Author's notes: This story is completely AU. No canon Big Bads such as Master (lets pretend he's dead) or the Initiative. Buffy had never come to Sunnydale, instead she was kidnapped while patrolling the streets of LA a year after she was called, and she's been gone for about 5 months.
Angel is still somewhere eating vermin, and Spike and Drusilla are cutting swath through Europe, Dru having her full strength. Spike is still very much evil and not even thinking about redemption and he is still in love with Dru (That won't last long, promise!).
When Spike decides to get the third notch on his belt he will find something that will change his life forever.

Betaed by Dawn, Lis and Mabel

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. No copyright infringement is intended.

*Chapter one and two have been revised on 10th of July 2010.*





Beautiful banner made by nmcil. Thank you!!! :)


Chapter 1

Spike closed his eyes and licked his lips, smiling at the lingering taste of the flight attendant’s blood. Silly little thing thought she’d get a quickie before the lift off. To be fair, it was quick, even if she ended up lying in the ditch nearby the airport’s hall as a result. Not really his fault she was daft enough to follow a stranger into darkness.


It never ceased to astonish him, the naïveté of the human race. Thank God for his Sire. If it weren’t for her stumbling upon him all sniveling and weak, he’d never have known the true pleasure of this world. Unrestrained by society’s rules.


He turned his face to look at Drusilla’s sleeping form, the hum of the airplane’s motors having lulled her to sleep. It had taken him quite a while to calm her down and stop her from blowing their cover by throwing one of her fits as they sneaked into the airplane’s luggage storage. It was uncomfortable as hell.


Drusilla stirred next to him and he immediately reached out to stroke her dark long hair. She frowned then fell asleep again. As much as he worshipped the very ground she walked on, traveling with her always tried his patience. They couldn’t travel by boat because the fish would be upset and the stars wouldn’t speak to her anymore if they flew on a plane.


So she was a bit crazy in the head. That didn’t mean he loved her any less. She made him who he was and they had been together for more than a hundred years now. There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for her. To make her proud of him.


Killing the Slayers seemed to be the only thing he excelled at above his Grandsire Angelus. Not that he minded facing a challenge. He thrived off it, that feeling of adrenaline pumping through him, the exhilaration of knowing this might be the last fight, the last proverbial breath. It made the victory that much sweeter, their blood taste so much better. What was the point of being immortal if there was nothing threatening to take it away?


The fight with the last Slayer he met, for example. That was a sweet deal. They danced for weeks until the day when he twisted her neck with a satisfying crack and took his trophy. His beloved duster. His second skin.
She had been different, that one. The way she’d moved and the strength of her punches had made him hard for an entirely different reason than just wanting to bathe in her blood. She had been a warrior, just like he was. He’d respected her.


Slayers, representatives of everything good and pure; puppies and rainbows. He bloody well knew better than that. They and the forces they fought were so much alike, the darkness inside just waiting to prevail upon the human conscience. That's why the Slayers were never turned, it was too much of a risk to free something so powerful and destructive. Slayers, killers, predators. His ultimate obsession.


So that was why he and Dru were now on their flight away from Europe to the USA. Spike had his ear to the ground and had heard there was supposed to be a new Chosen One somewhere in California. So that was where they were headed.


Looking for a tiny slip of a girl that harbored power rivaling his own. He was getting excited just thinking about it. The fight. The sweet victory. Pure ambrosia of her blood sliding down his throat. The look in his dark princess’ eyes as she realized he was the vamp that had killed three slayers.


Like she really loved him.


Spike clenched his teeth.


He might be the only one of his family that actually lived every minute like it was his last. Angelus and the bloody bitch-- as he liked to refer to Darla-- were always so uptight about their comforts and only cared about their own skin, and Dru... Well, Dru lived in an entirely different world altogether.


After Angelus had pulled the disappearing act a few decades ago, Darla decided he and Dru weren't worth her time after all and went crawling back to the old bat the Master, playing his little whore, no doubt. He didn't care much about family affairs and reunions.


So now he and his black goddess were left all on their lonesome and he was finally having her all to himself. No sodding daddy in sight, no grandma either. Just the two them, causing mayhem wherever they went. Dancing on the bloodied corpses of their victims, laughing and shagging in the blood they spilt.


He loved her more than anything in his world. She was the one that had saved him from the mediocrity, shown him the freedom of darkness and violence.


But sometimes, just sometimes, when he was awake and staring off into space, there were these fleeting thoughts, disturbing really, that it might not be enough. That she didn't love him as much as he loved her. That she didn't really see him as anything besides her plaything and someone who'd always be there for her. She was too far gone to really love anyone, thanks to Angelus. She looked at him but it was not him she saw. There was nothing but the insane glitter of mischief in her eyes, not real warmth, not love. They never had real conversations and it made him lonely, even though just thinking it made him feel like a poof.


He'd never shared Drusilla's obsession with children and virgins either. Didn't quite care for the insane glee in her eyes as she destroyed anything innocent or pure. It possibly had everything to do with her subconscious need to make the blinding light of pureness bleed and give way to the empty stare of death. Just like Angelus did to her. He didn't even have to be here and the sod's overwhelming presence shadowed everything that Drusilla did. When she killed, when she fed and... 'Better not go there, mate.'


He'd never really seen the whole point of slow torture, never had the patience for it. But he loved her and that was all that mattered. He never left the ones he loved, didn't matter how much they hurt him. It seemed like his grandsire didn't succeed in beating the humanity out of him after all.


The lurch of a landing airplane roused a sleeping Dru from her slumber and alerted Spike to the fact he was now in the same country as the Slayer. A wide grin crossed his face. Her life would be his.

******

She tried to get used to the physical pain, to her whole body aching inside and out. Pretending that the cold stone of her prison grating on her skin, metal shackles chaffing her slender wrists and bruises that marred her flesh were nothing but an echo of the pain within her soul.
In a way, it was true.


Punches and kicks, those she could take. It was the loss of control, the inability to defend herself and knowing that she was nothing but a toy they used for their pleasure that was threatening to consume her sanity. The pain resonated deep within her soul and spread out through her veins like a poison.


Slithering.


Mocking.


Killing.


Sometimes she wished it would end and she'd finally be able to be free of this mortal coil. Free of life. It never stopped though. Buffy forgot how long she had been here...weeks, months, years? Time blended into an endless blur after a while.


Hugging her knees to her chest proved to be a futile effort at warming her skin. She couldn't remember what it felt like to be warm. It wasn't just the hard cement floor that made her skin freeze mercilessly. It was coming from within. Cold hands trying to wrap its fingers around her soul and take over.


She was ashamed of even thinking it, but sometimes...sometimes she wished they had. She wished they wrapped around her neck and strangled the last breath out of her. Maybe then she'd be able to find the solace that seemed so close, yet at the same time so far out of reach. She used to be a warrior. It felt like there were still some vestiges left of it inside of her because despite it all, she was afraid to die. What if the fate that awaited her was even worse than being here? Being alone, shackled, blind.

It wasn't always like this. She kind of remembered what it felt like... She used to be a part of the world.


Alive.


She used to be a part of that glittering glamour that kept the darkness hidden underneath. Glamour that was just waiting to be scraped off and reveal the gaping mouth of hell and its fetid breath.


World with people passing each other in the streets, worrying about how they looked in the eyes of others, what others thought about them. People terrified of their own reflection.


Buffy knew now that it didn’t matter because in the end everybody only cared about themselves. Ultimately everyone died the way they were born.


Alone.


There was that word again. It had been taunting her since the moment she’d been approached by a creepy old guy dressed in tweed, her freshmen year in high school, about who she was. What she was.


She was chosen to fight for people that didn't give a damn about her, but she still did it because it was the right, honorable thing to do. But she wanted to be one of those faceless people that went on about their lives with blissful oblivion, not caring that someone out there risked their life every night so that they could live.


It didn't matter that she didn't want it, that she didn't ask for any of this. There would be no white picket fences or children waiting for her in the future no matter how hard she would like to pretend otherwise. There was nothing but pain, death and rivulets of blood trickling down her hands. She was raped by this power in the name of everything good and light, the burden thrust onto her shoulders along with the burning guilt for every single life she couldn't save.


No one cared how hard she tried, in the end she was just one girl in all the world surrounded by evil and darkness that penetrated her very being and threatened her own humanity with every single life she took.


Vampires-- all dead but still living-- and she was the one that took it all away. Who was she to judge who deserved to die? She was just seventeen! The only way to retain her own peace of mind had always been justifying that by killing them she was saving the lives of the innocent. That they couldn't possibly feel, not like humans did.


That was until she got here and realized how thin the line is between the two worlds. It weren't just vampires and demons that paid for her humiliation. Even those she was sworn to protect treated her as if she was soulless, just a doll for their own amusement. Theirs to break and theirs to play with.


She kept saving the lives of others, knowing that one day it would be the reason for her own death. And look where it got her. Where were all those people when she was the one that needed saving?


Her musings were interrupted by the sound of the doors swinging open.


Dim light entered the room, though Buffy couldn't see it, she flinched from the sound that disturbed the long silence. A set of now familiar heavy footsteps followed the bang of steel against the wall and a man approached her.


Buffy's breath picked up in speed as she waited for him to do something, anything. The keys jingled as the man unlocked the shackles that bound her wrists to a wall behind. As soon as she was freed, she tried to scurry away from him, but his cold hand shot out and grabbed her hair, and Buffy had to restrain herself from crying out in sudden pain.


“What do you think you're doing, sunshine?” His voice full of mocking menace and he tightened his hold on her.


Buffy didn't reply. She wasn't meant to after all, and even if she was, she didn't think she could regain her voice. It wasn't put to use since it was very clearly pointed out to her that this was not a place to speak your mind. Buffy had learnt that the hard way. Her mind drifted away to a place where it all started.


To the the first time that she woke up in this hell.


TBC

Author's note: There is Spike/Dru in this chapter, and it's graphic, but it's not at all romantic, in point of fact it rather proves the point that Drusilla can never really be what Spike wants or needs. I swear this is the only scene with them having sex you'll see!

Thank you Dawn and Lis for your excellent beta work, I love you guys!

Thank you wonderful readers, you give me the drive to write this story!!!

Chapter 2

He could feel the rejuvenating power of blood as it coursed through his body, making him feel alive at least for a minute. There was nothing better than blood, sex and violence...not necessarily in that order.


He tossed aside the cooling corpse of the young woman, her body hitting the pavement, her lifeless eyes staring at him blankly from the ground. Spike stepped over her and grabbed Drusilla around the waist, hauled her to him and met her lips in a violent outburst of passion and tongues. They could taste the blood of their respective victims and groaned with desire.


Spike quickly turned Drusilla around and pinned her to the wall of the building, nipping at her lips with blunt teeth. Her hands kept roaming all over his backside as she broke the kiss. Her face morphed and she bit into his jugular, drawing his blood into her mouth. Spike moaned from the pleasure of being bit by his sire and slowly brought his hand between her pale thighs, stroking her, teasing her with his long fingers before thrusting two fingers inside. Drusilla drew her fangs out of his throat and moaned.


“Spike, give mummy her milk. She's been a good girl,” she cooed in a childish voice, drew the zipper of Spike's jeans down, reached inside and drew out his fully erect length. Her cold hands enveloped it and started stroking it with long twists.


“Just like that, luv! Oh God!” Spike inhaled sharply and leaned one of his hands on the wall behind her to steady himself, as his other kept thrusting inside her.


“Harder Spike! Just like daddy does...make me bleed and scream!”


This brought a painful lurch inside his heart and nearly made him lose his arousal, but he was too bloody horny to stop now. He'd just have to mope later, and instead he decided on channeling his rage the best way possible. Into anger. He spun her around and ripped her dress off as he situated himself between her legs.


“You want harder, Dru? I'll give you harder!”


Drusilla cooed in delight as he drew out his fingers and worked his thick shaft inside her in one thrust and kept ramming it inside her with bruising strokes. Her hands clawed at the wall as she moaned in pleasure. Spike buried his hand in Drusilla's hair, tugging it backwards until her neck was fully exposed to him. He bit down hard and drew blood into his mouth. His other hand snuck its way to the front of her body, sliding down, pinching her nipples on the way until Spike reached Drusilla's clit, twisting it expertly between his fingers. He could feel Dru starting to reach her climax and as she fell over the edge, he growled in her ear possessively,


“Mine!” His thrusts slowed down as he waited for her response.


Drusilla, still coming off her high, responded by laughing like an insane woman, giggling madly and saying, “I only belong to my daddy, my William.”


Spike roared in anger and slipped out of her, his still erect penis jutting out of his unzipped jeans. Drusilla kept giggling and started twirling with her arms outstretched and half of her velvet dress ripped off, like she didn't have a care in the world, like she just didn't break his heart. She left him there, standing with his heart shattered to pieces and still hard as a nail.


“Sod this!” Spike angrily tucked himself inside his jeans and winced as the zipper dug painfully into his flesh. He sighed and muttered angrily at himself, “Bloody pillock!”
He shook his head at his own stupidity of even assuming she would want to be his, just as he was already hers and then did what he always had. He followed Drusilla into the darkness of night.


Tomorrow. Tomorrow he'd find what he came for. He'd find the Slayer, kill her, pick his teeth with her bones and make Drusilla love him.
He had no idea that he was walking right in to the path of his own destruction.

*****

5 months ago


Buffy hummed a random pop melody as she schemed a way to escape Merrick's tyrant tendencies while twirling a stake in her hand. All work and no play made Buffy a cranky slayer. Besides, there was this guy that she was so crushing on, and he’d asked her out! But there was also stupid nest of undead menaces she’d had to clear out first, and how was that fair exactly? Why did she have to be the one to keep the forces of darkness at bay? She was only seventeen --okay sixteen and half-- but she should be on a date with a sweet guy, twirling hair around her finger and flirting with her eyes, then go home, call her best friend --if she had one that is-- and tell her all about it in a colorful detail! Not tracking down and slaying icky dead things and getting various fluids on her expensive shoes!


She shouldn't have to beg some old tweedy British guy --and what kind of sick weirdo would wear tweed in California-- to give her time off. She shouldn't have to climb through her window to hide her bloodied clothes from her mother, and she most definitely shouldn't have to be out at the morning sneaking her way through the seediest parts of LA looking for vampires!


It was a miracle as it was that Tony had asked her out, what with her being recently labeled the biggest freak in the school, therefore being avoided like a plague. Maybe that was why he had asked her out, since he seemed to be on a darker side himself. Or at least he obviously thought he did, but frankly, he most certainly knew nothing about the things that went bump in the night, and if he did he'd run screaming like a little girl.


“Slayer!” hissed a vampire that sneaked out of the shadows and took a defensive stance.


“Slayee!” Buffy smirked and mirrored his position as they circled each other, her hold on the stake tightening as she took in her opponent.


“Oh my God, where the hell did you dig up that atrocious sweater? That is so 80's!” She looked at him with disbelieving eyes. The vampire looked down at his sweater and then back at her with a confused frown on his face. Buffy used his surprise to her advantage, ran at him full speed, knocked him down and rammed the stake into his heart before he had a chance to recuperate. The dust fell on her shoes and she wrinkled her nose in disgust.


“Damn, you can't even have a proper conversation with them anymore, and why the hell would anyone wear something like that? Gross!” She shivered in disgust and took a step forward, but was halted by two vampires stepping out from an abandoned warehouse.


“What is it with you bad guys running in packs?” Buffy twirled her stake as she faced off her opponents. Sure, they were two, but if she kept her eyes open and her senses alert, she could take them.


Three vampires stepped out behind her and two more at her sides and their leader said in an amused and cocky voice, “We sure do, Slayer.”
Buffy looked around her and muttered under her breath, “Oh crap!”


Then all the hell broke loose and she fought for her life, every cell in her body vibrated with unrestrained strength and adrenaline. She was getting weaker by every punch she'd thrown and was thrown back at her with equal force. Buffy swiveled around, ducked a fist directed at her face and managed to stake one of them, but the one behind her managed to kick her legs out and she landed heavily on her back. Black dots swam around her vision and before she could get up, a needle was injected in the artery of her neck. The last thing she saw was a leering face of a demon.


Buffy woke up few hours after and with it came several realizations.


First, her head pounded as though a death metal band set up a concert in her skull. Second, her wrists and ankles were chained to a wall behind her so she was unable to take more than one step, and third, she'd been stripped naked.


That was when the fear came, wrapping around her with its poisonous vines and squeezing her innards with a terrifying intensity. She shook from the sheer force of it and even though she tried to calm down and plan an escape, she couldn't think clearly. There was no way she'd be able to break free of those chains. They were sturdy and heavy and possibly enchanted as well.


A man, no, a vampire entered the cell and it was the same one whose face she had seen before the darkness fell over her. He...was nothing she would have expected. There was nothing outstanding or special about him at all. He could be around thirty years old when he was turned, regular height, white sallow skin, short brown hair and a face that could be anyone's. A neighbor whose name you couldn't remember, a face of a man you used to meet while shopping for groceries, even a man sitting in a bus next to you. Someone whose face didn't resonate, forgettable.


The only thing that separated him from the others were his eyes. Eyes of a killer, merciless and full of painful anger and hatred. Frozen icicles amidst the green of his eyes that shot straight through Buffy and embedded themselves in her soul. Mocking smirk stretched his thin lips as he said with a false smile, “Finally awake, are we, sunshine?”


“What the hell did you do to me you sick freak?” She wasn't one to be intimidated no matter what. The warrior inside would never relent and submit to a creature so far beneath her.


His smirk changed into an ugly grimace of anger and he struck her hard with the back of his hand.


“Have I permitted you to speak? You're nothing here, and there's no way out so don't even try. From this point on, you only speak when you're allowed to and you're to obey everything you're told, are we clear?”


“Like hell I am! When I'm free you're going to wish you were never born! Get these chains off me right now!” Buffy mouthed off and was punched in the face repeatedly until she lost consciousness as a result.


She'd soon learn it was hardly the worst thing that could be done to her for her disobedience.


Present time


Buffy was jarred out of her walk down the memory lane as she was hauled to her feet and led out of her cell by the chains that shackled her wrists. She followed her own personal tormentor, Lukas, with an overwhelming numbness growing inside, the only thing preserving her sanity.


TBC

Banner made by nmcil.

Chapter three

As Buffy followed Lukas down a narrow corridor resembling a dungeon, she could feel growing sense of dread spreading through her like wildfire. She stumbled on the uneven ground and almost fell down.


“Move it!“ Lukas sneered and yanked the chains.


Buffy faced downward and long unkempt hair hid her unseeing eyes from the outside world. It happened soon after they had started injecting her with those needles. At first she struggled and kept resisting, tried to fight, tried to escape. She soon learned that it was futile, and then she started losing her sight.


Three weeks after being kidnapped, she'd woken up and couldn't see. She'd never felt panic like that and went into shock, clawing at her face and screaming until her voice shut down on her. Nobody heard her, and even if they did, why would they care? It was them that did it anyway. What did they do to her?


She couldn't stop shaking, couldn't stop the onslaught of tears falling down her cheeks and onto the dirty ground beneath her. It was the first time she allowed herself to shed a tear and she realized that once she started, she couldn't stop. Harsh sobs wracked through her body as she curled on the cold ground and hugged herself. She'd never felt so helpless, so miserable. So alone.


It was terrifying to not be able to see. What if there was a never ending hole of darkness just at the periphery of her feet? It didn't even matter she was shackled to the wall, once she got the visual into her head, it kept tormenting her with a vision of falling to her death but never hitting the ground. Death just outside of her reach, mocking her.


What if there was a swinging pendulum just waiting to hack off any part of her body, grinning at her with its sharpened teeth? She shrank back against the wall in a useless attempt at protection. She rested her head on her knees and encircled her legs with her arms.


It was worse than any monster she'd ever faced. Worse than finding out that the fate of the world rested on her shoulders and one wrong decision might end up costing her the lives of millions of people. You never knew what you had until you lost it. What if she never saw again? She should have memorized every colour, every nuance of movements, faces of people she had passed every day on the streets, when she could.


When a guard came to deliver her food and water and found her staring blankly into distance muttering to herself, “I'm not blind, I'm not blind, just wake up...”, a malicious grin stretched across his ugly scarred face.


“Looks like the serum they keep injecting in you has some side effects after all, eh?” He put the tray down onto the ground and took a step closer to Buffy, thriving off her misery.


Buffy, sensing someone coming closer, stiffened and whimpered in fear. This prompted a laugh from the guard as he came close enough to touch her. He ran one rough hand down her arm in a mockery of gentleness. Buffy shivered from disgust, which he noticed and roughly grabbed her forearms.


“Don't...please,” Buffy pleaded.


He laughed uproariously and hauled her to her feet.


“Don't what, princess? Touch you? What're you gonna do to me, eh?” He grabbed her around her throat and backhanded her. A trickle of blood made its way down Buffy's chin. She clawed at his hands in a fruitless attempt at freeing herself from the guard's painful grasp. The drug they kept giving her must had done something to her because she felt so weak that she wouldn't be able to lift a puppy right now.


Suddenly she was freed, but before she could acknowledge it had happened, she was turned around and slammed into the wall, his forearm digging between her shoulder blades to keep her in place. The guard grounded his obvious erection into her rear and Buffy felt a sudden urge to vomit.


“N-no!“ she renewed her struggling but it only served to make the guard laugh and heighten his arousal.


“Keep struggling, princess, that's how I like it. I knew you'd be a little harlot beneath that high and mighty attitude. You're just begging for it, aren't you?” His damp fetid breath at her ear made her stomach lurch violently and the sound of a zipper being lowered made cold sweat trickle down her naked back.


Buffy could feel his hard member rub against her lower back and she braced herself for the invasion. Just as the guard was about to penetrate her, the door flung open and Lukas came in.


“What the hell do you think you're doing?“ Lukas shouted in outrage as he strode forward, whipped out a stake from the waistband of his pants and staked the guard. Buffy slid down the wall and sobbed, but her relief was short-lived.


“Now, that would not do, to have your cherry busted for nothing. There are some clients waiting to pay an immeasurable amount for it. Not nearly enough for that particular part of you, but I'm sure we won't have to wait long to receive a satisfying offer, will we? Now get up and clean up, you look like a wreck! You have your first client to meet!“


She'd never be able to forget the night she was finally broken.


*****


Spike woke up alone, no Dru in sight. He sighed and kicked off the comforter, revealing his naked state. Glittering moonlight filtering through the upper narrow windows illuminated his skin with an inhuman beauty. Sculpted muscles rippled beneath his velvety skin as he stretched and stood up in all his glory. Everything about him was alluring, seducing with feline grace and oozing sexuality.


His eyes took on a darker shade in the shadows, emotions in them swimming restlessly, resembling the ocean during a storm. Dangerous. Fascinating. One minute full of warmth and love so stunning you'd never guess it was a dead man feeling it, the next minute turning into a cold maze of anger and blood-lust.


Shadows caressed, almost fearfully, the beauty of this creature. His cheekbones even more pronounced by the bluish hue and a collarbone so tempting, one couldn't stop but wish to caress it with a feather like kisses.


After he and Dru came into LA, they crashed at a random house they had found in the seedier part of the city. It was nothing fancy but then again, he'd never cared for luxury, not like Angelus and Darla had. It had a bed and a bathroom and that was good enough for him.


And if the owner was stupid and reckless enough to issue an invite, who was he to complain? No male could ever resist Dru's helpless damsel in distress act, it seemed. Clueless buggers. She was about as harmless as a lioness on a prowl. Speaking of, she actually was on a prowl right now, probably tearing out the throat of an unsuspecting victim.


His own plans for the night had included going into the nearest demon bar and pumping some poor sod for information about the current slayer's whereabouts, but he just didn't feel like getting into a brawl tonight. He was feeling particularly melancholic for some reason.


He crossed the wooden floor and entered the clean but outdated bathroom, glad that the shower worked at all. There were few things better in the world than a long shower to wash away all your worries straight down the drain.


Spike stepped into the shower and turned on the faucet. Warm water sprayed on him and he tilted his head towards the source. Rivulets of warmth caressed his body in an endless comforting strokes, its naughty hands running down his face, arched neck, down the perfect chest, tight nipples and six pack that begged to be licked, right down his semi-hard penis and strong thighs.


All kinds of thoughts kept running through Spike's mind, but somehow it changed from Dru to finding the slayer being the first and foremost. For some reason, he felt like it was the answer to everything. He would find her, and when he did...he could imagine it right now, the fight, the adrenaline making him feel like he could fly, the excitement of facing off a worthy opponent. The glory it would bring him to sink his fangs into her milky flesh, and the open and willing embrace of Drusilla that would surely ensue.


What would she look like? Tall and lean, all full of grace, or would she be petite and deceptively vulnerable? Dark hair, blond or red? God, he couldn't wait to meet her!


Spike inhaled a shaky unneeded breath, uncapped the bottle of shampoo and massaged a good amount of it into his scalp. He rinsed and then squeezed some soap onto his hand as he proceeded to soap up his whole body, his fingers caressing his slick skin, already oversensitive from his rising arousal. Since the stunt Drusilla pulled yesterday, he hadn’t found any release and as she wasn't here right now, he might as well wank off on his own.


Long fingers caressed his hard member and Spike moaned at how good it felt. As he reached the bell shaped tip, he squeezed gently and precum mingled with the running water. He kept the strokes slow and long, wanting it to last, wanting to drag it out.


He rumbled deep in his throat and his other hand reached down and caressed his balls. Images kept flashing through his mind, but it wasn't the naked body of his black goddess writhing beneath his skillful hands that he imagined.


It was the dance with a faceless figure that prompted his hand to move faster and faster, his other hand kneading his balls more urgently and reaching behind to slip one slick finger into his ass. He leaned his head on the cold tiles as he panted harshly in a nearing climax, but still unable to reach it. He added a second finger and kept thrusting in a shaky frenzied motion, massaging his prostate and only adding to his unbearable arousal.


Spike kept stroking his cock and caressed the tip with his thumb on every down stroke, he sped up the movement of his hand, pressed down on the sweet spot inside that shot sparks of electricity into his very core, and as a fleeting image of the faceless slayer sucking his cock deep into her mouth appeared in his mind, ropy strands of cum erupted from the tip of his penis and hit the tiled wall of the shower. He hadn't cum that hard in a long while.


Spike exhaled a long satisfied breath and slid down to the floor, water gently cleaning him as he purred like a big cat.


After Spike came down a little from his high, his eyes shot open in alarm and he swore, “Why the bloody hell would I cum from an image of a sodding slayer sucking me off?”


It was one thing to be obsessed with killing them and quite another to want to shag one. Where the hell did that come from? It must be the sexual frustration and his anger at Drusilla's attitude of ignoring his needs. Yeah, that made sense...He'd just go with that. Spike shoved down the sick, and in no way exciting, image somewhere very deep into the shelf in his mind labeled denial. But the disturbing feeling of curiosity wouldn't leave him.


The front door shut close and Drusilla's giggles and playful barks penetrated the fog of confusion clouding his mind. He shook himself off, turned off the water and went to greet the love of his life. Because that's what she was...wasn't she?


TBC

WARNING: There is a rape/non-con in this chapter! I tried to balance it out with something sweet but if you have issues with it, you probably shouldn't read!




Great banner made by Vette. Thank you!!! :)

Chapter 4


Spike stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his slim hips. As soon as he opened the bathroom door, Drusilla's mad giggling and playful barks reached his ears. The corners of his mouth lifted in hint of a smile. His princess was finally home. No more soddin' slayers messing with his head and making his world spin off its axis. The familiar embrace of his black goddess would make everything right again. Rid him off this ridiculous notion of doing anything else but killing a slayer.


As completely nutty as his Dru could be, she was the one that'd been his love for decades. One just didn't throw away something like that.
“Had a good night, pet? Found lots of pretty little girls to eat?” As Spike rounded the corner and caught his first glimpse of Dru, the slight smile froze on his face and numb coldness spread its way throughout his core. She didn't! She wouldn't!


Dru stood in the hall looking as innocent as a little girl on Christmas Eve, baking cookies for Santa. But the state she had been in before she noticed him would definitely tick her off Santa's do-gooders list. The audacity of her throwing this into his face, and not even looking guilty while doing it...damn if that didn't piss him off no end!


The reason for her merriment was currently squeezing her breasts with passionate abandon. He didn't even notice Spike come in. The big bulky guy that might pass for a human, if it weren't for the horns and disgusting slime dripping from his skin all over Spike's floor, was groping every part of his woman's body, and she was letting him?


Anger wrapped in a red veil fell over his eyes, clouding his mind as he marched straight to them and shoved the demon away from Dru. The slimy creature stumbled back and crashed to the front door. He glared daggers at Spike, ready to scream profanities at him for interrupting his make out session. One look at the enraged vampire and the demon's jaw snapped shut.


'How can she do this? The bitch!' Hadn't he always given her everything she wanted? Hadn't he been the one to take care of her when she had one of her spells, or when Angelus inflicted his sick torturous plays on her, leaving her bloodied on the floor like a dirty rag? Hadn't he sodding listened to her nonsense about tea parties and stars speaking to her every day since he'd been turned?


And bloody Miss Edith! How many times had he had the itching need to tear her head off and hurl her into the fireplace? Daft Dru with her sodding dolls, she probably loved them more than she'd ever loved him. Bloody laugh riot, that was.


He'd suffered for her at the hands of Angelus and Darla and the only reason he hadn't left was her! He defended her when the others treated her like dirt and talked at her as if she didn't matter. She did matter; she mattered to him...but it was obviously one-sided. Spike felt sharp daggers of betrayal thrusting into his gut, twisting and making him bleed.


He'd always suspected she wasn't the most faithful of woman. Hell, he knew it, but to actually see it, to have his face rubbed in it...that was more painful that he'd expected, and that only served to fuel his rage. She was not going to make an even a bigger fool of him, he'd make sure of that.


“This is it! This is bloody well the last straw, you sodding bitch! Do you think you can just walk in here and snog this git right in front of my face?” He sounded incredulous even as the outrage was getting him so worked up that he could barely draw breath enough to speak.


“I brought a dollie. Don't you like it, my sweet William? Jack is going to have a cup of tea with me and Miss Edith.” She innocently batted her eyelashes at him, her lips swollen and red from another male's vigorous kisses.


She sounded so flippant, so indifferent, as if she didn't know she had just swept away his carefully built card-house of lies. Well, Spike didn't believe that. She had to know. Bloody bitch had always known more than she let on, pulling the strings and hiding behind the facade of an innocent helpless little girl. All Drusilla ever did was play him. Manipulate him. Why couldn't she still let him pretend? Suddenly he couldn't take it anymore; he could feel it building inside him, a ravenous beast ready to claw its way out.


Spike started to laugh hysterically. The kind of laughter that not only kept a person from being amused, but prompted one to run for the hills. It was the laughter of a man at wit's end.


Jack wisely slipped out of the apartment and out of the line of fire. Spike didn't even notice his departure.


Once Spike managed to stop laughing, the dull throbbing pain took over again, leaving him oddly defeated. Every muscle in his body fell slack in defeat and Spike could feel the shards of his broken heart embedding themselves into his whole being, tearing his veins apart in their wake.


It hurt. The fact that he'd loved his sire for more than a century and she'd never felt the same way about him. The fact that nobody ever might.


Well, Spike was now officially through being love's bitch. No more chasing after something that didn't exist. From now on, he was his own man. A lone wolf! It was time to show Drusilla that he had balls and she could no longer step all over them, figuratively speaking, of course.


“You know what, Dru? You can have all the freakin' dollies you like, but you're not gonna string me along any longer 'cause I'm done with this. Don't call, don't write. I'm bloody tired of playing second fiddle! Go find your pleasure elsewhere, 'cause this vamp is off the bloody menu. Goodbye, pet!” Spike turned on his heel and waved her away with his hand, ready to storm out in righteous glory.


“You were never mine to begin with.” Drusilla's quiet voice reached his ears just as he was about to open the front door. He turned to face her and looked her dead in the eyes, ignoring the unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach that her oddly lucid look had stirred in him.


“'S not like you didn't let me know as often as you could, right?” Spike's voice, bitter and hoarse with unshed tears, showed a vulnerability that he’d tried so hard to hide. Spike opened the door and slammed it shut behind him. Way to ruin his dramatic exit.


Well, let her take care of herself on her own. Let her realize how much he did for her and how lost she'd be without him at her back and call at the snap of her manicured hands, which by the way, he took care of too. But this vamp wasn’t coming back; no way in hell!


He sighed and realized something.


He was still wearing the towel. And nothing else.


“Bugger.”


He slumped his shoulders in defeat. It was too late now to go back and grab his kit. Good thing he’d left his beloved duster in the car last night. It would smell of Dru though, since he’d lent it to her 'cause she was complaining about being cold.


'Bloody princess, indeed!'


He'd just nick something and then get so plastered that he wouldn't be able to remember his own name...or hers. See? He already didn't!
“Who am I kidding? I'm pathetic.” He laughed humourlessly and sniffled in misery as he made his way half-naked down the sidewalk and towards his DeSoto.


