Spike leaned against the side of the building, legs crossed at the ankle and a cigarette smoldering between his lips. With a curiosity born of living for two centuries, he watched the variety of different people walking in and out of Wal-Mart. People so caught up in the mundane details of their short lives, oblivious to the proof of the supernatural standing not ten feet from them. Spike found it vastly amusing that the majority of the human race denied the existence of evil in their midst, when in fact they were surrounded by it every minute of every day. Only a select few, such as the Slayer, knew of the malignancy that dwelled beneath the sunny surface.

He was part of that evil, a vampire known for killing two Slayers and countless innocents. He wondered to himself every day what it was that kept him from making Buffy his third Slayer kill. But, from the first day he had laid eyes on the beautiful blonde teenager, dancing with her friends at the Bronze, he had been smitten.

He had acted on that passion by taunting her, fighting her, daring her to kill him. At first, she reacted to him as she did any vampire she faced, with cold emerald eyes and brutal fists. He had been surprised at just how strong she was. On more than one occasion, Spike had underestimated the little girl's power and nearly paid for it with his life.

When Buffy had finally consummated her relationship with Angel, loosing his demon upon the world once more, Spike had actually felt sorry for her. With perfect trust and love, she had let her vampire boyfriend have her virginity, giving herself to Angel in the heat of fear and passion. Overnight, the life had went out of her, the lively sparkle in her eyes had dimmed, turned hard with pain. Her fighting became mechanical and careless and Spike began to fear for her very existence.

It was that very concern for her, coupled with a desire to wrest Drusilla back from Angelus' clutches, that motivated Spike to propose a truce with Buffy. A truce guaranteed to end her pain and give her the means to carry on with her life.

Of course, nothing ever went right on the Hellmouth.

It was the end of July now and still Buffy refused to discuss that morning in the mansion and her final battle with Angelus. Spike had done his part, then took Drusilla out of there and away from Sunnydale. He had hoped that he would never lay eyes on the Slayer again.

And, barely three weeks later, Drusilla nothing more than a layer of ash on the floor of a gas station bathroom, Spike had found Buffy. The Slayer had been nearly unrecognizable; dirty and exhausted, with dead eyes and growling tummy. She would've been an easy kill; in fact, Spike doubted she would've even fought him, but something had stayed his hand. Tender compassion had driven him to buy her dinner and offer himself as traveling companion.

Wary and belligerent, she accepted.

Two days later, Buffy had come to his bed, fresh from another of her endless nightmares. She had sought comfort and he gave it, holding her shivering body in his arms. It had only been a matter of time before their mutual comfort turned erotic.

Stubbing out his cigarette, Spike walked back into the store. He hated being away from Buffy for any length of time, afraid every second with her would be his last. He was well aware that he was becoming obsessed with her, addicted to her dazzling smile and welcoming kisses. She was everything Drusilla had never been for him. Buffy was his heartbeat, his sunlight, his reason for living.

She was his Heaven.

Buffy had filled the cart to overflowing in his absence. Tiny slipdresses, miniskirts, tank tops, and shoes were joined by clothing for him. Tee-shirts, jeans, shirts and even underwear were piled in neat stacks.

Spike deposited the jar on top of his pile. Buffy looked up at him with a bemused smile. "Vaseline? What for?"

Pulling her into his arms for a lingering kiss, Spike chuckled. "Use your imagination, luv. What on earth could we possibly use a big jar of slippery stuff for?"

Buffy blushed deeply as she realized what he meant. "Oh!"

"The goodies, remember?"

The low-grade fever that always seemed to fill her body whenever she was around him flared into a full-fledged fire. Spike was smoothing his cool hands over the bare skin of her arms, leaving behind tiny goosebumps that she barely noticed. "Oh, yeah."

"Only if you want to, pet. You know I'd never force you to do anything you didn't like."

She smiled up at him, her green eyes luminous. "You won't let it hurt?"

He pressed a kiss on the tip of her nose. "Baby, when we get done you'll wonder why we didn't do it sooner."

Her blush deepened. "I s'pose."

"I won't let it hurt, kitten," Spike said, gathering her in his arms. Buffy pressed her face into the supple leather of his coat, letting his protective embrace soothe her fears. "I'll never let anything hurt you."

Lifting her head, Buffy smiled sweetly and was rewarded with a tender kiss. "I'm gonna need a suitcase."

Looking at the loaded cart, Spike agreed. "Me, too. At this rate, we're gonna need one of those hauling boxes."

"A what?"

"You know, pet, those orange things we've seen."

His meaning finally dawned on her. "A U-Haul."

"Yeah, one of those. We keep shopping like this, we're gonna need to set up house."

Buffy's brow furrowed at that as she couldn't repress a vision of she and Spike moving into a little house together, buying china and bath towels. "Interesting thought. Come on, let's go get that luggage and look at the music section."

Spike let her pull him towards the back of the store. "Then can we go, pet?"

She just gave him a quelling stare and dragged him along.

