Hunger was one of the greatest motivators, much to Spike’s chagrin. Had his stomach not started demanding food, he would have gladly stayed beside the fire, not moving except to add fuel to it. As it was, he stood up, stretching the kinks out of his back, and went to find food. A few minutes later he settled down to a loaf of bread from yesterday and a hunk of hard cheese. He sat in the kitchen, watching the dying embers in the fireplace. There was something about Del, something that haunted her. She was usually happy, or something like it—perhaps content was a better word. But sometimes, like at the orth’s house, or today, shadows drifted behind her eyes and she looked her age—not old in the physical sense, but psychologically. It was something else about her that reminded Spike of Angel. Sometimes you could catch them unawares; it was then that their age showed, in the hidden pain and regrets.

Shaking himself, Spike returned to his room and proceeded to sleep for more than a day. Less than ten feet away, Del spent the same time crying herself to sleep, only to wake up from painful dreams with tears in her eyes. Twice she stumbled out of the room to find water, only to return and repeat the process. The only solace she had was that Spike seemed to be hidden away and couldn’t bear witness.

•••

A little after midday, Spike woke up again, this time due to an incredible pain in his bladder. What you get for not going before. He relieved himself, then stoked a fire in the stove and satisfied a ravenous appetite. From the look of the kitchen, Del had eaten very little or nothing during the day and night Spike had been asleep. Cursing lividly, Spike dished up a platter of pancakes, one food from his dimension he remembered how to make. Carrying it and a pitcher of tea, he went to Del’s room. He was tired of her moody, brooding isolation.

“Get up.” Spike slammed the dishes down on a low table, startling the dalhari. A fuchsia head poked out of the blankets, and two stormy grey eyes shot daggers at the human.

“Go away.” She buried herself again, waiting for Spike to leave.

“No.” He reached over, pulling up a blanket. Tossing it on the bed, he repeated the procedure, slowly unearthing the woman. In a few short minutes, he was standing toe to toe with a furious dalhari, wings spread and arched menacingly, tail snapping in anger. “You. Will. Eat.” He spat out.

What Del said in response would have surely singed his ears, if he understood a word of it. She launched into a furious tirade, spoken completely in dalhari, hands gesticulating rudely, teeth bared. Spike was briefly fearful for his safety, until she backed up several steps. The shouting continued, though, for quite some time.

Eventually Spike just walked over to her, grabbing her arms. He pulled her over to the table, pushing her down into a chair. It served to both shut her up and put her in proximity to the meal he’d prepared.

“Eat,” Spike ordered, pointing at the pancakes. Del stared at him, then at the food. Apparently she decided that pancakes were a safer target than the human and began to eat, although she frequently glared at Spike for good measure.

When she was done, he handed her a mug of water. “What is this all about?” Spike asked. Del looked at him, her face a mask of confusion. “No, don’t pull that. Ever since you woke up yesterday, you’ve been avoiding me, hiding out, and playing dead,” He said, holding her gaze. After a moment, she looked away. “Then there were those two days after Zaf’s dinner. You spent them being a moody, aggressive bitch. Why?” That got her attention, and the furious glare returned. “And no, I’m not going away until you tell me. I’m stuck here all winter with you.”

Del’s shoulders slumped. No, she didn’t have to tell him anything. He was just a lost human she’d known for less than a month, one who could already peg her moods and know when she was upset, something that not even her father could do reliably. He was also someone she was dangerously close to caring for. Actually, that wasn’t true. She already cared for him, more than she wanted to. She was too close to falling in love with the occasionally annoying, sensitive, brutal, and gentle human.

Don’t say anything.

•••

“I was betrothed.”

Spike’s jaw dropped. Del fell silent, staring at the fire that had blazed back to life after Spike added wood to it. “Gaihi,” the dalhari’s face twisted in pain, “was from La’iv. I met him when I moved to the freehold to work the forges.”

The human sat back, silently urging her to continue. This was news to Spike. It was also, strangely enough, very important to him.

“He pursued me. I was flattered; I didn’t know what to do, since he wouldn’t go away.” She stopped, emptying the water mug and then refilling it. “So we ended up betrothed.”

“What happened?” Spike asked softly.

Del laughed, a sharp, harsh noise. “I went to visit Gaihi at his family’s house. He was from a prominent family in the freehold—generations of elders. When I got there, I found Gaihi. I also found someone else.” She stopped for a moment, caught up in the fire. “His lover.”

Spike gasped. He couldn’t imagine someone betraying this woman in such a way. If she would steadfastly befriend and protect him, a stranger of another species, her loyalties to her beloved would have to have been without compare.

“Needless to say, I was…unhappy.” Spike made a quiet, encouraging noise. “I didn’t yell, or shout. No,” she laughed painfully. “No, I just left and went back to the forge and made some damned fine daggers. Then I went home.”

“Father was, of course, furious. Our betrothal was a big, complicated affair. My family is not only the head of our clan, but also of our house. The same is true of Gaihi’s family. Our bonding would have led to a wealth of new ties, both political and cultural.”

