward his crypt. They walked in near total silence. Spike was trying to understand, trying to think through the shock and the wonder that was fogging his mind and bringing obliterating need to his body. She was so calm, so certain, so ..happy. What the hell...where? Why? How?

"Buffy...Slayer...love...I have to tell you..." The door to the crypt was opened and they walked through it, Spike falling silent a moment, taking an unneeded breath to gather his thoughts before he lost them utterly.

"Spike." Buffy stood looking at him, her eyes bright with...tears? Anger? What? He was lost. He waited. She shook off her short leather jacket, walking to him, taking him by the hand again, smiling, descending with him following in mute apprehension to the room where his bed lay. In a fit of earlier frustration he'd cleaned down here, and the order was a stark and telling contrast to the mess upstairs. In front of the television. Where he'd...Christ. Learned. Had his eyes opened and his being torn open and reassembled. The sheets on the bed were still in disarray. But there was no other sign of someone living- unliving here.

Buffy led him across the bare room. She divested him of duster, black shirt, boots. When he was shirtless and barefoot, she took off her own boots and grey t-shirt and sat him, and herself, on the bed. They faced each other. She extended her legs and shimmied up to sit in his lap. Bare chest to bare chest, Spike's mind fled. His eyes burned into Buffy's and he opened his mouth to tell her everything.

She kissed him. She stole the words from his mouth, the thoughts from his mind, the need from his blood. The heat and the softness of her mouth took his name from memory and his worry from his gut. Her hands reached up around his back to hold his shoulders and the silk of them against his cool skin stole the fear from his head and the sadness from his unbeating heart.

She was still looking at him. Tenderly. Passionately. Fiercely. She was as strong as she had ever been and more. She was showing him what she'd learned, and she was doing it the way he needed her to. His soft moan ate at the silence of the room and dragged it back to live in his heart. Silence, Peace. Hunger. Buffy smiled, a teasing, knowing, woman's smile. The animal leapt to live in Spike's blue eyes and just watching it appear there was a challenge. A gift. She lowered her head to the hollow of his shoulder. She licked that spot, so cool and hard, and vulnerable.

Another moan rent the air, and Spike's gasp was ragged with it. "Buffy....please....!"

She smiled against his skin, and her laugh was soft and low and loving. "I know, Spike. I finally know." And her tongue moved over the hollow again. He was going to ask her what she knew, going to face her and find out what all this was about, stomp down his hunger one more time as a man... And then she bit him. Hard. Spike roared and held her tight against him, his hips jerking forward at the feel of her teeth in his flesh. She hung on, teeth leaving a deep mark, spots of his blood. She sucked at it, rhythmically, moving against Spike while she tasted him. She understood the hunger so well now. She could hear the noise, the wildness in her head and she knew, wanted to share that knowledge with him. No longer afraid, taking the knowing and making it not something imposed upon her, but something she was. Spike was shaking, his breath coming in gasps of shock and need, and he threw her back onto the bed, looming large and wild above her. "Slayer...how did you DO that? Why?" He could barely speak, barely think for the bloodlust and the hunger that was rushing inside his body and filling his head.

She smiled at him, softly. Her hands reached down and unzipped his jeans while she spoke. "I learned something tonight, Spike. I needed to understand. I wanted to know what it was like for you...the hunger, the need...loving me, needing to feed...I wanted to know. And then, I did. I could hear you, see you, feel you. It felt like I was inside your head, under your skin, in your blood..." She stroked his bare hips and he lifted them so she could push the jeans down, and he kicked them away. Buffy reached up and kissed him. He could taste his own blood, drunk with it on her mouth. He was raging inside with love and need and craving, but he said nothing, waiting for her. "I felt it all...I saw what you see when you look at me...tasted what you do when you... touch me with your mouth...I felt the peace. Understood, at last. Came to tell you..."

As she held his hips and brought them down against her own, tangled her hands in his hair, stared into his eyes and was stunned by what she saw there. Delight. Total, utter delight. He moved back and sat on his heels, looking at the woman who'd stolen all of his passionate hatred and turned it, by his own choice, to passionate love.