It was time to focus and get on with his mission of finding the slayer. Well, after he got wasted good and proper.


******


Buffy was dragged through the maze of corridors, stumbling upon the concrete and occasionally falling onto her hands and knees. She'd never be able to tell which way she had come from. She'd never be able to escape. The thought brought her the now familiar feeling of hopelessness.


Suddenly Lukas stopped in front of her and Buffy crashed into his back.


“Watch where you're going, bitch!” Lukas snarled at her and backhanded her across her face. Buffy's head snapped to the side and she could detect the metallic taste of her own blood in her mouth. She heard a creaky sound of a door opening and she was shoved inside a room. She hit the floor hard, scraping her hands knees as she tried to cushion the fall. Before she could recuperate, a rag was thrown into her face.


“There's soap and a basin with water to your right. Clean up. I'll come for you in five minutes. And if you're not ready by then, there will be hell to pay!” He chuckled menacingly and slammed the door behind him.
Shaky hands fumbled around in the darkness, trying to find the basin. Suddenly her hand brushed against something metallic and cold, but her rush to find it jarred its precarious position and Buffy could feel a few droplets spilling over the rim and onto her fingers. Her breath caught painfully in her throat as she waited, but fortunately she hadn't toppled it over. Her harsh exhale of relief echoed off the stone walls of the chamber. If she’d spilt it...she shuddered to think what would ensue. She chuckled humourlessly. Nothing could be worse than what would ensue.


Her trembling hands soaked the rag in the water and she hastily tried to clean herself. Tears welled up in her eyes and spilt over, falling soundlessly onto the cold floor.


Anxiety continued to rise inside her as she imagined the horrors just few minutes away. What would it be this time? She wished she'd just get beaten to the brink of death. That'd be the lesser evil, wouldn't it?


Humanity had no meaning in this place. Quite the contrary; it was to be ridiculed.


Punished.


She felt like an animal chained to a spinning wheel, going faster and faster until there was nothing left of her but spilt guts and shattered dreams.


Life, freedom, feelings. There was no place for them here. This was hell and she, its most valued possession. She'd been turned inside out, seen her own flesh bared and bloodied as her blood and tears spattered onto the floor in soundless drops while listening to the laughter surrounding her.


Taunting.


Humiliating.


The clients. Origin didn't matter, only money. Humans, demons. Anyone with enough cash to make their most perverted dreams come true in blindingly excruciating colour. Inflicting torture on those incapable of fighting back, of resisting. Sick and twisted, all of them.


Echoes of her own screams resounded within her mind and she flinched. Buffy could slowly but surely feel her grip on sanity slipping away. Fear welled up inside her before she could stop it. Fear of finally losing her mind, of the fate awaiting her, of the uncertainty spreading through her like wildfire, setting her nerves and cells ablaze in an endless fury. She couldn't afford to leap off the edge called reality. What if she ended up being locked inside the darkness of her own mind forever?


Goosebumps erupted on her skin and suddenly she felt very cold. And alone. Her heart was racing so fast she could feel it in her throat and hear the deafening rush of it drown out every sound in the chamber.


She desperately tried to block out her surroundings and get into her own little world where she was safe and cared for. Where there was someone holding her and stroking her hair while whispering reassuring nothings into her ear. But she couldn't, and the thought of it intensified her fear even more.


The creaking hinges announced that the door had been opened and Buffy tensed. She felt the irresistible urge to run, but she knew it would get her nowhere, so she stood up on trembling legs and waited for Lukas to lead her away.


Lukas took the chains binding her hands and dragged her wordlessly behind him.


Buffy trembled in horrified anticipation of having the last vestiges of her innocence torn away to be mocked and ridiculed. Lukas was obsessed with innocence.


Buffy had been violated in every possible way, except for one. She still had her hymen. Impossible, yet true.


Most of the clients paid for the possibility of having a helpless slayer at their hands for them to vent their frustration on by beating her until she coughed up blood. She had her skin stripped off by the violent beatings of whips and salt and acid poured onto her raw flesh. She'd been tortured with every possible tool she could think of. None of them were satisfied until she fell unconscious at their feet.


Some of them needed to compensate their own importance by making her feel like dirt. Making her lick their shoes while crawling around with all her appendages bound, laughing at her. Making her suck them off, ramming their shafts down her throat until she gagged and choked, and if she spilt their semen, she'd have to lick it off the dirty floor.


Sometimes there were more of them. One fucking her mouth while the other fucked her ass. The others watching and waiting for their turn. The pain of it was excruciating, the blood running down her thighs. She hated it. Them. Their disgusting groans, the slaps of their flesh against hers, their hungry leers. She felt like a devil's whore.


None of them were allowed to bust her hymen though. Lukas said it earned him more money when she was still a virgin where it counted. He said the innocence was, after all, her highest selling attribute. The lure of violating the one thing they hated the most was very alluring. Plus, nobody seemed to offer payment high enough to appeal to him; not enough to be worth jading her.


However, every time she walked this path the paralysing fear that someone had, enveloped her in its suffocating embrace. She clung to this last epitome of her innocence, to her virginity, with everything she had. Not that it mattered what she wanted or thought.


She was jerked to a halt. Deafening silence surrounded her and she was shoved into a room. Lukas disappeared, slamming the door behind him, and she was left alone with a client.


“What a tasty morsel you are, Slayer. Now, if you're a good girl, it won't hurt...much. Get on your knees, bitch!” She could hear malicious glee and excitement in his voice. His disgusting hands pawed at her naked flesh and her stomach turned. She couldn't do this anymore! She felt dead inside, yet alive enough to feel every drop of crimson suffering.


Breath hitched in her throat as tears cascaded down her cheeks in rivulets of pain. She couldn't find it in herself to not let them see her despair anymore. She could feel her sanity slipping away as she lost herself in an imaginary world. The world around her blurred and disappeared in a blink of an eye, sounds getting further and further away until the only thing left was her inner harbour of solace.


Buffy expected an illusion of her mom or dad to appear at any moment, but they didn't. It was different this time too. It felt so real, every detail drawn to a perfection. First, she still couldn't see, even though it was just her imagination and that had never happened before. Maybe she really was losing her mind.


The sweet smell of flowers, fresh air and the sound of falling water surrounded her, drowning her in their tangibility. She inhaled the comforting essence of peace and calm as she let sunrays warm her flesh, unseeing eyes staring off unfocused.


She could feel the presence of another person as surely as she felt the thick carpet of grass and earth under her bare feet. His presence was a solid certainty, his aura surrounding and merging with her own in an endless spiral of colour and emotion. It felt so real; he felt real. He didn't feel like a figment of her imagination, not just someone she conjured up to help her carry on.


She didn't need to touch him to know he was in fact a man, she just knew it. Felt it in his very essence. He was pure masculinity.


He was there, waiting for her. Ready to take over her burden and to be there for her. Buffy felt the man walking closer to her, could hear the grass rustle beneath his feet as he approached her cautiously. She wished she could see his face, but the feel of him as he suddenly enveloped her in his strong compassionate arms seconds after was more than enough.


They both sank to the ground and Buffy curled up in his arms, sitting sideways on his lap and letting him rock her back and forth. She got lost in the reassuring warmth of his embrace as he rubbed circles on her back, and she let her tears silently fall onto his shoulder, soaking up the fabric of his t-shirt.


She should be repelled by any man touching her so intimately, by such a close proximity to another person, but how could she? How could she do that when she felt his heart and knew he'd go to the end of the world and back to stop her from hurting?


He didn't demand, shout, humiliate or hurt her. He couldn't be real. But he was all she had. He was more than she could ask for, even if this was just a stolen fragment of time.


But time didn't have any meaning here. It could have been hours or mere seconds, blurring together, creating a mirage, a canvas upon which she drew her illusions in an outburst of lively colours. The only place she wasn't lost in darkness and black despair.


There was no pain, no fear, there was nothing but him and the soft skin of his cheek resting against her forehead, the alluring scent of strength, safety and freedom within her reach. She inhaled his scent and a genuine smile graced her face. She nuzzled into his neck and he pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head, his lips lingering there for a few seconds.


Buffy enjoyed the feeling of being safe and loved while it lasted. He tightened his hold on her as if he anticipated her longing for closeness and her fear of it being mercilessly ripped away. Maybe he could feel her just as much as she could feel him.


He was a raging ocean during the storm, always changing and unpredictable, threatening to swallow her in his depths, to possess her in his passion and never let her go. He was dangerous, yet she didn't fear him. Because there was so much more to him. Tenderness. Love.


She unclenched her hands from where she'd been desperately gripping the front of his cotton t-shirt in an useless effort of preserving the moment, and instead encircled his slim waist. She wanted to crawl into his skin, to never let go of him, to stay there forever. It was the only place she mattered.


He ran his fingers through her silky locks, twirling the ends between his fingers and massaging her scalp in an effort to make her relax. Buffy sighed in contentment and pressed her soft, moist lips against the cool skin of his neck. He had the softest skin, like the finest velvet. Smooth and flawless, cool against her own fevered skin. The contrast was calming and oddly comforting.


His lips touched the shell of her ear as he whispered to her with quiet intensity. His voice was rough, tender, sultry and calming all rolled into one, betraying his complexity.


“I will come for you. Don't give in, luv. I promise, I'll make it go away.”


Buffy could feel his hand touching her jaw and chin tentatively, and she could feel a strangely wet sensation on her skin.


“You're bleeding.” he said with his voice full of concern.


Suddenly, the harsh blow to her face ripped her solace away and reality came rushing back with the disturbing sound of her own blood being coughed out and trekking down her chin.


Buffy was once again left facing the real world all on her own. She didn't even have time to acknowledge the oncoming rush of all the pain that'd been inflicted not only physically, but also emotionally. The last thing Buffy'd felt before she fell unconscious was a fist punching her in the face.


TBC

Banner made by nmcil.

Chapter five


Spike blinked his eyes open, slowly overcoming the sleepy haze surrounding his brain. A distinct odor assaulted his senses. Smoke?


'Is someone having barbecue?'


Sharp pain raced up his hand, burning his nerve endings in a debilitating and very familiar manner. Spike sat up, jerked his hand out of the sunlight that was attacking him with its deadly rays and scowled at his smoldering hand. He scooted further away into the shadows between the buildings.


“Not a barbecue then. Bloody hell.” Spike sighed and took in his surroundings. Next time he drank himself into a bloody stupor, he'd better make it to a hotel before he passed out.


He sat in a dirty alleyway between two old warehouses. Taking in the broken windows and no signs of life as far as he could tell, Spike supposed he was probably in an older district somewhere in the seedier part of LA. Good thing he passed out between the buildings and not in front of them or he'd be very crispy right now. Not that he cared.


He could handle physical pain--hell, he sought it out. He could take a good brawl any day. Cuts, bruises, they came as quick as they left. Anything would be better than the dull throbbing pain in his heart that drowned out his rational thought. It was as if a snake had wrapped itself around his heart and squeezed it tighter and tighter with every breath he took, but never allowed him the release of dead.


He'd never been completely alone, not like this. Sure, there were times he and Dru had parted their ways but they always ended up together again in the end. Not this time though. How would he survive like this?


Spike leaned against the wall behind him and banged his head against it, his jaw clenched. The pain in his hand diminished to a bearable level, the incident left red welts in its wake. To complete his utter misery, his head was pounding.


'Probably shouldn't have banged your head against the brick wall, you pillock!'


Spike squeezed his eyes shut to avoid aggravating his eyes with the indirect sunlight. He hated this part, this agony of the real world rushing back after the numb indifference of being drunk had worn off. He hated being hangover as much as he loved drowning his sorrow with his old friend Jack.


'Need some more booze.'


Spike squinted at the bottles lying around him. Unfortunately, they were all empty. He glowered at them.


Eyes closed, Spike let his mind drift and suddenly a weird sensation come over him. He couldn't quite put his finger on it. It eluded him. It felt as if he should remember something, something really important, essential even. However, every time he tried to reach out to the memory, this feeling, or whatever it was he was supposed to remember, it slipped between his fingers to the deep oblivion beyond his reach. For a moment,


Spike could swear he felt a weird protectiveness that was completely out of place and scent of flowers and vanilla around him.


Spike frowned, opened his eyes fully and immediately regretted it as his head started to pound even more. His sensitive eyes were not accustomed to the overwhelming brightness of the day. He patted the pockets of his duster for smokes and groaned when he couldn't find any. Could his existence get any worse?


Speaking of, he took a proper look at himself for the first time and his jaw dropped.


What the hell was he wearing? Colours! Lots of them!


'Bloody hell, what did I do last night?'


Spike, the self-proclaimed Big Bad, was wearing cream coloured dress pants that were now stained with dirt and something green, and a two sizes too small baby blue t-shirt with a Hello Kitty logo emblazoned on it. Spike unknotted an offensive fluffy thing wrapped around his neck and shoulders and stared at it in horror. He was wearing a bloody cashmere sweater, and it was pink! Spike threw it away from him onto the dirty pavement as if it was threatening to bite him. He looked at his feet and flinched.


Sneakers. He was one of the most evil vampires and he was wearing sneakers? They weren't even the same colour, one was red and the other was black!


'That cinches it. I'm never drinking again.'


He looked like a Nancy boy--no--he looked like the bloody king of the tribe. Well, at least he still had his duster and not some furry coat. Spike shuddered at the idea.


Snippets of memories of last night were slowly coming back to him like a fragmented film. He remembered going back to his car and putting on his duster, buttoning it up to cover his state of undress after he’d stormed out of the house, and away from the cheating bitch, dressed only in a towel.


His first stop had been the liquor store, which he raided and took with him several bottles of booze as his souvenir. The clerk snickered when he saw his bare feet and his obvious lack of clothes hidden by the coat, but it soon died on his lips as Spike grinned at him in full game-face. One look at the sharp points of his fangs made the git piss himself in fear.


Spike was on him in a flash of blurry vampiric speed and tore his throat out, a geyser of blood spattering Spike's face right before he drained the life out of the man in messy slurps and dropped his body on the floor of the store with a satisfying thump. He took several bottles of vodka with him, drank them all, and after that...Spike couldn't remember. There was a considerable gap in his memory.


Spike stretched out his legs in front of him and drew his duster tighter around him, hiding the t-shirt from his view.


At some point he must have sneaked into a store or two to nick some clothes, but he must have been three sheets to the wind by then, considering his choice of attire.


The memory of going into a demon bar when he ran out of the liquor was coming back to him now. He had sat down for a couple of tequila shots with the grace of a staggering drunken sailor. And since he had nothing better to do, seeking information about the slayer's whereabouts seemed convenient in a place like that.


Demons were like old hags- they liked to gossip. However, when Spike had first entered and started to ask around, everybody seemed to look at him warily. Like he had some kind of life threatening contagious disease. Spike had glanced down at what he wore and understood. Of course none self respecting demon would take him seriously with a pink cashmere sweater wrapped around his shoulders and wearing a Hello Kitty t-shirt.


'Go bloody figures... sodding bigots, the lot of them!'


Spike was too hammered to care. Anyway, he'd thought he looked smashing at the time.


After he'd been dismissed for what had felt like hundredth time, Spike started to stir up some trouble with the locals just for the fun of it. He'd gotten into a brawl with a K'ravolsky demon – nasty bugger that smelt like sewers and had big floppy ears – and after smashing several chairs and tables the owner had finally decided to throw them both out.


Spike, even as wasted as he had been, managed to get the upper hand and pin the bigger demon down. While he was at it, he questioned him about the slayer and got a pretty disturbing bit of news. Apparently, nobody really knew anything about her at all; she had just disappeared few months ago.


Spike simply could not accept that the whole lot of trouble and heartache he went through was all for nothing. So he decided to up the ante and squeezed the demon's windpipe almost to the point of completely cutting off his oxygen. Unlike Spike, this demon required oxygen to live.


The K'ravolsky scratched desperately at Spike's hands and squeaked out something unintelligible, obviously deciding to volunteer more information after all. Spike loosened his hold on his throat just enough to allow the demon to speak.


Spike hazily recalled the conversation after that. The demon decided that he knew something after all, and indicated that the slayer had fallen into the hands of some vampire clan that collected all sorts of unique creatures. Obviously the slayer was a first class trophy for them. What did they use her for, Spike didn't know. But he sure as hell intended to find out, because nobody messed with what was his. Nobody.


He then proceeded to tear off the demon's head, whose green goo splattered all over his trousers and shirt.


'Well, that explains the stains on my pants.' For a minute there, he worried that he’d been frolicking with some less savory demon species.


Spike stood up, his ever present restless energy not allowing him to sit for too long. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. He hated waiting.


As he recalled the events of his last night's tryst, the fierce feeling of rage consumed him at the idea of some other vampire touching his slayer. The rage ran so deep and intense that red blots of hatred clouded his vision for a moment, the carnal feeling of possessiveness rushing through his veins and setting every cell of his body aflame.


Spike started to pace, a caged tiger waiting to be let out and unleash its wrath.


The demon inside him growled and snarled, tearing through the handsome illusion of his human face as if it was nothing but a costume hiding his true self from the outside world. Spike's hands clenched into fists, nails digging into the flesh of his palm, drawing the crimson blood that trickled down and splattered on the ground. Drip. Drip. Drip.


He didn't understand why he so easily lost control over his emotions, over the beast within. He just knew he had to destroy whoever was in his path to get to the slayer, and he always followed his blood. She was his to kill. He wanted to tear off their limbs for taking away his chance at being the legend among the vampires, to have those three notches on his belt that would give him the ultimate bragging rights and prove wrong to anyone that had ever doubted him. He wanted to maim. To kill.


Spike continued pacing the length of the alley as he waited for the sun to go down.


******



Buffy groaned as she stretched out her sore muscles. She didn't think there was a single nerve in her body that didn't hurt, the electric shocks of pain zapping every single one of them at regular intervals. Better to sleep through the healing process than stay awake and do nothing but drown in her misery.


'Not like there's anything better to do anyway.'


Buffy sighed dejectedly and curled up on the ground, hugging her knees to her chest in a futile attempt at fighting off the cold and unconsciously trying to protect herself. She was slowly drifting off, her breath evening out and her heart rate slowing down considerably. She'd get at least ten minutes of peaceful slumber before the nightmares welcomed her with a toothy grin and arms smelling of death.


Suddenly sharp pain raced to the front of Buffy's skull, rendering her instantly awake. Buffy gritted her teeth and tightly squeezed her eyes shut to block out the invisible needles assaulting the area behind them. A kaleidoscope of colours and shapes flickered behind Buffy's closed eyelids, making her nauseated. She couldn't do anything to stop it, it kept intensifying until the point where Buffy was sure her head was going to explode and splatter the surrounding walls with her brain. She clutched at her head, sharp dirty nails digging into her scalp, almost tearing out her hair in the process.


After a minute, the intensity of the pain dwindled down to a slight throbbing. Buffy slowly relaxed the tense grip she had on her hair and opened her eyes.


Then she quickly closed them shut again, heavy breathing wracking her small frame.


She tentatively opened one eyelid and gasped, both her eyes wide open now.


It was all so blurry, like Buffy was looking at her surroundings from under the liquid veil of water. Shapes and colours melding together to form a vortex of reality. She could see.


Buffy had hoped of course, in some corner of her mind there was a little glimmer of wishful longing that her sight would come back to her. She just didn't really believe she'd live long enough for it to happen, not long enough to see the world around her again.


Buffy quickly stood on wobbly legs, frantically turning around as much as she could with the chains hindering her movements. Devouring everything she could set her eyes on like a starved man would his first meal after a long while.


She could see her cell, the small depressing room with stone walls and metallic door. The only source of light was a bulb swinging softly to and fro, moved by an invisible breeze and casting long flickering shadows on the walls. The light illuminating the testimony of her suffering, dark brown blotches and smears of her blood darkening the floor.


Buffy shuddered and turned her attention away from the spectacle. She raised her hand and looked at it, chains clinking with protest against the sudden movement.


Buffy wriggled her fingers in front of her eyes and it didn't matter that she couldn't see it in detail. A lone tear slipped unnoticed down Buffy's cheek as she realized something. She could gain advantage by pretending to still be blind, and mapping out the maze of dungeons when she was led through them. Hope blossomed in her chest, filling out her lungs and squeezing her heart.


Maybe, just maybe, she could escape.



******



Minions notified Lukas right after they had spotted the commotion on their surveillance system. Lukas strode into the high-tech room dressed in his expensive suit and narrowed his green eyes at one of the monitors before him. One lone slight girl was writhing on the ground in agony, clutching her head. Then it suddenly stopped, she quickly stood and started looking around her.


The Slayer was recuperating, it seemed. Well, that put an unpleasant obstacle in his way. He’d known that this day would come eventually. Still it had come much sooner than expected.


Lukas sighed and cast a glance at the closest minion. “You - make sure to double the number of guards watching the Slayer's cell. And you,” Lukas looked at another minion, “Go get me the list of our clients and bidders. We've got work to do, and if I catch any of you slacking off on your duties, you'll meet the business end of a stake. Got it?” He looked at each of them, murder glinting in his eyes as he stared them down imperiously.


“What are you waiting for, morons? Get on it! Now!” They scattered like mice, and fled from their master.


Lukas hated the minions, all brawn and no brain. Nothing could make his temper flare more than their stupidity. Though, he had to admit, he loved the power he had over them, that sweet feeling of pleasure that ran through him when they flinched or lowered their eyes when he caught them looking. They'd lick his shoes if he ordered them to. Not that he'd let their dirty appendages get anywhere near his expensive shoes. They always managed to screw something up, that's why he did the important things himself. However, this time Lukas had to rely on them to do these small tasks for him and hope they'd do something right for a change.


Lukas was a proud member of his vampire family, an ancient clan, rich, with influence all over the underworld. They dabbled into the black market, drugs, weapons, anything they could get their hands on that would bring them more money. Lukas was young, only a century old, but he managed to work his way through the ranks with his sharp mind and knack for making money. Now, he alone had the responsibility of taking care of their special 'collection'.


His family had collected all kinds of unique beings, the Slayer being the jewel amongst them. They had collected a few slayers throughout the centuries. They were careful though, never kidnapping more than one in space of a lifetime. Doing so would have done nothing but draw unnecessary attention from the Council of Watchers, and they didn't have time to deal with the morally challenged measly humans.


Needless to say he'd done his homework before he set up the ambush to kidnap the current slayer. He'd read all the records from the previous keepers, ancient tomes about the origin of the first slayer. He'd known about the serum, they'd used it before. Found out about it from the stolen Watcher's diaries lifetimes ago, the serum used for a slayer's eighteen birthday. They modified it for their own purposes of course. Adding some more questionable... ingredients. Lukas had known it would come to this.


After some time, the Slayer's immune system would build resistance against the drug, finding an antidote to fight it, and when it did, the Slayer would slowly start to recuperate. Her eyesight would come first, then her strength would follow. After that it would just be a matter of time before Buffy Summers would become a liability instead of a profitable business article.


She had to go. And Lukas would make the most of it.


A minion entered the surveillance room and handed Lukas the list of bidders. Lukas scanned it briefly, withdrew his cell phone from the pocket of his black pants and called the bidder with the highest offer.


“Hello, Leonard, I've got good news for you.” One corner of Lukas' thin lips lifted in a beginning of a smile, he could almost smell the dollar bills.


******



The iron door banged against the wall as Lukas strode into Buffy's cell, a pair of guards standing behind him.


“So nice to see you again, sunshine! You look smashing today! How appropriate, now that I'm bringing such good news for you,” Lukas said in a jovial voice and clapped his hands together.


Buffy managed to resist the urge to lift her head and look at him. She had to keep up her charade; she had to make him believe that nothing was amiss.


Lukas crouched down next to Buffy and lifted her chin with his forefinger, but the only thing he found in her face were blank eyes staring off into the space.


Lukas chuckled in amusement and then as quickly as he got amused, he got angry, his volatile temper manifesting yet again. He stood up with an annoyed huff and started pacing the length of the cell, his feet leaving tracks in the dirt on the floor. Lukas exhaled a long breath, trying to control his rising irritation and not to strangle the insolent slayer. Not when he was so close to getting rid of her.


“So, you really think you can fool me, don't you kid? That is a very dangerous game you're trying to play,” he said in a low menacing voice.


Buffy still hadn't lifted her head or looked at him, just in case this was just one of the mind games he enjoyed so much. Just looking for a reason to punish her. He couldn't possibly know anything... could he?


“Just to sate your curiosity, because I'm feeling very charitable right now, you've been under our surveillance since you got here, and if you think for one second that nobody would notice the changes in you, than you're nothing but a stupid child!” Lukas snarled and raked his hand through his hair.


He marched towards Buffy and knelt down in front of her. She crouched against the wall, and tried to scoot further away from his barely restrained anger, but there was nowhere else to go. Lukas drew his hand back and struck Buffy across her face, the force of the blow making her head snap to one side, her hair obscuring half of her face.


“I know you can see.” He cocked one eyebrow at her and grinned smugly. Buffy faced him, her sight clear now, and the hatred in her eyes was so deep, so ingrained into her very soul that it shined straight through, pure energy that would render any man speechless.


However, Lukas could in no way be considered a man. He was a monster.


“Please stop looking at me like I've drowned your puppy. God, but I hate those fluffy beasts! Now, where was I? Oh yes, we're going on a road trip.” He patted Buffy's head patronizingly and stood up.


Lukas beckoned his guards as he would a waitress, and they proceeded to step forward. One of them grabbed Buffy as she struggled while the other gave her a shot of sedatives that would render an elephant unconscious. They unlocked Buffy's chains, hauled her on a stretcher and wheeled her out through the numerous twists and turns of the underground tunnels.


They had a road trip awaiting them. The delivery straight to the Hellmouth.


Lukas couldn't afford to keep the buyer waiting.


TBC

Author's notes: First of all, thank all of you who read, and especially those who review! I respond to every single one of them, I really appreciate you taking your time to let me know what you think!!! :)

FYI since you'll encounter the term Acheron in this chapter... In Greek mythology, it's one of the five Underworld rivers and is sometimes called a lake. The Acheron is the River of Woe.

Beta'd by Dawn, Lis and Mabel, the most wonderful ladies in the world!

Enjoy!!!



Banner made by nmcil.


Chapter 6


Alone amidst the infinity of the woods, Buffy blinked repeatedly in an attempt to climb her way out of the cotton wool her brain was encased in. An owl hooted in the distance. A flickering glimmer of the moon glared at her from above the treetops. Cool wet grass chilled the skin on her back and legs as wisps of a breeze brushed against her shivering flesh, causing goose bumps to erupt on her skin, her hair damp and dirty from lying on the ground for God knew how long.


Trembling, Buffy sat up, frowned and hugged herself. A twig snapped. She faced the direction of the sound, her heart beating faster.


She was not alone.


A shape moved through the shadows around her. She stood up on shaky legs, turned around and peered into the night, trying to catch a glimpse of the figure.


“Who is there?” Buffy's question echoed off into the abyss of the night.


A man stepped out of the shadows and into the Buffy's line of vision.


“I see you're finally awake. So glad you could make it to this little soirée.” He made a sweeping gesture with his hand and continued, “I must confess I have been waiting for this moment for months.” The man was tall, lean, with broad shoulders and long dark hair framing his gaunt face. His black cloak brushed the dirty soil beneath, billowing in the wind. He stepped closer.


Now that Buffy was close enough to see him better, she could see the dark circles of fatigue under his eyes, magnified by the contrast of his almost translucent skin, the visible tension in the muscles of his face and the sneer on his lips.


“W-who are you?” she asked in a timid voice, slowly backing up and away from the barely concealed hatred in his black eyes.


Suddenly he lunged for her and as Buffy tried to evade him, she stumbled and crashed into the tree behind her, the rough trunk chafing the skin of her back.


He trapped her against the tree with his arms on both sides. His eyes alone would have kept her frozen to the spot. Anguish, hatred and torment flickered across his features. She could practically taste his insanity on her tongue. Bitter and sour.


“A simple question, isn't it? Who am I? Do you mean my name? Am I human? Am I a demon? Am I the harbinger of your death?” He caressed her cheek with his left hand, his long cold bony fingers brushing against her skin, but she kept quiet, knowing that he didn’t really want an answer.


“I came here to finally find the rest you took away from me. To unravel the sorrow that's devouring me from the inside. I'm nothing but an empty shell waiting for that last second in time, the last moment that keeps me away from her.” His voice carried a deep yearning coupled with a passion she wished she could feel.


“You know,” he said in a conversational tone, as if they were old friends on a casual date, “you're not what I expected. Not what I wanted to find. I've been wishing for this moment for a long time, and now that I have you here, at my mercy, it's almost disappointing. I expected you to be more...” Leonard took a step back and looked her over; not in a sexual way, but in a way that reached beyond her flesh, straight inside, to the very depths of her broken soul. “...alive.”


Buffy shivered and hugged herself.


“I've craved to destroy you, to make you suffer, to hurt you as much as you hurt me. But how can I destroy something that's already been broken?” The low cadence of his voice carried his sorrow and rage.


Buffy furrowed her brow in confusion.


“How,” Buffy cleared her throat and continued in a raspy voice, “how could I have hurt you? This is the first time I’ve seen you.” Buffy looked at him and winced. She waited for a blow for her obvious insolence, for daring to speak to him in such a manner. It never came. Instead, Leonard chuckled. It was humourless, interlaced with pain.


“There are so many different ways to hurt someone.” Leonard whipped out something from beneath the collar of his shirt, grabbed Buffy's hand and shoved it into her palm.


An antique locket with a gold chain cooled the flesh of Buffy’s palm. She opened it, and suddenly understood. He must have seen it too, for he nodded and took it back, clasping it back around his neck.


“You took Jillian away from me. My childe; my love. She was everything to me and I failed her. I couldn’t get there in time to stop you from ramming that stake into her heart! But I could feel it, that moment when the link between us severed.” His voice broke and Leonard turned away from Buffy.


“From that moment on the only thing left worth living for was vengeance. Killing you. So here we are, at the beginning of the end. Yours. Mine.” He looked back at her, pinning her in place with the intensity in his stare.


She should run, should try to fight him, to escape. But she didn't. Where would she go? Would she go home to her parents and pretend that everything was all right? What would she tell them? That she'd been pimped out like a whore? They would try to make her go to a psychiatrist, like when she had told them who she really was. They'd force her to go, to help her heal. So that she could pretend they were a happy family and that she was the same girl that had disappeared five months ago. The girl her parents wanted her to be. More lies.


“Let me ask you something first. Have you ever loved someone so much you couldn't breathe, so much you couldn't bear the thought of not being close enough to reach out to them, to touch them? Have you ever felt that feeling, when their lips touched yours, that the whole world could burn up in flames around you and you wouldn't even notice? Have you ever felt a passion so consuming you felt like you were burning inside and out from the sheer pleasure of it, that feeling of belonging, of being one, not knowing where you ended and they began?” Leonard said, the passion, the intensity making his voice tremble. Tears filled his narrowed eyes, ready to spill over. He grabbed Buffy by her shoulders and shook her.


“Have you?” he hissed.


“No.” Buffy couldn't do anything but shake her head, her own tears blurring her vision.


Leonard let go of her abruptly and looked down at her, nothing but the crazed emptiness in his eyes.


“I was going to enjoy breaking you before the final blow, seeing the life putter out in your eyes before your heart stopped beating. There's barely any life left in you at all. But it doesn't change anything. I'm still going to kill you,” he continued in the detached voice filled to the brim with the suffering he carried with him everywhere he went. Molding to him like the heavy cloak he wore.


Leonard took a step closer to her, leaving merely inches between them, his fangs extended, his senses magnified beyond the possibility of human perception. Yellow eyes of a killer gleaming in the darkness of the woods, riveting into Buffy's soul and making her heart speed up.


So this was it, she was finally looking into the eyes of death. The moment of facing herself was here at last, the eternal question that was plaguing her for far too long.


'Am I truly ready to die?'


On impulse, she made a decision. Buffy shoved him away as hard as she could and glimpsed the surprise on his face before she turned and ran. Death was at her heels, and she didn't want it to catch up to her. She didn't know why, maybe Leonard's passionate speech had stirred a yearning in her, maybe it was just a reflex, self-preservation telling her to run as fast a she could, to live, no matter what.


The only thing that mattered was staying alive.


Nothing could stop her. Not the wind crashing against her face and making her eyes water, not the loud pounding of her heart drowning out the sounds of the forest and the pounding feet following her, not the harsh intakes of shallow breath burning her lungs, and not the fragments of rocks and splinters embedding themselves into the vulnerable flesh of her bare feet.


Buffy ignored the tree limbs slapping her face, the bushes and broken twigs scratching at her legs, leaving cuts in their wake. She was a blur amidst the darkness, a natural predator made a prey. She tried to break through the barriers of her limitations and fly through the night, free and safe.


Buffy felt the adrenaline, the fear pumping through her veins like a liquid drug, but it was never enough, she couldn't hear anything, couldn't see anything. Still, she couldn't stop. If she did, she'd die.


