“How does it feel?” Buffy asked. “Anything like you remembered?”

Spike shook his head slowly, dragging his attention away from his light-bathed hand to meet Buffy’s gaze. “It’s warm,” he whispered, losing himself in her eyes. “Don’t remember it being this warm.” He smiled, and then barked a short snort of amusement before continuing, “Don’t s’pose it was, really. English sun’s not renowned for being all that warm, an’ ‘s not like I spent a lot of time in it—wasn’t the done thing back then.”

He dropped his gaze once more, watching their linked hands with fascination as Buffy’s thumb gently stroked the back of his hand, and suddenly he was no longer sure which was the greater miracle; the sun’s warmth seeping into his flesh for the first time in over a century, or his beautiful slayer holding his hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.

His stomach growled loudly, recalling them both to the task at hand.

Buffy stepped back, her eyes widening in horror as she realised what sort of show they’d just been putting on. She dropped his hand self-consciously, and backed away as she spoke. “You should eat. And we need to stock up—replace what was in your pack.”

She hurried back to the table and busied herself by tearing the remainder of her pop tart to pieces and studying them—anything to avoid having to look at the vampire. She didn’t understand what had just happened. She’d been as amazed as he was by the sight; the sun glistening patterns of dappled gold on his pale skin. Then somehow she was holding his hand and drowning in those eyes, and feeling things that she knew she had no right feeling while her sister’s life was in danger.

Spike watched in disbelief, trying to make sense of what had just happened. One moment she’d been holding his hand, and the next she was fleeing like a startled rabbit; putting as much distance between them as was possible within the confines of the kitchen. He’d thought things between them were getting better. Since she’d been brought back she’d been spending more and more time either alone with him, or with him and the Nibblet; and a lot less time with her Scooby mates. And after last night, and then again just now... Well, he’d thought that just maybe she was starting to return his feelings.

Disappointment, bewilderment and hurt warred with anger for pride of place and he nodded curtly in response. Placing the mug in the microwave, he closed the door a little too firmly before making a show of studying the controls as he struggled to rein in his emotions.

“So, Watcher said you’d made some progress,” he offered eventually, retrieving his breakfast and leaning casually back against the counter to sip at it.

Buffy swallowed the last of her now-cold breakfast. “Yeah,” she croaked, clearing her throat before continuing. “He found the demon. Not the actual demon,” she added hastily at Spike’s reaction to her words. The vampire relaxed once more and she continued, “It’s a Pilot demon. But Wesley says they aren’t usually dangerous.”

“They’re not,” Spike confirmed, shaking his head.

“You know about them?” Buffy asked sharply, her eyes narrowing as she wondered why he hadn’t spoken up before now.

“Know of them, pet,” he replied, bristling a little at her accusatory tone. “Never seen one before. They’re not really the mixing type; tend to stick to their own kind. For the right price they’ll take you anywhere, or so I’ve heard. Also known to be big dealers in antiquities. Nearly resorted to seeking them out when I was looking for that bloody book of Du Lac’s; ‘til I found out your watcher had it tucked away nice and not-so-safe in the school library, that is.” He grinned at the memory, and then shrugged nonchalantly when he was met with Buffy’s icy stare. “Anyway, point is, I’ve never heard of ‘em being involved in anything dodgy. They keep their noses clean and stay under the radar. So why the hell would one be risking exposure by kidnapping the Slayer’s kid sis?”

“Dunno. That’s what Wesley’s trying to figure out.”

“So while he’s sussing that out, we’re supposed to do what? Sit around twiddling our thumbs?” Spike asked crankily, not making any effort to keep the sarcasm from his voice. Draining the remaining contents of his mug in one gulp, he turned away to wash it out.  “Must be something we can do about finding the Bit. We know she’s in this dimension, or that fancy little bauble of yours wouldn’t have brought us here.”

“I don’t know. I don't know how to find her, why she was taken, or what to do,” Buffy snapped back, slamming her hand down on the table and causing the crockery to rattle as she jumped to her feet once more. “You think if I had any idea where to start looking I would still be sitting here?”

“Whoa, B. Take it easy on the furniture, huh? Look, you’re both pretty strung out, I get that, but why don’t you just try and take it easy for a while. Wes will work something out; it’s what he does. In the meantime, you wanna start duking it out? Fine. Might even enjoy the show,” she added with a smirk, “But take it outside. Or I’m gonna have to kick both your asses.” Faith looked sternly at each in turn. The vampire dropped his head quickly, mumbling an incoherent apology.

Buffy met the other slayer’s gaze for a fraction longer before she too deflated, offering a watery smile and sighing deeply. “I’m sorry. I guess we’re both just feeling a little helpless,” Buffy offered, looking to Spike for support. When the vampire just continued studying his boots she added, “It won’t happen again. And how bizarre is it that I’m the one having to apologise to you for behaving badly?” she joked in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“Morning, cupcake. Is the man at home?” An overly chipper voice sung out from the doorway.

Buffy turned around, watching in amazement as Faith jumped up to hug the brightly clad green demon who was somehow managing to pull off what she was certain should have been the biggest fashion faux pas of all time. At least the suit matches his horns, she thought as she tried not to stare too obviously.

“Who are your new friends?” he asked, smiling widely at the newcomers.