Title: Someone Who Understands
Author: GreenGirl47
Rating: R
Disclaimer: They all belong to Joss. I just like playing with them. Especially Spike and Anya ;O)
Summary: *WIP* Spike and Anya become roomates post-Entropy and feelings start to develop. Lots of juice and action in store >:O)


Spike hesitated outside the Magic Box as he passed it on his way back to the crypt. The lights were still on even though there was a CLOSED sign on the door, and he could see Anya moving around in the back of the shop. 'Cleaning up after us,' he supposed, noticing that there was a very good view of the table from where he was standing. 'Huh. Wonder if any passerby caught the free show?'

He quickly shrugged off the thought, not really caring. Couldn't have done any more damage than the *Scoobies* catching them, after all.

Spike was about to walk away when Anya turned and caught sight of him standing outside the window. She gave him a small smile, which he returned with a nod, then backtracked a few steps to the door and opened it, stepping into the shop. "Hello, Anya," he said.

"Hi, Spike," she replied, fidgeting with her hands.

"I... um... do you need some help? Cleaning up?" he asked.

She looked around. "Yes. That would be nice. You helped to make the mess after all."

"Yeah, I guess I did, didn't I?"

She nodded. "Yeah."

They stood awkwardly for a moment before Spike moved to the table. "What should I do? Looks like you've got it mostly under control." He gestured to the chairs and bench, which were now standing upright, and to the pile of broken glass in the garbage can.
Anya motioned to the bottle of Lysol and rags sitting on the counter. "You can wipe off the table. There's still some JD and..." she grimaced "... on it."
He raised an eyebrow, grabbing the cleaner and a rag. "Ah," he said. "Remnants."
She let out a soft laugh. "Yes. Remnants."

Spike sprayed a generous amount of the berry blossom-scented mist over the wooden surface and began rubbing at it vigorously, taking care not to leave streaks. The two of them worked in silence for several minutes, neither knowing what to say about what happened earlier or how the other would react if it was brought up. Anya focused intently on her mopping and Spike on his disinfecting, until finally all the cleaning was done.

They stood and surveyed their work for a moment before turning to each other and exchanging another awkward smile.

"So," Anya offered.

"So," Spike replied.

Silence. Then:

"Anya..."

"Yeah?"

"Where are you planning on staying tonight?"

She thought for a moment. "I really don't know. I was planning on staying in the apartment when I came back, but that obviously won't be happening now. I guess I could check into the Sunnydale Inn or sleep here."

Spike nodded. "Yeah. Or you could stay with *me*, if you like."

Anya gave him a surprised look. "That's very nice of you, but I don't think it would be a good idea for us to have sex again. It would just--"

Spike shook his head. "No! No, that's not what I meant," he told her. "I mean you can stay in my crypt until you find a more permanent place to live. It's not much, and I don't have a proper bed since the sodding Soldier Boy came and blew it up, but I'm sure we could figure something out."

The look of lonliness on his face registered with her suddenly, and she felt inclined to agree. "All right," she said. "We could both use the company, anyway. Let me get my purse and then we can go."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Spike tossed the last of his pillows onto his bier and turned to Anya. "There you go, pet. All set for sleeping in. Or *on*."

She smiled. "Thank you, Spike. I appreciate it."

He shrugged. "'S no problem. Least I could do after... well, messing things up for you even more."

She shook her head. "No. I was as much a part of it as you were. Sex generally involves *two* people, after all."

He returned her smile. "Generally. So no grudges then?"

"Of course not," she assured him. "Well, unless..." Her voice trailed off.

He frowned. "Unless what?"

Her smile was replaced by a tentative expression. "Did you mean what you said? About not biting me and all that other stuff? Or were you just drunk?"

He widened his eyes in a show of sincerity. "I meant it all, Anya. Every bit of it."

She nodded. "Good. Because I don't think I could take any more lies from men today."

"I understand," he told her. "Do you regret what happened?"

She thought for a moment. "I... I don't know. The kissing was nice. The orgasm was *really* nice. But the way I felt afterward wasn't so nice."

He looked down. "Yeah. I know what you mean." They were silent for a moment. "I guess we should get to sleep now," Spike said to her.  "Long night, hangover looming on the horizon and all that."

She nodded. "Yeah. Good night."

"'Night," he said as he turned to head across the crypt to his easy chair.

Anya caught his arm before he could make it two steps.

"Spike..." she said. "I just want you to know that I *didn't* mean what I said."
He shot her a confused look. "About what?"
She shifted slightly beneath the blankets. "About you just being there. You weren't. You helped me."
He gave her a soft smile, touched by her explanation. "'S all right, pet. Didn't think much of it anyway. You sleep tight, now."
She nodded. "I will."

Spike walked to his chair and laid back in it, sprawling out onto the ottoman. 'I think I'm gonna like having her around,' he thought as he fell into a light sleep.
*****

Anya woke up the next morning surprisingly sans the pounding  headache that usually accompanied her morning-after low. She actually felt kind of refreshed; and it was nice to wake up somewhere other than the Motel 6 she'd stayed in before returing to Sunnydale.

She guessed by the dim light being filtered through the crypt windows that it was near eight o'clock and time for her to get up and get going. The Magic Box needed to be opened and then it would be business as usual.

Sort of.

