The smell of chlorine hits me just as summery pop music starts playing from the speakers dotted around the hotel pool. Scorching rays beat down on my bare shoulders, trying its best to pierce through my thick layer of sun cream so I take the dive and earn groans as I create a colossal splash. I swim upwards, pulling my hair away from my face and almost bump right into Dawn.
"Wanna play mermaids?" she asks with a toothy grin, holding up a spare pair of goggles.
I snatch the goggles from her grasp, splash her and swim away. She squeals, chasing after me.
It's a post-apocalypse road trip. I think we deserve one after saving the world for the umpteenth time. I slept like a baby most of the drive here so haven't tired of my friends yet, luckily for me, and I hope we don't annoy each other too quickly. Tara and Willow are reading on yellow deckchairs by the poolside, while Buffy and Xander toss a football between them in a lazy game of catch. Anya is floating peacefully on her back, sunglasses on, looking like a supermodel, while Dawn and I dash about like children but we love every second of it, unashamed.
Buffy taps me on the shoulder, "What ice creams do you two want?"
"Snow cone!" Dawn shouts over her shoulder.
"Mr Whippy?" I request, but Buffy just stares at me blankly. "What? Oh, right, I mean a soft serve." I shake my head at my Britishness - California is cool and all, but what I wouldn't do for a Calippo... I mean, I'd usually crave a cup of tea but it's way too hot for that.
A few minutes later, when Buffy comes back with our already dripping ice-creams, Dawn and I swim to the edge of the pool. We take the treats with grateful smiles and Dawn turns to me. The look on her face makes me stop in my tracks, my mouth hangs open dumbly, about to take a lick but I feel like Dawn is about to drop a bomb on me.
"Dawnie?"
"I can tell you anything, right?"
I swallow, half-dreading where this is going. "Of course."
"Ok," she takes a deep breath, "Don't tell anyone, but you're my favourite of Buffy's friends, right? And I feel like I'm living a lie if I don't tell you this." She pauses and I hold my breath. I don't know if the minx is doing it for dramatic effect but she's making me sweat even more. "I killed Miss Kitty Fantastico."
I can't help gasping. I shake my finger at her - "I was wondering what happened to that cat! She just disappeared one day-"
"It wasn't my fault, okay? Willow left some weapons lying around and I picked up a crossbow - just to look! - but it went off and... she didn't make it." Dawn confesses, "I swear I didn't hit her! But she had a heart attack."
She looks solemn but not teary, the witches must have forgiven her, but I pull her into a side-hug anyway. "It's okay, Niblet. I hope your soul feels lighter now."
She sighs dramatically, "It's a weight off my chest."
"You're a weirdo." I say as I use her shoulder to help myself up, "Go put on more sun cream! And," I throw her a sunhat, "Put this on!"
-----------------------
By the time night has fallen, my friends are tired out from a day spent in the sun. As midnight creeps closer, I try to will myself to sleep but my insomnia is being a pain tonight. It always seems to manifest when I feel tired, ironically. I throw off my duvet in a huff and slip out of bed, careful not to make too much noise: Dawn and Buffy share the room opposite while Anya and Xander and Tara and Willow share the rooms either side of me.
I pull back my navy curtains to peer at the softly-lit pool and there's nobody there - I smile. I quietly put on my swimming costume and tiptoe outside. I love the smell of night-time air and the darkness that envelopes the space like a blanket is quite relaxing.
As I sit on the edge of the pool, the water still pleasantly warm, I think that maybe life isn't so bad. Aside for the demons (inner and external), my lack of a real family, the constant fighting for my life, maybe I'll be okay. Here, I certainly feel okay. Miles away from Sunnydale, in a clean and sleek hotel, with my favourite people; my chosen family. Sadly, Giles is missing but he can't go a week without a postcard from me... And I can keep telling myself I don't miss Spike but it's getting harder to kid myself. I should stop giving him thought. That's what Willow advised. She said crushes are easier to get over with distractions and I want to trust her word but it's not working.
"Boo." The voice is flat, non-threatening and familiarly British but I jump out of my skin nevertheless.
The broadest smirk is plastered across Spike's face when I turn to face him. I raise an accusatory finger, ready to scold him, but I bite my tongue and lower it.
"How are you even here?"
"I felt left out," he circles the pool, getting closer to where I'm sitting with my toes dipped in the water, "Thought I'd come join the fun."
"It's midnight. There's not much fun happening."
"You're awake, aren't you? And, hey, I couldn't exactly come during the day."
I study him in all his leather-jacketed glory. I hate how cool he looks. I hate that he's here. I don't know how he knew where we went, or why he really made the trip. A shiver runs up my spine at the thought of him tracking one of our scents to locate us.
"You shouldn't be here. Buffy -"
"Sod Buffy," he interrupts, "She shouldn't have left this at the cemetery, if she didn't want me tagging along." He holds up a pink cardigan.
"Ugh, that's gross, man."
"Gross," he looks offended, standing up a little straighter, "I'm a vampire, love, what did you expect?" He couches down next to me and leans into my neck. I freeze. "Buffy smells like vanilla and grave dirt. You smell like hormones and," he sniggers, "Raspberry sauce."
"I had a Mr Whippy." I mutter.
He kicks off his shoes. "Can I join you?"
"I have an overwhelming feeling you're going to whatever I say."
"Can I?" he asks again. To my surprise, he actually wants an answer.
"Yeah."
To my even greater shock, he takes off his socks too and rolls up his trousers. The image is so bizarre, I must be staring because Spike lets out a gruff "What?" as he plonks himself down next to me.