She ran at full speed for what felt like an eternity, the seconds passing by as swiftly and irretrievably as the scenery flashing around her in a blur of darkness and shapes. So far, she managed to avoid crashing into the trees or stumbling and falling down, but her energy was beginning to subside and Buffy didn't think she could keep running forever.


The trees started thinning out and after a few wheezy inhales, Buffy found herself in a small clearing. She stopped running and glanced behind her. Buffy couldn't see Leonard, nor could she hear any crashing noises announcing that he had caught up to her. She gasped and coughed, holding her side and finally noticing the strain in the muscles of her legs as they started to shake. Her knees buckled and she fell to the ground like a marionette whose strings had been cut.


A small lake called to Buffy like a siren’s song. Its murky depths just a few feet away. She crawled towards it, dipped her hands in and splashed the water onto her face, her eyes closing in rapture.


She was about to lean in and drink from it when a hand gripped her hair and tugged her head upward in a violent motion, tearing out a few strands of her hair in the process. Buffy let out a yelp and struggled to break free.


“You can't outrun your destiny, slayer. You have to die!” Leonard snarled and tightened his hold on Buffy's hair, using it to yank her to her feet. Before she had a chance to defend herself, he shifted the hand away from her hair and started squeezing her throat. Leonard lifted Buffy off the ground, her toes barely brushing against the grass beneath.


Buffy's vision blurred, she couldn't breathe, couldn't dislodge his hold on her. She clawed at his hands in desperation, but he just laughed, that manic indifferent sound chilling Buffy to her very core. Her vision started to darken around the edges, sound seemed to come from afar , unreal and unimportant. She stopped struggling and slumped into her murderer's arms.


******


Leonard could feel every struggling of her heart beat echoing within his own chest, every weakening thump pushing him closer towards his relief, closer to the end, closer to Jillian. The slayer finally stopped fighting and sagged against him. Her heartbeat was barely there so he tossed her face-down in to the lake to seal the deal. Leonard stood there watching her, listening as her heart fluttered and stopped.


Her pale skin was stark against the blackness of the night, her long hair floating in the water. She looked like a fallen angel. Her wings made of chains dragging her further down into the waters of Acheron.


Leonard shook himself and turned away from the sight, heading towards the trees. He picked up a fallen branch, rough heavy limb reassuring in its meaning. The only thing standing between him and Jillian. He lifted it in both of his hands like a ritual dagger and thrust it in one sweeping motion into his chest. Never wavering or hesitating. The sharp point of the branch penetrated his ribcage and went straight into his heart.


A relieved smile appeared on his face as he slowly disintegrated, his dust falling to the ground.


******


Willow peered through her fingers at the scene before her. She’d been about to go take a swim in the lake, when a girl dashed out of the woods on the opposite side of the trees, soon followed by a man. Willow hid behind a tree and watched the horror unravel, her eyes getting wider and wider as she watched.


She desperately wanted to run, maybe go and find help, but her feet were rooted to the ground. Maybe she could pretend this never happened, but she couldn't. Could she? Willow bit her nails, trying to decide if she should run away or go to the rescue of the poor girl. But look at her, she was a teeny tiny high school geek. She rarely took initiative, let alone saved anyone. Even though she did scare Jonathan last week after her rant about the necessity of recycling and throwing garbage into the trash can, not next to it. She even compared him to a mouldy banana rotting on the ground!


As she was arguing with herself, the man tossed the girl into the lake and walked away. Away, and in her direction.


'Yikes! Now what? Just breathe Willow, in and out, don't move!'


Then the man lifted a branch.


'Okay, what is going on here?'


The man rammed it through his chest and Willow had to stifle a gasp as she watched him turn into dust right in front of her eyes.


'Huh? Wha...?'


She shook herself from her stupor, snapped her jaw shut, filed what she’d just witnessed away for the future reference and looked in the direction of the girl. This time Willow didn't hesitate, she jogged towards the lake and crouched down when she reached it, wetting her hands and knees on the humid earth. The girl had her head and shoulders in the water, her hair floating, and the rest of her body lying uselessly on the grass.


Willow grasped the girl's shoulders and turned her around, then dragged her away from the chilly water. The girl's face was pale, her lips parted and tinged with blue, the skin beneath Willow's hands was cold, icy even. She felt for a pulse, but couldn't find any. She was starting to go into the panic mode and her right eye twitched.


Trying to recall how to do CPR, she drew in a shaky breath and put on her resolve face. She tilted the girl's head back, pinched her nose and breathed into her mouth as deeply as she could, two times. Willow put her hands on the girl's chest and started pumping, but nothing happened. She put her lips on the girl's cold ones and breathed into her again, then proceeded with the pumping.


The girl snapped her eyes open and started to cough up the water that was in her lungs. Willow squeaked and jumped up, then sat back down again and rolled the girl onto her side so she wouldn't choke.


Buffy was torn out of the abyss, the last thing she remembered was the feeling of floating, further and further away from her consciousness, straight into oblivion. She had tried to struggle, to fight off the darkness, but couldn't. And suddenly here she was, coughing her lungs out and shivering in the wind.


Something dark and familiar stirred within her, making every hair on her body stand up. Power. For a moment she could feel and hear everything around her. The sound of the wind as it whipped the leaves, every lap of the water and every rapid thump of a heartbeat that wasn't her own in deafening clarity. She tampered the strange alertness down.


Buffy looked up at the girl sitting next to her, her wide eyes filling Buffy's vision.


“Who are you?”


“Who are you?” they blurted out at the same time.


What happened? And who is this girl? Buffy felt strange, she felt heavy, like she was wearing a costume that didn't belong to her, too loose and too tight at the same time.

Buffy sat up and drew her knees to her chest. The breeze wasn't cold, it was mild, but it chilled her nonetheless.

“H-hi! I'm Willow.”


Buffy stared back at her, Willow's nervous grin and jerky motions captivating her attention. And was her right eye twitching?


Willow didn't know what to do. What was socially acceptable after you witnessed an attempted murder, saved the victim and then saw the attacker commit suicide with a wooden stick?


Willow looked at the girl and noticed for the first time the she was very, very naked. And she had been touching those naked parts with her hands.


'What if the girl thinks I'm some kind of pervert that goes around groping naked breasts everywhere I go?'


Willow could feel the blush creep into her cheeks and she was sure it matched her hair right now. Her right eye started to twitch again.


“I was just going for a breast—for a swim! And then I saw you running and then the man, and he tried to kill you, which I'm sure you know, but he didn't because I used CPR, and he used a stick to kill himself and went poof, and have you ever seen someone going poof? Because I haven't, and is it even anatomically possible, I swear I'm not crazy, and I'm not a perv!” By the time Willow finished her face was shining bright red.


Killed? She had been dead? She had been nothing but a body lying in the puddle of water, cold and empty, just a mass of cells and innards with no soul inside? Buffy felt as though she might vomit. She managed to regain her composure and turn her attention back to the babbling Willow.


“I'm Buffy.” She stared at Willow like she was some kind of alien.


Buffy had never seen someone so... twitchy. It was very disconcerting. She looked at the girl, at her shoulder length red hair, her fluffy lilac sweater, orange pants and right down to her sneakers with little flowers on them. The girl, Willow, she didn't look like she could manage her own clothes, let alone save someone's life. She was so normal, so alive. She was so far removed from Buffy's world it was making her dizzy.


“So, umm... Buffy. What's happened to you?” Willow peered at her with interest and concern.


Buffy couldn't quite put her feelings into the words. What had happened to her? The question was what hadn't happened to her? How could she possibly explain to this girl the horrors she'd been through, the things that had been done to her in cruelty? Willow was so innocent, so nice and carefree. How could Buffy invade her sheltered world, where the monsters in the closet were just a child's nightmare, not the harsh reality? How could she do that to this girl that had saved her life?


Buffy decided to lie.


“I'm not sure. I was going to go for a swim too...and then the man appeared and he...he tried to kill me. And you have saved me. Thank you.”


Buffy hoped her story would come across as believable, not made up in a moment of inspiration. She still wasn't sure if she was grateful for the fact that Willow had pulled her away from the brink of death either. Anyway, she had to convince this girl to go home, and to safety, which meant away from her.


“Oh, okay then. And I hate to point his out, but you're lacking in the clothes department.” Willow looked at her expectantly and Buffy looked down at herself.


“Clothes?” Buffy frowned as she tried to mull over the question. She hadn't seen any kind of clothes for months. Didn't have the luxury to cover herself, to hide her vulnerability behind anything.


“Yes... Has someone stolen them? O-or maybe you just like walking in the woods without them?” When she noticed Buffy's eyes tearing up, she hastily tried to put it right.


“N-no, don't cry, I'm sure we can figure something out. Not that there's anything wrong with your nakedness and stuff, because there's not. I don't mind seeing you naked, not that I'm a voyeur that gets off on watching nude people or anything!” Willow blushed and tucked a stray hair behind her ear.


“Here, let me lend you something. I know it's not much, but it's better than nothing right?” Willow stood up, shucked out of her baggy sweater, revealing her blue tank top beneath, and handed the fuzzy thing to Buffy, who followed her lead and also stood up. She took the fluffy sweater with trembling fingers.


“Thank you,” Buffy whispered and stared at the article in awe.


She clutched it in her hand and hugged it to herself. She noticed Willow looking at her with worry, so she quickly put it on. It covered her bottom, the material smelling like flowers and another human being, it was warming and comforting. She didn't even know how much she had missed that feeling of not being on display, her body and soul for everyone to ridicule and torment. Such a simple thing-- a sweater, yet it was more than anyone had given her in so long. It was another reason why she should spare this girl the world beyond the veil of false perfection and safety.


“I should probably go home, my mom will be worried,” Buffy lied and hugged her torso.


“Yeah, me too. Oh, I go to Sunnydale High and you're probably new since I've never seen you before, so I guess we will see each other. Unless you go elsewhere, or go to the college...or somewhere else?” Willow looked at Buffy for confirmation.


'Sunnydale? Where am I? What am I doing here?'


“Right, Sunnydale High...um, I'll see you. And return your sweater. Maybe if you could just point me to the nearest road, that would be…” Buffy's head was spinning with confusion. She had no clue where she was going to go. Maybe she should just tell the truth and let Willow help her, let someone take care of her. Except, she knew she couldn't. Couldn't risk getting this sweet girl into danger on her behalf.


“It's actually right behind the trees. And I'm going to introduce you to Xander... a-and Jesse. They are both so nice, I'm sure you'll like them.” Willow continued on about school and her friends, but Buffy didn't pay that much attention.


The only thing she could think about was the fact that she was alone, without money and clothes in a strange town. Willow had insisted on walking her home, and they were walking through a suburban part when the idea struck Buffy. 'Just lie to her.'


“So, this is me, the house right there. So, I'm gonna go. Thank you for everything, and I'll see you at school.” Buffy faked a smile, turned and headed towards the house she had pointed out to Willow.


Meanwhile Willow was torn between staying and making sure Buffy entered the house and going home herself, as fast as she could. She decided for the latter.


“Okay, bye, Buffy!” Willow waved at her, and Buffy looked over her shoulder, waving back.


When Willow rounded the corner and disappeared from view Buffy slumped to the ground, dropping the mask she was afraid Willow would see through, and once again let depression flood her system. She'd forgotten how hard it was to pretend. To put on a mask of someone else, to live a double life, trying to please everyone but herself.


She let a few tears trickle down her face and tried not to panic. Buffy stood up, the soles of her feet burning and aching, leaving smudged bloody footprints as she trudged along. She stepped from the sidewalk down onto the road, not hearing, nor noticing the approaching car.


******


Spike was pissed. When the sun had gone down and he could finally leave the alleyway, he'd gone straight to his car and drove to the nearest mall to acquire some clothes that would scream Big Bad, not a ponce. After that, he had tried a different demon bar and finally got a lead on the Slayer. But by the time Spike found the underground lair, it had been too late. That pompous git, Lukas, had told him that the Slayer was off the menu. The bloke had looked at him like he knew him, had that knowing glint in his eyes, somehow mocking, and when he noticed Spike staring at him, he immediately went back to his high and mighty self. He was trying to hide something from Spike. However, the only useful information Spike got out of him was that Lukas had sold the Slayer off to some bloke in Sunnydale.


So here he was, driving through the streets of Sunnydale and cursing his misfortune of nothing ever going according to his carefully thought out plans.


'Need a smoke!'


Spike growled when he couldn't find any, so he took his eyes off the road for a moment and fumbled in the back seat, one hand holding the steering wheel steady. After he found the pack hidden beneath a ratty blanket, he drew one out and tossed the pack back on the seat. Spike lit it with his lighter and dragged the nicotine into his lungs. His expression was that of a pure bliss.


'Now this is more like it!'


Spike focused fully back on the road, and his eyes widened. There was a girl crouching in the middle of it. A petite, half-naked, blond girl. He managed to swerve the car to the side just in time to avoid the collision, the cigarette dropping into his lap.


He stomped on the brakes with all his might, narrowly avoiding a mailbox on the sidewalk. His head bumped against the windshield as the car slewed to a stop. Spike touched his forehead and his fingers came away bloodied. Then Spike noticed the burning cigarette in his lap and he hastily brushed it away, a string of colourful curses passing his lips.


'If I hadn't been pissed before, I sure as hell am now!'


Spike yanked the doors open and stepped outside, ready to scream blue murder at the daft cow that had almost put a dent into his beloved baby, but had caused a lump on his head and the waste of a perfectly good cigarette. He growled. The bint would be dead before she managed to plead for her miserable existence!


Spike strode towards the girl, who had her hands covering her head in a protective gesture. He stopped short when her blood reached his nostrils. It was leaking freely from the soles of her bare feet, staining the asphalt.


The demon inside him snarled, ready to break free and claim this creature in every way possible.


'What the fuck?'


Her blood was calling to him, sweet and strong, like honey ready to melt on his tongue. The demon wanted him to sink his teeth into her jugular, but not to kill. To mark her, to make her his. To possess her. That violent hunger warred with an unconscious need of his inner William to go to her, to hug her, to stroke her hair and kiss her brow.


Spike almost staggered from the sheer force of it, struggling to keep the rein on his demon and his inner ponce while trying to sort through the myriad of emotions at the same time. He'd never felt such a strong feeling of possessiveness before, and it scared him.


Spike took another whiff of the blood and his eyes widened in recognition.


'The Slayer!'


TBC

Banner made by Vette.

Chapter 7


Lukas sat in his big leather armchair and swirled the whiskey in his glass when a minion knocked on the door.


“Come in!” Lukas turned his chair and faced the nervous minion that had rushed in.


“Where's the fire?” Lukas lifted the corner of his mouth and sipped from the glass.


“We've got news, Master.”


“Oh? Well, what are you waiting for? Get on with it!”


The minion flinched.


“A new Slayer was called, Master. Somewhere in Jamaica.”


“That means our sunshine must be dead then. Hmm.” Lukas zoned out, then noticed the other vampire still standing there staring at him.


“Don't just stand there you moron, you're dismissed!” Lukas watched him scurry out the door and sighed in relief when the door slammed shut.


The Slayer was dead. He knew Leonard wouldn't keep her alive with his personal vendetta, but one never knew. Fate can be pretty unpredictable. However, it seemed to work in his favour this time. If the bitch had managed to survive, it would have made things very uncomfortable for him.


The drug. It had been modified by their lab team. For all Lukas knew, after time it could transform her into an uber slayer, or kill her. A slayer in their collection never lived long enough for anyone to find out. And he didn't care to find out. It wouldn't surprise him if it did something unexpected to her. The ingredients they'd added were more than a little volatile. They'd had to come up with something that would speed up the Slayer's healing capabilities, since the original serum had taken that away along with her power. The blood of a vampire at least a century old.


Lukas chuckled at that.


'Oh, but vengeance is sweet.'


There were very few older vampires that weren't aware of the business his family ran.


William the Bloody, the black sheep of the Aurelians, the rivals of his family as it happened. Spike, as he liked to call himself nowadays, obviously didn't care much for his family's history or he'd have known that. He'd been in Europe at the time, with that nutcase lover of his. Lukas hadn't been there, but he'd read the report. Reckless. Easily provoked. Took out half of his men. Lukas doubted Spike would notice one vampire among many that had attacked him, under the excuse of defending their territory, sneaking away a sample of his blood. Just a drop was all it took. It couldn't have been hard. After all, it had to be all over the place.


That was why Lucas had panicked when Spike suddenly showed up on his doorstep demanding to know where the Slayer was. Good thing she’d been dispatched by then. He didn't want to find out what would happen if the two of them met. If Spike somehow sensed his blood in her. The blood of a vampire was a powerful thing when given to a human.


'Good thing that's not a problem anymore.'


Lukas smiled in contentment and continued sipping his drink.


******


Spike got out of the car and slammed the door shut.


'The Slayer!'


Spike's fangs burst through his gums and a snarl tore out of his throat. The bloodlust was overwhelming, destroying his slippery hold on control, and propelling him forward.


'Mine!'


Spike's legs ate up the distance in a split second; his hands seized Buffy's shoulders and dragged her upwards from where she crouched before she had a chance to protest. He sank his teeth into the vulnerable skin of her neck, her blood slid down his throat, all honey and silk. Familiar taste of it made his mind reel.Then it hit Spike.


Fear.


It cut through the web imprisoning his humanity as effectively as a punch to his face. His stomach clenched uncomfortably and he drew out his fangs. The yellow eyes of a killer melted into those of a man.


The slayer looked up at him then, dark lashes wet, her eyes red and puffy, her hair was damp. A trickle of her blood slithered down her collarbone. She looked a mess, and she was beautiful.


Spike stood there, still clutching at her arms, the length of her body mashed against his. He stared at her, being pulled into her. His gaze went right through the pupils of her emerald eyes, straight into the very core of her being. Time stopped and only the mental connection that he could not explain seemed real.


For an endless minute they were one being. Spike could feel her; her heart a terrified throbbing in his chest, her pulse fluttering beneath his own skin, her blood a rushing torrent in his veins.


Spike could feel her pain, the burning ember of suffering scorching the edges of her light. The darkness, spreading slowly and trying to take over, enveloping her in its deadly grasp. It didn't belong, this alien presence within her, slowly but methodically devouring her resistance, her will, her life. It was a presence of a demon, other entity she didn't seem to be aware of.


The demon in Spike roared, ready to sink its fangs into the thing and tear it to shreds, to protect what his demon considered its equal, its mate.


Spike swayed on his feet and they both crashed to their knees. The world around him was nothing but an echo of the world he stumbled into by gazing into the eyes of his enemy. Being one with a slayer. The one Spike was supposed to kill, and knew now that he couldn't.


They were both sucked back into reality the next moment, eyes wide and confused.
The link between them was dampened by reality, but still there. Invisible. Throbbing beneath their skin. Pulling them together.


Spike tore his eyes away from hers and let go, scooting backwards. He was shivering, his hands shaking badly, so he stuck them in to the pockets of his duster after he staggered to his feet. He tried to sort out the mess that were his emotions. Confusion. Anger. Longing.


“This can't be real,” Spike muttered under his breath.


Why was he letting her live, letting her shake his foundation, his very belief of how the world worked? Letting her see him stripped down to the flesh and bone?


“It’s not supposed to be this way! What the bloody hell just happened?” Spike rolled his head on his shoulders and clenched his jaw.


Was this some kind of cosmic joke at his expense? The Powers That Liked To Fuck Everything Up toying with him to get their rocks off?


“Are you having a good laugh?” Spike roared at the heavens, ignoring the slayer.


His mind reeled, trying to figure out how it was possible to be in her, to be one with her. To feel the strange kinship. The burning passion, the longing to possess her. He frowned, angry at himself, and angry at the slayer.
He could see the slayer move a second before her words reached his ears.


“I... I know you.”


Spike's body tensed in response. He had to fight off the urge to fully face her and drown in her eyes again.


'If you truly knew me, you'd be running away right now. I kill your kind.'


Buffy continued hesitantly, “I'm not sure... where from, o-or how. But I could feel you, and it's familiar. It's almost like…” Buffy blushed and looked down.


Like you're the mystery man from my hallucination.


Maybe she was insane for even thinking it. Maybe all she felt when she had lost herself in him was just a figment of her imagination. The familiarity nothing but her need to find something safe amidst the world where she had nobody. Her need to connect to someone. Anyone. Even to a vampire who bit her just a moment ago.


“Like what? Like I'm your saviour? Hardly. You know nothing about me, Slayer! If you did, you'd suss out that I came here to kill you.”


Spike's voice was loud and mocking in his own ears. He felt the sudden need to sink to his knees and beg for forgiveness.


Spike rubbed at his chest and furrowed his brow.


His words had startled Buffy.


“Then why didn't you kill me? What are you waiting for?” Buffy felt the anguish and rage sweeping over her in waves.


Spike's gaze fell on her feet. Bare. Dirty. Dried blood smears on her pale skin.


“Look at me when I talk to you!” she screamed at him, her fists clenching hard, making her nails dig painfully into the palm of her hands.


His eyes snapped towards hers, forcing a mask of indifference onto his face, not wanting her to see his inner turmoil. Only the ticking muscle on his cheek betrayed his nerves.


“Just biding my time. Keep this up and you'll be dead before the sun's up, little girl!” Spike forced the lie through his clenched teeth. The burning of guilt expanded in his chest.


Buffy tilted her head back and laughed. The hollow, painful sound reverberated through Spike, stunning him into silence.


“You might be too late for that. Can't you see that I'm already dead? Not just inside, no... I've been actually dead, and I'm still here. Talking and walking. Apparently I don't deserve the reprieve. Guess you'll have to choose something else. What's your pleasure?”


Buffy was hurt. She was so sure he had felt it too when they looked into each other's eyes-- that connection, but maybe she had really lost her mind. This couldn't be the man from her hallucination, even though his voice matched. That man was nothing but a figment of her imagination, wasn't he?


Spike just stood there, watching her self-mocking and bitter face.


“Answer me! What is it that you want from me?”


Buffy's eyes blurred with tears of anger. She was tired of everyone presuming she was theirs to play with, that she'd just stand there and take it all. She was still the slayer, and she'd always be alone. There was nobody that would fight her battles with her.


“Come on! Where do you want me? On my knees, or on my back? Why not on all fours, so you can take me like an animal from behind! I bet you'd like that, wouldn't you? Seeing me broken before you dealt the final blow! Knowing that I couldn't escape! That I could do nothing but wait for it to end!” Buffy screamed at him, willing him to deny it. To tell her he was sorry and that everything would be okay. To lie to her.


“You're not exactly my type, Slayer.” Spike felt nauseated even as he said that. Buffy's words cut into his own flesh and it had made him angry. He couldn't bear the thought of her abused like that. She was his. The demon wanted to --no-- needed to claim her for a reason Spike couldn't puzzle out yet. Who was she to make him feel this way?


Spike watched as the dam holding her grief crumbled and the slayer, his enemy, broke down into harsh sobs, falling to the concrete and clutching her lilac sweater.


It didn't matter that he didn't want her to be his. The call of his blood was something he could never resist.


Spike stood there, hesitant to cross the boundaries. To overstep that ultimate line keeping him from giving in to her. Every cell in him screamed at him to move, but it was the human part of him, the part that refused to die even after he'd been turned, whose voice was the loudest in his head. He approached the sobbing girl, knelt down and touched her shoulder.


“D-don't touch me!” She told him through her sobs.


Spike had a half mind to snipe back at her, but one look at her face and the jibe died in his throat.
He put his arms around her loosely, not knowing what to do. He half expected the slayer to punch him in the face. Hoping that she would, so that he could stop this madness and retaliate, put things into perspective. Anything to stop her from being so vulnerable and making him feel compassion.


Buffy buried her face into the crook of his neck, her arms encircled his waist. She was crying so hard, Spike was worried she'd make herself sick.


“Hush, luv. It'll be alright.” He knew the words were false, but false comfort was better than none at all. He couldn't quite bring himself to shove her away either, not when holding her in his arms felt so right.


Spike hugged her tighter, enclosing her in his embrace. Buffy's warmth seeped through his duster warming him. He breathed in her scent and his eyes widened. Flowers and... something else, something unique. So familiar. He tried to remember, but it was like wading through a deep river that was flowing against him.


“No, it won't... but thanks for saying it,” she whispered, hiccupping slightly as her sobs died down.


Nothing would ever be okay again; Buffy knew not to fool herself. The memories would always stay with her, be them fresh and raw or faded as time passed by. She would hear her own cries every time she tried to sleep. Buffy knew it as surely as she knew this was the man from her illusion. It was undeniably him, the scent, the way his body fit against hers in complete symphony. The sound of his voice. It had to be him. She was too tired to ponder the implications. The tears stopped flowing after a while.


They sat there, neither willing to be the first one to break the silence, both feeling awkward. Buffy spoke up first.


“Ehm... I think my butt has fallen asleep.”


Spike chuckled nervously and rose, bringing her with him. Buffy looked at him then, serious, as she took a step away from him.


“Do you... do you still want to kill me?”


“Don't think that I could. Besides, kinda buggered that one up, didn't I? Never was good at planning.” He shrugged uncomfortably, and lifted the corner of his mouth tentatively.


He saw her wince and quirked an eyebrow questioningly.


“My feet... they hurt.” Buffy shuffled in place and looked down, her long hair hiding her expression.


He furrowed his brow, and then suddenly swooped her up into his arms, one hand encircling her waist and the other holding her behind her knees. Buffy yelped in surprise and clung to his neck with both arms. She knew it was stupid to trust him, but she couldn't find it in herself to care.


Buffy closed her eyes and breathed him in. He smelled like forbidden fruit, so sweet in its temptation, dangerous in its implications. Hints of tobacco and leather spiced his purely masculine scent.


Spike was very much aware that the slayer was sniffing his hair, but strangely, he didn't mind. Not when he had been inconspicuously doing the same to her.


'Hmm... smells so nice.'


The fact that she let him hold her, after he had threatened to kill her, baffled him. Even Dru wouldn't let him that close for that long, unless it was sexual, and even then, they were hardly ever close. Dru would always dance away, twirling and giggling, teasing him with promise of something she was unable to give. He could see that now. Funny how distance could give people clarity, the perspective needed to understand their mistakes.


Spike reached his car and set Buffy down. He opened the door for her and waited for her to climb in.

She looked at him, puzzled.


“What... I mean why... ehm, you want me to come with you?”


Spike didn't know what he was doing. The only thing that mattered was this inexplicable raw need to have her in his vicinity, where he could see her, touch her, make sure she was all right. Maybe the last thing the slayer wanted was to be near him.


'Can't really blame her.'


“Err... I wasn't thinking. You probably wouldn't even want to, and well, I don't fancy forcing you—”


Buffy interrupted him, “I do want to!” She blushed at her eagerness and continued, much more subdued now. “The decision is up to you.” She looked at Spike from beneath her lashes. He was momentarily struck with how innocent and adorable she looked.


“Of course, luv.” He smiled at her then, smitten and at the same time berating himself. This was The Slayer. He'd wanted to bathe in her blood, to make her his third.


'Bloody hell! She's already got you wrapped around her little finger. There goes another one of your marvelous plans, Spike.'


He shook his head, opened the door for her, helped her in and closed it. He then got inside himself, sat behind the wheel, started the ignition and stepped on the accelerator, proceeding to get the car back on the road.


“What's your name?” Buffy asked him out of blue, busying herself with the seatbelt.


“It's Spike.”


She raised her eyebrows in question. “My aunt had a dog named Spike. I think a car ran him over when I was six.” She glanced up at him then, her eyes still hollow and sad, but there was a glint of amusement shining there.


“Oi! It's a bloody good name. Besides, those who live in the glass houses shouldn't throw stones, Buffy. At least mine's a nickname. What's your excuse?” Spike smirked at her.


“Hey, I happen to like my name... it's quirky, and original. And wait... how do you know it anyway?” Buffy looked at him with interest, trying to keep him talking. It kept her mind from wandering into places where her cries painted the world red.


Spike rubbed the back of his neck and said, “Err...I think you already know the answer to that question, pet.” He’d already told her he had come here to kill her, complete with almost biting her. Everything had changed when he gazed upon her face and felt her within him. When he had had her in his arms, bringing so many emotions to the surface.


“Oh.” She leaned against the window and closed her eyes. After a while she asked, “Spike?”


“Yeah?”


“Why are you letting me come with you?” Buffy asked, turned her head towards him, wary.


“Dunno. Just doing what feels right, following my instincts and all that. We need to suss out the whole connection thing. Bloody unnatural is what it is.” Spike peered at the road ahead through a hole he had scraped off on the black painted wind-shield.


“So you admit it then? It wasn't just me that felt it? 'Cause for a moment you'd convinced me it was all in my head.” Buffy turned towards him fully, her legs folded beneath her butt, one arm resting in her lap, the other hanging at her side, near the break lever.


“Of course I could bloody feel it, still do on a smaller scale, and it scares the shit outta me.” Spike ran his left hand through his loosened curls, messing them up even further, and sighed.


“Why?” she asked.


“Why, what? Why does it scare me?” He looked at her and she nodded.


“I'm a vampire. You're the slayer. It's not right to feel connected to you, least of all to want to finalize the connection by claiming you. And believe me, the demon inside me wants nothing more than that, for some reason.”


“Claiming me?” Buffy furrowed her brow.


“Making you mine.” He looked at her, his irises blazing with inner fire. Buffy averted her eyes.


“In what way?” She asked hesitantly.


“In every way.” Spike was clutching the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were turning white. All this conversation was making him want to taste her right now. And not just her blood.


“Oh.” Buffy looked away, not knowing what to say. She didn't think she'd ever be able to let someone touch her like that without feeling the hands of the clients pawing at her flesh instead. But this was Spike, and for some reason, he was breaking all the rules.


Silence fell over them, heavy and suffocating.


“Look, pet, maybe you should just go. I'm a vampire. I can't always control myself. I don't want to. And being near you... It's like I can't keep my hands off you. Feeling you, touching you... God, I'm such a ponce! It makes me feel all...” Spike rolled his eyes at himself, “It drives me around the bend, alright? It makes me feel complete, and at the same time I need to have you in every possible way. I want you so much it scares me.” Spike looked at her from the corner of his eye, trying to gauge her reaction.


“No you don't. You don't want me!” Buffy's throat tightened in grief. What he was feeling couldn't be real.


'God, what was I thinking? How can he even look at me? I'm disgusting. Nothing but damaged goods. And one day, he'll see it too.'


“Hey! I bloody well know better than you do! I do want you and if that scares you, fine, but don't you dare tell me what to feel!” Spike gnashed his teeth together as he gripped the steering wheel.


“But you don't know what you're talking about! Don't you get it? There's nothing for you to have! Look at me, I'm disgusting! Do you have any idea what kind of things I was forced to do? Well, do you?” she screamed and then turned away from him, not wanting to see his disgust.


Spike's cheek ticked.


“I don't care. I still want you.” he said hoarsely.


Buffy's head snapped towards him at the sound of his voice.
“You don't really mean that,” she said quietly, her eyes wide as she looked into his blazing eyes.


He wanted to shake some sense into her and then show her how worthy she was. She was so beautiful, even dirty and unkempt.


“You're the one that doesn't get it! I felt you inside of me. I could see you for what you really are! Do you really think that anything you say or do can change that? Change the fact that I can't ever let you go?” Spike looked at her fleetingly, tears of frustration blurred his vision. He squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again when he was sure he had his emotions under control.


Buffy was stunned.


She tried to regain her composure and not let one drop of tear spill over. She couldn't remember crying this much in weeks. What was it about this vampire that tore her barriers down and brought all of her emotions to the surface? All those feelings Buffy had tried so hard to repress. It was like she didn't have the control over her grief anymore. It was terrifying. This knowledge of letting him see her so vulnerable, so open to hurt.


Spike scented the salty odour of tears and jerked his head in Buffy's direction. She was turned away from him, staring at the black painted window, so he couldn't see her face. He touched her hand -- clammy and just a tad warmer than his own-- that was resting lifelessly next to her knees. Spike squeezed it with his own, quickly letting go of her in case she didn't want to be touched.


Buffy gazed at him then, looking so lost, her eyes wide and glazed, her bottom lip trembling.


“I'm dirtying your seat with mud!” Buffy's chin wobbled. She looked down at herself and felt gross. Dirty. Not exclusively with mud or dried blood. No matter how hard she'd scrub at her flesh, it'd always be there, inside.


“It's alright, luv. We'll get you squeaky clean in no time, yeah?” Spike smiled at her, his eyes as sad as hers.


Buffy nodded and leaned against the window.


Spike looked straight ahead.


'Sunnydale Inn, here we come.'


TBC

Banner made by nmcil.

Chapter 8


Spike stood at the check-in of the hotel and drummed his fingers against the counter, impatiently waiting for someone to show up. Buffy shuffled her feet and played with the hems of her sleeves as she waited for him to get them a room. He could practically taste her nerves.


“Anybody here? If someone doesn't come within a minute I'm gonna tear this place apart!” Spike yelled and smacked his open palm against the ringer so hard it broke. He cursed and rubbed at his palm. He should just go get the key himself and sod paying them. Then he'd come back and suck the hotel employees dry. Well, after he scared the piss out of them.