Anya sat up and stretched, letting the warm blankets fall away from her body.  She'd slept in one of Spike's token black t-shirts, having nothing else to wear and realizing that she'd be forced to wear the same outfit until she could get to the apartment to pick up her suitcase. Always the professional business woman, she didn't want to make her appearance anymore beat up than she knew it already would be.

'And I still smell like alcohol,' she thought disgustedly, sliding off the bier. 'I am in desperate need of a shower.'

She stood for a second, contemplating her options, before tiptoeing over to Spike, who was still sprawled out over the chair and ottoman. He was dead asleep and wearing nothing but his pair of black jeans, which rode low and exposed his sexily chisled torso. 'God,' she thought. 'I should have taken off his shirt last night when... no. No, no off-topic thoughts. Think shower. Shower.'

"Spike?" she whispered, tapping him on the shoulder.

He stirred a little, arching his back like a cat and letting out a soft groan.

Anya suppressed a smile at his show of masculine grace. "Spike," she whispered again, this time shaking him.

His eyes fluttered open at her persistance. "Morning, Demon Girl," he said sleepily, giving her a teasing grin.  

"Morning, Fang Boy," she shot back, returning his gentle smirk. "I have a question."

"What's that, pet?" he asked, sitting up and stretching out his arms.

"Do you have a shower? I have to be to the Magic Box in a little while and I still smell like JD and sweat."

He thought a moment. "Yeah, actually I do. Hasn't been used in a while though, so I'm not sure if the it'll still work. And it's nothing fancy, just a pipe in the wall and a hole in the ground. It's in the lower part. Want me to show you?"

She nodded. "Yes, please."

"All right." Spike stood up and stretched again, then turned to Anya and motioned for her to follow him.

"So, how'd you sleep then, luv?" he asked as he helped her down the ladder to the lowest level of his crypt.

"Very well," she replied. "And for some reason I'm not all sick from the drinking we did last night. How about you? Hung over much?"

Spike shook his head. "Actually no,  not at all. That's an advantage of being dead-- much easier to sleep off  the effects of drunkeness."

"That's lucky," she said. "I guess that's what-- oh my God!" Anya interrupted herself as she the state of ruin the bottom floor was in registered with her. "What happened here?"

Spike shook his head. "Don't really feel like getting into it right now," he told her. "But let's just say it involved Captain Cardboard finding Buffy and I together, some demon eggs, and a hand grenade."

Anya raised an eyebrow, surveying the extensive damage. "How the hell did the shower survive?"

Spike let out a laugh, shrugging. "I guess it was just lucky." He jerked his head toward the back of the crypt. "Come on, it's over there."

They walked to the farthest corner of the crypt, picking their way through the debris, and stopped at a mildew-encrusted sheet that hung stiffly on several rusty hooks. Spike pulled it aside to reveal a spigot and showerhead mounted about six feet up, and a bar of deteriorating soap with hair growing out of it on a stone ledge jutting out from the corner. The entire wall was covered in a slimy green fungus which smelled oddly like rotting watermelons and chlorine.

"This smells like rotting watermelons and chlorine," Anya said, wrinkling her nose.
Spike looked at his shower in amused disgust. "Yeah, guess I let my home maintenance skills slip a little, huh?"

"A *little*?" she retorted sarcastically. "I'm getting ringworm just *looking* at it."

He laughed, shaking his head. "Sorry, sweetheart. Looks like you'll have to go elsewhere if you want to freshen up."

Anya sighed. "And it looks like *you'll* have to think about fixing the shower if I'm going to be staying with you."

He gave her a grin. "Guess so..."
*****
Anya stood behind the counter of the Magic Box, silently thanking God for the miracle that was the glamour spell. Using a simple incantation, she'd managed to majick herself into a white button-down shirt and a pair of khakis. She'd also taken care of the alcohol smell left clinging to her body with a simple stick of insense.

It had been a slow day, which she actually didn't mind for once. She was tired and hungry and looking forward to getting back to the crypt to talk with Spike, who-- oddly enough-- she'd been thinking about all day. She was rather excited about staying with him, even if it would be for just a couple of weeks. 'It'll be nice to not be lonely,' she thought, smiling to herself. 'And it'll give me some time to think things through away from any of the Scoobies. Well, the *inner* Scoobies, anyway. '

Anya gave a start as the bells on the door of the shop burst into a chorus of tinny chiming and pulled her out of her train of thought. Her face instinctively lit up into a "please-buy-something-from-me" grin, but quickly melted into a more genuine "glad-to-see-you" smile as she saw who had come into the shop.

"Tara!" she said brightly, coming out from behind the counter to greet the witch.

"Hey, sweetie," Tara replied, giving her a quick hug. "How are you d-doing?"  

Anya shrugged. "Oh, I'm all right." She let out a small laugh. "You know, considering."

Tara smiled, a look of empathy crossing her face. "Yeah. I, um... I heard about w-what happened with you and Spike last n-night."

Anya's happy expression wavered. "*You* saw it, too?"

Tara shook her head quickly. "Oh, no! N-no. I just... Willow told me. She was worried about B-buffy seeing it. I guess she was p-pretty upset." She paused a moment before adding, "You know they were s-seeing each other, right? Buffy and Spike?"

Anya shook her head in the affirmative. "Yes," she replied. "I found out about it last night. We all did."

Tara nodded. "Xander said you d-didn't go back to get your things or to t-talk anymore and I was really worried about you. I know how b-bad things can get after something like that happens."

Anya gave her an appreciative smile.