Spike’s blood ran cold. What had her father done? “The betrothal was called off. Father waited for Gaihi’s father to arrive, and a few days later, he did. They argued briefly, but Niv, Gaihi’s father, agreed that there was no way for the bonding to occur. Bondings created a strong emotional connection between the pair, and no one could be expected to enter a bond with someone they couldn’t ever trust. And I couldn’t trust Gaihi. Hells, I didn’t even like him anymore. I hated him.”

“Niv felt badly about it; the girl Gaihi was fucking was one I’d met at the forge and had introduced to their family. The irony didn’t escape any of us. Actually, the only person who fought the dissolution of the betrothal was Gaihi. And fight he did—he screamed, stomped about, roused friends of his to support him. He wanted our bonding very badly. Niv refused to consider it, and Gaihi came to me, convinced that I had turned his father against him. He tried to convince me, one more time, that the bonding was the right thing to do—that we were soulmates, that I didn’t understand what I’d seen. When I refused, he drew on me.”

The human growled unconsciously. If he ever, ever met this Gaihi…well, the man would never walk again, much less fly. “When it was over, I went to his father’s house, covered in his blood.” Spike relaxed. “I couldn’t kill him, of course, but he was wounded quite badly. Niv took him in and had a healer patch him up. When Gaihi could function again, Niv sent him to a hold far to the north, in another region, to manage some of the house’s business there.” Exile, a fate worse than death for someone with political aspirations. Spike couldn’t have done better himself, not without killing.

Del sank back in the chair, sliding down until she was nearly in the floor. She hadn’t talked about Gaihi in a very long time. Oh, there were details she’d left out—the attempted rapes, the drunken rages, but they were just too private.

Spike found his voice, finally. “How long ago?”

“A hundred years.” The blonde snapped his jaw shut. A hundred years? It boggled the mind. Del had been torturing herself over this for a century?

“Why?”

The dalhari frowned. “Why what?”

“Why are you still brooding over it? It’s been nearly two human lifetimes, and you’re still crying over it? Why? Did you love him that much, that his betrayal hurt you so much that you’re willing to go about moping for a fucking century?” Spike was shouting now, although he didn’t realize it.

Del’s head snapped around. “I haven’t been brooding for a century. Hells, it doesn’t even cross my mind much anymore.” She stopped, unable to rouse anger at Spike. “It’s just…”

“What?” Spike demanded.

“Zaf brought him up, and it, I don’t know, triggered something,” She whispered.

“Right. So why the whole hiding thing yesterday?” Spike asked.

Del curled up in the chair. Don’t say anything! “I was scared.”

“Scared?” Spike practically shouted. “Of what?”

“You,” Del said, barely audible.

Spike’s mouth fell open again. Him? “What!?” He screamed. “Me? Why?”

Del shook her head vigorously. This had gone far enough, too far perhaps. She stood, wrapping herself in a blanket.

Spike shot out of the chair, catching her arm and spinning her around. “No, you answer me, Del. Why?” he demanded angrily. “What could I have ever done to scare you?”

She looked up at him, tears threatening to fall. “Be you.” At that, she tugged her arm free and left the room, leaving Spike to stare at the fire, trying to decipher those two words.

He found her some time later kneading bread dough. Spike reached down, stilling her hands. “Del,” he said, catching her attention. “It’s alright, you know.” He let her hands go, pressing slender fingers against her cheek briefly before going to the pantry for ingredients. The pair spent several hours making bread dough, the silence punctuated only by the sounds of cooking.

“Thanks,” Del said before retreating to her room for the night. Spike watched her go, wishing like mad that there was something he could do, something to take away the pain, the feeling that she couldn’t trust anyone with her heart. He realized that his words had been harsh; it wasn’t just that Gaihi’d cheated on her; it was that he’d actively tried to kill her. Even in his worst days, none of Spike’s lovers had actually tried to kill him. Torture, maim, punish, but not kill. Love, indeed.

•••

Life resumed its normal pace over the next couple of weeks. Del and Spike puttered around the house, Del teaching the human dalhari while Spike taught Del checkers and chess. After the first week the snow had retreated just enough for the ifnan to make it into town and the pair resumed their regularly scheduled visiting. Neither of them noticed their hosts practically throwing them together at every opportunity, much to the amusement of nearly everyone involved.

Spike sat back, closing his eyes against the bright sunlight reflecting off glistening snow. The human was propped in the sill of a window in the ifnan’s barn, where he had curled up after caring for the animals. It seemed like more snow fell as soon as what was on the ground either melted, evaporated, or compacted to a more manageable level.

The blonde was caught up in thinking about his past and his present. In his past, he’d been a world-infamous, psychotic vampire turned Slayer lackey. He’d been immortal, a demon that fed off the living, usually gleefully killing them in the process. Then he’d been helpless, at the mercy of his food. He’d been completely alone; even his vampiric family had abandoned him in disgust.