A boy in his late teens came out of the nearby door, fumbling with the fly on his pants on the way.


“Sorry, sir! Nature called. You know how it is.”


He smiled at Spike, in hopes of appeasing a potential customer, but the only thing he encountered was a fierce glare.


“No, I really don't. Nor do I care about your disgusting habits, you git!”


The boy flinched and ran a hand through his messy brown curls. Spike saw his attention wandering away and in Buffy's direction, immediately fixing on her bare legs with a glassy look.


The warning growl from Spike had the boy clearing his throat and looking down.


“Ehm... What can I do for you, sir?”


If Buffy wasn't watching, he'd tear the boy's head clear off his body. Maybe later.


“Now, you're asking? So nice to see the services in this town are top notch,” Spike said sarcastically and let his eyes flash yellow for a fracture of a second, then sneered at the boy's wide eyes.


“R-right. Sorry, sir! It won't h-happen again, I swear!”


The reception clerk swallowed and took an unconscious step back. Spike followed his retreat with an evil glint in his gaze, daring him to run.


“Bloody right, it won't, boy! Now give us a room. Two beds... and make sure it has thick curtains, will you?”


Spike let a smirk play upon his lips, then licked the sharp point of his fang when he was sure the boy was looking.


The loud gulp was his only response.


Spike inhaled the potent aroma of fear wafting off the whelp in waves. It was delicious. This feeling of power, toying with this cowardly human and making him sweat bullets as he fumbled with the keys, trying to find the right one.


“Here you go, sir. Room 327, floor three. If you need room service, use the phone in the room to call the reception desk. It'll be 120 dollars a night,” he said in a rush, avoiding eye contact with Spike again.


“120 bucks for a night? Are you people crazy?” Spike overlooked the cringe his outburst had provoked. He was really hard pressed not to literally tear into the employee. He wasn't used to paying for anything. He took what he wanted and when he wanted it without answering to anyone. He looked over his shoulder at Buffy, slumped his shoulders and sighed.


“Right then, I'll take it. But it's a bloody theft!”


The boy presented Spike the key, his hand shaking so hard it made the key vibrate. Spike waited a long tense moment before he took it, enjoying the situation immensely. He snatched the receptionist's wrist roughly and tugged him forward. Spike felt the boy’s bones creak in protest against the powerful grip and Spike leaned into him.


“I catch you looking at her like that again, I'll rip off your bollocks and shove them down your throat. Are we clear?” Spike whispered, his narrowed eyes deadly serious.


“Y-es! All clear!” the boy squeaked out and Spike let his wrist go, snatched the key and slapped a few crumpled bills onto the counter. He turned on his heel, leaving the traumatized receptionist standing there, gripping the counter to help himself stand upright.


Buffy watched the interaction with rising alarm, ready to intervene when she saw Spike lean into the employee, but he let him go abruptly and strode towards her.


“All set to go, pet. Here, hold on to me.” Spike carefully swept her off her feet and into his arms. Her whole body bounced slightly as he swaggered through the lobby and into the elevator.


Buffy leaned her head against his neck and closed her eyes. For a second she had been sure he was going to kill that guy, and she didn't know if she would have had the strength to stop him. If she even wanted to. She couldn't imagine hurting Spike. Just the thought of it sent an unpleasant shudder down her spine. Even if that wasn't the case, she was no longer obligated to save lives.


'Why should I care if Spike made them all his dinner?'


After the fleeting thought raced through Buffy's mind and finally registered, she stiffened in Spike's arms.


'God, what's wrong with me? Am I really that heartless?'


“You alright, pet?” Spike looked down at her frowning face and unfocused eyes. He’d felt her tense in his arms, along with a feeling that something was wrong. She had smelt different for a second. Still sweet and alluring but there was a waft of decay corrupting it. It brushed Spike's nostrils so swiftly he almost thought he had imagined it. Almost.


“What? Ye-” she started to say, but stopped herself, pondering it for a while, “No, I'm not.” She bit her lip and looked him in the eye for a second, then leaned back against his neck again, clutching at him just a tad tighter.


“I figured.” He nodded. The elevator dinged opened and Spike stepped out of it, carrying her towards their room. “Here we are. Home sweet home and all that.”


Buffy would never understand how he managed to unlock and open the door without dropping her, but he somehow did.


Spike kicked the door close with his boot and put Buffy gently down on the nearest bed.


“I'll run you a bath, then go fetch you some grub while you're at it, okay?” Spike looked at her for acquiescence.


“Will you be long?” Buffy gazed up at him from the bed, eyes wide.


“I'll be a minute, you won't even notice. Scout's honor!” Spike grinned at her and made the Scout salute with the three of his fingers.


Buffy hesitated, then nodded. “Okay.” She watched him turn on his heel and disappear in a swirl of leather behind the bathroom door. She could hear the sound of the rushing water seconds later. Buffy glanced around the room, taking in the white crisp sheets and falsely cheerful yellow comforters on the full sized beds, the stark white walls with one small boring painting of a landscape on it, the sturdy pine furnishings.


Buffy stood up and walked towards the curtains, sweeping them aside with her hand and resting her forehead on the cool window. She stared hard into the darkness, and let it envelop her perception as she tried to dull down her swirling thoughts. Trying not to think about how uncertain her future was. About the person she'd become. Maybe she could stay hidden within the walls of this room forever, shut out the outside world and the demons she needed to face along with it.


A hand on her shoulder startled her and Buffy swiftly turned around, the heavy curtains swishing back into their rightful place.


Spike retracted his hand. “I'm gonna get you something to eat. Bath's all ready. You need any help?”


“No, I think I'll manage fine on my own.” She smiled at him, corners of her mouth turning upward in hesitation, the muscles of her cheeks tensing from disuse.


“Right. I just meant... never mind.” He stood there awkwardly for a moment, and then headed towards the door, looking at her over his shoulder as he closed it behind him.


Spike had the sudden urge to bang his head against the wall. What was it about the slayer that made him lose his edge, and instead turned him into a harmless puppy? And could he be any more daft than being all cavalier and offering his help to bathe her? Not even in a sexual way. No sleazy thought had even crossed his mind. Spike just meant to carry her, so she wouldn't aggravate her feet more she already had. Wash her hair maybe. He was acting like a human being! A decent one at that. Spike grimaced and sauntered down the corridors of the hotel. He needed to reclaim his balls, pronto!


For a moment he pondered visiting the git from reception, but swept the idea aside.


'Too obvious.'


He found his potential victim just two blocks away from the hotel. A lone brunette wandering the dark streets was just asking for trouble. She was a slim, pretty thing and as she rounded the corner to use the shortcut of a stranded alley, Spike grinned. He stalked after her, his feet light and soundless on the concrete as he moved through the shadows.


Predator chasing after prey. It was what he did. Spike wouldn't allow that to change as already felt too human when he was with Buffy. He was still a vampire. It had taken him a lot of years to push back all the traces of his pathetic human self. And lately, he feared that if he continued this way, there would be nothing left of him but the shadow of the monster he had created himself to be. Not a demon. Not a human. He wouldn't fit in any world but the limbo in between, holding onto the slippery vestiges of his past just as he tried to reach towards the unpredictable limb of the future. Buffy's hand. Could he really let himself go? Let her possess him?


'Can't let her get under my skin even more that she already is.'


Spike entered the alley, moving deliberately forward, his every move a symphony of deadly grace. He grinned as he noticed the girl facing the fence at the other end.


Dead end.


'How very fitting.'


“What's a pretty bird like you doing out here all alone? You know, the whole red riding hood routine is fairly dangerous.” He was a few feet away now. Still moving forward. Her fear reached his nostrils and he drew it in with utmost gratification.


'Still got it, mate.'


“Who are you?” her high voice trembled and shook, the sweetest sound in the world. Sound of suppressed terror.


“Spike.” He vamped out and grinned at her, gleeful and hungry. In a blind panic, she pierced the thick silence of the late hour with a deafening scream.


Spike was on her in a blink of an eye, squeezing her throat shut and laughing as she clawed at his hand in a fruitless effort of dislodging his grip. He backed her into the fence, intruding in on her personal space further. Yellow eyes burrowed into the wide chocolate eyes as he grabbed a fistful of her dark hair and tilted her head to one side.


He scraped his fangs along the length of her neck, leaving shallow trails of her blood in their wake. Her pulse beat wildly beneath his mouth, echoing the last seconds of her life.


“Poor lamb. All terrified.” Spike sucked at her neck, bringing the blood closer to the surface. She whimpered and struggled.


“I promise it won't hurt... much.” He laughed and sank his teeth into her jugular, slurping noisily as he drank her life essence, letting the warmth flood him and fill him out. He ground his hardness into her.


She gasped out.”Please.”


He had heard it so many times, in so many different situations. That last desperate attempt at making him let them go. To spark a feeling of sympathy perhaps. He never did.


Spike was surprised as the sound of her voice suddenly seemed very familiar. It was just like Buffy's. He drew out his fangs sharply and looked down at the girl's terrified eyes. But it was Buffy's green eyes staring at him, life withering away as she looked at him. Hurt. Betrayed.


He roared and shoved the girl away. She staggered and fell, holding her bleeding neck and sobbing quietly. Spike paced, running his hand through his hair, and ranted incoherently.


“Wanker! You must be the most miserable excuse for a vampire, Spike. Grand-dad would be so proud, right after the git laughed his arse off!” Spike gestured wildly with his hands and continued talking to himself.


“It's all your fault! I've got you under my skin, making me feel all tingly and warm! Why are you doing this to me, Buffy?” Spike clenched his teeth and punched a hole into the bricks of the building. He looked at his bloodied knuckles and slumped in defeat. He finally noticed the sobbing girl.


“And what are you bawling your eyes out for? You're alive, aren't you? So run home to your mummy and daddy like a good little pedestrian and leave me the hell alone!” Spike snarled at her and the girl rose up on shaky legs, fleeing away from him as quickly as she could.


'Well, there you go, you twat. Everything just went arse over tit. Why not just seal the deal by tattooing 'pathetic' right across your forehead?'


Then Spike thought of Buffy-- the Slayer, the supposed bane of his existence. She was his. Would it really be worth it to swap all that with the empty existence full of carnage? Wasn't this what he always wanted?


'Doesn't mean I can't feed. Just won't kill them is all.'


Spike huffed and stuck his hands into the pockets of his duster. He strode out of the alley, hoping the fast food joint that he'd seen earlier was still open.


'Hope Buffy likes cheeseburgers.'


******


Meanwhile Buffy slipped out of the sweater, folded the fuzzy article and put it on the lid of the toilet. She turned towards the sink and grabbed the mini bottle of shampoo and mini soap that were necessary amenities in every hotel. To her, they were luxury she hadn't been able to enjoy for far too long. She clasped them in her hands and turned around.


The water in the bath glittered, reflecting the bathroom's fluorescent light off its surface. Buffy stepped closer, put the soap and shampoo down and grasped the ceramic rim for balance. She lifted her leg and sank a foot into the warmth of the water. The surface rippled at the intrusion.


Buffy hissed as the hot water caressed her battered foot and then proceeded to put the other one in too. She slowly slid in until only her head and knees were sticking out of the water. She closed her eyes and let the warmth engulf her senses and drown out everything she wanted to avoid thinking about.


Grime and dried blood muddied the water, spread out and dirtied the edges of the bath. Buffy opened her eyes and grimaced at the sight. It was the perfect reflection of how she felt. Dirty and polluted.


She took the plug out and drew her knees to her chest, wet hair sticking to her back, and watched the lowering level of the water as it swirled down the drain in a vortex tinted with red and brown.


Buffy untangled her limbs, stood up and turned on the shower, tilting her head back as she let it wash away the remaining dirt. She crouched, reaching blindly for the soap and shampoo, and massaged the shampoo into her hair.


She felt gross, and it was just a matter of time that Spike would get over whatever insanity that was forcing him to stay with her and see that too. He didn't have any obligations towards her, didn't have to stick around to watch over her miserable and ugly self. He'd leave and she'd never feel his reassuring embrace, or even hear him yell at her in anger as he paced back and forth in agitation.


'He'll hate you!' A voice in her head whispered.


Buffy shivered despite the water beating mercilessly on her skin. The steam filled out the small room, obscuring the mirror above the sink. She rinsed her hair and breathed heavily as the feelings took hold of her. Fear. Doubt.


Buffy scrubbed hard at her flesh, her nails leaving deep welts on her skin. She wanted to tear out this feeling of hopelessness, of being dirty and used. She turned the faucet fully on cold, and icy water sprayed at her flesh, forcing out everything else but the coldness. The clatter of her teeth was getting louder by the second. Buffy shut it off when she couldn't take it anymore and stumbled out of the bathtub.


She stepped precariously on the slippery tiles and wiped the steam off the mirror with the palm of her hand. She looked at herself. At the hollow eyes and sunken cheeks. The ever present internal pain manifesting itself in the tautness around her lips. She squeezed her eyes shut and when she opened them again her reflection flickered and changed.


It wasn't her anymore. Rotten teeth of a monster leered back at her, black bottomless sockets devoid of eyeballs glared from the mirror. The bleached skull barely covered by translucent, grey skin. Dead.


Buffy screamed. An inhuman sound tore out of her throat and filled her ears, drowning out the click of the front door being open. Her shaky hands rose and touched her face, her eyelids, as her yell died down. Buffy looked at the mirror again, her breath coming out in short panicked gasps.


There was nothing there but her.


TBC

Author's note: Beta'd by awesome ladies Lis, Dawn and Mabel. Hugs and kisses to all of you who follow this story and review!!!


Banner made by Vette.


Chapter 9


As soon as Spike heard the yell, he dropped the food container on the floor and dashed into the room, frantically looking around. Steam curled out from beneath the bathroom door and he didn't hesitate to enter.


Buffy stood there, clutching at her face and gawking at the mirror as if she'd seen a ghost. She didn't even notice him come in. Spike sighed in relief. She looked to be all right.


“Luv?”


She jumped up and dropped her hands from her face.


“Spike? Wha... What are you doing here?”


“I heard you scream and I--is everything alright?”


Her eyes were shell shocked as she glanced at him, and suddenly Spike had an armful of a warm, naked and very wet slayer pressed against him. He hugged her back, not caring that the water on her skin was starting to seep through his t-shirt, making it stick uncomfortably to his skin.


“You're here. You came back.” Buffy looked at him in awe, her fingers gripping the front of his t-shirt.


“'Course I did. Gave you me word, didn't I?”


He glanced at her, his eyes pained as he stepped away after a while with his hands on her shoulders. Spike squeezed them briefly, reigning in his need to possess her. He sidestepped her and grabbed the big fluffy towel off the counter next to the sink.


“Stand still, kitten. Gonna make you all dry. Wouldn't want you to catch cold, right?” He was about to dry her back when he noticed them.


The scars.


Thin pale lines rising off her flesh criss-crossed her back, staining her skin like a macabre map of her suffering. These were not the battle scars of a hero. Not the badge of honor and victory worthy of a warrior. These were the testimony of Buffy's pain being turned inside out, forever etched into her flesh.


Spike traced them lightly with his fingertips. They were hardly noticeable, but they felt very real under his hands.


“What did they do to you?” he whispered as he caressed the skin of her back.


Her shoulders tensed.


“They... whips, I think. Sometimes, it all blurs together.” Buffy turned around and the feeling of the soft skin of her stomach under his fingers snapped Spike out of his reverie. He snatched his hand away and thrust the towel towards her.


“I'd better wait outside.” Spike dashed out of the bathroom as soon as she grasped it.


He couldn't control himself when she was naked around him, and he felt like a monster for feeling that way when she was so obviously hurt and needed his comfort. He just wasn't strong enough; his blood had a way of not always rushing in the direction of his brain.


Spike slid out of his duster, put it on the foot of one of the full sized beds and flopped down onto the bed. He raised his head when Buffy came out a little while after, holding the fluffy fabric tightly around her. Her jaw was set in a failing attempt at concealing her hurt feelings.


She swallowed audibly and said, “I'm sorry.” She bowed her head.


“What? You have nothing to be-” Spike rose up from the bed.


“No. Let me finish. I know I'm... I can't even look at myself, and I don't blame you for feeling disgust when you saw the... what had happened to me.”


“Now, hold on for a second! I wasn't disgusted. That's not why I ran off.” Spike rubbed at his face and stepped closer to her. When Buffy still hadn't looked up, he put the forefinger under her chin to make her face him. “Look. I already told you, it's hard to be near you.”


Her eyes watered and she looked away, but Spike gently grasped her jaw in his hand to prevent her from hiding from him. “That's not what I meant. It's coming out all wrong. What I meant is that it's hard to control... my basic urges, when you're all starkers. And me losing it and starting to touch you in a more intimate way is the last thing you need.” He buried his hand in her damp hair and gazed deeply into her eyes, their noses almost touching. His breath brushed against Buffy's lips and she swallowed.


“I don't wanna hurt you. I'm just trying to do what's right by you, instead of what I'd like to do. And that's a big step for me, if I do say so myself.” Spike lifted the corner of his mouth and stepped away from her. “Eh... I brought you food. Hope you like cheeseburgers and chips, luv. Also bought you Coke to drink with it.” He hoped she'd accept his abrupt change of subject. He was too close to stepping over the line separating them from the disaster that was bound to happen. Even if it was just a matter of time, he'd try to keep his mitts to himself. No matter how hard it was.


“I like cheese.” Buffy's stomach growled and she blushed. Spike chuckled and handed her the bag of food, watching her as she sat down on a bed. She looked uncomfortable and he frowned as she clutched the towel close to her body so it wouldn't slip. He glanced around the room, finally spotting what he was looking for and went to grab it.


“Here.” Spike presented her with his red, long sleeved shirt that he’d taken from the trunk of his car for her. “It's clean, only wore it once, and I'm sure it'll cover you. Sorry I can't help you in the knickers department.” He handed her the shirt and sat on the opposite twin bed.


“Thank you... for everything.”


Buffy slid the article on and buttoned it up, then tugged off the damp towel and tossed it on a nearby chair. She sighed blissfully as the fine fabric caressed her skin. The smell of him still lingered on it and she let it overwhelm her senses.


Spike watched her with hooded eyes and unconsciously licked his lips. He never knew that a woman could make his shirt look that sexy. If it was up to him, she'd never wear anything else ever again. He stood up as if hypnotized and the mattress dipped under his weight when he sat down next to her, taking the food and putting it on the floor.


“Let me help you.” Spike's voice was sultry and sensual as he took her hands and started to roll up the too long sleeves. He held her small delicate hands in his and stroked her knuckles with his thumbs after he finished.


Buffy breathed in deeply, fixing her eyes on his face when his fingers slithered up her arm, her shoulder and then lightly touched the puckered flesh at her throat where he'd bitten her. Buffy bit her lip as her heart fluttered painfully in her chest. She hardly remembered what it felt like to be touched with such tenderness. She'd never seen such raw emotions in someone's eyes directed at her. Need fighting for dominance and winning. It scared her. It exhilarated her. Buffy could drown in his eyes and be happy to never resurface, to never face the chilly emptiness outside of his presence.


Spike leaned in. Eyes closing. Lips parting. The tip of his tongue coming out to wet his lower lip. He was about an inch away from Buffy's neck and could hear the wild gallop of her heartbeat.


THUMP.


The impact of a body falling down followed by the drunken laughter of a bunch of teenagers as they staggered through the corridor outside of their room snapped Spike out of the daze and he shook his head to focus. It took him a moment to realize he'd been about to taste her blood, and possibly more than that. They sat there, gazing steadily at each other until Spike broke the eye contact and moved to rise.


“Spike.” The way she murmured his name gave him pause. She said it like he was her only source of water amidst the desert. He faltered in his haste to get away from her. “Stay.”


Spike breathed out unnecessarily.


“God, Buffy. Don't make this harder than it already is. You don't know what you're asking of me.”


“You're right. I shouldn't have let this... get so far. I wasn't thinking. Just... the way you make me feel, it's something I haven't felt in a long while.”


Buffy bowed her head and Spike reached out with his hand to stroke her hair but snatched it quickly away when he realized that would lead to nothing good.


“What's that?”


“Safe.”


Spike suppressed the snort of self mockery. She was anything but safe with him. The call of her blood was tempting him to complete the claim. To make her his forever. He had to cling to the every bit of his humanity not to give in to the urges of his demon. She wasn't ready for that.


“You're not safe with me, Buffy. I mean it. You're playing with fire and if you don't stop, you're gonna get burnt, luv.”


“You wouldn't hurt me.”


She sounded so certain of the fact that she almost convinced him too.


“I'm a vampire, not some bloody prince charming. I'm evil.” Buffy just watched him with that unwavering conviction in her eyes. Spike rose with a huff and almost tripped over the unopened food container as he stomped towards his bed. He sighed. “You should eat, kitten. It's already cold I'd wager, but it's better than nothing, right?”


“Yeah, real evil,” she muttered under her breath.


“Come again?” He glanced over his shoulder as he bent to pick up the bag.


“Nothing. Just... you really like changing the subject, don't you, Spike?”


“Just 'cause you always let me.” He smirked at her then and tossed the bag onto her bed, right next to her.


Buffy gave him an exasperated look and tore into the wrapped cheeseburger. She bit into it with gusto and moaned. Spike chuckled at her stuffed cheeks and blissful expression.


“I take it you like, then?”


“Mm-hmm!”


Spike kicked off his boots and removed his t-shirt, tossing it carelessly to the floor, and then went to unbuckle his belt, but hesitated. He glanced in Buffy's direction and groaned softly when he noticed her eyes fixed on his bare skin. He could practically feel her devour him with bottomless hunger. When she noticed he’d caught her, she averted her eyes, pretending to be interested in the comforter instead.


He really hated to sleep in clothes, but he didn't want to give Buffy an eyeful, not when he was so close to losing control. Her wandering eyes certainly didn't help his condition. For someone who had been through the things she had, Buffy could act very innocently. It drove him wild.


Spike launched himself onto the bed and slid under the sheets. He closed his eyes, content to listen to her steady heartbeat and loud chews. He crossed his arms behind his head and listened as she stood up and moved around the room. The rustle of the wrapper. The silent thumping of her feet against the thick carpet. The orange glow behind his eyelids gave way to black as she turned off the light. He heard her slide into bed, but after a few minutes her breathing still wasn't evening out.


“Luv? You awake?” He turned to face her and opened his eyes.


“Yes. I can't fall asleep,” she whispered.


“Why are you whispering?”


“Because it's dark,” she said as if that explained everything.


“Can I ask you something?” he said.


“Already did.”


Spike sighed in exasperation and asked her anyway.


“What happened earlier? When I came and found you in the bathroom yelling your lungs out.”


He heard her heartbeat accelerate and saw her squirm on her bed.


“You won't believe me.”


“We won't know that until you tell me, will we? Plus, been a vamp for 117 years. I doubt anything can surprise me anymore.”


“I... I think I'm starting to lose my mind. I looked into the mirror and...” Her voice was small, and Spike had to strain his ears to catch her words.


“None of that now, pet. I've known women that were off their rocker, and you're not one of them. Tell me what you saw.”


“First it was just me, but then... I looked again and there was a... like a dead body staring back at me. But then I blinked and it disappeared. And... sometimes I feel like... like my body isn't mine and there's this force trying to take over and... I think I'm going insane.”


“Hold on, luv. I don't think you are! Now that you mentioned it, I'd felt something too, but I wrote it off as my mind playing tricks on me. When we looked into each other's eyes, when we could feel each other, there was you, but there was also something else... I felt a demon's presence.”


“I'm a demon?” her voice trembled and Spike rushed to elaborate.


“Not you. Something other, something that's not a part of you.”


“I'm scared.”


'So am I, luv.' Out loud Spike said. “We'll figure it out. I promise.”


Buffy exhaled shakily. “Okay.”


“Now sleep. I'll watch over you.” After a few minutes, her breath evened out and she was fast asleep. Spike followed soon after.


That was when the nightmares began.


TBC


Author's note: Any thoughts? :)

Banner made by nmcil.

Chapter 10


Spike was dreaming. The memories had been changed by the years of different perception and deliberate repression. Not now, though. The long forgotten memories of his human life shone brighter and truer than they had in a long time, taking possession of his subconsciousness.


The nightmare of his father's death; the carefully controlled face of his mother as she squeezed his hand at the funeral flickered past his eyelids. He'd been nine then, sobbing and shaking, unable to be strong and reign in his emotions. Years of humiliation and mockery had been a constant in his human life, molding him into the shy reluctant poet.


Finding himself in the middle of a small clearing on a sunny day, Spike glanced around him and frowned. There was a little boy, nine years old, sitting on a wooden bench shadowed by trees, his legs swinging to and fro as he scribbled something down on a piece of yellowed parchment. His head was bowed and soft honey curls covered his face as he chewed pensively on a pen. It was him.


Footsteps and boisterous laughter cut through the peaceful silence and the little boy lifted his head. He looked at the source of disturbance and his already pale face whitened even further, blue eyes widening in fear. He quickly folded the pieces of paper and tried to stuff them into the pockets of his breeches.


He wasn't fast enough, and a piece of parchment slipped out of his small trembling fingers and fluttered to the ground. William observed in horror as three boys approached him and one of them snatched the paper from the grass.


“Ah, William. I see you're wasting your time again.” the group of eleven year old children laughed. He was, once again, the object of his peers' ridicule.


“N-no, give it back!” William reached out to snag it from the boy's hand, but he evaded him and William stumbled, almost falling on his face.


“Look at this, gentlemen. A poem. A horrid one at that. But then again, it's William's, so we should have expected nothing less.” The group laughed again. The speaker puffed out his chest and smiled smugly at the rest of the group as he passed them the paper so they could see for themselves.


William's eyes watered in humiliation, so he bowed his head, not wanting them to see how much their opinions affected him.


Spike stood there, silently observing the scene, feeling disgust. He wasn't sure if he was more disgusted with his weakness or the actions of the young 'gentlemen'.


Light footsteps padded on the grass along with a melodious laughter. In sync, both Spike and William turned their heads in the direction of a newcomer.


Emily.


“You ditched me, you miserable prats!” The girl laughed and clutched at her side, breathing rapidly from exertion and restriction of her dress.


“Now, now, Emily. Is that a proper way to speak for a lady?” The boy that mocked William smirked at Emily, and she rolled her eyes in response. “Speaking of prats, look who we have found here. Little William Pratt. Writing his bloody awful poetry.”


Emily smiled tensely, clearly uncomfortable with the situation.


“Come on, David. Leave him be.” She tugged at David's sleeve, but he shrugged her off. “We could go play hide and seek,” she said hopefully and smiled at David in hopes of deterring his attention, but he ignored her.


William stared at Emily, drinking her in like a parched man. He felt he'd burst into flames if he dared to touch her. Just like Icarus, his wings would melt if he got too close.


“First, we're going to have fun.” David snatched the poem from one of the boy's grasp and handed it to her. “Read it. After all, it's for you. It's not me whose hair is like a shimmering sun-ray on a summer day.” He smiled maliciously at William.


William's eyes widened. He wanted to flee, but his feet were rooted to the ground. He was helpless, just standing there in horrified anticipation. Hope flared, a small flame that warmed his insides. Maybe she'd like it. Like him.


Spike sighed. He felt sorry for William. He remembered what was coming, and it wouldn't be pleasant.


Emily's face reddened, and she crumpled the poem in her hand. She pursed her lips and turned to go. William gathered all the courage he had and called after her. “Wait!”


She turned to him and said, “What did I do to deserve this? Was I not nice to you? Why do you have to degrade me like this? Do you think I enjoy you bestowing your foolish affection on me, in such a dreadful way? I don't care about you, William! You're nothing but a pathetic little boy!” Her freckled cheeks were red and her chest heaved. She gave William one last spiteful glance and turned around, the others following her. Little William crumbled to the ground, hard merciless sobs wracking through his body as he reached for the crumpled poem and tore it to shreds. Their uncontrollable laughter would haunt him forever.


Spike's ears were still ringing when he was lurched head first through sounds and pictures of his youth. It stopped and he imbibed the scene.


Gentle tones of violins and piano caressed his senses, old fashioned people milled around him, looking through him. He was nothing but an invisible spectator again. Spike turned around, his bare chest gleaming under the dim light of candles. Voluptuous skirts of Victorian ladies swished all around him as their partners twirled them around the enormous ballroom.


Finally Spike spotted himself, sitting in a shadowed corner, being a wallflower. His other self was seventeen years old. Lean and awkward, as he swept off the curls off his forehead. William rose, walking through the crowd with his head bowed, avoiding any possible confrontation.


William hated these social gatherings. The only reason he went was because of his mother's persuasion. Her hope for him finding a nice lady and marrying her, so he wouldn't be alone when she passed on.


What would Spike give to be able to go back in time and suck every single hypocrite in that room dry. To see them scream in terror and bleed all over their fancy clothes. He watched William stop suddenly and stare intensely at the other end of the ballroom. Emily stood there, glancing around her nervously then unseen disappeared out the back door. He followed William out of the mansion and observed as he leaned against the railing, exhaling heavily, watching Emily slip around the corner of the mansion, in the direction of the maze of a garden.


Being the fool he was, William had forgiven Emily for breaking his heart. Nursing the hope in his heart that the way she had reacted was nothing but her attempt at trying to save face in front of the others. That maybe there was a smidgen of affection for him.


Should he follow her? Confess his feelings for her and hope she'd accept it?


He'd been angry for a long time. Hurt. He'd avoided her like a plague out of shame. Didn't write another poem for years. But it had passed and he couldn't help but want her. No matter how much she'd wounded him, William would gaze at her across the room at one of the parties and his whole world would be illuminated by her radiance. Imagining what it would be like to graze his lips across the pale back of her hand. As he got older, he dreamed about her. Scandalous, perverse dreams that would surely send him to the bowels of hell. To think of a lady in such a way was inappropriate if they weren't married.


He imagined her lips gliding across his skin, warm breath raising goose bumps along the way as he laid in his bed. Her slave. Slave to the flames of passion. She'd kiss him, press her lips against his as he hesitantly touched her breasts. All kinds of different scenarios, always the same outcome. William would wake up and encounter the stained sheets. He'd feel dirty and ashamed, not able to look into his mother's eyes for a second.


Spike saw William heave a painful sigh, could hear his thoughts in his own head. He'd decided to follow Emily.


William walked down the stairs and around the house, heading deep into the garden, away from the eyes and ears of the party goers. Spike was hot on his heels.


They walked for a few minutes, around the thick bushes and trees. Barely audible moans and grunts reverberated through the night. William didn't stop. He was lost in his own musings and didn't hear it. He stepped from behind the trees and stopped dead in his tracks, blue eyes widening behind his spectacles as he took in the scene he had stumbled upon.


“David,” a feminine voice breathed out. It was Emily.


William stood there, gaping, retreating to hide in a shadow. The first thought that flitted through his brain was that she had to be in pain, but as he looked closer, the realization smacked him in his face.


It was a gasp of pleasure.


Emily was trapped against the tree. Their bodies entwining around each other, hands grasping at the restrictive clothes. David's hand fumbled beneath Emily's skirt, as she wantonly writhed against him, mouth hanging open, carefully constructed hairstyle askew, eyes closed in rapture. David knelt down, his head disappearing beneath her voluminous skirts and she moaned, panting. She tugged at her loosened corset and massaged her breasts, squeezed her pink nipples.


William gasped and leaned on the wall of the house. He couldn't tear his eyes away as David reappeared, his chin glistening with mysterious fluids. It hurt to see her like that, in the throes of passion with another man. Tears fell down even as the familiar feeling of arousal tightened in his belly, his hardening shaft tenting his trousers. William never felt more ashamed and disgusted with himself in his life.


David panted against her neck, guiding her hand inside his breeches. William tore his eyes away and ran in an opposite direction, not stopping until he couldn't breathe anymore.


There wouldn't be another woman for the next ten years.


Spike watched William skedaddle and again, everything started to change. But it wasn’t his memories anymore. The unfamiliar surroundings were hazy and kept flickering in and out before he could identify them. Colours and shapes swirled into the vortex of confusion and nausea, making his head spin, so he squeezed his eyes shut. Then it stopped.


Spike glanced around and walked hesitantly forward, disturbing the motes of dust that covered the floor. It coiled around his naked feet like a pair of hungry hands wanting to draw him into the ground. He quickened his pace and looked around the stone corridor.


Specks of flaking blood were illuminated by the flickering light of the buzzing fluorescent lights. Spike snorted at the horror cliché of it all. A shadow flashed somewhere by his right. Spike turned around, but didn't see anyone. The prickly annoying tingles ran up his spine and settled at the back of his neck with alarming certainty.


Something was following him.


Spike rounded the corner and stopped dead in his tracks when he found himself in a bright meadow. Birds were singing, the waterfall spilled down from the sky and puddled to form a pond. He shielded his eyes from the glaring sun. He breathed in the air and the hair on his body stood up to attention. He'd been here before. But how? More importantly, why couldn't he get hold of the memory?