"I was w-wondering where you stayed," she continued. "Because you're always welcome to stay with m-me in the dorm."

Her smile grew. "That's very nice of you, Tara," she said. "But I found a place to stay already."

Tara looked mildly surprised. "Oh, really? Where?"

"Spike's crypt," Anya replied. "It's not a sexual thing," she added quickly, seeing Tara's surprised expression deepen. "He offered me a place to sleep so I took it."

Tara recovered from her obvious shock gracefully, and said, "Well, I'm glad you found s-somewhere to go. It does help to m-make it easier."

Anya nodded in agreement. "Yes, it does. And it's nice to be around someone who understands what I'm going through on all levels, you know?"

"Yeah," Tara replied, smiling thoughtfully. She gave Anya's shoulder a small squeeze, then cautiously asked, "Do you... do you h-have feelings for him?"

Anya shrugged slowly. "I don't know," she told her. "I mean, yes, I find him very attractive, and he's been very sweet to me... but I'm not in love with him or anything like that. Why?"

Tara's face took on a sad quality as she answered, "I just d-don't want to see any friendships ruined b-because of all this. We all... we all n-need each other."

Anya bit her lip. "I know. But I don't see why Buffy would care if I was staying with Spike. From what I've heard, she pretty much just gave him sex and heartache. It's not like she loves him."

Tara was quiet for a moment before countering gently, "Actually, I think she d-does... it was in the way she talked about him t-to me. The color of her aura when we'd d-discuss what was happening with them. There's so much p-passion and feeling. I think she *is* in love with him, but she's v-very afraid and confused about how sh-she feels."

Anya frowned. "I guess it's possible. But I still don't see why I shouldn't stay with Spike. What happened between us last night was for comfort, not because *we're* together now. Orgasms do seem to naturally follow two people getting drunk after all."

Tara nodded. "I know. I'm not saying you *shouldn't* s-stay with him. I'm just saying to b-be careful. He still loves Buffy, even though she h-hurts him so much. And I d-don't want to see *anyone* hurting."

Anya took a deep breath. "You know, neither do I. But pain just seems to come from everywhere these days."

"Yeah, it does," Tara agreed. "Things fall apart. They fall apart s-so hard. But that d-doesn't mean they can't be put back together."

Anya nodded, casting her eyes down, and added quietly, "Even if they have to be put back together in a whole new way..."
*****

Spike sat restlessly in the cushiony depths of his easy chair, waiting anxiously for his new roomate to return home. While she'd been at the shop, he'd spent the day cleaning and fixing things up, making the crypt fit for the likes of Anya. He'd cleared the refrigerator to make room for human food and had recovered an old chest from the rubble of the lower chamber, realizing that she'd need a place to keep her belongings once she retrieved them. He'd also cleaned up the shower; a fresh sheet now hung from the still-rusty hooks, the walls and floor had been rid of the algae, and the moldy soap had been replaced by a new and hairless bar. And it had taken nearly two hours of scrubbing to get the watermelon-chlorine smell to dissipate, but he'd managed to do that as well. He couldn't wait to see what Anya thought of the changes.

'She'll be happy to know she has a safe place to shower now,' he thought bemusedly, remembering her disgust at the state of the bathing area that morning. 'I just hope she's picked up her clothes and some food. It'd make it a hell of a lot easier for her if she had her things here.'

Just as he finished that thought, the crypt door burst open and Anya stumbled in, weighed down by two enormous duffle bags. Spike was on his feet in two seconds flat, and at her side helping her with the clothes-filled monsters.

"Here, pet, I got 'em," he told her as he took them out of her rapidly weakening grasp.

"Thank you," she said, smiling gratefully. "I see your chivalry still hasn't run out."

Spike let out a strained laugh from beneath the bags as he set them down next to the bier. "I haven't forgotten *everything* that was pounded into my head back in the Victorian days." He stood up and grimaced, rolling his shoulders. "God, what have you got in there, Anya? Those things must be a hundred pounds each."

She shrugged, tilting her head. "Oh, not too much. Just the basics. You know, clothes, shoes, an iron, towels, shampoo, a pillow and blanket, silverware, plates, cups, some videos, a few-- hey!" She interrupted herself. "You cleaned!"

He grinned. "You noticed."

She nodded, looking around. "It looks great. Everything's so organized and neat." She walked over to the TV and swiped her fingers across it, smiling at the lack of dust. "Did this take you a long time?"

He shook his head in the affirmative. "Yeah. I spent the entire day straightening things up. Figured now's as good a time as any to get the spring cleaning done, what with you movin' in for awhile."

"How about the shower?" she asked. "Did you get to clean that, too?"

He laughed. "'S one of the first things I got to. Most important of all."

She smiled at him. "It's so nice of you to do all that for me, to make me feel at home. I really appreciate it."

He returned her warm expression. "No problem at all. I treat my guests right, especially those that happen to be attractive and forthright women."

She let out a soft laugh. "Well, you make an excellent host. I'm sure I'm going to enjoy staying here very much."

He nodded. "I hope you do."

They were quiet for a moment after this flirtily sweet exchange, before Spike asked, "So, pet, do you wanna unpack now or do you wanna wait until after you eat?"

Anya placed a hand over her stomach and groaned. "I am absolutely *famished*, I'll definitely wait until after I-- damnit!" Her face fell as the realization hit her: "I forgot to take food! I took everything you need to have a nice meal except for the food!"

