Just Like Old Times

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Summary: This is a little something that feeds off the return and subsequent appearance of a certain someone. Spoilery for Season 7, 'Chosen'.

AUTHOR: Kimi
EMAIL: kimi37212@yahoo.com
RATING: PG-13
PAIRING: Buffy/Spike
SPOILERS: Post Chosen' S7
DISCLAIMER. Well, you know. I'm not worthy, I'm not worthy. Joss is all. I own nothing except my nine year old car.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Well, you know, someone had to do *something!* And this has been buzzing around in my head for several days. And in my notebook for two...
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It was like a dream. Angel, back in Sunnydale. She was in his arms and he was kissing her softly, tenderly.

And... nothing. No 21-gun salute. No fireworks. No hot and bothered. Nada.

A frown knit her brow as she pulled back abruptly to see the same surprised and troubled expression on his face that she was certain hers was wearing.

Angel jumped into the now uncomfortable silence first. "Well, that was..." His voice trailed off, as the adjectives were examined and discarded. He looked over her head, obviously at a loss for words.

"Nice," she finished firmly. Her comment couldn't have been any more neutral if she'd said 'interesting.' Which she hadn't. Not quite, anyway.

"Well, it was worth a shot anyway," he said. Embarrassed, he ducked his head and ran a hand over his hair. Gave her a sheepish look. "Guess it's all water under the bridge."

She nodded. At his wounded look, she relented. "It's just... well, I guess we're not those people anymore. Which is like... totally bizarre, because I thought we were." It looked like he wanted to say more, but there really wasn't time. "Thanks. For that." She gestured over her shoulder at Caleb's dead body, then went to pick up the scythe.

Buffy wiped the edge of the blade on the grass. She hoped there wasn't some off-the-wall ritual to cleaning the weapon. If there was, she suspected grass-wiping was so not it.

"No problem. Although technically I didn't do much. Couple of punches. Moral support. An appreciative audience." He kept staring at her, searching for the girl he loved in the hard-edged young woman she had become. Trying to keep from out and out squinting, he sighed. "What the hell was *he* doing here, anyway?"

"He was just a minion. Granted, a minion with a powerful left hook, and not a very snappy dresser, but.... The First Evil is back. Declared war on all the potential slayers. Me. Faith. Making the world safer for evil - one slayer at a time." At Angel's puzzled expression, she stopped, a feeling of dread hitting her deep in the pit of the stomach. "Wait. Who?"

"Spike."

Buffy turned to look behind her. "Where?"

"He's gone now. I saw him after... well, you know, the... "

"The attempt at re-ignition? Oh, God." She stood there uncertainly, trying to decide what to do. Finally, she sighed. "I've got to go deal with this."

"Deal with what?"

She ignored him, turning her back to survey the shadows. "God, I'm so dumb," she muttered. Nothing. No glint of white. No movement. "Which way did he go?"

Angel shrugged. But his eyes took on a suspicious glint. "Are you going to tell me what he's doing here or not?"

"He's been here. For *years*!" She took a deep breath. Needed to calm down. Think. Where would he go?

"You never..."

"No, I never. Look, Angel, you know your way to the house, right?"

He stared at her. "What? But I just..."

"Faith's there. She'll be glad to see you. Like I was. Uh, *am*. And Dawn. And Giles. And... First Evil badness. You know the drill." She threw her hands up in the air. "Look, I appreciate the help. I really do. Just... go to the house. I'll be there later. After I..."

"After you what?"

"Just... after, okay?" Buffy took off to look for Spike. Angel followed her.

"Buffy?"

"I can't explain right now. Maybe never." She looked at Angel with a plea in her eyes as she continued to move in what she 'felt' was the right direction.

He stopped. "I don't want to know this, do I?" His voice had hardened.

She had to find Spike and find him quickly. Before he got on his motorcycle and took off. Or...

"No," she told Angel. "Probably not."

____________________

"I can't believe you're doing this!"

That stopped him in his tracks. Spike's lips were tight with anger. "Me? What am *I* doing?"

"Being..." She tried to think of a word. Her mind fell on the one he'd used with her earlier in the day. A new word. New vocabulary was good. Use the new word in a sentence.

"... shirty."

He threw his head back and regarded her from hooded eyes.

"You're being shirty," she continued, before he could walk away. "You're being *all* shirty."

There. She'd used it three times.

"I've got eyes, Buffy. Not one of those Bringer-blokes." He moved away from her.