“Hello.”


Spike spun towards the unfamiliar voice and tilted his head, frowning in confusion.


“Umm... hello?” He sized up the creature warily. After all, one didn't live as long as he had if he wasn't being careful.


A horse with a dog's head sat on the grass.


“You won't find her here, you know,” the creature said in a conversational tone. “And for the record, I'm not the one you should purge.”


“Purge? What the bloody hell are you talking about? And I'm not looking for anyone. I'm just here.” Spike stepped closer and squinted at the horse/dog.


“Don't worry, I've got the key” the creature sighed. “The dove won't be happy.”


Spike scratched at his head and exhaled in frustration. “Look, mate. As much as I enjoy you talking in riddles, could you just stop yammering and get to the point? Be a sensible dog... eh, horse.”


“You can call me Steve. And I told you, I do not prey on the soul!”


“What?” Spike was getting really irritated. He should just kill the wanker and be done with it. Something kept him from doing that though. Curiosity?


“I've got the key.” Steve winked at him and Spike lifted an eyebrow.


“Do you now? Why am I not surprised?” He rolled his eyes and asked. “What does it open?”


“The door of course,” Steve answered in a cheerful voice.


“The door to what?” Spike asked impatiently.


“The mind, my friend, keeps hidden the most horrendous secrets. You can't have her otherwise.” His ears flicked and he suddenly froze. Steve turned his wide doggy eyes at Spike and reached behind him to get something.


“It's getting dark, I must go! Take it!” He thrust a thing covered in cloth into Spike's hand as he rushed past him and disappeared into the thin air.


“God, I'm a bloody sack of hammers.”


He uncovered the cloth and stared at the item in his hand. A dagger. Ornate and short. Glyphs of a foreign language were engraved into the blade. The wind picked up in speed, howling. Spike sheathed it behind his belt and looked around as the clouds gathered with unnatural speed, rolling around and over each other on the darkened sky like battling beasts. The heavens tore open and drops of liquid hit Spike, snaking down his face and throat, his chest and belly to soak into the fabric of his jeans.


The dense drops made Spike's nostrils flare and he snuck out the tip of his tongue to catch a drop of it.


Blood.


More importantly, the blood he knew the taste of. Could never forget the rich sweetness tainted by suffering and familiarity. Buffy's blood.


Spike stared down at his red skin and shivered. He battled the need to crash to his knees and let his ravenous taste buds soak up every single drop of her essence. Wanted to, but couldn't. Not when there was no soft chalice of her throat to take it from. Not when it wasn't freely given by her. Not when it was tainted by something he couldn't name. There was the shadow, still following him around. Stalking him. He turned around and called out.


“Step on up, you coward! Show your ugly face so I can kick yo-”


A scream pierced the thick air around him. The sound forced a shuddering whisper of a breath to pass his lips. It seemed to come out of everywhere and nowhere all at once, bouncing off the bloodied air to send Spike careening into a helpless rage. It was Buffy's scream.


Spike ran. He could feel the thing breathing down his neck, but it didn't matter. The only important thing was to find Buffy, no matter how long and how far he had to run to get to her. Suddenly, it wasn't the thick carpet of grass under his feet anymore, but the dusted cold concrete of the floor he first stepped on when his trip down the memory lane changed into the nightmare that wasn't his own. He didn't stop to curse the fact that he was running in circles as his feet pounded relentlessly through the endless maze of corridors.


'Buffy, Buffy, Buffy. Where are you?'


Spike tore through the corridors, opening a door just to stumble into a corridor with another number of doors in them. He didn't stop to think what one he should choose, he just tore one off its hinges in his haste and frantic need not to slow down. Never slowing down. He had to get to Buffy. The doors kept coming up. Spike growled and snarled, wreaking havoc in his wake. It changed nothing. The corridors and doors seemed endless.


He was hurled through a door he had opened and stopped short of falling onto his face. He was in a room. The sweet fruition of finally reaching a destination was thwarted by the vision in front of him.


'Buffy! Oh my God.'


She was there, tears leaking freely out of her eyes. A male hand gripping her hair tightly, making her arch her back, using her to...


Spike snarled and leaped forward only to rebound and fall on his ass, the motion almost dislodging the dagger from behind his belt. He jumped back up and pounded with his fists on the invisible barrier that kept him from getting to her, lost in his rage.


The feeling of helplessness suffused him as he stood there, unable to do anything but watch the man lost in an excruciating pleasure as he rammed his shaft into Buffy's ass. Lying on top of her, grunting. Not caring that she was bleeding, not caring for the tears she shed or the screams that were getting weaker by the second, the dawning resignation as she lay there, letting him use her as if she was nothing but a toy. Blood leaked from the corner of her mouth, the area around her eye was swelling and gaining a deep dark colour. Spike wanted to vomit. He couldn't watch, but he couldn't tear his eyes away either. She gazed up at him then, pleading and broken as she mouthed soundlessly.


'Help me.'


Spike threw himself against the barrier with all his might... and tumbled out of his bed. He was wide awake, looking down and expecting to see his chest covered in crimson, but there was only the sheet tangled around his legs. Buffy gasped and his head jerked in her direction. She was tossing in her bed, grasping the sheets so tightly she was ripping them apart. Her brow was furrowed in imaginary pain. Spike quickly untangled his legs and strode towards her, kneeling next to her tumbling form.


“Come on, luv! Wake up!” He shook her shoulders.


“N-no, let me-” her voice cut off as her eyes snapped wide opened, darting all around the room in disorientation. Finally, she fixed her stare on him, panting in panic and exertion and clutching painfully at his forearms.


“S-Spike?”


Her eyes watered and she launched herself into his arms. “Tell me it's over. Please. Please tell me you won't let go!”


Spike's throat tightened painfully and he guided her to lie back, tucking her head under his chin and tightened his arms around her. “Never, luv. I've got you.” He stroked her hair and pressed his trembling lips to her clammy forehead.


The first sun rays lent a golden hue to the room, illumining her tear stained face. He could never let her go.


TBC

Author's note: I know the updates are always posted on a different day, which must be kind of annoying, so I ask you- which day do you readers want an update to be posted? I was actually planning on posting this chapter on friday, but I couldn't wait!!! Sue me. :D

Thanks to my awesome betas and to you kind readers!



This beautiful piece of artwork is a courtesy of nmcil!


Chapter 11


Buffy eased her way out of the first bit of restful sleep she'd had in months. Warmth. Peace. She smiled, still hazy, reality not establishing its impact yet. Comfortable solid weight was pressed against her cheek as she lay on her side. Buffy turned to lie on her back and the weight followed, settling half atop her, its rough fabric rubbing at the skin of her inner thighs. Then the weight caressed her stomach and mumbled. Buffy froze.


Terror settled in the pit of her belly; cold and unyielding. She couldn't move, couldn't scream. Could do nothing but lie there, petrified.


Slowly, Buffy gathered her wits, still not fully conscious of her surroundings as she scooted back and blindly kicked with all her might.


“Bloody Hell!”


Spike wildly glanced around. He was on the floor and his ribs hurt like hell. He rubbed at them and cringed. He was about to start yelling at the attacker when he noticed Buffy crouching on the bed, hugging her knees and rocking back and forth. Dots connected themselves in Spike's head to form a picture of sorrowful understanding.


'She must have thought I was... that I would...'


Spike swallowed and scratched his head, not sure exactly how one approached a situation like this. He rose and winced at his sore ribs, stepping slowly closer. He hovered above her. Should he touch her? Should he leave her be? God, he really needed a smoke right now!


Buffy noticed his presence after her panic had ebbed a little and she focused on Spike's restless fidgeting. She remembered now. She had kicked him. She didn't know at the time that it was him. Too many fresh memories plagued her mind and when she felt a body so close next to her, she had reacted out of instinct. Memory of the night came back to her; the nightmare, how Spike woke her up and held her all night. She didn't mean to hurt him.


“God, Spike, I'm so sorry!”


Spike's eyes widened comically as she knelt on the bed and hugged him, her hands encircling his bare waist, hot breath tickling the skin of his chest. Shivers erupted along his spine and he bit his lip. He tried to squirm away from her when he felt the stirring in his jeans, but Buffy just tightened her hold.


'Bugger.'


“Luv, you might consider letting go before-”


Buffy interrupted him. “Spike!”


“Told you so. See what happens when you-”


“What is that?” She furrowed her brow, and Spike cursed under his breath when her fingers brushed against the top of his buttocks as she searched for something.


“Why are you wearing a knife?” She glanced up at him, her expression puzzled. A strange feeling crept up on her, but she shook it off.


'Huh?' Spike had no idea what she was talking about.


“What knife? I'm not sure I follow you around that bend, kitten.” She fumbled behind his back and there was a tug at his belt. Spike drew in a shaky breath as her hair tickled his belly. Then she scooted backwards and showed him a dagger. The dagger. The one Steve, the horse/dog, had given him. In a dream.


“This doesn't make any sense,” Spike muttered and took the dagger into his hand, turning it around as he inspected the familiar gibberish of an inscription on the short blade.


Buffy stared at the dagger in confusion.


“I think we really need to talk,” Spike said seriously and leaned against the wall behind him.


“I'm sorry I kicked you out of the bed!” Buffy blurted out the first thing that came to mind, blushing when he arched his eyebrow.


“That wasn't the nicest thing to wake up to, but that's not what I wanted to talk about.” A smile crossed his lips.


“Oh. I just thought you were mad at me for the whole kicking you thing. I really didn't mean that! I've just... I'm sorry.” She bowed her head and picked at a nonexistent thread on the red shirt.


“I'm not mad at you. I'm the one who's sorry. I should have known better-”


“No! I just didn't know it was you when I woke up. It startled me, that's all. I sorta... kinda... liked you sleeping next to me.” She glanced up at him as she said it, mortified he'd make fun of her for the last statement.


Spike was tempted to waggle his eyebrows suggestively, but restrained himself. He knew she didn't mean it like that, but it still stroked his ego immensely. He smirked.


“Yeah? We must do it again sometime then. Practice makes perfect and all that” he said huskily and Buffy looked away from him for a moment, all flushed cheeks and fidgeting hands.


“Ehm... What was it that you wanted to talk about?”


“Right. The dagger. I shouldn't have it. I'm not even sure how it got here.”


“What do you mean?” The unsettling feeling intensified. She felt as if she had swallowed a live fish and it was swimming in her stomach.


“Last night. Do you remember anything about the nightmare?” He watched as the colour drained from her cheeks, every muscle in her body tensing the moment he mentioned it. He could have kicked himself for bringing it up, but he didn't have a choice. They had to figure this out.


“Kinda hard not to,” she said in a weak, hushed voice. Her fingers felt numb.


Spike pressed on. “Do you remember me being in it?”


Buffy furrowed her brow, mulling it over in her head and trying to fight through the weird sensation taking over her at the same time. Her eyes snapped to his as the frantic expression of helplessness on his face came back to her.


“Oh, my God! You were there! Are you actually telling me you were there?”


At his nod, Buffy crossed her arms across her chest and stared anywhere but at him. “You weren't supposed to see that.” Her voice trembled with self-disgust and shame.


'All he feels is pity!' A voice hissed within her head.


What should he say? To say that he was sorry was hardly good enough. Should he say that what he saw shook him to his very core? That he'd do anything to trade places with her, take over the burden weighing her down? Would she even believe him?


“I tried to come sooner, but I couldn't find you... There were these bloody corridors and doors, and-”


“Spike! It's okay. It's not your fault. There's nothing you could have done. It was just a dream.” Except she knew it was more than that. It was a memory and somehow Spike managed to be a part of it. Right now, it was clear that he blamed himself for not saving her, no matter how unreasonable the notion was. Buffy watched him pace around the small room, looking forlorn. “Tell me what you saw. What is it about the knife that has you so wigged out?”


“Right. The thing is, this dagger, a bloke in your nightmare gave it to me.”


“That's not possible.”


“That's what I thought, but I'm starting to realize there's no such thing as impossible when it comes to us.” Spike scoffed. “I really wish things made sense, for a change.”


A gasp broke his reverie.


Buffy's face twisted as her stomach rebelled, sickness rising up and digging its sharp teeth into her insides. She doubled over and heaved. Spike knelt on the bed next to her in a split second, dropping the dagger to the floor.


Buffy was shaking, her eyes rolling up in their sockets, her jaw hanging open as she drew in a wheezy breath. Then the vein on her neck stood out visibly, the pulse hammering beneath her skin as her eyes squeezed shut. Spike seized her shoulders, shaking her.


“Buffy! This is not bleeding funny!” He was starting to panic. He had no idea what to do other than stand there and watch. Her fists were clenched so hard that her knuckles were turning white and her teeth gnashed in a visible internal war. Spike tried to relax and focus on her, so he could pick up the thread of their connection and get an inkling of what was happening, but it was weak and he couldn't connect with her if her eyes were closed.

Spike grasped her head and forcibly opened her eyelids with his thumbs, flinching as her clawing nails left rivulets of blood on his wrists and the back of his hands. Her irises were black, blending in with her pupils. Spike stared deeply into her eyes, going deeper and deeper, his frantic thoughts disrupting his concentration. He was bounced back with a tangible force. It felt like a physical blow, but he didn't let go. Spike pushed back the screaming thoughts in his head, shutting them out, and tried again.


A shriek of protest resounded within his mind as he delved deeper, getting hold of the connection. Spike pushed further when he felt the tremor of Buffy's essence, pure and light, amidst the sinister presence of decay. He latched onto it with his mind, mingling with Buffy's essence and holding on for dear life. The demon inside her snarled and clawed, detesting Spike's interference. He put every cell, every single ounce of energy he had to push the demon back. Together with Buffy, they managed to drive it away. For the moment.


The world came rushing back. Blood trickled down Spike's wrists where Buffy's fingernails had dug into them. The drops fell soundlessly, staining the sheets on the bed. Buffy coughed and took in a shuddery breath, her skin sallow and sickly. Spike didn't look much better.


“Are you alright, luv?” Spike brushed a strand of hair back from her clammy forehead with a shaky hand.


“Is it me or something's not right with this picture?” Buffy gasped out, violent tremors wracking her whole body.


“It's the thing... the one you saw in the mirror, innit?”


“I think so. It just took hold of me. I tried to fight it, but I couldn't; it was stronger than me-- and then I felt you-- your strength, and it was gone. Just like that.” Buffy was terrified. It kept gathering more influence over her. What if it took over completely? She'd feel like a prisoner within her own mind forever. She shuddered.


“There has to be some kind of explanation for this!” Spike raked fingers through his hair in frustration.


“It's getting stronger.” Buffy whispered and glanced at him. “What if-”


“No! We'll figure this out. We have to. I have to.” Spike clasped her shoulders. “I promise you! I won't let anything happen to you.”


“What if you can't stop it?”


“Just let me think. There has to be...” A light lit up his eyes and Spike jumped off the bed, gesturing wildly in excitement. “God, I'm so dense! When we were connected, we fought it off... together, right? Maybe that's the key! The link between us.”


“But didn't you say it was incomplete?” Buffy asked dubiously.


“Yes! Maybe that's it. We just complete it and when it snaps in place, it'll purge the demon out. Or at least it'll give us a fighting chance. Balance out the odds in our favour.”


“How would we do it? Complete it?”


Spike's enthusiasm cracked and crumbled. “Well, the strongest connection there is... it's a mating claim.” When he glimpsed the fearful expression on Buffy's face, he backtracked.


“But there is also the blood link... it wouldn't involve us shagging or anything. Just swapping blood and saying a few words.”


Buffy didn't know what shagging meant, but she could guess. “That doesn't sound that bad. You'd bite me and say-”


“Mine.” Spike gazed at her steadily, gauging her reaction. “But that's not all. You'd have to drink my blood and say 'yours'. I'm not really sure how it works exactly, since I've never done it before, but it should do the trick. Link you to me. Give me the power to help you fight it.”


“Let's do this.” Buffy stubbornly set her jaw.


“Wait. Are you sure, luv? This will link you to me, give me power over you.”


“Better you than that thing. I'm sure.” Buffy scooted back on the bed, spurning him to join her.


Spike inhaled sharply at the prospect of tasting her again. He prayed to whoever would listen that he wouldn’t lose control of the situation and betray the trust Buffy was putting in him. He slowly approached the bed, climbed on it and crawled lazily towards her on his hands and knees, irises flickering yellow, but still maintaining his human face.


The closer he got to her, the thicker the air around them became, heavy with anticipation, with tension. Spike sat, leaning his back against the headboard and stretched his jeans clad legs out before him. He gently took Buffy's hand and led her to sit astride him. He wanted to give her the position of power, to let her know she could leave, or tell him no, anytime she felt it was too much.


Her warmth seeped into his flesh with steady intensity, and Spike shivered as he caressed her arms. Stroking up and down to force the tension out of her muscles. The only thing she was wearing was his red shirt, and for the effect it had on him, she could as well be naked. He could feel the blood rushing south and knew Buffy could feel it too, when she squirmed and her cheeks flushed in embarrassment.


'Dear God, she's trying to kill me.'


Spike firmly put a palm on her lower back and urged her closer. Long silky strands of her hair tickled his face, so he swept them off to one side, baring her throat to his hungry gaze. Her heart hammered away in her chest, the echoes reverberating through him. He shifted his hand to the back of her neck and brought her closer to his mouth. She tilted her head to one side to grant him access, breathing heavily in his ear, fearing the pain and craving the closeness of the act at the same time.


“I'm gonna try not to make it hurt, okay? I need you to relax, Buffy.”


“I-I'll try.” She grasped his shoulders and tensed slightly when Spike's tongue sneaked out and traced a wet path along her neck. She forced herself to relax in his hold, falling into him as Spike gently sucked on her neck with his lips and tongue, moaning at the salty taste of her skin. He kept up the pressure, getting blood closer to the surface while massaging Buffy's back in reassuring circles.


Buffy heard the sound of shifting bones and could feel his bumpy forehead brushing against her skin a spare second before the sharp fangs slid into her jugular. It hurt so good. It felt as if they were one being. One beginning where the other ended, forming a full circle of perfect awareness.


Spike drew in a mouthful of her blood, expecting the smooth hot sweetness to flood his taste buds, but what he tasted was anything but sweet. Foul, acidic liquid filled his mouth and he turned his head to the side, spitting it promptly out, coughing and sputtering. Black dense liquid soaked into the comforter, ropes of it smearing Spike's chin and lips. Buffy raised her head and looked at the comforter, shock taking over her features. She climbed off Spike's lap hurriedly and held a hand to her bleeding throat. Her hand came away red. They stared at each other.


“Well, bugger. That didn't go as planned at all,” Spike said and wiped at his mouth with an already soiled sheet. Buffy's eyes fixed on the black spot, spreading like a poison. They got off the bed at the same time and Spike tugged off the sheets, balled them up and tossed them into the corner. He sighed in exasperation. “Could things get any worse?”


Buffy snapped her eyes to his, looking at him in disbelief. “What did you say that for?” Her voice was shrill.


“What are you talk-”


Knock! Knock!


Silence. Confusion. Spike and Buffy traded a long gaze. Sweat broke out on Buffy's skin, her hands trembled. She knew he shouldn't have said that. She had no idea who it was, but she didn't want to find out. Didn't want to think about the possibility that Lukas had found her, that she wouldn't be able to do anything to stop him. Buffy sent a pleading look at Spike, but he was already moving towards the door, his fingers closing around the doorknob.


“Spike... no!” Terror and pleading laced her voice, but it was already too late. Spike had opened the door. Buffy couldn't see his expression, but he just stood there, slack and uncharacteristically still. In a moment of searing dread she thought the visitor was Lukas, that Spike had been his accomplice this whole time. Leading her into the trap veiled by a deceptive safety. There was no place for reason. Just her pounding heart and cold sweat trickling down her spine.


Spike turned to her, his face unreadable, his voice carrying a note of disbelief as he said, “Buffy, meet my friend.”


TBC


Author's note: Thoughts? Questions? Opinions? I love replying to them all, so don't be shy and leave a review! You wouldn't believe what it does to my enthusiasm for writing more. In case you're wondering- yes I'm bribing! :D

This awesome banner was made by Vette. Thank you!!! :)

Chapter 12

Buffy watched the front door open with trepidation, not even noticing that she was holding her breath. Would her nightmares come true once again? Would she ever get the respite from her past? Did Spike betray her?


A creature unlike anything Buffy had ever seen entered the hotel room, flicking its floppy ears and swishing its tail. She blinked, bewildered. Spike mirrored her expression. The feeling of guilt crashed over her. She should have known better than to mistrust him.


“Hello, kids,” the creature said cheerfully. “William here knows me already. Introduce me to this nice young lady, would you?” It flashed Spike a jovial doggy grin. Buffy reached out with her senses and immediately let out a sigh of relief, tension leaving her muscles along with it. There was nothing about this creature that made the alarms go off in her head. On the contrary, there was an aura of kindness and wisdom that spoke of someone who had lived and seen many things.


“I- eh... Buffy, luv, is it just me going bonkers, or do you see him too?” Buffy instantly adapted the deer- caught- in- headlights look and shifted her attention back to Spike, forcing herself to focus on his face instead of his pale muscular chest. It took a lot of will.


“It's not just you.” She looked puzzled. “And why is he calling you William?”


Spike scratched his head sheepishly after he pulled the black t-shirt over his head, heedless of her reaction to him and said. “That's my real name. The one my mum had given me when I was human. Speaking of, how do you know my real name, mate?” Spike narrowed his eyes at the newcomer, but the suspicious look didn't faze the creature.


“Not exactly a secret, is it? And since you're obviously being rude, I'll introduce myself.” It turned to Buffy. “I'm Steve. I'd shake your hand, but, well...” Steve lifted his hoof and smiled as apologetically as dog with a horse's body could. Spike was starting to open his mouth to give him a piece of his mind, but Steve interrupted him. “Now, Spike. I'm here for a reason and I'm on a tight schedule, so sit down and listen.”


Spike was about to let out an offending retort, but stopped himself before it could pass his lips. He'd wait what Steve had to say, and then he'd speak his mind. Loudly. See? He could be mature. For a moment anyway.


Buffy glanced at Spike's protruding lower lip, defiantly crossed arms and a flood of genuine affection hit her.


“Why are you here? What are you exactly?” she asked.


“I'm an emissary. I was sent here to help you. To offer my assistance.”


Well, that cinched it. Spike would not stand aside quietly anymore.


“With what?” Spike spoke up. “Don't tell me that the higher powers decided to offer their help now. Bloody typical! They let everything get screwed up, let their champion suffer like that and suddenly they're all-” Spike continued with a high falsetto voice, “'we ought to do something about it, 'cause we're the almighty Powers That Fuck Everything Up. It's our job to hop up on our high and mighty horse and prance away into the sunset to save puppies and rainbows'.”


“Are you quite finished?” Steve asked, floppy ears flicking in annoyance.


“Not nearly, no. Why now? Where have you been all the time that your slayer was in that hellhole. Where were you then, huh?”


Buffy listened in with a growing lump in her throat. Vines of pure undiluted emotion wrapped themselves around her heart and squeezed it. What would she do without him?


Once upon a time, she'd be outraged at anyone assuming she couldn't defend herself on her own, that she'd need anyone to fight her battles for her. Right now, it felt nice to have Spike being enraged on her behalf with his teeth bared in anger as he rose and gestured wildly around. Seeing Steve's flinch as Spike got into his face. She almost felt guilty. Almost, but not quite. Because Spike was right. Where had they been then?


“We couldn't have interfered, I swear. But we can help now. Take it, or leave it.”


Spike tamped down another burst of indignant anger and asked tightly, “Again, I ask. With what?”


“I gave you the dagger. It's a part of the solution. Part of the ritual to purge the demon out.”


Dots connected in Buffy's head. This was the guy that had given Spike the knife. The one from her nightmare. “You can do that?” Buffy asked, hope flaring in her eyes. “Get rid of it?”


“Yes. Since Spike here obviously didn't get my clues the first time around, I'll have to be more pragmatic.”


“Hey! You spoke in bloody riddles!”


“Anyway, I brought you the list of ingredients. The incantation. All you have to do is follow it. It's in the locket around my neck” Spike opened the golden locket and drew out a worn parchment. He unfolded it and sighed in relief. It was written in English.


“You have to do it quick. It's gaining a leverage,” Steve said urgently.


Buffy hugged herself and stared at the piece of paper in Spike's hand. The answer to everything.


Steve started to flicker in and out of focus and Buffy snapped herself out of her inner thoughts. “Wait!” He looked at her expectantly. “What is the thing? How did it...”


“Hijacker. It travels between the World of Living and the World of Dead. It latches onto anything with a defective soul. It preys on the despair; it feeds off it. Most often, the victims are the ones that had committed suicide. The hijacker latches onto their souls and keeps them in limbo between the worlds, feeding off them until there's nothing left. You though, have come back and brought it here with you. It's a wonder you're still alive. We think it must be the fact that you're a slayer and that you're tied to Mr. Touchy here-”


“Hey, watch it!” Spike said.


Steve continued as if nothing had interrupted him. “-that stalled its progress. But this ritual can get rid of it, I promise.”


Buffy nodded and shivered. It was eating at her soul, ripping it apart, piece by piece, until there would be nothing left but flaring ribbons of death.


Spike scanned the instructions to the ritual and asked, “What about the dagger, mate? What does it do exactly? I'm not too keen on some nasty surprise.”


“Ah, always so mistrusting, William. You should really work on that issue.” At Spike's glower, Steve cleared his throat and continued, “It's a bridge of a sort. Use it to spill both of your blood and mingle it together. The mojo on the dagger will create an alternative temporary dimension out of time and space as you know it, an echo of Buffy's mind. It will turn the hijacker into solid form, hence enabling you to kill it. Except without actually hurting Buffy. It won't be easy, mind you. It will use the mirages of Buffy's memories and impressions to confuse you.”


“The bugger won't hide any longer, I'll make sure of it. And no funny business from you, Steve. If I find out you hid something from us, I'll hunt you down and make you sorry.” Spike shot him a deadly glare.


“Whew, man. Issues, huh? Well kids, I gotta go. I'll cross my fing... ehm, hooves for you. Good luck!”


Steve disappeared into the thin air.


“Bloody show off.” Spike muttered.


Suddenly Buffy heard a sigh and a rustle of movement, as Spike slipped behind her and encircled her waist with his arms. Strong and male. He drew her into his embrace and kissed her temple. She leaned her head against his shoulder, relishing the feel of him. It shut out the somber thoughts.


“You wanna do it tonight?”


Buffy nodded.


“Right. I'll go get the ingredients after the sun's gone down. I'll go get you a pizza, with extra cheese. And some clothes.”


Buffy nodded.


“Then I'll parade them for you, real nice. Pink halters and flowery skirts, what do you say? Some high heels maybe, whatever strikes my fancy. I can even strip down and wriggle if you like.”


Buffy smiled.


“Knew I could get a grin.”


“Sorry for being a spoil sport.” Buffy's pout drew Spike's attention with tempting sensuality. Soft and full. Just a breath away from his own. Inviting. Sweet. He snapped out of the daze before he did something stupid like cover the distance and claim her lips. He cleared his throat.


“That's not what I meant and you know it. It's just... I hate to see you hurt. I care about you more than I'd like to admit.” Spike buried his face in her hair and tightened his arms around her. Revealing vulnerability had always led him into a whole world of pain. He'd always worn his heart on the sleeve, and all he got in return was getting it stomped into dust. It seemed like he'd never learn.


Buffy covered the hands on her waist with her own and said, “It's kinda hard to believe.” When she sensed Spike stiffen behind her, she said, “Would you mind repeating it?”


He relaxed and chuckled. “I care about you, Buffy.”


“Why? Because of the connection?”


“That is a part of it, yeah. The fact that I've seen the real you. How could I not care about you? You're the strongest person I've ever met.”


Buffy snorted.


“Bloody right you are! Look at the things you've been through, and you're still standing. If that's not strength, than I don't know what is. And I'll have you know I've seen a fair share of it during the century.”


“So, William, huh?” She diverted the conversation.


“Bloody hell. I'm gonna kill the sod.” He growled playfully and Buffy's mouth twisted into a smile.


“I like it. It suits you.”


“Thanks ever so, pet. I think I should feel very offended right now.”


“What did you look like back then? When you were human?” Buffy absently stroked the back of his hand. Spike shuddered.


“Like a ponce.”


“Come on, Spike. Tell me? Please?” How could he refuse her anything? She could tell him to jump out of the window and take a stroll in a sunny day and he would do it. For her, he'd do it.


“All right. I wore spectacles. And my hair was a tad darker, all curly. That's it.”


“Tell me more. What were you like? Was there a woman? I bet it was all romantic, fluffy dresses and polite behavior.”


“Those dresses could kill you, luv. Plus, you needed at least one maid to help you get dressed. And the polite behavior was nothing but hypocrisy. When I was turned, it was the night I finally started to live. There were no rules, no obligations. I no longer cared about the opinions of others. I could do anything I wanted. It was liberating. When I was William, there was nothing for me to live for. Nothing but taking care of my mum and the pathetic poe-... ehm, nothing.”


“You wrote poetry?” It surprised her, and at the same time it didn't. She knew there was more to Spike than met the eye. She wouldn't trust him if there wasn't.


“No! Okay, yeah.” He scowled.


“Can you recite something for me?” He eyes were all pleading and fluttering eyelashes. But she would not get to him this time. Poetry was a forbidden zone.


“I'd have to kill you if I did. Believe me, you don't wanna hear it.”


“Wasn't it good?”


“It earned me a nickname: William the Bloody. As in bloody awful poet. I wasn't exactly Wordsworth, luv.”


“They were idiots. I bet I'd have liked it.”


“No, you'd probably would have yelled at me for offending your delicate ears and tossed it into my face.” Spike bitterly recalled all the times he'd put all of himself onto the parchment, just to be mocked and rejected. Emily. Cecily. Even Dru had just giggled and patted him on his head like he was an obedient little puppy. Darla just outright laughed so hard that tears leaked out from her eyes--the bitch.


“It would be from you. I'm sure I'd like it. It's the feeling behind it that counts, right?”


“Maybe someday, luv. If I ever write anything again, it would be just for you.” If nothing else, at least it would make her laugh, even if it would be at him.


Buffy blushed. “I hope you will.”


“So anything embarrassing from your childhood that you care to share with me?” He carefully avoided asking about the months of captivity. She'd tell him when she was ready, and he'd respect it.


“Nothing major.” Buffy smiled sadly as she recalled childhood memories. Flickering images of a small girl with blond hair tied into pigtails. Happy and innocent. Her parents. Laughter. It seemed eons ago, unattainable. So far out of her reach it could be in a different world altogether. She could never see them again. Couldn't bear to face them after the things that had been done to her. She wasn’t the girl they had known anymore. They were better off without her.


Spike felt her sorrow, a heavy veil weaved from bittersweet memories. “Come on, luv. Don't be sad.”


“I miss them so much,” she whispered hoarsely.


“Call them. Go visit them. I can go with you, if you want.”


“I can't.”


“Why not? I bet your folks would jump through the roof from happiness.”


“They probably think I'm dead. And I can't stay with them. If I came to them and then left again, they'd hurt even more. I can't do that. And I can't let them see me like this.”


“It's up to you, luv. I'm with you, no matter what. One day, when you're ready to see them, just say the word and I'll take you, okay?”


“Thank you.”


“You're welcome.”


After a few minutes of silence filled with soft breathing and Buffy's lulling heartbeat, she spoke up.


“Spike?”


“Hmm?” he mumbled into her hair.


“Will you buy me chocolate ice-cream when you go out?”


“Sure. Anything else?”


“Chocolate chip cookies. And strawberry lollipops.”


“Anything healthy that won't rot your teeth?”


“Nope.”


Spike grinned.


******


”Sun will be down in a couple of minutes. Are you sure you'll be all right?”


“Don't worry about me. You won't be long, will you?”


“I'll be as quick as I can. I saw a shop called Magic Box when I arrived into town. I can get the ingredients there. I'll be away for about an hour at most.”


“Don't forget the pizza and clothes.”


“Wouldn't dream of it, pet.”


Spike slowly disengaged himself from behind Buffy and rose when he felt the sun disappearing behind the horizon. He took is duster and slid his arms into the sleeves. Buffy followed the motion with her eyes, peering up at him as he strode towards her and leaned down. Gentle hands slid into her hair and cool soft lips kissed her cheek, leaving a tingling spot in their wake. Buffy's heart fluttered and she touched a hand to her cheek, her eyes never leaving his.


He had to get away before the look she was giving him prompted him to draw her into his embrace and kiss every single inch of her body. His every muscle screamed with repressed hunger as he forced himself to step away from her. Control was a slippery bugger.


“No naughty business while I'm away.” Spike smirked and Buffy rolled her eyes. He grabbed the keys from the nightstand and gave her one last glance over his shoulder before he closed the door.