He smiled. His hands moved by themselves, to draw the rest of her clothes from her body, and he spoke, quietly , as he did. "You know, then. You've discovered what I couldn't explain, don't have words for.." He slid like cool satin against her skin and lay with his body against hers, her warmth soothing and arousing, both. She nodded, once.

And with that, there was only his hands and her mouth and their bodies moving, fire and water and the dace. His mouth met hers, her hands found his, and they were dancing, with his hips leading, hers following, and the need that was so great inside him-so much a part of who he was and how he loved her-was met and matched and married in her.

Not a fight, this. No bloody noses and aching bones and snarls of competitive anger. Just her sighs as his tongue traced love notes over her skin and her mouth stroked his skin and left cool silver peace behind it. Just the sight of her moving beneath him as he took and gave, challenged her strength with tenderness and made her more human than before.

Made him more human than he'd ever dreamed of being.

There was only the moan that poured from his lips and into her mouth as the soft wet warmth of her sheltered him, trembled for him, ached for him, and he felt it. Felt the touch of her love meeting his at last, quiet, not surrendering to greater power, but giving of equal desire. Their eyes met again and he spoke, a hushed whisper of reverence as he slid down the curves and valleys of her body, kissing the warm skin of her belly as he told her what he'd learned.

"I was alone, tonight...I was thinking of you...wanted to know what you felt, how it was for you when we made love..." He reached for one of her small hands as he placed a soft, openmouthed kiss on her hip. She took the hand and her hips moved like the sea toward his mouth, the scent of her more real than anything, ever. He touched his tongue to the inside of her thigh, enjoyed her tremble, and continued, softly.

"I could feel the need in you...feel what my touch does... how you ache when I'm inside you...I could feel the blood burn beneath your skin...the wanting...even the fear...but I understood how hard it was for you...and I wanted you to know, Buffy...you're never going to be alone again, love..."

And then he kissed her, his love and his Slayer. He tasted her, reverent, hungry, aching. He licked gentle and drank, and her moans shook her small frame and her hand never let go of his. His left hand rested on her abdomen and his eyes never left her ecstatic face as he took her all in and inhaled the scent of her love and his. The feel of her on his tongue struck like a deep bass drum somewhere inside him and became a harmony to her gasps and cries of release. He was in Heaven, and the need was still here and it twined around his senses and hers was there too and dear Gods how come he didn't just explode into dust with the joy of it?

She was shaking, then, pulling him up to kiss him and the hunger was there, just like his, oh yes, please, her legs wrapped about his hips and then deepest wildest joy of all he was inside her again and they were looking at each other and the peace and the reality of this was absolute Oh how did he move like that, so slow and so focused, his thrusts so deep and easy How could he be so calm when there was this wildness in her, she wanted to crawl under his skin and stay there, running in his blood like he was running in hers Oh Spike, please...

"Oh. Spike. Please." She'd said it aloud and he answered, harsh, desperate for control, for one more stroke, for one more glimpse at the love and the desire and the hunger and the shock of want...

"Oh...Buffy...yes..." He moved slower, deeper. Their hands were locked and so were their eyes and there was nothing, only this, from now on. She was waiting, hanging on the edge, waiting on the precipice and there were unshed tears standing in her eyes. One deep, easy stroke. He touched her center, he sobbed her name, she breathed his on an aching moan and they were gone, lost to it all, nothing left in the world but the terrible pulling pleasure and the need to be closer, always closer. His eyes were flashing with gold and hers were wide and wild as the tears slid from them onto the pillow and she gasped "Please, Spike.." and he changed and sunk his fangs into her shoulder and she screamed, he growled with something that was more than pain and less than fear and the world ceased to be anything but this incredible obliterating hunger.

Love.

They woke a long time later, his head on her breast, her hand on his cheek. He moved up beside her, smirk at the ready. "Love?"

"Yes..." her voice was calm, steady. Without fear.

"How did you know?" She smiled at him, and in her mind, he heard it. I love you. "Commercial. You?"

His grin was huge. "Soap opera."

"`Passions', again?"

A soft laugh. "Bloody well did the job, din't it?"

Buffy chuckled, touched his chest, just over the heart that wasn't beating.

"Television. Scourge of the civilized world."