In his present, he was a human of no particular note, wandering around a strange dimension. He’d escaped becoming a sacrifice once and someone’s dinner at least twice, met and befriended, and he’d like to think occasionally helped one of the most interesting people he’d ever encountered. Then he’d gone off and fallen in love with her, only to find out she was, in her own way, as messed up as he was.

He looked at the two lists he’d just made. Why was he trying to get back? At first, it had been about simply going home, that and getting his demon back. Now, though, he wondered why. He’d grown accustomed to mortality and the fragility of it. He was even growing to like this dimension. Granted, it was technologically behind, and might never catch up—the people here had no real desire to do so. And it was dangerous, what with all the eating of humans. But it was nice, too. Huge expanses of pristine land, pure water and air, no vampires—no real evil. There were bad guys, and dangerous people, but there weren’t big pools of evil floating around like there seemed to be on earth.

And there was Del. She offered to take him to someone who could help him go back. She’d taken his heart while he wasn’t looking. He didn’t want to leave this place, not until he knew what had happened to his heart. Maybe not even then.

•••

“How are Laverne and Shirley?” Del asked, referring to the ifnan. Spike had offered up those names for the donkey-like mounts and Del had instantly loved them, especially after he explained their origins. She’d found great humor in naming two of Ruisk’s prize male ifnan after fictional female characters that didn’t go past first base. Whatever that meant.

“Fat and happy,” Spike said, grinning. “And dinner?”

“What, you expect me to cook for you?” Del replied. She ducked her head as Spike ran a hand over her hair, reaching down to pull on one earlobe. “Hey!”

Spike smirked. “Cheeky git.” He quickly danced back, avoiding a suddenly grasping tail that was attempting to curl around an ankle. Del laughed, stalking him around the kitchen.

“We’re going to another dinner this evening,” She said, finally trapping Spike in a corner.

The human grinned nervously. “Why do the orth throw so bloody many dinner parties?” His eyes darted around, trying to find a way out of his little predicament.

“Nothing better to do in the winter.” The dalhari advanced, pushing Spike against the wall. He shrunk back as far as possible, trying to disappear. It didn’t work—evil blue-green fingers reached out, attacking his ribs. Should’ve worn the vest.

Spike fell to the floor, followed by Del. He laughed helplessly as she tickled him in retaliation. After a couple more minutes, the dalhari jumped back, retreating to the fireplace. “Serves you right,” She said, smirking. “We leave in an hour.”

Dinner was eerily similar to the past seven they’d attended; small groups of orth and pakra mingling casually while consuming the host’s plentiful fare. Spike thanked whatever gods watched out for wayward former-vampires that he’d grown to enjoy the hellishly spicy food. Otherwise he’d be stuck drinking beer all night. Not that that was such a bad thing.

Del saw movement out of the corner of her eye and turned to greet Ruisk. “They’re fine,” She said, reassuring him that his ifnan were flourishing in their temporary home. He grinned at his own predictability.

“Actually, I have a favor to ask you…in return for the loan of my ifnan,” The guard said.

The dalhari snorted. “Like I asked for them.”

The orth held out a well-worn liow, the stringed instrument Del played so well. She quirked an eyebrow in question.

“We’ve had no music all winter. Play for us, Del,” Ruisk pleaded. Zaf joined him, adding his voice to the request.

Del just smiled and took the instrument. “I don’t know why you all like dalhari music so much. But if it's what you want…” She made her way to the fireplace, seating herself on the floor there. Without preamble, the dalhari began picking out a winter’s tune.

Spike turned at the sound of a liow. The only time he’d heard one was the night Del had taught him how to play. The guests moved around, arranging themselves to listen as the musician began to play in earnest. The human gasped softly when he saw that it was Del in front of the fire, slender fingers drawing out a familiar melody.

The dalhari entertained them with music for an hour or so before begging off, claiming exhaustion. Spike agreed to make an early retreat, and the pair rode out of the city quietly, watching fat snowflakes wander down from the sky.

They fell into the now-familiar routine of stabling the ifnan, then getting themselves ready for sleep, brewing a last pot of tea as they built fires in their respective bedrooms. Spike watched Del picking through herbs, mixing them for some new blend. He yawned; it had been a long day.

Spike walked over to the dalhari, intending to bid her good night. She was still staring intently at the herbs in her hands, displaying now outward sign that he had approached. “Del?” The woman looked up, startled. “Um, well—good night. See you in the morning.” He turned to leave, and then stopped.

Giving in to impulse, Spike took half a step forward and bent down, pressing a quick kiss on Del’s cheek. He pulled back and walked rapidly out of the room before she could react.

Once in his own chamber, Spike closed and latched the door, leaning back against it. After a minute, he shook his head at himself, and then crawled into the bed he’d pulled closer to the fire.

In the kitchen, Del still stood by the workbench, a bemused expression on her face. She gave up on the tea and set it aside, resigned to another night of restless sleep. Spike never ceased to surprise her. She didn’t know what to think about that brief kiss, and it would probably keep her up tonight.