******


The Magic Box supplies were in the trunk of the car and so were the clothes, thank god. Spike hated shopping. All those amused looks from the shop assistants at the mall when he looked through the skirts, tight jeans, tank tops and female underwear, probably thinking he was a cross- dresser. He had fed off a homeless man that stank like sewers to assert his masculinity. He didn't kill him, could hardly gag down a few mouthfuls of his sour blood. Nothing compared to Buffy's taste.


The hardest part was acquiring the blood of a dove. It was the only thing unavailable in the Magic Box. It was the key for the peace of mind and body. The balance of the ritual itself. But he took care of it. No lost sleep over one dead bird.


Now he was finally at the supermarket, which wasn't much better. The elderly ladies scowling at him from across the store was driving him crazy. Even his growls and flash of fangs made them just scowl harder.


Spike was glowering fiercely at the containers of two different kinds of chocolate ice-cream in his hands when an unsettling feeling began to rise in the pitch of his stomach. He frowned. Something was very wrong.


'Buffy!'


He dropped the ice-cream as an invisible hook tugged him forward. All thoughts of the food he was supposed to bring flew out of his mind.


Spike ran as fast as if the devil himself was chasing after him. The buildings and lights became a colourful blur of madness as the sound of his boots pounding against the concrete swamped his hearing. The visions of her hurt and broken flickered in his mind like a collage of horror film screen shots. Twisted shapes of her bleeding body as she writhed on the floor, limbs bent at unnatural angles as her lifeless eyes stared blankly through him. The blood pooling around her in red clarity.


All sorts of macabre scenarios of what he'd find propelled him to run faster. Inhumanly so.


'God, don't let me be late!'


Spike didn't question this feeling, this need to get back to his slayer or something devastating would happen. He tore through the doors of the hotel, nothing but a black blur of speed and violent rage as he ripped them off its hinges and flew up the flight of endless stairs, leaving havoc in his wake.


Spike reached the door and kicked it in, not caring to look for the key, and stepped over the threshold. If his heart beat, it would rip through his chest in terror. He panted needlessly as he reached the bathroom door and breathed in.


The borrowed blood froze in his veins, the sharp icicles of fear digging and shredding him apart as he stared at the bathroom door, gasping. Hesitant to see what's inside. Hesitant to have his world crumble around him and bury him under solid bricks of despair.


Blood. Buffy's blood. Freshly spilt. Strong but rapidly weakening thump of her heart as it struggled to replenish the blood loss. The lingering aroma of fear and despair.


Spike's hand reached for the doorknob in dizzying speed.


TBC


Author's note: More next week! :) Did you like??

Beautiful banner by Sylvia (nmcil).


Chapter 13


Spike drew in a breath and turned the doorknob. The door creaked as he pushed it open with his palm, revealing a gruesome picture.


It was one of those moments when time stopped, seconds freezing as the world around tunneled down into one single moment of dread. There was no thought, just blank emptiness.


Spike shook himself and strode forward, his legs laden with the weight of terror as he crashed to his knees, crimson fluid soaking the fabric of his jeans. The demon inside him roared in rage, bones in his face shifting, fangs elongating as Spike tried to fight through the panic suffusing him.


His harsh breath echoed off the walls of the bathroom while Spike scrambled to reach for the towels on the counter, ignoring the broken shards of the mirror slicing into his skin. Pain didn't matter. Nor did the shattered glass scattered across the floor, reflecting everything but his sickly pallor and stricken expression.


“S-Spike.” The whisper broke Spike's shock and he snapped his eyes towards Buffy's face, almost dropping the impromptu bandages.


Blood was slowly pooling around her, soaking her hair and staining her skin. Spike wrapped the towels hurriedly around the jagged wounds on her wrists while Buffy watched him with unfocused half lidded gaze, tightening them to stop the flow of her blood.


“God, what happened?” he asked.


“I... feel... tired.” Buffy's voice was strained, the few words taking visible effort.


“Hush, don't talk. I'll-”


'Yeah, what am I going to do?'


It was one thing to end a life-- he was good at that-- flashing his fangs, ripping out a throat and making the blood flow. It was quite another to save a life, especially Buffy's. If she died, he'd be alone. Again. She'd live, he'd make sure she would.


Spike picked Buffy up and listened to her heartbeat. It was weak, but it kept steady. He sighed in relief. No need to call 911 and get the authorities involved. It would be damn inconvenient, and they'd ask all sorts of questions that couldn't be answered.


She didn't even move, had probably fallen unconscious from the blood loss and exhaustion as he put her down on the bed, setting her wrapped up hands in her lap.


This was all his fault; he should never have left. He should have scared the receptionist kid into bringing the stuff to him, should have been faster, more clever. He should have expected something like this to happen. But why would she give up now that they were so close to the solution? A few minutes later and... No, he would not think about it. Buffy was the Slayer; she was strong enough to pull through.


Still there was dark corner of his mind whispering to him to take advantage of her unconscious state. It was his demon talking, and Spike listened.


'You can still turn her, can't you? Leave all this ridiculous episode behind and paint this sorry excuse for a town red. Together, forever. You'd be a force to be reckoned with. She would never leave you then.'


Spike's yellow eyes turned in Buffy's direction, drinking her in, imagining what it would be like to give in and make her one of his kind. Liberate her. Damn her. Was she far too damaged and traumatized to be made a vampire? Would he create something worse than Angelus had even been? Would he lose her forever if she never forgave him or simply ended up as another one of his failures? Just like his mother had?


'I can't turn a slayer. Vamps don't do that for a reason.'


Spike had heard about a few such occurrences throughout history and it never ended well. One slayer had gone on a murderous rampage-- though not of the fun kind-- and slayed thousands of demons and vampires alike in a matter of a few days, then staked herself. Then again, that slayer hadn't been linked to a vampire.


Even if he did it, there was nothing to guarantee that Buffy's blood wouldn't turn to the black sludge as it had the last time he tried to make her his. Still, this wasn't claiming, and it would only take a little to push her towards the boundaries of death, just to fall over the precipice.


'Do it! You know you want to. No waiting for you to take what you want, to sink inside her soft little body.' The demon inside him pressed on, beating down against the walls of his control, raging to take her and make her his in every possible way.


'What about the ritual?' Spike mused.


'Looking for excuses? You're a coward, William!' The demon inside him mocked.


'I am not a bleeding coward!'


'Prove it!' The demon growled, desperate to take what it wanted, regardless of the consequences.


Spike snarled and strode forward, crawling onto the bed with an ease of a true predator ready to pounce on its prey. He delved his hand into Buffy's blood matted hair and lowered his fangs toward her neck.


“Spike?”


The soft drowsy cadence of her voice reached him just as he was about to sink his teeth into her jugular.


He stopped dead, shook off the game face and averted his eyes when Buffy glanced up at him in confusion. Spike stood with his back to her after he climbed off the bed.


The tone of her voice had penetrated through his bloodlust. He couldn't believe the loss of control. Maybe because he had been trying to suppress it for so long, he hadn't realized how strong it was getting. He hadn't fed properly in days. The blood was merely a sustenance whereas the taking of a life, seeing it putter out like a cheap candle, offered the true satiation.


Yeah, that was the only reason.


“I'm sorry.” He couldn't look at her, couldn't let her see that the trust she'd placed in him was nothing but a fluke, that maybe he wasn't strong enough to help her, to change for her. She didn't demand it of him, he knew that. But it was there, under the surface. She was the Chosen One and no matter how much she'd been hurt, she could never love him when he was a murderer. He could never be loved if death was what she wanted more than anything. “You're still weak. You should rest if we do the ritual tonight.”


“What's wrong?” Buffy struggled to get the words out, her mouth felt like cotton had been stuffed into it, her brain wrapped in a web of weakness. Tense back hidden beneath the leather duster was his only response.


“You tell me.” His voice was empty, devoid of emotion. It was disconcerting to see Spike so still even for a second.


“You're scaring me.”


Spike chuckled humorlessly and turned to face her, his eyes blazing, anger just simmering under the surface. “You've figured that out just now? Not very bright, are you? I'm evil!” His shoulders tensed under invisible weight. “I can't be what you want me to be.”


“I'm not asking you for anything.” She was looking at him with those green eyes and it made him madder. Spike started to pace around the room to work out the excess energy.


“You're asking me for everything, don't you get it? Not now, but one day you will. If I give up my life for you, I will not end up in this alone. Not again!”


“I've never-”


“No! I'm not done here. You think you can just march into my life, turn it upside down, and then just leave? Are you that fucking selfish?” His fists clenched in restrain. He wanted to kill her. He wanted to kiss her. He could do neither, but be the slave of her solemn gaze. She didn't even flinch at his outburst. She looked concerned.


“Spike. I'm right here. I haven't left.” Buffy frowned, her head clearing a little as her accelerated healing took care of her injuries. The cuts were long closed, and her body started to replenish the blood loss.


“You tried! You fucking tried to off yourself while I was gone! Didn't you think about what it would do to me? I could have died along with you for all we know.” His eyes were narrowed, refusing to blink in fear of betraying the distress and panic that the sight of her broken and bleeding had provoked. He would not lose her, not now when he'd just found her.


“Spike, no. That's not-”


“I’ve bloody had it!” he said, glaring at her. “Admit it. You're a coward, you know that? You couldn't face living, even if offing yourself might kill me as well.”


Buffy stood on her shaky legs, black dots swimming before her vision for a second before she walked towards Spike and grabbed his forearm. He jerked out of her grasp and ground his teeth.


“Stop it.” Buffy's voice was thready, but it carried a note of resolve Spike hadn't heard from her before which made him gaze at her and stopped his retort. “Please Spike. Just... let me explain...”


“Explain what?” Spike asked.


Buffy wavered on her feet and without thinking, Spike caught her, picking her up and carrying her back to the bed. “What are you bloody doing up anyway?”


“You were being an asshole. I had to grab your attention somehow.” She tried to cover the undercurrent of pain in her voice by faking nonchalance. It didn't work.


Spike's anger evaporated, and guilt crashed over him as he recalled his hurtful words.


'Balls.'


It didn't change the fact that he was still hurt about Buffy trying to commit suicide by slashing her wrists. They were in this together. She threw him so much out of the loop he had almost turned her in order to have her, to make her stay.


“It wasn't me, Spike. I fought it, but I lost. One minute I'm standing there, looking in the mirror and the next, my body is completely out of control. I could see and feel everything but there was nothing I could do. Then I picked up the shard of glass and-” Buffy squeezed her eyes shut. “I couldn't fight it.”


Realization slammed into him and Spike wanted to smack himself upside his head. He could be such a dimwit sometimes. “I should have been here.”


“No, you needed to get the stuff. For the ritual.” Buffy ran a hand through her hair and grimaced when she found it crusted with blood. “I'm gonna have to take a shower.”


“I'll go clean up the bathroom. Yell if something feels funny.”


“I will.”


******


When Spike called to her, she entered the now clean bathroom. Buffy noticed his strained expression as he stood there, a smear of her blood now on his cheek and in his hair. The pieces of mirror were gone, the floor was so clean it almost sparkled. Besides the broken mirror, there was no evidence of the struggle she'd been in earlier.


“I've bought you some smelly fruity stuff that you birds like so much. So, go on, luv. Shower.”


“Ummm... aren't you going to leave?”


“So you can get hurt again? Not bloody likely. I won't look. I'll be a perfect gentleman.”


“It's not that. You've already seen me naked. It's just... really weird to shower while you're standing there.”


“I could sit. All comfy like.” Spike offered her a grin.


The wounds were crusted, dried blood had stuck to the fabric covering them and Buffy's smile was followed by a wince as she undid the dressing from her wrists. She drew the dirty shirt over her head, letting it fall to the floor as she stepped into the shower. It seemed like she kept ruining the clothes of people who helped her.


Spike turned away and clenched his jaw. The sound of water filled the room. To have her nubile body all wet and bare just a few feet away was worse than any tortuous play Angelus could have come up with.


'Keep the hormones in check, you wanker. Think of anything else- Angelus' egoistic prattling, Darla's bitchy moods, Dru's slimy lovers, wailing children, old wrinkly man in the buff. Buff. Buffy. Buffy in the buff. Breasts and legs all slick and within touching distance. Jesus!'


Spike squeezed his eyes shut for a second, willing his nether parts to behave. An image of Buffy almost bleeding out to death flashed through his mind, and it had the instant desired effect on his libido.


There was a hitching sound followed by a shuddery inhale, almost completely drowned out by the running water, but Spike had caught it.


“Buffy? Are you all right, pet?” Spike waited for a response, but there was none. “Buffy?”


“I- I can't get this b-blood out of my hair. My wrists h-hurt.” Spike turned towards her, concerned when he saw that she was crying. Good thing he had bought a spare pair of jeans.


Spike slipped out of his Doc Martens and socks, then shed his duster and put it with gentle care on the toilet lid, followed by the black cotton t-shirt. He stepped into the shower with his jeans on, gauging Buffy's reaction. She turned around to face him with grateful expression and handed him the bottle of shampoo.


Spike squeezed a suitable amount of it onto the palm of his hand and put the bottle down. Buffy let out a content sigh when he massaged her scalp with gentle strokes of his fingers, managing not to yank her hair and getting the crusted blood out at the same time.


“Rinse.” Spike said.


Buffy closed her eyes and tilted her head back, letting the shower wash everything down along with a stressful day. Water tinted with pink as it swirled down the drain. She slid her eyelids open, encountering Spike's stormy gaze. She didn't look away. Neither did he. Not even as he reached for a shower gel and arched his eyebrow in question.


“May I?” His voice felt rough and dry from the effort of strangling his moan at the sight of her.


“Yes,” Buffy answered.


She was the embodiment of imperfect perfection. Her skin smooth and silky, yet marred with the scars on her back. Her flesh firm and supple, yet there were bones betraying months of starvation. She was so small, so fragile, it was hard to believe she had enough power to tear his head clear off his shoulders.


Spike dragged a soapy sponge across her arms, her breasts and her belly, his gaze following the progress with steady intensity, imbibing every patch of skin, every twitch of her nerve endings. He longed to throw the loofah away and glide his hands across her skin instead. But this was not about him. This was about showing Buffy she could trust him, even when he didn’t trust himself.


The wet fabric of his jeans stuck uncomfortably to his legs as he knelt down and washed Buffy's feet. Spike focused on the discomfort in order to distract his improper thoughts when he soaped up her calves and thighs, a shiver of barely repressed longing shooting through him as he ran the sponge across her inner thighs and between her legs. He craved to slide his hands up her thighs and grab her round cheeks so he could taste her very essence. The smell of her skin kept assaulting his nostrils, stroking the fire within him into a blazing inferno. He had to tamper it down before it burned everything to ashes.


Spike rose and the sparks of electricity flew through him when Buffy's fingers caressed his chest as she stepped closer. The heat of her body made him tremble in anticipation. Inhale. Exhale. The sponge fell from his grasp. Her arms slid up and encircled his neck, her torso covered in droplets of water flush against his cool skin, his arms banding around her back. Buffy's heart beat a wild staccato.


The warm water pelted against their skin as Buffy rose on her tiptoes and the world exploded around Spike in excruciating pleasure. Her parted lips pressed against his. Plump and pliant, the quivering flesh glided across Spike's lower lip tentatively before he sucked her upper lip gently between his own, dragging the tip of his tongue across it. They parted and came together in insatiable tenderness. She tasted like the first breeze of the spring. Like a favourite childhood memory. Hers was the taste of life itself.


Their rapid breath mingled. Buffy's fingers stroked the back of his neck as their lips fused in the ecstasy of a kiss. Spike never deepened it, never got to feel her tongue stroking his before she broke off, panting and leaning her forehead against his.


They stood there until the water turned cold. Two lonely beings holding onto each other, finding the solace they'd been desperately seeking.


For a moment, life was beautiful.


TBC

Lovely banner made by Vette!

Beta'd by Dawn and Mabel. Thank you so much for your help! And big sloppy kisses to all of you who read and review!!! :D

Chapter 14


Buffy regarded Spike as he erratically sorted through various foul smelling herbs, readying them for the ritual. But it wasn't the ritual that made her palms sweat and her heart constrict. It was him. She had kissed Spike. He had been there while she was hurting, giving comfort and affection. All from a being that wasn't supposed to feel, love or sympathize. He gave her hope that maybe one day the nightmares would drift to a mere echo instead of blasting at her in full Technicolor. That maybe he could help her be herself again, even though Buffy knew the chances of it were pretty much non-existent.


She had been with him for a couple of days and it struck her that she didn't even know him. Didn't know his favourite movie, or band. She had no idea what kind of things he liked to do the first moment he woke up and what made him feel sad or happy. All those banalities people were supposed to share before they opened up to each other. Spike was practically a stranger, yet there was no reason she couldn't trust him. He was a vampire, a slayer's mortal enemy, and if she had met him under any other circumstances there was little doubt they would have tried to kill each other. That knowledge made her feel uncomfortable. She would never have known the taste of his lips, the feel of his skin under her fingertips.


Trembling.


Hungry.


Buffy was well aware he wanted her. She could feel the evidence of it every time they were close. It scared her. Not because she felt he'd snap and take her against her will, because Spike was better than that, no matter what he tried to convince himself of. She was scared she could never give him what he so desperately craved. That she was too broken to let anyone touch her that way.


Yet she'd given him hope, a crumb for more. What if he hated her for teasing him and refusing to let him have more than the kiss? But how could she regret it? She'd never felt more cherished than when Spike's lips had touched hers with quiet passion that surpassed anything Buffy could ever have imagined. There had been no pressure, no expectations. Just the two of them locked in a world where nothing else existed. No haunting memories. No pain.


Buffy followed Spike's movements as he prowled around the room, looking for something. After they had climbed out of the shower he’d dried her, dressed her in an over sized t-shirt and carried her to the bed, insisting that she had to rest to regain her strength. She’d fallen asleep; the full impact of being exhausted hitting her like ton of bricks and Buffy suspected that was when he went to get the ingredients he'd forgotten in the trunk of his car. She'd woken up to find Spike spooned against her back, one arm stretched beneath her neck, the other tight around her waist, the length of his body molding to hers.


It was the next minute that things had gone downhill.


Buffy knew Spike had been asleep when he'd murmured her name and rubbed his lower half against her panties clad backside. She had stiffened in his embrace and tried to disentangle from him, but it had only served to make him growl and tighten his hold on her. The arm around her waist had shifted upwards and squeezed her breast. By then, she had been completely frozen in fear. It had triggered all the nightmares and memories to take root and take over her mind, even though she subconsciously recognized they weren't real.


Spike woke up, probably sensing her distress as a cold sweat run down her back beneath the too big t-shirt. He'd snatched his hand away and jumped up, cursing and running to the bathroom. The door closed behind him with a resounding bang. Spike hadn't spoken one word since he came out and started to busy himself with preparing the ritual. He averted his eyes every time she glanced at him.


Was he disappointed by her reaction? Was that the reason he kept avoiding her? Could it be something else entirely? The only thing Buffy knew for certain was that Spike was upset. His every move betrayed barely restrained tension as he darted around the room, busying himself with the preparation, the restless energy just waiting to burst out.


Buffy knew that he was a vampire. And a male. He had needs that she couldn't meet. She was certain that he cared about her and would never leave her, yet she couldn't imagine someone as physical as Spike bearing an infinite time of celibacy. The notion of him finding a lover wasn't completely crazy. There were plenty of women who would let him touch them sexually without flinching or tensing up in fear. And Buffy would let him.


Still there was a dark corner in her mind that wasn't the influence of the hijacker that raged and snarled at the prospect of another female touching his flesh, making him writhe and gasp in ecstasy. She couldn't let him posses her, but no other woman could have him either. She needed to find out what was gnawing at him, needed to make it better.


“Spike?”


Silence.


“Spike, please talk to me.” Buffy's eyes teared up when he didn't respond and she bowed her head. Maybe it really was her fault.


There were steps and a finger under her chin lifting her head upward. She met Spike's worried gaze.


“Come on, luv, don't do this. You know I can't stand to see you cry.” The mattress dipped beneath his weight as he sat next to her.


Buffy fought to gain control over the emotions that overwhelmed her need to talk to him when Spike uttered those soft words. Her breath came out in short gasps, her throat felt tight and if she started to talk, she'd just end up crying so Buffy stayed silent. She felt Spike put his hand tentatively on her back, then rubbing circles to make her relax. That was enough to break the dam holding back her fear, her insecurities and a sob tore out of her throat, tears pouring down her cheeks.


Spike gathered her into his arms wordlessly, situating her to straddle his lap as he hugged her to him, stroking her hair with one hand, other resuming the soothing caresses on her back. They stayed like there for several minutes until Spike broke the silence.


“It's going to be all right, you know? We'll get rid of the hijacker, promise. Then we can go wherever you want to. Leave Sunnydale for good, or stay. Whatever you like.”


Buffy shook her head almost imperceptibly.


“What is it?” he asked.


Buffy cleared her throat and whispered into Spike's ear. “Please, just tell me what's wrong. Was it... was it something that I did?”


“Something that you did? 'Course not.” Spike frowned. It was him that bollixed everything up real good. He'd felt nauseated when Buffy's overwhelming stench of dread woke him up and he realized it was him that had stirred that reaction in her. Him and his bloody libido. She must have gotten it all mixed up in her pretty head when he rushed off to the bathroom like that. He'd just needed space... and to splash some really cold water on his face to regain some semblance of control.


“You wouldn't talk to me... or even look at me.” Buffy shifted against him, inadvertently rubbing against his manly parts and Spike cursed himself for putting her in such a provocative position as he had a difficult time processing what she was talking about. Her wriggling on his lap did not help him to think clearly long enough to sort this mess out.


“Kitten, I think you should-” He scooted her back a little with his hands on her hips, to sit on his upper thighs rather than directly in his lap. Spike wanted nothing more than to tug her back to him and push her warmth against his erection, but he let his brain do the thinking. He was surprised to see Buffy's bottom lip quiver as she averted her eyes and clumsily climbed off him.


“I-I'm sorry,” she said and hugged herself.


Spike sighed.


'Buggered it all up again, mate.'


God, it was hard for him to be so close to her and not touch her beyond a comforting hug or a caress, especially after he'd tasted the sweetness of her lips. Pushing Buffy into doing something she was terrified of was the last thing he wanted. Now only if his body would listen too.


“What? Bloody hell, I'm the one who's sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel all skittish. I'll keep my distance, right?” Spike felt disgusted with himself for making her feel this way.


“God, Spike. Can't you see this is all my fault? I don't want you to feel like you're the one that's wrong. It's me! I'm wrong!” Buffy's chest heaved, and Spike stopped himself from reaching out to her when it was so obvious she was too upset to be touched.


“You've just had a lot to deal with, been hurt, but that doesn't make you wrong, luv.” Spike kept his voice low and soothing, trying to cut through the hysteria that was obviously taking over her.


“Why do I feel this way? Why do I feel like it's never going to be okay ever again? I can't take it, Spike! I just can't.” Her arms dropped to her sides, her words trailing off weakly, and she gazed at him with desperation. Spike wasted no time and crossed the distance between them, embracing her.


“Let me help you,” he murmured into her ear.


“What if I can't be helped?” Buffy whispered back to him and Spike tightened his arms around her. He'd do everything to make her happy, to see her laugh, to see the sparkle of life in her eyes even if he had to dust to achieve it.


“You can. You will. Just tell me what to do.”


“Kiss me?” She tilted her head back to gaze up at him and Spike drank in the sight of her, wounded and desperate. It wasn't a sexual request made in the haze of blind desire. It was a cautious longing for comfort, for a fleeting moment of oblivion, and he'd gladly give it to her.


Spike closed his eyes as their lips met, gently at first, then hungry and full of need so deep it took over his rational thought. He groaned into Buffy's mouth when she parted her lips and swept her tongue tentatively across the gap between his lips. He didn't hesitate and tilted his head to the side, deepening the kiss and massaging her tongue with his own, sucking it erotically into his mouth. The taste, the sensation was so heady and intense it made a kaleidoscope of colours appear behind his eyelids. Buffy delved her hands into his hair, whimpering and pressing herself harder against him.


Buffy came up for breath, and Spike slowly opened his eyes, relishing the feel of her cheek brushing against his, her warm exhales tickling his ear. The pleasure ran rampant through him, the flames of it licking his insides, and Spike had to push it back with all his will so he wouldn't press for more. He had to stop before it got out of hand and Buffy would end up hating him forever. He'd never been this patient in his whole existence.


The ripples beneath her skin registered with Spike right before her pupils dilated to devour the green of her irises, and her grip on his hair became painful instead of pleasant. The hijacker making its last attempt.


He didn't hesitate to gaze deep into Buffy's eyes this time, pouring everything he was and felt into her. The intensity of it all didn't give the hijacker a chance to fight for long and it retreated within seconds. She slumped into his arms and took a few moments to recuperate, then finally lifted her wide eyes to glance up at him, the fear making her appear even younger and more vulnerable.


“We should tackle the ritual now, luv,” Spike said and Buffy nodded.


******


Buffy sat on the floor, watching Spike draw a circle around them with a piece of chalk, which was quite a feat considering he was drawing it on the carpet.


“What's that for?” she asked.


“The circle, you mean?” Buffy nodded and Spike explained. “Well, it's supposed to close in the mojo, help us focus the energy. More in the metaphorical than literal sense. Personally, I think the whole bloody thing is just a piece of rubbish, but it was on the list, so who am I to argue?” He smirked as he waved the paper in the air for Buffy to see.


“What else does it say?”


“Nothing much. Just lots of chanting and smelly herbs.” Spike smiled when he saw Buffy wrinkle her nose.


“Yep, you have that smelly part right,” Buffy said.


He could see she was trying to lighten the situation by trying to be cheerful, though she didn't succeed very well at convincing him.


She glanced up at him, concerned. “Will it... will it hurt?”


Spike knelt down to her after he finished drawing the circle and dumped the chalk on the floor outside the thready drawing. He grasped Buffy's shoulders and focused on her, trying to project reassurance towards her. “It'll be just fine, luv. I don't think you'll even remember anything.” He sighed and brushed a stray lock of Buffy's hair from her forehead. “From what I read, it'll be just me and the ugly bugger. The dagger is supposed to create an alternate space thingy... a mirror of your mind, making it solid. Then I'll find the git and kick his sorry arse.”


“What if you never come back?” Buffy grasped the hand stroking her hair and clutched it tightly between her palms, her eyes conveying everything he felt. What if she never woke up from the trance?


“I will. I promise.” Spike looked at her seriously and then smiled. “Besides, I'm like a bad penny, yeah? I always come back. No chance of getting rid of me so soon.”


She let go of his hand and Spike scooted backwards, mirroring Buffy's Indian style sitting position, his knees touching hers. They both breathed in and out, readying their will and emptying their minds.


“Aeolustos, the Keeper of dimensions, take this offering. The mother's wine for peace and mind.” Spike recited.


Buffy watched Spike pour a thick red liquid that couldn't have been anything but blood into the bowl sitting between their crossed legs, followed by various pungent herbs. The wind rose and gusted within the circle, making Buffy's hair flutter around her face. The pressure of energy started to press on them, making the air humid and thick. It felt as if she was breathing water instead of air.


“The key to the mind of the Warrior to unlock the realm and destroy the servant of Beyond.”


Spike picked up the dagger, chanting as he cut his palm and reached for her hand to do the same. He entwined his hand with hers, blood mingling in a rush of dizzying connection and sparks of magic danced along her nerve endings, making the short hairs on the nape of her neck stand out. A shiver ran through her.


Buffy could feel something bigger and stronger tug at her consciousness and the litany of Spike's words blurred to an unrecognizable string of tones and melody, slithering over her like a lover's caress, lulling her to give in. A pulsing light shimmered around their joined palms, swirling in an orange light, spreading further and further until it formed a ring, restricted by the circle Spike had drawn earlier. The pressure kept rising to a crescendo along with the chants, the air thickening with the forces of wind and earth.


The pull was too strong to resist any longer and Spike's eyes, half lidded in concentration as he worded the ritual from his memory, was the last thing Buffy saw before the darkness of oblivion embraced her.


“So mote it be!” Spike's deep voice resonated throughout the hotel room before he slumped next to Buffy, his hand still clutching hers.


TBC

Author's note: Next update very possibly on Saturday! Thank you for reading!!! :D

Author's note: I'm starting my first year at college on Wednesday... in a different country. Let's hope the flat I'll be living at will have internet that works! Thank you Dawn and Mabel for your suggestions and comments! And thank you readers for being so great!!! :)




Banner by nmcil. :)



Chapter 15


Spike stirred, the hard ground under his body making him ache from his toes to the tips of his bleached hair. He blinked his eyes open, propped up his arms and heaved himself into a standing position. He cringed at the soreness of his muscles. There was no telling how long he'd been lying there and the thought of being at the mercy of whatever came along didn't sit well with Spike.


He unsheathed the dagger from its place behind his belt, turning to glance warily around. He didn't know what to expect, though he'd had a blurry idea of what this inter-dimensional trip might entail. When he read that the temporarily created dimension would be a reflection of Buffy's mind, Spike had expected to find himself in the middle of the swarm made by her memories.


There was nothing. No whisper of a breeze, no twitter of birds or buzzing of insects that made up the background noise back in his dimension. People often talked about how silent it was at night, but it wasn't. Million of sounds pilfered the air even at the most quiet place, the sound of life.


Here, everything was dead. The dry ground beneath his feet cracked from the lack of water, reminding him of a savanna that had never experienced the rain. The bare twisted tree limbs and trunks that loomed so eerily still were stark white, a glaring contrast to the darkness surrounding him. The land stretched out for miles with no end in sight.


Spike took a step forward, the dagger gripped tightly in his hand. How was he supposed to help Buffy when there was nothing here? Could it be that he'd missed an ingredient or buggered up the chanting? He frowned as he walked, extending his senses as far as he could. Nothing but choking silence oozed all around him and Spike decided to let out a yell, if only to pierce it for a moment.


'Nothing better to do anyway.'


Spike opened his mouth and let out a roar. Except... no sound came out. He furrowed his brow in confusion, and then caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned on his heel and squinted into the darkness. A shadow disappeared behind a nearby tree, and as realization slammed into Spike, he scoffed in annoyance.


This was all the hijacker's idea of fun and frolic; he had no doubt about that. The cheeky bugger was trying to exploit Buffy's memories, impressions, and the dark corners of her being to confuse him. He chose the wrong vampire to play this bloody hide-and-seek with.


Spike marched towards the tree, ready to tear the hijacker to shreds, but before he could reach his destination, a crunching noise gave him pause.



Mirrors appeared.


Hundreds of irregular pieces bigger than him were sticking out of the ground for as far as he could see. Spike forgot all about the shadow as he regarded his surroundings warily. He walked to the nearest one. In a blink of an eye, the mirrors' glass moved. They were no longer empty, instead reflecting slithering hazy motions and colours to form what Spike guessed were Buffy's memories. The sleek surface rippled as Spike stared at it, hypnotizing him to touch it, daring him to drown in its secrets. Spike caressed the cold face of the mirror with the tips of his fingers and shivered. It felt like sticking one's hand into water.


Spike turned his head just in time to see one of the mirrors flash brightly as the hijacker jumped into it. Spike tucked the dagger into his boot and hurled himself straight after the demon.


*****


A flash of light, a flurry of flailing limbs, the bone wrenching thud of a body meeting the ground in a harsh impact were the only impressions that entered his brain. Then came the pain.


Spike grunted and spit out the blood, glad that none of his teeth accompanied it. He laid face down for a few seconds-- aware that the grass beneath him had cushioned his crash-- and forced himself to suck up the pain from the injuries he'd sustained by throwing himself recklessly through the portal without preparing himself for the fall. With the speed and ardor he'd used when crossing through the watery glass, it was something of a miracle he didn't break anything. Well, except biting his tongue.


'Well, that went rather well.' Spike thought sarcastically, gathered his bearings and promptly froze.


He yelped and leapt to his feet when it first registered with him that he was standing amidst a park in the middle of an afternoon, just waiting to become a vampire flambé. Spike threw his arms over his head out of reflex and was ready to dash to the nearest shadow when he realized something. He wasn't burning. He laughed out in relief.


'Well, of course you're not burning, you git. The sun's not real, is it?'


By making a fool out of himself, he'd done nothing but give the hijacker even more of a head-start to escape, therefore prolonged his trip in this God forsaken place. Spike was well aware the quicker he managed to nail the demon, the bigger the chance was that both he and Buffy would come out of this experience unscathed. Tampering with magic like that could very well get his noggin bashed in, metaphorically or literally. Magic-- no matter the source or intention-- always had consequences. Always.


The bright light blinded Spike's sensitive eyes and he had to blink several times in order to focus on the place he had stumbled into. He peered around him, fully aware there was little chance the hijacker would be just standing around, waiting. He snorted.


'Like it would be that easy.'


This world, a memory, was --for the lack of a better word-- cheerful. Birds singing, leaves swaying in the gentle breeze of spring, children and their parents running around the park. It made him queasy and quite suspicious of what he'd find here.