"They don't have anything good here."

"Sure they do. I'm finding stuff okay."

Spike looked at the stack of CD's she was collecting. "What? Sarah McLachlan? Sheryl Crow? The bloody Backstreet Boys?"

Buffy laid the plastic boxes in the cart. "You don't like the Backstreet Boys? They're cute."

"That ain't music, pet. Johnny Rotten, Sex Pistols, Nine Inch Nails. . . now that's music. And they don't have any of that here."

"Yes, they do! I saw Nine Inch Nails back there," Buffy argued as she sorted through the Jewel selections.

"It's the clean version, luv. Blasphemy."

Buffy smiled sympathetically. "Sorry."

Spike shrugged. "Ah, it's all right, baby. You go ahead and look, I'm gonna go check out the telly."

Fifteen televisions of varying size were arranged on a single wall and every one of them was playing Conan O'Brien. Spike watched about thirty seconds of the comedian's monologue before rolling his eyes in disgust and trying to change the channel. But, for some reason he couldn't fathom, all the other channels played nothing but static. He tried all of the machines that he could reach, but not a one would play anything other than Conan fucking O'Brien.

"Hey! You in the red smock. Yeah, you, d'ya see any other wankers in red smocks? Come here!"

A gawky boy about Buffy's age wandered over, looking over his shoulder as if expecting reinforcements to arrive to save him from the bleach-blonde man yelling at him. "Uh. . . can I help you?"

"Yes, you may. What in the bloody fuck is wrong with the telly?" Spike snapped, gesturing at the wall of Conan.

The boy stared at him for a moment, before looking back at the entrance of the Electronics department.

Damn. No reinforcements.

"It. . . uh. . . looks fine to me," he said.

Spike reached out and jabbed the channel button on one. Screen after screen of pure static played until it cycled back to Conan. "It looks fucked up to me."

"They're supposed to be like that."

"Why?"

The boy gave him a cocky look. "To keep people from messing with the channels."

Spike stared at him for a beat, his icy blue eyes boring into the boy's. Then, he took a single, menacing step towards the smart-assed kid. "What kind of stupid rule is that?"

"Hey, man, I don't make the rules, I just work here."

Spike smirked. "Work? I haven't seen you lift a single, bloody finger since I walked in here. You aren't doing your job too well, as far as I can see."

The boy had had about enough of the blond man's attitude. "Look, dude, as far as I can see, you've not done anything but stare at your trashy little girlfriend's ass since you came in here. Why don't you just take her home and fuck her and get the hell out of. . . "

His words died to a gurgle as Spike's fist shot out and wrapped around his throat, lifting him off the floor. "What did you say?" he growled. His eyes flashed yellow, but he managed to keep his gameface under control.

Barely.

"Spike! Let him go!" Buffy hissed, tugging on his arm. "What in the hell do you think you're doing?"

Spike lowered the gasping boy back to his feet and spun him to face Buffy. "You apologize to her right now or I'll rip your face off and feed it to you," he whispered.

Shaking in fear, the boy glared at Buffy. "I'm s-s-s-sorry."

Buffy nodded, barely hearing him. "It's okay. Come on, Spike, we're going now."

"Hey! You have to pay for. . . never mind," the clerk said as Buffy pulled Spike out of the Electronics department.

"What in the hell was that all about? I turn my back for a minute and you're shaking the salesclerks around by the neck!" Buffy snapped as she pushed the cart towards the front of the store.

Spike followed glumly, lugging the two large suitcases they had picked out. "Did you hear what he said about you, luv? He called you trashy. You are the farthest thing from trashy I've ever seen. I mean, if he only knew! You're an innocent, practically a virgin!"

Buffy spun on him so quickly he stumbled back. "Will you keep your voice down? I'd rather not announce to all of Wal-Mart my sexual status!"

"Sorry, luv, but that pillock pissed me off. Who's he think he is anyway? He should be so lucky as to have a sexy little girl like you pay him any attention at all." Spike scuffed his foot on the tile floor, looking for all the world like a sulky child. Buffy's anger melted and she took his hand, lacing her fingers in his.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell, I just get in Slayer mode sometimes and, well, you know how I get."

"I know, protective and all that rot."

Buffy linked her arm through his. "Then, how about we go home? I'm starting to get really. . . "

"Fucking tired of this place?"

"Well, I was thinking horny, but that too."

Spike squeezed her. "Horny works. Let's get the hell out of here."

"We have to pay first. Come on, let's get in line."

Spike was pretty sure that he was going to throttle the toddler in the cart in front of him. Desperately, he scanned the other checkout lanes, but only three were open and all three were full. Another piercing shriek from the curly-haired child made the vampire visibly cringe. Leaning towards Buffy, he tilted his head at the child. "How come the very minute we decide to pay, every other shopper in the store decides to do the same thing? I hate shopping and I hate CHILDREN!"