He laughed. "'S okay, Anya. You can go shopping tomorrow."

"But what about tonight?" she asked. "I haven't had a thing to eat all day and I'm about ready to starve."

Spike thought a moment. "You wanna go out? To the Bronze, maybe? I've been craving a good burger lately and theirs are the best in town."

She shook her head. "I'd love to, but I don't have any money with me right now."

He shrugged. "My treat, then. I don't mind paying."

She smiled. "Are you sure?"

He nodded. "Of course."

"Well, all right then," she relented. "But let's go now, okay?"

"Okay."
*****

Spike and Anya sat comfortably across from one another at a small table near the back of the Bronze, chatting animatedly and enjoying their food immensely. Anya was working on her fourth slice of pizza as Spike gnawed his way through a cheeseburger and a dozen chicken wings. Each of them nursed a large Coke, having tacitly agreed to stay away from alcohol when they were alone together. Although regrets were minimal, neither was ready for a repeat performance of the night before.

"Oh God, I am *stuffed*," Anya commented as she swallowed a last bite of pepperoni. "I can't even look at food right now or I may explode."

Spike laughed and stole the leftover crust off her plate. "There's another advantage of being dead," he said, taking a bite of it. "No digestion equals no limit to what you can eat. It's a nice little feature to have at times."

Anya nodded, then frowned. "Wait a second. If your food doesn't get digested then what happens to it?" she asked. "And also, if you never have to go to the bathroom then why do you have a toilet in your crypt?"

Spike chewed thoughtfully on the crust for a moment, thinking of an answer. "I don't really know what happens to the food I eat," he replied. "I guess it just gets absorbed or summat. And I don't know why there's a toilet in my crypt, either. It was there when I moved in."

Anya raised an eyebrow. "Who lived there before you, then? A demon?"

He shrugged. "I assume so. No vampire I know of ever has to use the bathroom."

She nodded. "That's true. I've never-- oh. Oh God." A sick expression passed across Anya's face.  

Spike gave her a concerned look as he noticed her complexion paling. "Whatsa matter, pet? You gonna throw up from all the pizza?"

She shook her head. "No. No. Look behind you."

Spike turned around, squinting into the bright strobe lights, and caught site of what Anya was looking at.

Buffy and Willow had just walked in.

"Maybe we should go," Anya said, shifting nervously in her seat. "I'm not in the mood for confrontation tonight."

Spike shook his head. "No. We aren't leaving. I want to talk to Buffy, and I highly doubt Red'll get nasty with you. Just wait here, all right?"

Anya nodded. "Whatever. I just hope she doesn't have a stake on her. She was pretty pissed last night."

He ignored her comments and stood up, then made his way across the club to where Buffy and Willow were sitting. They had their backs toward him, but he could tell that Buffy sensed him as he neared by the stiff posture she'd suddenly taken.

Just as he was about to tap her on the shoulder, she spoke. "Leave me alone, Spike."

"We need to talk," he said, nodding subtly at Willow as she covertly shot him a sympathetic greeting smile.

"No, we really don't," Buffy replied, still not turning to face him. "I have nothing to say to you."

"Well, I *do*," he said patiently, speaking with the learned calmness that came from dealing with her attitude so often. "I want to talk."

"You said that already," she retorted annoyedly. "And I gave you my answer. Would you please just go away?"

"No," he responded simply. "Not until you turn around and discuss some things with me."

She shook her head. "I'm not in the mood to put up with you right now, Spike. Leave."

"No," he repeated, jaw set in a show of defiance. "Just turn around and talk to me."

Willow suddenly stood up, clearly uncomfortable with the exchange going on around her. "Hey, um, there's Anya over in the back!" she exclaimed in an overly-cheerful tone. " I think I'll go see how she's doing." And with that she left Buffy and Spike by themselves.

Buffy let out a noise of incredulity at Willow's departure, then finally turned around to glare at Spike. "Are you here with her?" she asked, barely able to contain the hurt in her voice.

He nodded. "Yeah. Just having dinner."

Her glare deepened. "So what, are you guys like all coupley now or something?"

Spike shook his head. "No. Not at all."

She raised an eyebrow, pursing her lips. "Oh really? Then why is she staying in your crypt?"

"She doesn't have anywhere else to go," he replied steadily. "And we could both use the company."

Buffy closed her eyes for a brief second. "I don't understand why it matters to you what happens to her anyway. You don't even know her that well."

"It matters because she's the only person who's shown me any respect in a long time," he told her. "She's actually able to relate to the things I'm going through."

Buffy bit her lip. "So you have feelings for her then."

Spike let out a frustrated sigh. "No, Buffy, I don't. I'm glad to have her around, but not in the way I was glad to have *you* around. I love you. Even if you refuse to recognize my feelings as being real, I still love you."

She cast her eyes downward. "If you love me so much, why did you sleep with her?"

He shrugged slowly. "I don't know. It was just... it was the lethal combination of alcohol and emotion. It just happened. Seemed the right thing to do at the time."

Buffy contemplated this, silent for a moment. "So... you weren't moving on?"

He shook his head. "No. Not *really*, anyway."

She nodded, then spoke quietly. "Oh. Okay. Because I was kind of... sorry... about telling you that. I didn't think it would hurt so much to see you with someone else."

He tilted his head, an expression of hope daring to show itself on his face. "I'm sorry it hurt you," he said. "It was just... it felt good to be with someone who understood for once."

