What the fuck are you doin', mate? Spike asked himself as he exited the motel room with his arms full of unconscious, bleeding, Slayer. She was easy pickings, he could bite her now and heal up his wounds and finally say he'd gotten his third Slayer, but what was the fun that? He didn't want this dance to end yet. Dragging it out was endangering his final goal though. The more time he spent around her, the less he wanted to kill her. It was bloody ridiculous! They were mortal enemies. Vampires and Slayers were supposed to fight to the death, not rescue each other. "It's too late now," he muttered to himself. Moments after he caught Buffy from falling to the ground, he heard police sirens in the distance. It wouldn't do any good to have either of them locked up by the cops. Without pausing to think about the consequences, he had gathered her up in his arms and bolted.

His gaze drifted to her blood spattered face. Watching her slice the head off that demon that had been attacking him was beautiful. There was this dangerous, predatory gleam in her eyes that he couldn't recall ever seeing before. She must finally be discovering where her power lies. Despite their calling to take out the forces of evil in the world, their power was rooted in the very darkness they sought to destroy. It was ironic really. Unconscious though, nobody would think this slight, blonde girl was some skilled fighter meant to protect the masses. He stared at her for a few more moments before he remembered that dawn was only a few hours away. He picked up the pace on the way to the building he was staying at, and yet nobody even glanced twice at him as he passed them. One would think a man in leather carting away a cute little blonde girl would at least rouse some sort of suspicion.

Finally, he reached his building and shifted Buffy in his arms so he could open the door. Upon entering, he immediately walked into his bedroom – it was about the only room he'd bothered to personalize so far – and gently placed her on the bed. Now he was able to finally rest for a few moments. After laying her down, he stripped off his leather duster to cover her with rather than risk waking her up by moving her so he could place the covers over her. Now that she was temporarily taken care of, he sat and rubbed his hands over his face. When he realized his hands had been covered in demon blood, he grimaced. "Bloody brilliant," he muttered and left to go wash his hands and his face as well as he could. Spike was sore and tired, but he still brought back a soapy washcloth with him in order to wipe Buffy's face, neck, and hands as well as he could. He placed his hand at the back of her head to move her head to reach the blood on her neck, and that was when he remembered she hit her head. With a defeated sigh – he might as well admit he was a giant git for even caring – he left to find the first aid kit and cleaned bandaged the wound as best he could.

Now that she was taken care of, he left the room and yanked off his shirt and practically collapsed on the couch. In only a few moments, he was fast asleep – splayed out on the couch.

Buffy groaned. Where was she? The last thing she recalled was complaining about her head, and then nothing. She sat up and rubbed her eyes before looking around. A wave of panic passed through her when she took in the unfamiliar surroundings, but when she glanced down at the blanket – which she discovered was actually a very familiar leather coat – she realized what must have happened. Spike took her. For what purpose, she wasn't sure, but it couldn't be good. That's what she thought at least until she felt the back of her head and her hand met a large bandage. "What is he up to?" She wondered and gingerly rose out of bed. Her muscles screamed in protest, but she was used to waking up sore after fights like the one she had yesterday.

After using the restroom – which was littered with the materials from the first aid kit that Spike must have pilfered through - she turned down the hallway until she entered what she assumed was the living room. Her jaw dropped when she spotted the vampire in question on the couch. Ooh yummy she couldn't help but think when she took in his shirtless appearance. Her face flushed in mortification. This was Spike! He's not attractive! He's evil and gross and . . . oh screw it. She wasn't even going to bother trying to convince herself anymore. He was kinda a hunk for an undead, evil guy. Buffy closed her mouth and tried to sneak past him and into the kitchen, but she walked too close to the couch and his hand closed around her arm and she yelped. He sat up and freed her arm. "Why are you up so damn early?" He grumbled and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. She snorted and rolled her eyes.

"Spike – it's like 10:30," she replied as he rose from the couch and gestured for her to follow him into the kitchen.

"Yeah well that's bloody early for me. Sit down," he instructed and she huffed and was about to argue, but decided against it since he saved her when he could have left her to bleed out of her skull. Buffy sat on the edge of a chair and watched him in interest. Was he doing what she thought he was? After a few moments, it seemed her odd theory was actually true. He was making her breakfast! Spike seemed to have forgotten he was shirtless with the Slayer in the same room as him and he pulled down a glass from the cupboard after a few moments of rifling around and sat it down in front of her along with a carton of orange juice. Without pausing to see if she was going to pour herself some, he found a frying pan and took out a carton of eggs from the fridge and some bacon. He occasionally liked to eat, so he liked to keep the places he stayed fully stocked in case he was struck with a random craving. Buffy poured orange juice out for her and then placed the carton back in the fridge after asking if Spike wanted any. This was so bizarre! They were being so civil towards each other and Spike was downright domestic! The confused Slayer shook her head. She was way too weary to question it. While he was frying up the eggs and bacon, Buffy found a loaf of bread and a toaster and decided to stick in some toast for them. She actually forgot he was a vampire for a moment. When the bacon started to hiss and pop, she glanced at his bare chest.