A particular voice carried to him, his whole body tensing in response. It was Buffy's voice and Buffy's laugh. He followed the sound, letting it tug him forward to the place he wanted to be the most, seducing him into abandoning the pursuit of the hijacker in order to glimpse her.


There she was. Spike stood there, watching her as she swung back and forth on the swings, talking animatedly to a girl next to her. She couldn't be older than fifteen. She was so young. So innocent. So very different from the girl he'd held close and comforted when the nightmares were too much to bear, whose tears soaked the fabric of his t-shirt too many times. Spike could never have imagined seeing Buffy like this, before all of her dreams were squashed into a fine powder in order to become a slave to the destiny, which consequentially led her to a path that destroyed all every creature held dear.


Freedom.


Choice.


Spike's heart constricted in his chest as he drank her in. He'd never heard her giggle, never witnessed how it lit up her whole face, making her cheeks flush with life and happiness. This girl was still blissfully ignorant of what would come. He experienced a sharp pang when he realized that he could never give this back to her, to take over the burden she carried with her every day since she'd been Called. But he'd damn well try to give her back one thing at least. The laughter. He'd do anything in his power to see that expression on her face again.


The wind suddenly picked up in speed and Spike's duster flared behind him. The skies darkened in a matter of a few seconds, tumbling clouds shut out the sun, but Buffy and her friend didn't notice. This wasn't what was supposed to happen in this particular memory of hers. That much was clear. Spike had no time to think when he caught a sight of the hijacker, his empty eye sockets and gaunt skeletal face barely covered by rotting flesh, propelling Spike to reach for the dagger, then ran forward.


Panic suffused him and made the adrenaline pump through him when he saw the hijacker slide towards the unsuspecting memory-Buffy. It didn't matter that she might be nothing but a mirage with the purpose of confusing him. Nothing mattered but the slithering form of the hijacker getting near her and reaching out his hands to destroy the one happy memory his slayer still held dear. He could not let that happen.


“No!” Spike roared and threw himself at Buffy, intent on tackling her to the ground before the demon could harm her. His eyes widened when instead of encountering her flesh, he flew through her, the blast of cold still air hitting his face as he fell face down to the ground for the second time this day, the dagger slipping from his loose grasp. He raised his head to find that he was once again in the land of mirrors and the hijacker was running into yet another portal to escape him.


“Bloody buggering hell.” Spike muttered and sprang back up, racing towards another rippled surface, the dagger lying forgotten on the dried ground.


******


The surroundings abruptly changed, throwing him out of whack and Spike stumbled, barely managing to stay on his feet after the momentum of being flung out of the portal almost sent him flying into the pavement again. He found himself standing between two shabby buildings in a city in the middle of the night, distant sound of the traffic and acrid smell of someone's piss assaulting his senses. Spike grimaced and glanced around.


The shadow of a disappearing figure caught his attention and he stalked after it, rounding the corner of the building, intent on not losing the sight of the demon this time. Spike reached into his duster to draw out his weapon, the only thing capable of destroying his foe, but there was nothing and the reality of his situation slammed into him with such force that Spike faltered in his step.


'I've lost it', he thought, dismayed, unable to comprehend how such a fundamental thing could happen to him now when he had Buffy's life in his hands. He had promised her.


How could have he been so stupid and throw away his only chance at saving Buffy by being so reckless? He had to find his way back to the dead place with mirrors. There had to be a rift somewhere, a place where he could cross over and right the wrong. He couldn't afford to be looking for the hijacker without any means of killing him. Either he found a way out, or he would wait for the opportunity to present itself.


A trash can crashed against the wall somewhere in the distance, rattling noisily with impact and Spike strode towards it. What he saw stopped him dead in his tracks, made him shiver as arousal so strong it made him gasp crashed over him. He'd never seen something so painfully captivating, the fiery beauty of the violence and grace at its highest peak. Every slayer he'd ever met? They had nothing on Buffy.


She was the poetry in motion. Deadly. Bloody sexy.


This was a pure and unrestrained predator in its full element, lashing fists, high and powerful kicks, blonde hair reflecting the moonlight as it whirled around her flushed face. Spike stepped closer, hypnotized by the power rivaling his own. Hundreds of fantasies flashed through his mind as he saw Buffy play with the fledgling, quipping and taunting him. What wouldn't he give to be the one to have the honor of fighting her? Not to the death;. just testing each other. Driving themselves to the best of their abilities, the rush of the fight pumping through them both, getting higher and higher until there was no other option but to let the tension burst out in the fury of passion and tangled limbs. He could almost taste her on his tongue, sweet and addictive.


Spike felt a rush of sensation slither through him and realized that not only could he see and hear Buffy, but he could feel everything she did as if they were his own emotions. He could feel the rush. The excitement. The repressed hunger so deep and primal that it couldn't be mistaken for anything else but the desire to hunt, to kill.


“What does a girl have to do to have a decent conversation with the undead?” Buffy said through her heavy breathing, her eyes glittering as she circled the poor vampire, twirling a stake in her hand. The undead in question just stared at her, his brows furrowed in confusion and Spike grinned when Buffy rolled her eyes.


The vampire growled and lashed out at Buffy. “I'm gonna kill you, Slayer!”


“You know, if I had a dollar for every time I've heard that, I'd have a ton of new shoes right now.”


Spike could feel Buffy's annoyance as she ducked to the side, punching him in the nose three times in rapid succession. The vamp tried to sucker-punch her. Buffy dropped to the ground to evade the blow and kicked him hard into his stomach, the blow sending him flying into the wall behind Spike. The fledgling tumbled to the ground in a pitiful heap.


She strode towards the fallen prey and lifted him up into the air, the vampire's legs dangling uselessly before Buffy plunged the stake into his chest and the dust fluttered to the concrete. She was standing a few inches from Spike now, her chest heaving, eyes gleaming with inner fire that couldn't be quenched. He couldn't help but gaze at her, completely entranced.


The kiss they'd shared came back to him, the quivering flesh of Buffy's lips against his, the desperate grip she'd had on him, her tongue caressing his, the passion so great it threatened to devour him. He knew she had been trying to obliterate the pain she felt, but the greedy fire, the need he'd felt under the surface of her desperation told him that was the part of Buffy he'd just witnessed. The part of her that was wild and ardent, and he'd help her to get it back. She was the girl, the slayer, the victim. All of it rolled into one perfect being.


His.


The fight was over, but Spike could tell she didn't feel satisfied. She itched with need she couldn't fully comprehend yet. Buffy stood there, leaning against the wall, breathing heavily as she struggled to lock the sensations in her away. He could handle his own arousal, but combined with hers, he was powerless against the tightness coiling in his abdomen. The tingles ran up the back of his neck.


She stood up and turned to leave, Spike hot on her heels. Maybe she would lead him to a place where he could get back to retrieve the dagger. As far as plans went, he thought this one was pretty reasonable, especially for him. This was not just his life at stake and he couldn't afford to be even more reckless than usual.


His eyes followed the enticing sway of Buffy's hips, and he didn't immediately notice the imminent danger.


Something shrieked and Spike's eyes shot wide open when he noticed the hijacker flying at Buffy from behind a corner of a rundown building. He wasted no time in rushing directly at the demon, his body smacking into the hijacker's and they rolled around the ground, the surroundings changing as the demon manipulated them to his liking. Spike cursed the fact that he didn't have the knife to end this here and now.


The demon ended up at the top of him, skeletal fingers grasping his head as he leaned in and gazed deeply into Spike's eyes. It felt like the empty sockets contained a bottomless void he couldn't avoid falling into. He struggled, but the harder he tried, the deeper he fell into the demon's influence. Then there was darkness.


******


Spike awoke and felt wrong somehow. Like his skin was too tight, too small for him. He sat up with a grunt of effort and long hair brushed against his naked shoulders and back.


'Wait. Long hair? That can't be right.'


He looked down at himself and resisted the urge to gape. His hands were too small, feminine. His hips were wider and he had breasts. He certainly lacked the parts that made him male. There was another presence with him and the feeling of being connected to another being. He was in Buffy's body.


The whole notion was insane, but nonetheless true. Spike could feel the connection to her as strongly as if he were gazing into her eyes right now, except the outside world didn't disappear. He took in the bare stone walls, his shackled wrists and ankles, every single tremor of Buffy's heart and her helpless fear. The realization dawned on him and Spike had to suppress his heaving stomach.


Somehow, the hijacker had forced him into Buffy's body. She was the prisoner and if he didn't find a way out, he'd experience everything she had. Spike didn't know how it worked; if he would be stuck in a loop of this particular memory and just fade away when Buffy's true self, her physical body back in the hotel room died, or his own disintegrated into dust.


Maybe it wouldn't matter and he'd be stuck here forever, his mind experiencing the abuse over and over again. The rape. Spike shivered, his own feelings merged with those of the memory-Buffy.


The door creaked open and a leering man swaggered in. Another one Spike recognized as Lukas following him. Spike had to fight Buffy's terror and ceaseless mantra of 'Please no!' to at least try to think. He had to fight, had to find a way out of this but his mind didn't work, and he felt Buffy's limbs shake, her heart palpitating so hard he felt sick.


“P-please don't! Please!” Buffy's lips moved and Spike realized he had no control over her body. He had no choice but to sit there, within her mind, and feel what she felt. It made him want to vomit.


Both men just laughed and Lukas came closer, unlocking Buffy's chains from the wall behind and yanking her upward.


“Tie her hands in front of her,” the other man said and licked his lips.


Spike tried to struggle, but he merely made Buffy's fingers twitch in response.


“Are you sure you don't want me to tie them behind her back? Not that she'd try anything, she's drugged,” Lukas said and shrugged.


“Can't use them like that, can she?” They both laughed and hot tears slid down Buffy's cheek, repressed sobs making her breath hitch in her throat. Spike started to panic, the full implications of the mess he was in finally hitting him. Lukas left and Spike watched the man shove down his trousers, tugging Buffy forward by the chain.


“Suck it!”


Buffy struggled and pleaded, but the man just laughed and slapped her across the jaw. The pain made Spike's mind reel.


The man grasped the back of Buffy's head and forced himself between her lips. If Spike could, he would have vomited all over the floor. The stench of the man's sweaty flesh, the foul taste of him in Buffy's mouth, the vicious thrusts that hit the back of her throat were overwhelming, and Spike could feel Buffy shut it all out, disappearing into the world where none of this could touch her.


Then it struck him-- a sudden memory of a long forgotten dream swimming back to the surface-- the reason why he'd felt the meadow was familiar; the evasive memory he couldn't grasp after he'd woken up from the drunken stupor after Drusilla left him. He remembered.


The man's disgusting grunts echoed off the stone walls, and rage unlike anything Spike had ever felt flooded every fiber of his mind. He swore that he wouldn't rest until he caught every single bastard that had touched his slayer, and he'd make them pay. He'd make them bleed, feed them their own entrails as they pleaded with him to stop. But he wouldn't.


A flash of movement caught his attention and Spike's rage increased tenfold. The hijacker. Spike focused with all of his being to get the control of the memory-Buffy's body long enough to finish it. He barely felt her emotions now, she was far too gone in her self made world to escape the horror of what was happening and it made it easier for him to take over. Spike managed to accumulate enough energy to shove the man away with a reeling force and kick his face, knocking him out cold. There was a glimmer nearby and Spike caught the sight of the dagger. It was the first time he was thankful for outside interference. There was nobody that could have done that beside the Powers That Be and Spike sent them a silent thanks.


Spike grasped the dagger and charged at the hijacker, battling him to the ground and with a sweeping arc of his hand, Spike thrust the knife into the demon's skull, cracking it open like an eggshell, and dissolving into a puddle of black sludge second after. He was dead.


The memory world leaked away and the next moment Spike woke up, he found himself lying on the floor of the hotel room, his hand intertwined with Buffy's.


“Buffy! We did it! We won!” Spike shouted, grinning and looked over at Buffy.


She hadn't woken up.


'Magic always has consequences. Always.'


TBC


Author's note: The update hopefully next week... all depends on the net I'll have. :) I hope you've enjoyed!

Author's note: I got the internet running today! :D Yay me and here's the update.

Big thanks to Dawn and Mabel for betaing and a huge one goes to Abby for her help with the medical stuff. I love you all who read and review!!! :)



Banner by Vette! :)

Chapter 16


Spike's fingers drummed against his thigh, the nervous gesture betraying his need for nicotine. A book lay on the nightstand so he grabbed it as he stretched out his legs in front of him, readying himself for a long read. For fifteen days, Spike had been sitting by her bedside, holding Buffy's tiny limp hand in his and hoping that maybe just once in all his damned existence, God would listen. That when he looked at her, he would find her eyes open, gazing at him, and he could finally feel relief. But she didn't. Maybe she never would.


Spike shivered and squeezed Buffy's hand tighter. He'd never felt more devastated than when he had looked at her that night after the ritual, full of elation that they had won, only to find Buffy so motionless. She wasn't supposed to lie there so pale and still. She was supposed to grace him with that tired smile of hers, let him embrace her so he could breathe her in and feel her hair tickle the skin of his cheek.


She’d just lain there on the hotel floor, sleeping, even after Spike had shaken her shoulders. He’d clutched her in his arms, willing her to wake up and he’d even slapped her-- though he was not proud of that one. He had yelled, cried and cursed, then resigned himself as he lay beside her on his side, stroking her hair and face, whispering to her that she couldn't leave him. Not now. Not when they had gotten through the first step towards... he didn't even know what. Something more. He hadn't had the chance to make her laugh. And he might never have that chance.


After he had regained his bearings enough to think rationally, Spike had taken her to his car and left the hotel. The room had been a wreck, but Spike didn't really care. He didn't have the conscience after all. He’d called a couple of contacts that owed him favors. Now they had a house. With flowers in the front yard. It made him nauseous to even think about it, but he was sure Buffy would like it. He kind of liked it too, not that he'd ever admit it. He was after all, still evil.


The medical attention was the next thing he’d taken care of. He’d called a doctor that was used to dealing with the supernatural. Because there was no way in hell that Buffy's coma was a natural occurrence. Something must have gone wrong with the spell, and it was a high probability that he was the one to blame. The guilt weighed heavily on him.


The doctor instructed him to keep her body hydrated with an IV containing saline and feeding her through another IV infusion called total parenteral nutrition. The doctor had inserted a central line into the internal jugular vein on the right side of her neck, and assured Spike that it would keep her alive.


Kind of ironic for him to have such a direct access to a slayer's neck.


The good thing was that the infusion was regulated by a triple pump, so all Spike had to do was change the bags and tubing at certain time. He didn't even acknowledge it anymore, since it had become a routine to him. Spike didn't want to leave Buffy for long periods of time, so he had the doc deliver all medical supplies Buffy needed to the house. But beside that, the doc hadn't been able to help. Nor were any of the witches Spike had sought out.


Either she woke up on her own or she didn't, and Spike shuddered to think about Buffy staying in a perpetual vegetative state. Everyone he talked to had advised him to pay someone to help him take care of her. His response was always the same. He didn't need any annoying human-- or harmless demon-- that couldn't give a piss about Buffy to help him when he could do it on his own. She was his. It wasn't like he didn't have experience with the ill, be it the physical illness of his mum or the mental instability of Dru.


At first, when he realized he couldn't feel her, he had panicked. Trying to reach out to her through their connection was fruitless, it was like Buffy wasn't even there. No flicker of her emotions, no nothing. Spike didn't even realize how empty he had felt before they were linked. How lonely his existence had been. The notion of leaving Buffy, now that they had nothing to link them together, and go to the way his life had been before he’d stumbled into this madness didn't even enter his mind. There was no way he could ever go back to the meaningless skirting through life, where he would have nobody to talk to and no one to care for.


It looked like there was still a little bit of William left in him after all.


The doorbell rang and Spike rose, reluctantly letting Buffy's hand slip from his clasp and fall lifelessly on the top of the green comforter covering her. The food had arrived.


Spike came down the stairs, swung the door open and greeted his friend.


“Hey, buddy. I got the stuff. Even the onion rings. Can I come in?” asked Clem and Spike invited him in with a sweep of his hand.


They had met a couple of days after Buffy fell into coma when Spike had been looking for information. Clem was a nice bloke, who came around to keep Spike company and brought him food. Snacks. Blood. Spike didn't have time to go out and hunt now that he had to look after Buffy, so he paid Clem to bring him bagged human blood from a local demon pub.


“So how are you holding up? The Slayer's still…” Clem didn't finish, just looked at Spike compassionately and put the brown bag on the table in the kitchen. He was the only one besides Spike that knew Buffy was the Slayer, and he knew better than to blab about it too. Spike considered him somewhat of a friend, but if Clem told a wrong person and hurt Buffy by proxy, all bets would be off.


“She's still the same,” Spike said. “Onion rings, huh? Bloody brilliant they are.” The swift change of subject didn't go unnoticed by either of them, but Clem was considerate enough to let it go.


“So, got time to play poker? I don't have any kittens, but--”


“Not tonight, mate. I gotta take care of her right now, but come back tomorrow. We'll suss something out then, if your woman lets you, that is.” Spike grinned.


“Lily’s a sweetheart.” Clem smiled and looked questioningly at a bag of cheese chips. Spike nodded, and Clem opened them, munching at them and flicking his floppy ears. “Thanks. I'll see you tomorrow, and... Tell your lady that I said hello.”


“I will.” Spike walked him towards the door, and shut it behind Clem, leaning his forehead against the soothing coldness of the wood. If it weren't for Clem, Spike would have probably starved himself to death by forgetting to feed in order to tend to Buffy. There was plenty of time for him to leave and go out; it wasn't like Buffy could just up and leave.


The thing was, he was terrified that she would wake up and he wouldn't be there. Finding herself alone in the unfamiliar surroundings certainly wouldn't help. It wasn’t like he had better things to do. He'd rather be here, with her.


Spike would usually sit beside her for hours, talking to her, reading to her, holding her hand and waiting for her fingers to squeeze his back, to open her eyes and say something. The infinite longing for something to change was slowly suffocating him, but he wouldn't give up. He couldn't lose hope.


It was all he had.



******


Spike came upstairs as soon as Clem left and lifted Buffy's arms, careful not to dislocate the tubes providing her sustenance as he pushed down the comforter. She looked so tiny and frail, lying in the middle of the double bed, and Spike felt that now familiar pang in his chest.


Her skin was almost as pale as his, and her hair was splayed across the pillow. The moonlight filtered through the gap between the dark velvet curtains, and bathed her in a blueish hue. Buffy's chest rose and fell with her breathing and if it weren't for the tubes sticking from her neck, she'd look like she was merely sleeping. Just resting, waiting for the sun to caress her face and stir her awake.


The wash-basin was ready and waiting for Spike on the floor, the water lapping at the edges when he picked it up and put in on the nightstand. He tossed new sheets on the bed and proceeded to climb on it.


Undoing Buffy's nightshirt was quite a task since the buttons ran all the way down her front, but at least he wasn't forced to withdraw the needles in her arms to get it off. That was why Spike had bought it. Well, that and the fact that it was dotted with little hearts and kittens. It was kind of cute, even though undoing the little buttons could be a bitch.


'Little buggers.' Spike scowled at the last button, then lathered Buffy's bare body up with soap. The towel dripped water when he soaked it in the basin and gently scrubbed her clean. He washed her from neck to toe, then turned her slowly on her side to wash her back, while carefully avoiding the tubes.


Now that the linens were damp from the drops of water that spilled down her skin, Spike dried her and bunched the linens into a lump in the middle with one hand, and held Buffy to him with the other. A grunt of effort passed his lips as he reached for the clean sheets and tucked them beneath the damp ones. Rolling Buffy over the lump and brushing the hair out of her face, Spike pulled out the damp linen and secured the clean ones to the other side of the bed.


Supernatural prowess could come in handy many a time.


Button up the nightshirt, and Buffy was all set. Spike propped her up to lie on her side, wedging a pillow between her knees. He'd come back to change her position in about three hours so she wouldn't get bedsores.


Spike gathered up the laundry, turned off the light and left the door open just a crack behind him when he exited the room. He'd catch a nap before it was time to reposition her.


******


Darkness. All around her. Buffy blinked her eyes open, trying to adjust to the dimness of the hotel room. Wait. This wasn't the hotel room. This one was bigger. The velvet curtains were unfamiliar and so was the bed she was currently lying on. Where was she? Where was Spike? She frowned.


The last thing she remembered was succumbing to the lure of the spell. The ritual must have worked though, because there wasn't that feeling of strange inability to conquer her own body.


Buffy sat up, frowning at the pillows wedged all around her, and winced when a sharp needling pain raced up her muscles. The kind of discomfort one feels after sleeping for too long. Buffy lifted her arm to rub at her stiff neck, but something was hindering her movement. A sharp inhale whispered past her lips when she found its source. Tubes. There were tubes sticking from her body. Cold sweat erupted on her flesh, sending shivers down her spine. Pulling the things out of her jugular and consequentially bleeding to death wasn't exactly her idea of a fun time, so even if they made her sick, Buffy left them be.


It didn't look like a hospital room, it certainly lacked the distinctive smell of disinfection that she associated with one.


Ready to investigate, Buffy crawled to the edge of the bed and her bare feet hit the cold wooden floor. She glanced over at the pole the tubes were fastened to, and wheeled it along as she stepped forward.


A glimmer of light filtered through the crack of the slightly ajar door. Buffy padded to it, her feet light and silent as she reached to peer into the corridor. The light was coming from an opposite room, its door fully opened, and she slipped through the gap of her door, curious.


A lump formed in the middle of the bed, the identity of its owner hidden by dark blue satin sheets, so Buffy moved closer. Platinum blond curls were the only thing she could see. Buffy let out a sigh of relief. An alarm was tucked under Spike's arm, close to his chest, his black nail polish almost completely gone.


Spike muttered in his sleep and turned on his back, the alarm clock slipping from his fingers as he hugged a pillow to his side instead. He smacked his lips and kicked down the sheet covering him. His pale chest was stark against the dark silk, and Buffy's eyes moved lower as she stepped closer. A trail of soft hair disappeared beneath the black jeans he had on, the top button undone allowing them to slip down his narrow hips and reveal his hipbones.


Her feet moved of their own accord, and leaving the IV pole next to his bed, Buffy climbed in next to Spike, careful not to disturb his sleep. She tucked her hands beneath her cheek as she rested on her side, watching him. She'd never done this. Never observed someone as they slept. It struck her how beautiful Spike really was. The dark thick lashes resting on his cheeks, the ragged scar across his eyebrow and the pout of his angular lips that were sensual as he slept gave him the appearance of angel.

The light played shadows across his face, and Buffy suddenly noticed how unhealthy he looked. There were dark shadows under his closed eyes, the cheeks more hollow than the last time she’d seen him. How long had she been asleep? Buffy glanced around and noticed a mug sitting on the nightstand, full of what seemed to be blood that he’d obviously forgotten to drink.

Buffy reached out to shut off the light and settled back down, brushing off an errant curl that had fallen across his forehead. He smiled for a moment and whispered her name. Buffy snuggled to his side and covered them both with the sheet.


Her eyes were just starting to droop when the alarm clock went off.


TBC


Author's note: Enjoyed the ending? *smirks*

Awesome made by Sylvia (nmcil). :)


Chapter 17


Spike groaned and fumbled to shut off the alarm clock only to discover that he couldn't move his arm. He opened his bleary eyes, sleep still fogging his brain as he glanced over at the offending appendage. He couldn't move because there was someone lying next to him and his arm was trapped beneath a woman's head.


'Buffy? That can't be right. Still sleeping, any time now I wake up and she'll be gone. Just like always.'


This was as much as annoying as it was painful. He'd fall asleep and dream of her green eyes, smiling at him, then he'd wake up just to find her still lying in her own bed, comatose. Spike rubbed his face and sighed, shutting his eyes to ward off the tortuous mirage of her face. This wasn't real.


“Spike?” she asked.


The alarm clock went off again, nothing but a pesky buzz barely penetrating the myriad of thoughts rushing through his mind. Spike froze, convinced that he was finally going off his rocker and was just hearing things. That he wanted Buffy to wake up so much he'd mistaken a whisper of wind that must have breezed through the opened window for her voice.


The buzzing stopped and warm skin brushed against his chest. Spike sharply inhaled. His hand shot out to clutch hers, opening his eyes when he realized he could touch her, feel her soft and real under his fingertips. There was no mistaking the scent of her or the black empty void within him filling out with the comfort of Buffy's presence.


“Buffy?”


He hated how pathetic his voice came out; how yearning and weak. He let go of her hand and Buffy ran her fingers through his hair, smoothing them away from his forehead. That was all Spike needed. Buffy was finally with him, nothing else mattered.


******


What had happened to make Spike act this way? He was gazing at her as if he hadn't seen her in months, when in fact it was merely yesterday. Or was it? Millions of questions swirled in her mind, so many things she didn't understand and Buffy didn't know where to begin. She reached out to stroke his hair, watching as his eyelashes flutter, his intense eyes never leaving hers. She caressed the side of his face and confusion swelled within her even further when Spike's eyes teared up.


He tugged her closer to him, as they lay on their sides and buried his face in the crook of her neck, embracing her possessively. Buffy could feel the tremors that ran through him, the emotions she couldn't figure out taking hold of him. Spike peppered her neck with kisses, his silent tears soaking into her skin.


“Spike. Tell me what happened. Did the ritual work?” Buffy asked after a while.


“You could say that.” Spike loosened his hold and leaned away far enough to be able to stare at her. When he noticed Buffy furrow her brow he elaborated. “The hijacker is gone, luv. But--” he hesitated. “What is the last thing you remember?”


“I... the pull of the spell, and then nothing. But where are we? And why I do I have a feeling this didn’t happened yesterday? And-” Buffy brushed his wet cheek with her thumb, “why are you crying?” She watched him avert his gaze, obviously embarrassed for the display of his emotions.


Spike sat up and wiped his face with his palms, not sure how to answer that. “It's just... you're here.”


Buffy looked puzzled. “I am.”


“Buffy, the last time we talked was sixteen days ago.” He turned to face her and noticed she was sitting up too.


“What? But how-?”


“The doc told me it was magically induced-” Spike said.


“The doctor?” Buffy glanced at the tubes, then back at Spike.


“You were in a coma. Right after I killed the hijacker, I looked over at you, but you were just... laying there, and I couldn't wake you and-”


“Spike-”


“But I want you to know that I took care of you. And I would have carried on even if you didn't wake up,” he said seriously.


“I- Thank you.” The words seemed so empty to her, so useless in the face of his sacrifice.


“No need to thank me. I'll always take care of you.” Spike glanced at her heatedly and said in a rough voice. “You're mine.”


“You're mine too… aren't you?”


Spike rose on his knees and drew Buffy to him, his hands on her hips as he leaned into her. “Always,” he whispered into her ear, and then claimed her lips in a tender kiss.


“Where are we?” Buffy nuzzled his cheek.


“Huh?” Spike asked eloquently, his mind fogged with need.


“The house? Are we still in Sunnydale? How did you get the house anyway?”


“Yeah we're still here. As to your other question, I've got some cash stashed away in a case of emergency,” Spike said.


“You sure must have a lot emergency cash then,” Buffy said, as she looked around the stylish bedroom.


“Oh yeah, baby. I'm loaded. Good thing I didn't throw the funds away when I became a vamp.” Spike smirked.


“Good thing you're mine then.” She smiled.


“So that's why you're with me? Bloody gold digger.” Spike grinned and sneaked his hands around her waist, pulling her even closer.


“You know it.” Buffy smiled into his neck, feeling a little bit emotionally carefree for the first time in months, even though her muscles were cramping painfully. Everything was so much easier with Spike touching her.


“I'll get you for that one later, greedy chit,” Spike said in a fake stern voice, then frowned when he felt Buffy jerk against him. “What's wrong?”


“Nothing. Just... my muscles.” Buffy glanced up at him and squirmed under his scrutiny. Spike looked ready to inspect every inch of her body, and from the serious expression he was sporting it looked like he wouldn't let her go until she was all right. “It's nothing, really. I suppose it's just from the disuse, so please... don't worry.”


“Don't worry, she says. Like that's even an option,” he muttered under his breath. “Right. Lie down.”


“Umm... why?” Buffy asked.


“Buffy.” His look brooked no argument. “Trust me?”


“I do.” And she did. There was no hesitation on her part when he had asked her that, no need to evaluate, to think. She trusted him with her body and soul. The question was, did she trust him with her heart?


They had managed to dispose of the tubes, without her bleeding out; something Buffy was immensely grateful for.


“Take off your pj's and lie on your belly. I'll be here in a sec.”


“Spike, what-” But he was already gone. She did as he said and waited for him, wondering what exactly he was planning on doing.


Spike stepped back into his bedroom, trying not to stare at Buffy's naked back and legs. He tried, and failed. He was a man, after all. “I'm here. Just had to get oil.” He climbed on the bed. “Gonna give you a nice massage, if that's alright with you.”


“You're a man of many talents, I see.” Her voice came muffled as her face was partly squished into the pillow that smelled very nice. Just like him.


“You have no idea.” Spike drawled as he hovered over Buffy's thighs and poured some bergamot oil on his hands. He rubbed his palms together before touching them to her hot skin. Her muscles were tense and he lifted the pressure a little when Buffy hissed. “Sorry, luv.”


He’d done this when she was in coma too, though it had been all business like then. He never felt anything resembling arousal when he’d had her limp body bare before him, so unresponsive and empty. It was quite different to have her body come alive beneath his skillful hands with her sighing and purring in approval when he hit the right spot. Spike kneaded her shoulders and neck and then worked his way down her spine, massaging the tenseness out.


What was he doing anyway? Had he gone completely soft in the head? Spike berated his anxious need to help Buffy, not because he didn't want to help her if not for voluntarily putting himself in a rather uncomfortable position. Every part of him burned with the need to touch her beyond the matter of healing her. He wanted to devour her.


'I really must be a glutton for punishment.'


Spike sighed as he bypassed her buttocks-- thank God she'd left her knickers on-- and massaged the muscles of her thighs, strained tissue loosening under his ministrations.


By the time Spike reached her calves, Buffy already felt like a boneless heap. She was so relaxed that she couldn't move now if her life depended on it. What surprised her was that his intimate touch didn't make her feel anything but safe and cared for. She wasn't so sure about Spike touching her this wholly, wasn't sure if it would wig her out or not. She knew he wouldn't try to take advantage of her, or turn this into something sexual. It was about her being able to let herself be naked, lying on her belly in a very vulnerable position.


Realizing that if she relaxed and opened her mind like she could now, she didn't have to look into Spike's eyes to feel the flickers of his emotions zap through her. It must have something to do with their swapping of blood during the ritual. Buffy closed her eyes and emptied her mind, concentrating deeply on Spike. She gasped softly when a strong lust surged through her, mixing with the frustration that wafted off him in waves. Quickly cutting the connection off, Buffy discovered a newfound respect for him. Spike must really care for her if he could stop himself from acting on such a strong impulse. She wished all those horrible things hadn't happened to her so she could give him what he needed. But she couldn't. Not yet.


“Spike?” Buffy mumbled into the pillow.


“Yeah?” he replied, his voice deep and sensual.


“I'm sorry,” Buffy said, and she felt his hands still on her calves. “I'm sorry I can't give you what you want.”


“What I-” Spike started to say then stopped when he realized what she had on her mind. He wiped his hands with a towel and lay down on his side, propping his head on the upturned palm of his left hand as he faced her. “Buffy. You already are. You're all I need.” He brushed her hair away from her face so he could see her better.


“But I... I want to give you everything. I want to-” Spike put a finger on her lips.


“I would never expect you to. I know what you've been through, yeah? I'm not such a twat as to demand sex from you,” he said


“I know that. But I'm just so t-tired of feeling like this. And what if I'll never get over it?”


“I can't tell you everything will be alright, though I wish I could... but I can promise that I'll help you learn to live again, right?” Spike ran his hand through her hair, smoothing it away from her face when she nodded.


“Just promise me something.” Buffy's face was serious, still; the only thing betraying her distress was a slight quiver of her lower lip.


“Anything,” Spike replied.


“I don't want you to feel alone... and I don't expect you to be celibate. You have no obligation to be faithful to me. I'll understand if you want to find someone else that can... that will let you touch them, and that will touch you in the way I can't. Just please, don't tell me about it. I c-couldn't... I just want you to know I will never hold it against you.”


Spike wanted to yell at her for being such a silly bint, for thinking he could ever shag a woman that wasn't her. If he did tell her that though, he'd put Buffy in a situation where she would feel guilty and miserable for not letting him closer, and her feeling obligated, submitting to him was the last thing he wanted. On the other hand if he told her that he would find a lover to satiate the needs she couldn't fulfill, she'd still feel miserable. Was there a way he could get out of this without hurting her? Probably not.


“Buffy... I'm not sure what to say-”


'You're the only one I crave, need more than blood,' Spike thought, but didn't say aloud. “I- okay. I'll keep that in mind. But I want you to know that even if I don't, you bloody well better not feel obligated to do anything. I'm perfectly fine with the snogging. It's pretty spectacular actually.” He grinned at her and Buffy blushed slightly, then yawned.