Buffy flinched slightly, pain flashing in her eyes. "You think I don't understand?"
Spike frowned, looking confused. "What are you talking about? I *know* you don't understand anything I feel."

Her face darkened. "How would *you* know?" she asked. "How would you *really* know what I feel?"

His expression turned from surprise and confusion to slight anger. "Because if you understood how I felt you wouldn't have kept telling me that I'm convenient and evil and dirty," he told her. "You wouldn't have stepped on me the way you did."

Buffy stood up, hurt and fury etching itself into her features. "Why are you trying to make me feel guilty?"

"Why are *you* trying to make this about *you*?" he countered, then paused. "Oh. Wait a second. It's *always* about you."

Buffy shot him a murderous glare. "That's it," she growled. "You wanted to talk, we talked. And now we're done. Get out of my way, I'm leaving."

He returned her seething expression. "Fine," he said, voice low as she walked away from him. "It's what you're good at."

He watched as Buffy went and collected Willow and then left the Bronze without a second glance back at him. Anger and frustration boiled in his chest, threatening to spill out in the form of violence. 'Why the hell doesn't she ever *listen*?' he fumed internally, clenching his fists. 'Bitch can't stand ever being wrong. Who the bloody hell does she think she is, trying to tell me she understands? She understands *nothing*. Nothing.'

"Spike?"

Spike gave a start at the sensation of a hand on his arm and whipped around. It was Anya.

"Didn't go well, did it?"

He shook his head, smiling bitterly. "Not at all, sweetheart. Not at all."

She patted his shoulder empathetically. "Would this be an inappropriate time for an 'I told you so?'"

He rolled his eyes. "Very inappropriate."

She nodded. "I thought so. We should go now."

"I have to agree with you on that one."

Anya slipped her arm through Spike's as they made their way out of the club and started on their way back to the crypt.
*****

When Anya closed the Magic Box for the day, vague gray wisps of cloud were only just beginning to gather over the clear horizon. She'd thought nothing of them until she actually left the shop and noticed them thickening and stewing above the town. A chilly wind had begun to move through the area, dry at first, but soon accompanied by a sheet of small, cold raindrops. By the time Anya reached the fence of the graveyard, those small drops had turned into a steady downpour; and by the time she reached the crypt, she was soaked to the bone.

Spike was startled out of his nocturnal slumber by the sounds of soggy footsteps squelching through his un-living room area. He shot straight up in his chair, game face flashing in a sleepy show of instinct as he became fully awake and alert. Cautiously, he climbed to his feet and peered up over the bier, expecting to find some kind of mucus demon looking for a fight. Instead he found, to his suprise, the much more pleasant sight of Anya standing in the middle of the room... peeling her shirt off.

As he collected his jaw from the floor, she turned around and gave him a dark look, to which he quickly responded by glancing away from her.

"Sorry, Anya," he said. "Didn't mean to ogle you like that, you just kinda caught me by suprise."

"No, that's not what that look was for," she told him, unbuttoning her pants. "I'm upset because I got caught in the rain and now I'm unpleasantly damp. I don't care if you look at me. Stare all you want. We're roomates, it's only natural to undress in front of each other." She grunted as she suctioned her jeans away from her legs. "Hello, by the way."
He looked back at her and grinned. "Hello, cutie. How was work?"

She shrugged, bending over to pick up her sopping clothes. "Same as usual. How was *your* day?"

"Same as yours," he replied casually. "Normal. Just slept the whole time."

"Ah." She wrung her shirt out onto the concrete floor and then walked past him to her clothes chest. "I'll get that puddle in a minute."

"Don't worry, I got it," he told her, grabbing a rag from the corner and throwing it down over the water. "What are you planning on doing tonight, pet? Anything?"

"Not really," she responded, pulling a sweatshirt on over her head. "I just figured I'd stay in and watch a video. I'm in a very lazy mood right now."

He nodded, watching her as she slid her pajama bottoms up her legs. "Mind if I stay in with you?" he asked. "I'm not gonna go out if it's raining."

She smiled at him. "Of course not! This is *your* crypt, after all, and I've been wanting you to see the movie  I'm planning on watching."

"Which one's that, luv?"

She pulled a video out of her trunk and displayed it for him. "'Can't Hardly Wait'," she said. "It's a racous teen comedy from 1998 featuring an ensemble cast that includes Jennifer Love Hewitt, Seth Green, and Ethan Embry. It's one of my favorites."

"Seth Green?" Spike asked. "Is that the small bloke from that movie about the English spy? What's it's sodding name..."

"Austin Powers?" Anya offered.

He nodded. "Yeah, that's the one. That him?"

"Yes," she confirmed. "He's very funny in this."

"He looks a helluva lot like Red's former," he said. "Oz, I think his name was. It's kind of eerie."

Anya looked down at the video. "Hey, you're right!" she exclaimed. "I can't believe I never noticed that before. The resemblance is striking."

"Isn't it?"

She nodded. "There's someone else in here, too, who looks a lot like... well, when we get to her part I'll point her out and you tell me who she reminds you of."
"All right, luv. Pop it in, then."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Tara!" Spike yelled. "That girl holding the banana looks just like Tara!"
Anya laughed as he gaped at the TV. "I know, it's very strange,"she agreed. "The actress's name is Amber Benson, and if you've ever seen 'Bye Bye Love', she looks even *more* like Tara."