She stepped in front of him. "Where are you going?"

He sighed. "Back to the cellar, of course. Or the attic. Or the garage. Whatever. Maybe Harris'."

"You can't do that."

"I can't? Slayer, I can pack a kit and follow the trail of the faceless masses in twenty." He strode past her and headed toward the house.

"What you..."

"And don't try to tell me it didn't mean anything," he said, forestalling the rest of her explanation.

She stopped and stared at his back. "I wasn't!"

"Good! At least you're not lying to me."

"Stop it! Just stop it right now! And quit walking away from me!"

He turned. "Well, so. What, then?"

At a loss. She was totally at a loss. "Do you have to talk everything to death?"

"Wrong answer," he said, turning back toward the house. "God, that hurt!" He shook his head ruefully. "I mean, Buffy, you've done things, but that... Well, it definitely goes in my top ten."

With slayer-speed, she moved in front of him. "We don't have time for this."

"Bloody right," he muttered, still shaking his head.

"You make me insane! You know that? Absolutely, utterly raging insane!"

"Me? I make *you* insane?" He sighed in frustration and moved past her again. "Bloody hell, I give up. Don't need a kit. I'm out of here."

"I'll always love him, you stupid jerk," she called out to his back. "But I'm not in love with him anymore."

"Screw you, Slayer," he yelled.

"This isn't over yet. Sure, I killed Caleb, but..."

He stopped and slowly turned around. "Fine. You need me, I'm here. Christmas and puppies, yeah. But you better get me a key to Harris' or I'll take up squatting. Not goin' back to the house. Not now."

"I don't have time for your insecurities or your sarcasm. Angel came to help. I was glad to see him. I kissed him. End of story."

Well, pretty much, she thought. Kiss motivation aside.

He leaned back, weight going on his heels as he stared at her. His voice took on an edge. "Yeah, well. I know about you and kisses, Slayer. Kissin' you's like bloody havin' sex."

Buffy's eyes widened in surprise. "What?" A beat. "Really?"

He nodded sharply. "Yeah." His voice was clipped.

She moved toward him. "You mean that?"

"Yeah," he repeated, thrusting out his chin. "What of it?"

"It's really like... that? For you?"

He blew out a disgusted breath. "How many times you want me to say it? S'true. So don't try the innocent kiss thing with me, pet. I've got first-hand experience."

"Show me."

Her chin was up and her eyes were glinting with challenge. All right, he thought resentfully, he was up for a last go. Wipe that pouf's taste right out of her sodding mouth!

Without another word, he grabbed her shoulders and smashed his mouth down on hers. Expecting the savagery of last year, he almost pulled away when her lips went soft against his. Then, she was kissing back hungrily. Time suspended itself, neither day or night as he responded to her and she to him. He pushed her away. Gently.

"Dammit, Buffy!"

"You're such a dope," she whispered breathlessly. "A great big dope."

"I must be the biggest dope, alive or dead, on the planet. Because I just keep letting you kick me in the gut."

She looked up with decisive eyes. "No. More. Kicking." It was a promise that hung in the air between them.

One more shot. "Next time, I'll kick back," he warned.

"No next time," she whispered as she stood on tip-toes and pulled his head down and kissed him.

"You sure?" His mouth moved against her lips.

"Mmm."

Not precisely an answer, but it would do. In fact it was all she could manage. Her brain was swiftly moving into the 'Addle Zone'. And she was getting more addled by the second.

She broke away. "We need to get back. No telling what the First will try with Caleb gone."

"Yeah," he agreed. He started toward the house, strides long. She rushed to keep up.

"Besides, I've got a pouf to stake."

"No staking."

"Set him on fire?" he asked hopefully.

"Nope."

He pointed at the scythe she was carrying. "Borrow that, then?"

"Slayer-friendly, remember? You won't even get a buzz. He's here to help. Cut him a little slack."

"Come on, Buffy. How do I know you won't be givin' it another go with yon peach?"

"Because I'm in love with you."

He stopped and stared at her suspiciously. "And you were gonna tell me this 'when'?"

"Well," she said lightly, moving ahead of him with a flip of her hair, "I just figured it out myself."

"When 'just'?" he asked stubbornly.

"When I was kissing Angel," she answered, back to him as she moved on at a smart clip.

He fell in stride beside her, a slow grin breaking over his face which quickly became a self-satisfied smirk.

"Let's go play catch-up with old Peaches, then."

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Kimi - kimi37212@yahoo.com