The child stopped screaming for a split second, watery blue eyes staring at him. Then, taking a deep, bracing breath, she began to wail. The harried-looking mother placing her purchases on the conveyor turned and gave the little girl an exasperated look. "Lorri, SHUT UP!"

Lorri ignored her mother and contented herself with screaming until she began to turn an interesting shade of purple. Spike grimaced as he watched the variety of fluids pour from the child's face.

"I suppose you want a houseful of those," he asked Buffy, who was doing an excellent job of ignoring the toddler.

Buffy looked up and smiled at the little girl. Reaching out a hand, she tickled a plump, bare foot. Her tears magically drying, Lorri grinned at the pretty blonde. "Oh, they aren't so bad. I think sometimes that I'd like to have a couple. Not just one, though. I was an only child and I would've always liked a brother or sister."

Lorri reached out her tiny arms and grunted, wanting Buffy to take her in her arms. With a wistful smile, Buffy ruffled the curly head. "I can't hold you, baby. Your mommy wouldn't like it."

As Spike put their purchases on the conveyor belt, he watched as Buffy teased the little girl, her face glowing with happiness. For the first time in over two hundred years, he cursed himself for what he was. A vampire, unable to give the mortal woman he loved the things that could make her happy. A normal life, sunlit picnics at the beach, children. All of the things that would make Buffy's life perfect.

For the first time, Spike truly understood why Angel had been so madly in love with Buffy and why that love had been so terribly bittersweet.

"Honey? Spike? Are you okay? Spike?"

Spike looked down to see Buffy tugging on his sleeve, her expression anxious. With a growl, Spike swept her up into his arms, burying his face into the fragrant heat of her neck. "Ahh, baby, I don't deserve you! I should be staked dead for presuming to touch your perfection."

Buffy wrapped her arms around his shoulders, not caring that they were getting some dirty looks and raised eyebrows. "Perfection? I don't know about that, I mean, have you even looked at me tonight?"

Before she could continue, the vampire captured her lips in a bruising, ravenous kiss, pushing her back into their cart. It rolled forward, smacking into Lorri's cart and sending the child into shrieks once more.

"Lorri, goddamnit. . . well, for God's sake, get a room!" Lorri's mother said as she turned to chastise her child and caught a glimpse of Spike and Buffy's rapidly heating ardor.

Spike tore his mouth from Buffy's long enough to grin at the woman, not aware that he was partially vamped-out. "Why bother with a room? We could just fuck right here." Before Buffy could protest, Spike lifted her up onto the conveyor and pulled her legs around his waist.

"Spike, stop it!" Buffy cried, trying hard not to laugh. The salesclerk snapped out of her boredom and started to protest.

"Hey! Hey! You can't do that!"

Spike rotated his hips against Buffy's sex, sending her once more into a fit of giggles. "Watch me."

"Spike, come on, let me down. Let's just pay and get the hell out of here," Buffy whispered, giving their small audience an apologetic smile. The mother huffed in disgust and wheeled her cart, filled with shopping bags and a screaming Lorri, towards the door. The salesclerk reached for the phone.

"If you don't stop it, I'm calling security!" she threatened.

Buffy pushed Spike off of her and hopped down from the conveyor. "No, please. He was just playing. We'll be good now, I promise."

Still filled with Buffy's intoxicating scent, Spike struggled to calm himself. He could smell the sweet aroma of her arousal, mixed with vanilla and tears. His cock ached so bad he thought it was just going to explode in his jeans. Buffy smiled back at him and slipped her tiny hand in his. Curling his fingers around hers, Spike pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

They had attracted a fair amount of attention. The salesclerk still shot an occasional suspicious glare their direction, as if expecting any minute for Spike to throw Buffy on the conveyor and have at it. Buffy's fingers were dancing on the inside of his hand, her head pillowed against his chest. He caressed his cheek against her silky hair, his mind filled with naughty visions of all the things he was going to do to the little Slayer as soon as they got back to the motel.

"Your total is $723.47."

Buffy's head shot up and she gaped at the clerk. "What? What on earth did we buy?"

The amount didn't even phase Spike. Removing his wallet, he peeled eight one hundred dollar bills from the thick stash. Handing them to the clerk, he smiled softly down at his lover. "That's nothing, pet. Anything for you."

Buffy wrapped her arms around his waist and kissed the small vee of pale skin exposed by the neck of his shirt. "You're so good to me."

"I don't deserve you," he said, repeating his earlier words.

"That's not so. You care about me and I care about you. What more do we need?"

Glancing at the multitude of bags being placed in their cart, he laughed. "Some donkeys to pack our purchases to the car?"

Buffy laughed, a bright, joyous sound. "Take me home and make love to me."

"With pleasure, kitten."

As they pushed the bag-laden cart to the door, Buffy leaned towards Spike.

"So, if we get all these bags in the trunk, can we do it in the car again?"

Spike grinned. "As long as you don't put me in a head-lock with your thighs like you did last time. I couldn't move my head for three days."

"Spike, my love, that was the whole point."

THE END