Spike shook his head. "It's amazing. Maybe this Amber Benson bird is Tara's evil show-biz doppleganger."

Anya shrugged. "It's very possible," she said. "I mean, look at the Olsen twins. One of them has *got* to be evil with all the fluffy bunny-ness around them. It's not natural, I tell you."

Now it was Spike's turn to laugh. "Evil twins, huh? You've really got a knack for reading people, don't you Anya?"

She shrugged again. "I just tell it like it is. A virtue that is sadly unappreciated by some." She gave a cough that sounded oddly like 'Xander'.

Spike shot her a sympathetic look, shaking his head. "Like I told you, luv, a man who can't appreciate a woman who speaks her mind obviously has control issues. Major ones."

She sighed and nodded, giving him a small smile. "I know. I'm sorry to bring it up again, it just seemed like an appropriate place to slip in a little venting. I'll let us get back to watching the movie now."

Spike shook his head, placing his hand over hers. "Nothing to feel bad about, pet. You can always slip a little venting in whenever you want to."

Her smile grew slightly. "Thank you. You're always welcome to vent at me, too, of course."

He gave her hand a fond pat. "Glad to hear it. Now let's forget our worries for a while and keep watching, all right?"

"All right," she agreed. "Do you like it so far?"

He nodded, grinning at her. "I love it."
*****

Spike weaved his familiar way toward his crypt.  A quick glance at his watch told him that it was almost three-thirty a.m., which was a bit early, but he felt like getting a good day's sleep.  He was physically, mentally, emotionally, in every way that it was possible to be, tired.  

There'd thankfully been no more run-ins with Buffy or any of the other Scoobies, but the possibility of a confrontation had not gone unadressed. He guessed that it was only a matter of time before Xander or the Slayer-- or both of them-- snapped and showed up at his crypt looking to take Anya back with them and "rehabilitate" her. Not like he believed she'd buy into any of their anti-Spike propaganda, but the thought of them trying to poison her against him was enough to make his blood boil.  

That brought him to his second problem. He was finding that, despite himself and his deep-seeded feelings for Buffy, he was starting to recognize a glimmer of emotion for Anya that went beyond the empathy and friendship they'd settled into sharing over the previous couple weeks. He wasn't sure exactly what it was besides a cocktail of several different feelings, but it felt latently alive, like a nagging that would stand just across the border of his consciousness and scream at him.

Soon she'd start looking for another place to live, a place better suited for a single woman to call home. And when she found that place and left him to his crypt... what then? Would this new prickling emotion prove to be futile, or worse, *lust*?

Running his fingers through his platinum-blonde hair and letting out an unnecessary breath, he entered the crypt that he called home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had become a habit of Spike's to make his way to the bier to check on Anya first thing after returning to his crypt at night. He felt a strangely paternal need to make sure she was comfortable and safe, especially when she was asleep. Of course, he wrote it off as one of the few shreds of William still left in his blood, but he obeyed the urge to protect her nonetheless.

He slipped his duster off and draped it over an arm of the couch, then walked quietly toward the back of the room to Anya's makeshift bed. As he neared, he could see that instead of lying stretched out on her stomach like she usually did, she was curled up on her side beneath the blankets. Her fists clenched the pillow with a painful tightness, and as he drew even nearer he could hear tiny whimpers emanating from her sleeping form.

A sense of worry gathered in the back of his throat as she began to thrash around; he watched her only a second more before reaching down and grasping her shoulder.

"Ahn?" he whispered, giving her a slight shake. "You all right?"

She responded with a terse murmuring of, "Stop it."

He frowned and pushed her gently over onto her back, studying her face with concern. She was still sleeping, and from the way her eyes were rolling around rapidly beneath her eyelids, he guessed she was in the throes of a nightmare. "Anya," he wispered again. "Anya, wake up."

She arched slightly, face contorted in fear as she continued her pleas for her mind's tormentor to "Stop. Stop it. Now, please, stop!"

Spike shook her again, this time with more force. "Anya, luv, wake up. It's only a dream. It's only a bad dream. Come on, Ahn, wake up."

Her eyes began to flutter open at his persistance.

"That's it, pet, come back," he urged. "Can you hear me? You're all right, it's only a dream..."

Finally, after a few more "pets" and "sweethearts", she became lucid. "Spike?" she asked, voice nearly drowned out by the pounding of her heart.  

He nodded. "You okay there, Ahn?"

She sat up, pulling the comforter tight around her body, and shook her head. "I'm... my God, that was the most... the most terrifying dream... even without bunnies... God, it was so... so real..."

He furrowed his brow, reaching out a hand and tucking a lock of sweaty blonde hair behind her ear. "Shhh. It's all right, luv, it's over now."

She swallowed hard, attempting unsuccessfully to collect her breath. "I know, but I... it was intense... more intense than any other dream I've had... ever..."

"It seemed that way," he said, sitting down next to her. "Wanna talk about it?"

She shook her head again, then leaned forward and rested it on his shoulder. "No... not yet, anyway." She took a deep breath, biting her lip. "I feel cold."

He pressed his palm to her cheek. "You're sweating."

"It's a cold sweat," she told him. "I'm freezing."

His hand slipped down her neck and around to her back. "I'll get you another blanket," he offered, rubbing soothingly up and down her spine.