"Um, Spike, maybe you should -," she'd been about to tell him he should probably get a shirt on when a piece of bacon popped and sent hot grease onto his bare skin.

"Bloody hell!" He yelled and snatched up a dishrag to wipe the burning fluid off his skin. When he glanced down, there was a red blotch in the middle of his chest.

"-get a shirt on . . . um . . . you okay?" Buffy finished awkwardly as she stepped in to finish cooking breakfast. He ignored her and grumbled to himself. It sounded a lot like "could have bleedin' told me that earlier" as he stalked out of the room to find a shirt to wear. Buffy sighed in relief. Seeing Spike shirtless wasn't a bad thing per say, but it did make her feel pretty awkward that she was in the same room with the guy who was supposed to be her enemy while he wasn't even properly clothed. There was the sound of him throwing stuff around in the other room and Buffy smirked as she finished cooking and turned off the stove. It was a good thing he started cooking because she only knew to take it off the stove because the bacon was starting to burn. Spike came back in with a fresh t-shirt on and saw her taking the food off the stove and grabbed plates down for them.

Once breakfast was ready, the awkward silence at the kitchen table ensued. Buffy pushed around the eggs on her plate and lightly munched on her toast. She blatantly ignored the mug that Spike was drinking out of that was filled with blood he probably stole from the hospital or something – because he'd never drink pig's blood. She sighed lightly; looked like it was time to start talking. She nearly cringed at what she had to say next. It totally went against every law of Slayerness – every law of nature even.

"So um thanks for helping me. I – I didn't really expect you to, and well . . . I appreciate it," she finally managed. "I'll just finish with this and be out of your hair I guess," she said with a shrug.

"Not so fast, Slayer. You're not gettin' off that easy. You owe me now. It's not exactly a good thing to be indebted to a vampire," he replied with a smirk before taking a drink of his blood. So he was messing with her, he was evil it's what he did. "Besides, you can't go back to that motel; the place was swarming with cops when I left." Buffy merely gaped at him. Was he serious? Where was she supposed to go? She couldn't stay here! And if the cops saw the damage in her room, they'd probably be after her! She was in some deep shit now, and her only ally it seemed was Spike.

"Well where the hell am I supposed to go? All my stuff is there!" She exclaimed in annoyance. Spike shrugged. "I suppose you can stay here, but that means you've gotta help me with something," Buffy sighed. What on earth did he want? Would she really willingly stay with a vampire? Yes, yes she would. It wasn't like she had anywhere else to go.

"Help you? With what? I'm not letting you kill people if that's what you think! I'm still the Slayer, I'll still stake you," she threatened, which wasn't all too scary considering she was waving a piece of half eaten toast at him. Spike chuckled in amusement. She sure was something else with this hero gig.

"Oh don't get your self-righteous knickers in a twist, Slayer," he told her – which earned a scowl from her – "Protectin' you put me on the hit list of about every demon in the city. You're gonna help me kill enough of them to get em off my back."

"That's it? Well that's easy," she mused before taking a drink of orange juice. Spike chose that particular moment to say, "well that and having mind-blowing sex with me every night," he shrugged in nonchalance while Buffy's eyes bugged out and she choked on her juice. She coughed for a few moments before she found her voice again.

"W-What!? I'm so not agreeing to that!" If I have sex with him it'll be my choice, not because of a deal, she thought. "Oh god, bad thoughts," she grumbled to herself and put her hands over her eyes and rubbed her face.

"C'mon, luv. You know you can't resist my fiendish charms," he smirked at her and wiggled his brows.

"You're a pig, Spike," she complained and grabbed up their still mostly full plates and tossed them in the sink.

"Yeah well, you're stuck with me – you better get used to it. Go rest or something, we're going out tonight an' 'm not patching your head up again."

Kate Lockley hadn't seen a crime scene this brutal in quite some time. She'd gotten the call sometime around 2 in the morning and had been in the motel room since then. Now, about nine hours later – and the same number of coffees – they still weren't any closer to figuring out what happened. The bodies . . . they didn't even seem human. Some men from some strange military group – she thought she heard the word Initiative tossed around – had shown up a few minutes earlier and carted off the bodies with strict instructions to just brush this crime under the rug. Was that really the state of the justice system these days? Just blatantly ignore heinous crimes? When Kate had asked about the young girl who had been staying there, the leader of this Initiative group just said that she was "beyond helping now." It saddened the officer that they could view the loss of a life so easily. This girl was quite odd though. When they searched the room, they had found all sorts of weapons in a duffle bag, weapons that no seventeen year old girl should have. They never found her body either. Could she have somehow escaped? Did she get kidnapped. This case being dropped was going to bother her, so she'd just have to take it upon herself to find this girl and make sure she was safe. Kate Lockley wasn't about to let an innocent just fall off the radar like that – especially if she was alone and possibly in danger.