"Nothing." I murmur, kicking the water, sending gentle ripples through it. I spot out of the corner of my eye that Spike is turning a flat stone over in his palm. "What's that?"
"I was going to throw it at your window if no-one was about." he admits before skimming the stone across the pool with practised skill. I watch his hands drop back into his lap, hating myself a little more with every second my gaze lingers on his rings, his veins, his fingers.
"Impressive." I remark, "But, Spike, why are you really here?"
"Do you want to swim?" he diverts, taking off his rings, setting them carefully on a nearby table.
Maybe he gets lonely, but if so, he'd never admit it. Maybe he wants to hang out with me. He's probably just lonely.
I slip into the pool, my shoulders loosening as I sink deeper and I sigh. I feel a lot more comfortable in front of him this way, my body concealed by the periwinkle water, but he seems at ease himself because, without warning, he's taking off his shirt. He even removes his trousers to reveal black swimming trunks that reach his mid thigh. I have to bite my cheek.
I can tell he's thinking about diving in but decides against it, lowering himself into the pool like I did, only with more grace.
"I have a confession." Spike states. The light reflects off a simple silver necklace that hangs off his throat and makes his eyes look ever bluer.
"Did you kill a kitten?"
"What?"
"Nothing."
"No," he swallows, "I'm here because Giles is dead."
"WHAT?"
"I'm kidding," he snorts.
"You're the devil!" I send a huge wave his way and it hits him in the face. I gasp, not expecting that kind of impact, but promptly flounder away at maximum speed before he can execute his revenge.
"You're dead!" he sneers, swimming after me, catching my foot and pulling me underwater.
I resurface, spluttering, "No, you're dead!" I push him backwards, flicking up water with my fingers and he laughs. In all honesty, the sound catches me off guard. I've never head him laugh so hard, the sound so genuine and unrestrained that I just pause - which gives the idiot enough time to kick towards me, inciting a childish wrestling match.
If he wants to play dirty - fine by me. I splash him back, grabbing at arms and slithering in and out of his grasp. That rare noise sounds again - his laugh - and I get thrown off by it again until I realise he's caging me in, against the pool wall.
"You're trapped." he points out, voice low.
"Seems so."
Water drips off his nose and the moonlight bounces off his cheekbones in a way that makes him look unfairly good. Ethereal. I hate him.
"Spike," I say quietly, having nowhere to look except from his gorgeous eyes, "Why are you here, actually?"
Something tightens in my chest from the way he's looking at me. He's looking at me like I'm the only star in a midnight sky but I certainly don't feel like one. He's so close he can probably feel my soft, protruding belly or see the stubborn spots that dot my cheeks. His hands grip the side of the pool beside my shoulders and he locks his arms to give me more room.
"It's Tuesday. You always come over to watch Passions on a Tuesday. I suppose I was missing your company."
I smile and I must be dreaming because he smiles back. Not a smirk, a smile which is incredibly rare for him.
"I missed you too." I say and instantly feel blush flood my cheeks. Why did I say that?! He said he misses my company, not me and he probably thinks I'm some big loser whose highlight of the week is watching soap operas with a vamp who will never feel the same way about them! I open my mouth to backtrack, to tell him I didn't mean it, but he speaks before I can.
"You look really pretty tonight."
My eyes widen, I can't help it, but I keep my mouth shut to avoid any further embarrassment. We sit like this for a long moment until I'm only aware of the soft buzz of the pool heater, the moonlight that streaks down on us and the man inches away from me. And then, in the passing seconds I become distinctively aware of one thing - his lips. Pink and arched and stupidly kissable.
Is it the night air? Is it the fact he's travelled all this way to see me? Is it that we're alone or that I'm desperate or that Spike is bored with his eternal life? Or do we kiss because the tension is unbearable and we want to?
He closes the gap between us with a simple glide, his lips on mine, hungry yet gentle, so much more careful than I imagined. He tastes salty and his cheek is cold and wet beneath my hand. His tongue brushes against mine and my stomach jolts, I pull him closer by the thin, metal chain around his neck. Speaking of necks, he's soon kissing mine which allows me to take in some air. Maybe he forgets that I need to breathe because he doesn't, or maybe I'm just really flustered.
"Spike," I say, "What are we doing?"
"I don't know," he says between kisses, "But I like it."
I giggle, and his hand trails so softly down my neck that I start laughing loudly - first at the tickling sensation, then at the absurdness of it all - how is this actually happening? His eyes connect with mine and he chuckles, which only makes me giggle more. Soon, we're both wheezing messes. I rest my head on his shoulder, trying to stifle my laughter.
A light flickers on above us and Buffy steps out onto the balcony in a white dressing gown. I scramble away from Spike as quickly as I can, scratching him in the process with my sharp nails. She rubs her eyes and furrows her eyebrows.
"Spike?" she asks, voice thick with sleep, "You know what? I don't even want to know. Can you wrap up whatever this is and go to bed?"
I sigh in relief and Spike touches his chest where I scratched him. "Sorry, Buffy." I call, mouthing a 'sorry' to Spike too, although he doesn't seem to mind.
We exit the pool quietly, not wanting to disturb anyone else, and I invite Spike back to my room so we can get dry. After giving him a towel, I lock myself in the bathroom to first, freak out and second, get into my cosy pyjamas. When I emerge, Spike is dressed in what he came in, sitting on the edge of my bed.
"I guess I should be going now, pet," he smiles, "I... I'll look forward to next Tuesday." he says it genuinely, curiously, without implying that he's expecting anything. He hesitates before stepping towards the door.
"Wait." I find myself saying. Spike stops and turns. "Stay."