She shivered slightly, not knowing whether from the cold or Spike's hands. "All right," she said, lifting her head. "Thanks."

He nodded and got up, then walked to the couch and grabbed one of his blankets.

Anya looked over at him as he came back to her, noticing that he was carrying the thickest one. "You don't have to give me that one," she said softly, eyes growing a bit as he unfolded it. "You'll only have the sheet left."

He shrugged. "Doesn't really make a difference, pet. I'm used to the cold. Lie back, now, I'll get you all settled."

She hesitated, but only momentarily, before obeying and sinking tensely back onto the bier. He fanned the blanket out a few times before letting it spread out over her and pulling the comforter back up to her chin.

"That better, Anya?" he asked, smiling down at her.

She nodded, returning his smile with a shaky curving of her lips. "Thank you, Spike. I really appreciate it."

"No problem," he replied, smoothing her hair back. "Sleep better now, and if you need anything just yell."

He turned to go, but her hand caught his before he could move any further. "Wait a second," she said.

He turned back. "Ready to talk about it so soon?" he asked.

She shook her head, the red in her eyes becoming more pronounced as a fresh batch of tears welled up behind them. "Will you just stay with me until I get it together?"
He squeezed her hand gently. "Of course."

Spike kicked his shoes off and climbed up onto the bier, sitting cross-legged next to the crying demon. He reached out and touched her shoulder, playing a bit with the strap of her tank top as he ran his fingers to the nape of her neck and began to massage it gently. Anya tilted her head foreward and bared more of her skin to him, but her weeping subsided only slightly.

He shushed her gently and leaned down, planting a small kiss in the crook of her neck. Then, instead of straightening back up, he lay down next to her, his chin hooked over her shoulder. "It's all right, luv. It's okay. I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere."

She sniffled, snuggling closer to him. "Thanks," she whispered, wiping a tear from her cheek. "I'm still cold though."

Spike tensed for the briefest of seconds at the tone of her voice, unable to tell whether it was sarcasm or suggestion he'd just heard. "Mind if I get under there with you, then?" he asked slowly.

"Not at all," she replied, then added hesitantly, "but we shouldn't have sex."

"I know," he agreed, matching her hesitation. "We'll just keep each other warm."

Without another word, he pulled the covers back and climbed beneath them, lying down next to Anya. His arms instinctively moved to encircle her, a position that brought her back right up against him. She was a little startled by the hardness she felt pressing into the base of her spine, and without thinking moved her hips in protest.

"Anya," he groaned. "Don't do that."

"Don't do*that*," she whispered, shifting against him. "It makes me want to do things we shouldn't do tonight."

"I can't help it," he whispered back. "I can't help it that I want you."

Anya stayed silent, drawing a shaky breath as she felt his strong arms encircle her just a bit closer.  She turned her face towards his to protest, but couldn't.  His hypnotic, gorgeous crystal blue eyes pierced through to her soul with their passionate longing.  Without knowing what she was doing, she strained her neck upwards and kissed him softly on the lips.  Then again, harder.  And again, but this time, they kept their mouths locked together, pushing and pulling against each other like they didn't know which way to go.

He loosened his hold enough so that she could roll onto her back, then slid his tongue further into her mouth in a frenzy of desire.  Almost without thinking, he brought one of his hands up to touch the side of her face, his fingertips dancing over her jaw and cheeks.

All of the sudden, he felt a rush of feeling for her.  Not just the wanting, but the caring.  His jaw relaxed involuntarily, in shock of the fact that he was thinking about Anya in the way that he'd thought he would only ever think about Buffy.  "Don't stop," she whispered, pressing his face back against hers with one hand.  She grabbed the hand that had been caressing her cheek and pressed it against her chest. "Whatever you do, don't stop..."   

He wanted to listen to her.  He didn't want to stop.  But there it was, in Anya's beautiful voice, that empty physical need that he had just overcome.  So Spike pulled away almost painfully and held her at arm's length, determined not to make the same mistake he'd made with the Slayer.  

Tears were in Anya's eyes. "Spike, come on, please. I want you."  

Spike shook his head. "Don't beg me," he said. "Don't say anything. Just listen to me. Okay?"

Her eyes widened at the sudden force in his voice, and she nodded.

"Look, Anya. I want you, too. I want you so bad. But what I've been feeling for you, maybe since you first came to stay with me... it goes beyond wanting you. I care about you more than I would have believed I could care for anyone but Buffy. And I'm not going to put myself in the position I was in with her, where I cared and I wanted, but all I got *back* was wanting. Do you know how empty that left me? How incomplete? I can't do it again, and so I can't sleep with you until I know that you don't just want me. I have to know that you truly care. Do you understand?"

Anya's face crumbled as she shook her head in the affirmative, biting back a sob. "I do," she replied. "I care about you. And you should know by now that I wouldn't treat you the way Buffy did. You deserve better than what she gave you. You deserve to touch instead of grope and to make love instead of just screwing into oblivion. I can give that to you, Spike. I want to give that to you."

He was motionless for a moment, still holding her at arm's length as her declaration of reciprocation sank in. His eyes misted over and, for once, he didn't try to hide it. He drew Anya to his chest as he let himself cry for the first time in a very long while, and they held each other until dawn broke over the crypt.
*****

Spike and Anya made love as the sun rose that morning.

She woke still curled against him in the fading dark, one arm draped over his shoulder and the other tucked snugly beneath the pillow. His face was turned toward hers and angled down slightly, as if he were leaning in to brush another soft murmur of comfort onto her lips. Her bare legs were tangled with his denim-covered ones, like strands of rope, a double helix of touch.

Their faces were inches apart and she watched him as he slept, so still and silent she almost remembered that he was just like any other corpse when he wasn't awake. Her mind snapped back to a few hours before, and she thought of how odd it was that something-- no, *someone*-- dead could feel emotions so jarring and profound. His intensity frightened her a bit and left her worrying that she shouldn't be ready to feel for  someone so soon after Xander. And she did feel for Spike, on levels that ran deep and slow and electric, but exactly what she was looking for in him she had yet to understand.

Solace. Escape. Danger.

The black-jeaned Romeo to her red-dressed Juliet.

She reminded herself that this was real life, and her real choices had real consequences. Yes, she was afraid. She was afraid that she'd gotten in too deep to swim. But as his eyes opened up and focused first on her, she was pulled back to the safety of dry land, to her own secret oasis on the sun.

"Morning," she whispered.

"Morning," he whispered back.

"Sleep well?" she inquired.

"Yes," he replied. "Did you?"

"The second part of the night," she said, smiling.

"I'm glad," he told her. "Do you feel better now?"

"Much," she said. "Thank you. How do you *you* feel?"

"Refreshed." He smiled back at her. "Thank *you*."

A beat, then:

"Can I kiss you now?" she asked softly.

"You don't have to ask," he replied just as softly.

"Good," she said. "Because I was going to kiss you anyway."

With that short and sweet exchange, they silenced themselves with a gentle shower of lips and tongues and hands.

There was no hesitation in their kisses this time, there was only feeling and enjoyment and the delicious anticipation of what would happen once their clothes came off. Skin mingled with skin as they fumbled with cloth and metal in their slow rush to *make* it happen; they each thirsted for a taste of what the other was offering-- something sweet and spicy and all their own.

The first bits of light began to peek timidly out of their hiding places in the recesses of the crypt to marvel at the beauty of the two demons' bodies against the cold gray of the pre-dawn; Anya's softly sensual curves and slight muscles, her feminine face framed by long blonde hair, Spike's chisled physique, the sexy understatement of his definition topped by a shock of white-yellow curls that, for once, were not plastered back on his head. By themselves they certainly were magnificent creatures, but together they were a picture of supernatural artistry at its best.

Anya sat up, pulling Spike with her, and slipped her hands beneath his T-shirt, running her palms over his cool muscles. He loosened his hold on her enough so she could slide it off over his head, then wrapped his arms around her again, trailing kisses down her jaw and onto her neck and shoulder.  She exhaled sharply as he brushed the tip of his tongue across her throat to her earlobe and nibbled gently, letting his useless breath caress sweet nothings into the depths of her senses. His fingertips ran up and down her back, then snuck under the cotton hem of her tanktop and pulled it up and off, exposing her small, firm breasts. His hands moved to cup them as he kissed her mouth again; she arched into him, reveling in his touch, and reached down to his groin to tease the swell of black denim straining against her thigh. He groaned as she unzipped his pants and slid them down his legs, leaving his taut, sculpted form naked in front of her. He in turn lowered his hands and pulled her pajama shorts and panties off in one motion, then lifted her onto his lap.

Anya let herself be lowered slowly onto Spike's hardened flesh as he thrust up slightly, raising his hips to fill her. She bit her lip at the subtle burning of the penetration and took a moment to adjust to his size before pushing him gently back into the pillows. She smiled down at him as she placed her hands over his pecs and began to rock back and forth, watching his face as she moved. He pushed up a bit, lips parted, and circled his arms around her waist. A low moan escaped her as he pulled her down to kiss her lips, her breath coming in short, hot gasps on his face. Her tongue dipped into his mouth and swirled over his humanly blunt teeth; he tasted better than she remembered, not obscenely strong like alcohol this time, but tangy like smoke and blood and power.

Spike's hands raked through Anya's hair and down her back as she picked up speed, feeling the first twinges of orgasm beginning to build within her. She nipped his neck, eliciting a guttural groan of approval from deep inside his throat, and pressed her lips lightly against his temple. He brought her face down so her eyes were level with his and whispered, "God, Anya, you're so good..." She kissed him in reply and began moving even faster, grinding her hips into him. He was thrusting, too, now as he drew closer to the edge, pushed even further by the soft cries of pleasure leaking from her mouth. She leaned down and buried her face in his neck, moaning his name over and over again as the burning grew inside her. "Spike... oh, yes... God, Spike... ohhh... yes... Spike..."

"Mmmm, Anya... so hot... so good... ohhh, just like that... yeah... Anya..."

They began to choke on their words as the final strokes were made, voices growing shrill and incoherent as orgasm took them. His hips bucked up as his cool seed spilled into her, contrasting sharply with the heat of her heaving body. With one final yell of effort, she collapsed down on top of him, panting hard and sweating like she'd just run a mile.  

A/N: There's another Spankya fic out there right now called "Cold Comfort" by an awesome writer named Dora; I'm kind of borrowing the style of her fic for some of this chapter because I love it so much and I think it's extremely effective. I hope you don't mind, dora, I just really love the way you write :O)

Also, for any of you Spankya shippers out there, I started a site dedicated to the 'ship. Check it out at http://spankya.homestead.com :O)

tbc...email the author with feedback....