“Sleepy?” Spike asked.


“After sleeping for two weeks, you'd think I would be well rested.”


“I'll bring you clean jammies. The bathroom is down the hall, first door on the left.”


“Thank you,” Buffy said, and Spike went to the opposite room to grab her a clean nightgown and put it on the toilet lid.


******


Buffy entered her room and looked around. The sun had just come up, and Spike was already sprawled on his bed, fast asleep when she came out of the bathroom. She didn't want to disturb him so she turned off the light and left him to sleep. His room was very different from her own room. His was done mostly in dark jewel tones-- iron bed in the middle adorned with the dark satin sheets, whereas hers was made from wood and the comforter was light green, matching the pattern on the velvet curtains.


It looked like Spike didn't care much for wood or cheerful colors.


Her room was very tidy, not a speck of dust or clothes on the floor, though the room looked like it was lived in. There were books strewn across her nightstand, the wardrobe was partly opened and Buffy could see it was full of clothes. What gave her pause was a guitar leaning against the wall next to her bed. It must have been Spike's, and imagining him playing brought a smile upon her lips. Spike had a great voice too, so she would have to convince him to sing to her some day.


Buffy wormed under the covers and fell asleep.


******


She woke with a gasp, her whole body shaking as the residual spasms of terror jolted through her system. Her own screams echoed within her mind and Buffy climbed from the bed, sneaking into Spike's room. He opened one sleepy eye when he heard her enter, and Buffy asked, “C-can I stay here?”


Spike just lifted the covers, and she gratefully sneaked in. He shifted onto his back and drew Buffy to him, the feel of his arms calming her down as she rested her head on his bare chest.


He kissed her forehead and mumbled drowsily into her hair after she was already half asleep. “Love you.”


'Me too,' Buffy thought and fell into the arms of Morpheus.


TBC

Author's note: Reviews are the food for my soul, so feed me pretty please! *bats eyelashes*

Author's note: Huge thanks to Lis, Dawn and Mabel for being the best betas in the world! And thank you readers so much for your amazing reviews, it's what makes writing this worthwhile!!! :)




Lovely banner by Vette! :)


Chapter 18


Buffy padded down the stairs, eyes still bleary from sleep and hair mussed from where Spike’s fingers had ran through it. She’d woken to find him absent. For a moment the feeling of loneliness, the lack of his presence overwhelmed her, reminding her of a time long gone when she was a little girl who couldn’t find her parents in the middle of the street. Alone amongst the infinite sea of a faceless crowd.


A sliver of light sneaked in through the gap between the curtains, flickering across the side of Buffy’s face as she walked through the living room filled with what the latest in home entertainment systems. She bypassed a comfy looking red couch and strode across a beige plush carpet as she circled the room.


A grunt came from somewhere below, followed by a thud and a curse. Buffy followed the muffled noise and spotted the ajar door, luring her to push it open and peer in. A long flight of stairs led down to a basement. A single light bulb hanging from the ceiling, the only source of light. Bleached hair and a naked upper torso drew her attention, and Buffy sneaked in, careful of disturbing him.


Spike was currently engaged in a furious fight with a punching bag, concentrating so hard he didn’t see her come in. Buffy sat on the top of stairs and gazed at him. The muscles of his bare back were rippling under his skin as he pounded the bag, muttered curses and took short, shuddering breaths.


A powerful roundhouse kick and the punching bag flew off its hinges, rolling harmlessly on the floor and away from Spike after he kicked it again for good measure.


“I think it’s pretty much dead,” Buffy said.


Spike almost jumped out of his skin and turned to face her.


“Buffy. Didn’t realize you were here. You should have said something.” He smiled awkwardly and rubbed at the nape of his neck.


“I didn’t want to interrupt you. You seemed quite engaged in the fight with the evil punching bag.”


She also enjoyed watching him in his element, graceful even when angry and frustrated. But that was something she’d keep to herself.


“Are you teasing me?” Spike lifted his eyebrow and walked up the stairs to sit next to her.


“Maybe.” Buffy glanced over at him and her hand automatically reached out to brush a stray lock of hair that had tumbled to his forehead during his workout. Spike closed his eyes and covered her hand with his, sparks of longing zapping along his nerves when their skin made contact. Then she turned her palm and intertwined her fingers with his.


Spike relished the feeling of simple physical connection as her hands warmed his skin. He never realized that something as fundamental as this could feel so good. Whatever she was willing to give, he’d take it.


“This is nice,” Buffy said as she glanced around the basement, taking in the workout equipment that reminded her of the training sessions she’d had with Merrick.


“Mmhmm,” Spike mumbled as he leaned into her and nuzzled her neck.


“The basement,” Buffy elaborated when she noticed with some amusement that the furnishings were the last thing on his mind.


He squinted up and said, “Oh. You weren’t talking about-” He gently squeezed her fingers. “this being nice.”


“I thought that went without saying.” Buffy blushed under Spike’s now burning gaze, the pleasant moment blending into something else. Something scary and exquisite. The air around them thickened with unspoken emotions when he went back to her throat and pressed his lips to her skin in a feather like kiss. Spike kissed her again, gauging Buffy’s reaction when he sneaked out his tongue and dragged it upwards, teasing the area behind her ear, nibbling then sucking her earlobe into his mouth when she tilted her head to the side to give him access.


Her grip on his fingers tightened.


“You can always come here. We could… spar.” Spike brought up the subject he’d thought about many times during her coma. He wanted her to get that piece of herself back, the knowledge she didn’t have to be helpless, that she could be the Slayer, able to protect herself. He needed to wake up that dormant part in her, to give her something back. Most important of all, he had to touch her.


“I’m not sure… I can,” Buffy said in a breathy voice when Spike sucked at the spot beneath her jaw.


“You can,” he murmured into her neck, between the gentle sucks. “Whenever you want. I’m here.” His free hand threaded through her hair. The blood under her skin rushed and pulsed beneath his lips, calling to him like a Siren’s song. “God, Buffy. You taste so good.”


Spike’s hand fell from her hair to her knee, the desperate need to touch her overwhelming his judgment as he dragged it further up her thigh.


“Spike… don’t,” Buffy whispered shakily, the avidity for his touch warring with the images of her prison time rushing through her mind. “N-no.”


Buffy’s fingers tightened painfully on his, almost to the point of breaking his bones and Spike snapped out of the haze, finally noting Buffy’s words, the paleness of her cheeks, and her shallow breathing that was no longer from enjoying his touch. Letting go of her as he jumped away, Spike cursed himself for being such a wanker, horrified that he made her feel that way after he’d told her he didn’t expect anything for her. Why couldn’t he stop pushing?


“God, I didn’t mean-” he said.


“Spike-” Her eyes glassy with unshed tears, Spike mistook her reaction for one of fear, fear of him.


“Please, don’t cry. I’m… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for that to happen. I’ve just… you smelled so good, and blood didn’t exactly rush into my brain, and… God, forgive me,” he rushed out, and then ran out of there like the hellhounds were at his heels.


“It’s not your fault,” Buffy said to an empty space.


******


Knock! Knock!


Spike glanced up from where he was sprawled on his bed, brooding and wallowing. It had to be Buffy, unless he’d forgotten a poker night with Clem, but he postponed it after Buffy woke up from the coma. It had to be her. But why would she even approach him after what he’d done? After he proved that he really was nothing but a monster that couldn’t keep promises and his own libido in check?


The doorknob turned after a slight hesitation and he sat up when Buffy stepped in, dressed in a simple cream-coloured sundress that fell to her knees, a mug in her hand. Her hair was long, curled around the edges as it framed her breasts. She was a vision.


“I brought you food,” she stated and lifted the mug in demonstration. Spike only stared.


“I noticed the stale blood on your nightstand the other day and I thought… I thought you were probably hungry.” She crossed the distance and put it down, hovering above him, fidgeting and nervously tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.


“Why?” Spike asked, his voice confused, disbelieving.


“You don’t seem to be eating so well so I-“


“No. I meant… don’t you hate me? You should. Look at what I did! After I promised to not demand anything from you.” He hung his head. “I’m a bloody monster. Who do I kid by thinking I could be more for you?”


“You’re not a monster… not to me. If you were, you wouldn’t have been taking care of me the way you did-”


“Yeah, and the minute you’re awake, I bloody well almost-” He glanced away from her. “I promised you.”


“It’s not your fault. You did nothing wrong… I liked the neck… stuff. It’s just… it’s hard to overcome the memories sometimes, but it has nothing to do with you.” She sat down next to him and sighed. “I’m being selfish.”


“Wha-” Spike stared at her in confusion.


“I am. I need you to touch me, but when it gets too… you know… I freeze. And it’s not fair to you. You stopped the moment you felt something was wrong, so please don’t blame yourself.”


“Buffy… I’m no saint. As much as it pains me to say this… I don’t want to stop. You’re in my blood. I need to have you, to taste you… in all ways.”


“And I want you to… so much.” She bowed her head. “Would I be a horrible person if I asked you to kiss me? To… touch me? I mean after-” Buffy couldn’t look at him, not when her offer was burning out the air in the room, the flames of anticipation licking up her insides.


“I can live with that,” Spike said and bit his lower lip, his sensual gaze piercing her even without meeting his eyes. “If it gets to be too much for you… don’t be afraid to shove me away. You’re still the Slayer… Don’t ever forget it.”


Buffy glanced at him just in time to catch his descending lips, her eyelids drooping shut as the first brush of his heady taste hit her senses. The possessive yet gentle stroke of his tongue against hers, the caress of his fingers at the nape of her neck, the slide of his skin tickling hers making Buffy forget. Making her crave the forbidden point of ecstasy.


Falling down and hitting the sheets, the silk smooth and cool stoking the fire within through the thin layer of her dress. Spike’s tongue teasing the gap of her swollen lips as she tried not to pass out, sneaking out her own to meet him halfway, wrapping her lips around his tongue and sucking it into her mouth. He was all around her, his scent making her dizzy with need, the feel of his weight on top of her grounding her and allowing her to fly at the same time. They were one, no beginning and no ending, nothing but a guiltless pleasure that made the real world disappear as time stopped to matter.


“God, Buffy.” Spike raked his lips down the arched column of her throat as she struggled to gulp in air. Her fingers found themselves tangled in his hair, mumbled pleas of something beyond the raw need whispering past her quivering lips.


“I-” Buffy breathed out, struggling to speak past her panting. Spike instantly stilled his ministrations and gazed up at her, his raspy voice making her tingle. “Yeah?”


“I… need-” She locked her eyes with him, willing him to believe her. “-you.”


A heartbeat- or it could have been thousand of them- passed before his eyes filled with such a deep blazing passion, Buffy felt it mirrored within her. He kissed her deep and unhurried, tasting the very essence of her soul as he tentatively put his hand on her ribcage, dragging it upward until he brushed against the underside of her breast. Buffy’s sharp inhale prompted him to smother her neck with open mouthed kisses, murmuring into her skin as he went. “Gonna make you feel so good, luv. Will you let me?”


Was there a question? Did he expect her to form a coherent thought when she was swamped by a tide of pleasure? She was not going to let the memories steal this from her again, not when they had already taken so much from her. Would she let him? Buffy couldn’t do anything but nod and let him take over. Make her feel the way she’d never felt before. Loved.


His hands were cool and gentle, gliding over her bare thighs, bunching the dress up to her waist as he lay still clothed on top of her, fitting together like puzzle pieces. There was nothing she could compare this feeling of belonging to. Spike caressed her, moving slowly down her body, his eyes full of mischief and lust as he gazed up at her, never glancing away.


Her chest heaved, the blood rushing loudly in her ears, the anticipation almost unbearable as Spike kissed his way down her body. He was still looking at her, hesitant now, expecting her to withdraw and run away. But she didn’t. She was scared, not because he was too close, but because despite everything she’d been through, she’d never been touched this way before. No man had ever been interested in making her feel loved and wanted. Spike’s lips were getting closer and closer to the place no man had ever been inside.


This was something she’d been terrified of had she stayed enslaved longer, that Lukas would decide her true virginity didn’t have such a high price after all, enable just another faceless cruel man to rip away the last thing she had of her innocence. The first time was supposed to be with someone she loved and trusted, not made a trophy for someone determined to break her and leave her bleeding.


Spike had somehow managed to slip off her panties without her noticing, his eyes closed as he inhaled her scent. Buffy blushed, feeling embarrassed to be under such intimate scrutiny. Afraid to see if there was something wrong with her, but he just growled and suddenly she couldn’t think anymore, because his lips were on her body, tasting and probing. Buffy needed to ground herself lest she was dreaming and the feel of his tongue sliding inside her was just a hallucination. His hair was soft under his fingers, his eyes gazing into hers not allowing her to drown in the past, forcing her to stay here with him and feel everything he was doing to her.


The fire within her was impossible to bear, too hot, her skin too tight as he wrapped his lips around her most sensitive bundle of her nerves and suckled, his tongue flickering her sanity away. The sensations were too strong, too real, and she could never have enough. Buffy needed more… she simply needed.


The tightness in her belly went higher and higher until its release rushed through her, sweeping her away just as Spike slipped a finger inside her, both of their eyes widening when he encountered the barrier.


They went deathly still, her chest still heaving in the wake of her climax.


Spike didn’t know.


TBC


Author's note: I have to know what you think... it makes my fingers type so much faster! *winks*

Gorgeous banner made by Sylvia (nmcil)!


Chapter 19


They lay still, gazes full of unspoken emotion locked onto each other. Shock. Confusion.


“Buffy?” Spike sat up, his tongue sneaking out to savor the still lingering taste of her from his bottom lip. Buffy couldn’t move, too embarrassed to watch him do that, too anxious to escape his scrutiny.


“I-” she started to say, but the rest faded away as she drew the sheet around her, desperate to cover her flesh when the sudden embarrassment burned so hot she wanted to disappear. Spike had been a first man to ever make her… How could she have forgotten to mention that she was still a virgin? Would he regret taking it so far now that he knew?


“Are you a… but how?” He furrowed his brow. “I mean, after everything you’ve-” Spike rubbed the nape of his neck and muttered under his breath. “Bloody hell.”


“Are you mad?”


“Of course not. It’s just a bit of shock, that’s all. You could have told me… you know you can tell me anything, right?”


“I know. I’ve just… with everything that has been going on, I’ve… forgotten you didn’t know. It sounds stupid, but-” she said, distracting herself with picking at the sheet, avoiding his gaze.


“Not stupid, luv. And if you wanna tell me what happened, I’m here.” Craving to reach to her but denying himself Spike steeled himself for the full story. It wasn’t like he hadn’t done some pretty awful things in his time. No, it was the knowledge of Buffy’s pain, Buffy’s suffering that made his stomach recoil and the borrowed blood in his veins boil in rage as he wanted to tear her captors apart.


“It’s a long story,” Buffy said, hoping he’d let it go and glanced away from him, suddenly feeling dirty as she recalled the reason for her virginity. The way Lukas gloated about it before he threw her to the mercy of a client.


“I’m not getting any older,” Spike replied gently, moving close enough to touch her, but refraining himself. He watched her struggle with words that wouldn’t come, but didn’t say anything. A minute might have passed before she spoke.


“It’s my selling article, you see? Because there’s nothing more tempting for an evil being than to abuse the one thing they hate so much. The others-“ Buffy drew in a shaky breath, the lump in her throat getting bigger and harder to ignore as the leering faces flashed in her mind. “- they didn’t care where they… the only thing they cared about was making me b-bleed. It didn’t matter w-where-“


“Luv, you don’t have to-” He couldn’t stand to see her like this.

“No. I need to. I have to… t-talk about it. They made me feel like I was less t-than dirt. Like-” She couldn’t speak anymore, and the short distance between her and Spike felt like miles. He must have sensed it too, because the next moment his arms were wrapped around her, encouraging Buffy to put her head on his shoulder and let go of everything she’d been holding inside.


Her body shook with sobs, her tears soaking the collar of his tee, one hand clutching the sheet to her chest, the other holding him as if he was about to disappear. She was breaking his heart.


“They m-made me feel a-as if I… d-deserved it,” Buffy mumbled into his shoulder, her words barely coherent through the onslaught of her grief.


“I know.” And he did. He had been one with her, the vile taste of the man’s penis still at the back of his mind. Everything she’d felt, he had experienced along with her. And she’d been living in the hell for months. Spike didn’t think he would be still standing after an experience like that. “But you have to understand it’s never been your fault.”


“I c-can still feel… their hands on m-me… the smell. I just w-want it to stop.”


His jaw clenched and his arms tightened around her small frame. Buffy buried her head into the crook of his neck, his skin burning with the weight of her tears. Spike longed to tell her that everything would be alright, that one day she’d wake up and wouldn’t remember anything at all, seeing the world around her once again perfect and safe just as she had when she was a little girl. If he told her that, they’d both know it was nothing but an illusion of a fleeting comfort. A lie.


“I’m sorry,” he mumbled into Buffy’s hair, rubbing comforting circles on her naked back as her sheet covered chest heaved with shuddering sobs against his still one. There was nothing more he could do.


After a while, she glanced up at him, her eyes wide and reddened, her cheeks stained with tears that Spike couldn’t help but brush away, and asked him, “Can I… stay here? I don’t want to sleep alone.”


“You don’t even have to ask, Buffy. ‘Course you can.”


She had gone to the bathroom to slip into a nightshirt and returned straight into his embrace. They had laid down and talked; words of pain spilling from her mouth like poison that made Spike want to destroy those who had caused it, to seek revenge on her behalf. He held her instead, listening because Buffy needed him to, his heart hurting more than he could ever remember it hurting before. The sun was just about to come up when she fell asleep in his arms, too emotionally drained to do anything else.


'The wankers are going to pay!' He’d seek every single one of them out, torture them and laugh as they begged him to kill them instead.


******


Buffy flopped down on a comfy chair in Spike’s workout basement as she eyed the equipment.


They hadn’t been truly intimate after the day Spike had found out about her virginity. About everything. Buffy knew it was the right thing to do for it gave her the time to sort things out, to heal. They kissed, slept together in the same bed, talked and cried, enjoying each other without crossing the final line. It wasn’t Buffy who held back though. Every time they lost themselves in the sensations too intense to ignore, Spike drew away from her. He didn’t need to say why.


When he was asleep, his mind relaxed and vulnerable, it was easy for Buffy to feel him. If she concentrated hard enough she could almost see his dreams and nightmares flickering before her eyes. His fear of losing control and accidentally hurting her shadowed his every thought. Buffy could see that by trying to rein his urges in, the only thing he was doing was stretching himself too thin. Spike was unreasonably afraid of touching her that way again, and no amount of her assuring him that she trusted him to do the right thing could change his mind, so she had stopped trying.


Buffy rose and approached the punching bag hanging once again from its rightful place. Her eyes darted around as if to find someone watching her from the shadows of the basement, ready to laugh at her. She didn’t feel like the Slayer anymore, so who was she kidding?


The sack swung innocently as she pushed it with her fingers. She circled it, glancing at the bandages Spike used to wrap around his hands during his workouts.


Maybe if she just tried, maybe just once. It wouldn’t matter if she were too clumsy to throw a decent punch; it didn’t matter because nobody would have to see it. Nobody would even have to know she was here. Spike was out, on a scheduled poker night over at Clem’s place.


She’d had the pleasure of meeting the demon several days ago. Clem had been jittery, constantly scratching one of his floppy ears when he first spotted her, knowing she was the slayer and unsure of her reaction to him. Once upon a time she would have thought that every demon equaled bad, ergo killing would be necessary. Things had changed considerably since then. Her whole black and white world view had been turned on its head after she’d been kidnapped, and she couldn’t even think of harming someone as sweet as Clem. Who was the only being that kept Spike from completely starving while he was taking care of her.


As she stood there, staring at the punching bag, doubt wriggled its way into her thoughts. There was the nagging feeling that the night at Clem’s had been just a story to make her not worry. It happened a lot lately. Spike came home late, and sometimes there were bruises on his face and body he couldn’t convincingly explain. Got into a bit of rough and tumble, he said.


Getting into bar fights with demons as a substitute for taking the lives of humans, she could understand. So why couldn’t he look her in the eye when he made his excuses? Why did he always change the subject? Buffy was truly puzzled why he made such a secret out of what he did during the nights he wasn’t with her. She knew for a fact that that Spike hadn’t been with any other woman since he’d met her, so what was he hiding?


Buffy sighed and turned away from the bag. She took three steps when something stopped her and she hesitated in her hasty exit. What was she so afraid of? Wasn’t it supposed to be like riding a bicycle? Spike was right; she couldn’t hide from what she was forever. She had to relearn how to be the Slayer again.


The bandages found their way around her hands, and Buffy let out a long exhale. She drew her fist back, punched the bag and… it felt so achingly, familiarly right.


TBC


Author's note: Next update will be up on Tuesday or Wednesday! :)

Lovely banner is the courtesy of Vette! :)



Chapter 20


The sun had come up just seconds before Spike stumbled in and fell face down on the couch with a relieved groan, too exhausted from his extra curricular activities to come up the stairs and sleep in his bed. The minute his head hit a pillow, he was dead to the world.


The front door slammed closed, and the weight of relief almost made her knees buckle as Buffy ran down the stairs. She’d been halfway out of her mind with worry when it had been so close to the sunup and Spike had been nowhere to be seen.


There he was, laying sprawled like a starfish on a couch in the living room, his feet still clad in his Doc Martens, the duster tangled around his form as he slept, growling occasionally.


Not having the heart to wake him, even though he deserved to have a piece of her mind, Buffy took off his boots so he wouldn’t get dirt all over the upholstery. Her heart was still pounding in her chest when she knelt down next to his face and caressed his cheek. A silly smile fleeted across Spike’s lips and he nuzzled into her hand. Buffy frowned as she perused the fresh cut on his cheekbone.


They were going to have to talk.


The curtains were drawn as to not make Spike one really crispy vampire, and Buffy threw a cover over him, tucking it beneath his chin. He blinked and peered up at her from beneath his dark lashes, catching her wrist when she was about to leave him sleeping.


“Stay,” he mumbled. How could she resist him when he looked so pitiful, his pout even more resolve weakening than her own?


She sighed, resigned, and snuggled next to him beneath the blanket.


“Buffy?”


“Yeah?”


“I love you,” he said, his face buried in her hair. She knew of course, had heard him tell her a while back, but Spike thought she had already been asleep when he’d made his confession. Now he waited for her response, the air between them thick with tension and his fear of rejection. She loved him. Buffy would give up her life if it meant saving his. Spike had, after all, saved hers. She had meant to tell him before, but the fear of him trying to convince her she loved him out of gratitude had held her back. She couldn’t wait any longer.


“I love you, too,” Buffy replied, and her heart expanded painfully in her chest when she felt him tremble against her as he sharply inhaled. As if he didn’t expect her to love him back. As if she was the lifeline he’d been searching for all his existence.


His shaking fingers were buried in her hair as he kissed her. Unhurried. Tentative. Tears dripped down from his lashes onto her cheeks, his lips brushing against hers so tenderly and lovingly she barely felt them at all.


“Say it again,” Spike begged between the feathery kisses.


“I love you, Spike. Love you so much.”


He hugged her even closer and buried his face in the crook of her neck. “Never… never before… God, Buffy! I need you so much. Please, let me love you.”


“Yes,” she breathed out. He glanced up at her, his eyes wide as if he’d never expect her to actually comply. As if he secretly hoped she said no, so he wouldn’t have to face his own fear of losing control. Then it was gone, drowned out by desire. Desire to feel.


He was on his feet in the next moment, sweeping her up into his arms and walking up the stairs, all traces of drowsiness gone.


“What happened to you?” Buffy traced the already healing cut with her forefinger. Spike nudged the door of his bedroom open with his elbow.


“Nothing to worry about, luv. I’ve got it under control.” He deposited her on the soft mattress and slipped out of his duster.


“But you’ll tell me.”


“You know I will.” He smiled down at her, drinking her in.


Buffy let it go for the time being, unwilling to spoil the moment. She stretched out her arms in invitation and Spike climbed on the bed, settling himself into her embrace, caressing her neck with his lips.


“Are you sure?” Spike asked, hesitation making itself known in the feelings that radiated off him in almost tangible waves. “We can stop whenev-”


“I’m sure.”


Was this really happening? Am I really ready to lose my virginity?


She gazed into his eyes, so full of love it almost hurt to look at. One glance at Spike and any doubt she could have had was lost amidst the blue of his eyes. Spike didn’t need a soul, not when the love in his heart shone stronger than anyone she’d ever known.


“Promise me you won’t ever change,” Buffy said as she stroked his hair.


“What brought this on?”


“I just… I love you just the way you are. My watcher… he used to tell me that vampires were nothing but soulless demons incapable of feeling love. I used to think so too. But I don’t think you… You don’t need a soul to be a better man. To love.” All the Council dogma she’d been fed failed in the face of this unique creature. She didn’t kid herself; vampires were evil, but somehow this one was the exception amongst their kind. And he was hers.


“Most of us are unable to love, see it as a weakness. But I’ve never been much of a follower; I like to set my own rules. And loving you is breaking pretty much every rule there is.” Spike smiled, running his fingers through her hair. “You’re all the soul I need,” he whispered into her ear, pressing a kiss to her cheek.


An ardent kiss was all the response she could muster. Why use words when actions spoke so much louder? His tongue tangled with hers in a battle of desperate need. Cool fingers slid beneath the fabric of her tank top, caressing her stomach, rising goose bumps along her flesh. Spike’s jeans clad thigh rubbed her in just the right way to make her mind blank of everything but the desire for him.

“Let me… see you.” Buffy managed to get out between his assault on her lips.


Spike rose up on his knees and slid the black tee over his head, his muscles stretching and rippling with the movement, as he tossed it carelessly to the floor.


His chest heaved with unneeded breath, his eyes hooded, and his lips parted. They’d just started and already he looked halfway ravished. Buffy couldn’t take her eyes off him, his strong arms and artistic hands, the broad chest and the flat of his muscular stomach. The trail of soft hair disappearing beneath his jeans made Buffy’s insides tremble and her fingers itch with the need to touch him. Her eyes roamed over him, stopping blushingly at the considerable bulge straining against his jeans. Buffy hastily glanced up at his face, hoping he didn’t notice where her curiosity had taken her. No such luck, if the smirk on his face was anything to go by.


“Like what you see?” he asked silkily, caressing his chest with deliberate sensuality and his eyes softened when he noticed her burning cheeks.


She nodded and sucked in a breath when he languidly lay back on top of her, his lips back to worshipping her mouth and neck as his left hand found her breast, teasing her mercilessly. The fabric of her top felt too offensive on her sensitive skin, and Buffy wriggled beneath him, making Spike let out a rumbling groan.


“Take it off,” she whispered and Spike eagerly complied.


His hands found the edges of the material and rolled it upwards and over her head, then flung it on the floor. Spike stopped to gaze at her, his eyes devouring away every bit of Buffy’s will, making her feel as if she was his Eurydice, the only reason for him to live. Then her eyelids drooped close against her own volition when his head leaned in and sucked her nipple into his mouth, flicking the reality away with his talented tongue.


Spike’s hands never stayed idle, roaming across her exposed skin, gliding and exciting. Though sure in his touch, Spike’s fingers shook slightly with barely restrained urgency. He abandoned her breasts in favor of licking his way down to her navel; his tongue tracing the pattern of lust across her skin like a fervent artist would his masterpiece.


Buffy’s eyes slid open when she felt him hesitate on the waist band of her jeans, gazes meeting in a blur of their combined emotions and frantic breaths. Unable to let out a sound, she just nodded, the blood racing so loudly through her veins it almost drowned out the sound of her zipper being lowered.


Lifting her pelvis off the mattress, Buffy gave Spike all the confirmation he needed, so he tugged the jeans off her legs, leaving her clad in nothing but a pair of black satin knickers. The sight of her riveted him and he was helpless to do anything but drink her in with his eyes. The scent of her was too delicious to ignore, and he glanced up at her to gauge her reaction.


The demon in Spike raged against his hold of control, demanding to be let out when he slid the knickers down her legs, the sight of Buffy’s bare skin driving him wild, and lowered his head to drink the most delicious nectar he’d ever had in his mouth. First lick of his tongue, the first taste of her excitement made him hungry for more.


The muscles of her thighs tensed and trembled under his hands, her gaze holding him hostage, a slave to her need as he sucked, licked, nipped and teased with his tongue. Her pulse thundered against his ears as Spike brought her higher and closer to the brink of ecstasy. He couldn’t get enough of her taste.

Pure ambrosia. Just like the one he knew rushed beneath the sweet surface of her skin, luring him to sink his teeth into her inner thigh and let it glide down his throat.


His name a breathed out prayer upon her lips, a wave of raw need swept over him.


Spike’s hands abandoned her thighs, fisting in the sheets and breaking the eye contact as he turned his face away, struggling not to let his demon come out.


Buffy was lost amidst the infinite pleasure Spike was wreaking on her willing body, his tongue making her lose her mind when he suddenly stopped and broke the gaze. “Spike?”


“I’m sorry,” he replied quietly, tensely. Still, she couldn’t glimpse his face. Felt so empty without the reassurance of his touch.


“For what?”


“I can’t… can’t bloody control it,” he glanced up at her, his eyes flickering yellow.


“Then don’t,” Buffy said and tugged him upward, caressing the ridges of his forehead with her fingertips.


“Don’t wanna hurt you.”


It didn’t matter what color his eyes were, not when they still held the same indestructible emotion he possessed whenever he gazed at her.


“You won’t.” Buffy assured him and pulled him into a tender kiss, running her tongue along his fangs. “You’re still wearing your jeans,” she whispered into his mouth.


“Right.” The corner of his mouth lifted in a sheepish smile, so different from his usual smirk. He looked just as nervous as she felt.


His human face to the forefront, Spike knelt on the bed, leaving Buffy craving the contact from the second his skin left hers. He was about to lower the zipper down when she stopped him.


“Wait!”


“Don’t you want to?” he asked her, unable to hide the disappointment even as he let his hands slip away from the clasp of his jeans.


“I-” Buffy blushed and sat up, crawling closer to him, “Can I?”


“Can you what?” Spike asked, uncomprehending.


“Umm… undo them.”


Spike stared at her, then snapped out of the haze and smiled. “You can do whatever you want, kitten. Not gonna stop you.”


Her hands reached for the fly of his jeans, brushing against him through the fabric and Spike had to refrain himself from thrusting upwards. The sound of the zipper being lowered made the unnecessary breath hitch in his throat. So did the gasp Buffy let out when he sprung into her hands.


If Spike had been standing, his knees would have buckled, leaving him a boneless heap under Buffy’s curious ministrations. It had been so long since anyone had touched him him like he mattered. A shudder ran through him and an unmanly whimper bubbled past his lips when Buffy’s hesitant fingers squeezed him just so. Another minute of this and he wouldn’t be able to hold back, not when she was gazing at him with such a sultry innocence.


“Luv… stop, before I-” Spike glanced down between them, then back at her blushing cheeks.


“Oh.”


God, but she was adorable. Spike kicked off the jeans and delved his fingers into her hair, kissing her into oblivion. Resting his forehead against hers, her breath tickling his lips, Spike guided Buffy to lie back, covering her naked body with his.


She tensed beneath him when the implications of what was about to happen slammed into her. Shivers of anticipation zapped along her nerves, the skin of his back so silky and alive beneath her palms, his hips undulating against hers with ease in a mimicry of what was about to happen stealing her breath away.


Trying not to think about anything but this moment, not to let the past barge in and make her doubt, make her recoil, was starting to result in exactly that. The vision of Spike’s face flickered in and out of focus, being crushed out by the macabre memories.


Spike felt the change in her instantly, her gaze far away, her skin becoming almost colder than his, so he did the only thing he could. He grasped her cheeks and forced her to look at him. Delving deep into her mind to keep her from falling into the abyss of past horrors.


“Buffy…come on, luv. I’m here, it’ll be alright. Just look at me.”


Buffy snapped out of it and focused on Spike’s stormy gaze, clutching at him desperately.


“Please… I need you.” She needed him to make her forget, to love her. To fill in the black void of emptiness that had been eating away at her from the inside. A lone tear slipped down her cheek as she blinked, and Spike leaned down to kiss it away.


“Are you sure?”


“I am,” she said, her gaze never leaving his.


Eyelashes fluttering, Spike slid inside, stopping before the barrier as he looked for any sign of possible distress.


“Please,” Buffy whispered, her thighs tightening around his waist as he thrust fully inside, moan bursting from her parted lips. Pain didn’t matter. Not when she could feel him within her, forcing everything but pleasure out of her mind.


Nothing had ever felt so right, as completely magnificent as being within his slayer, so hot, so tight, feeling her heartbeat pound against his flesh, making him feel alive. And the look in her eyes, so full of love and awe it almost made him weep.


She wriggled her hips and gasped, making him start to thrust gently in and out, linking their fingers, swirling his hips and claiming her lips in a kiss so passionate it was a miracle the flames didn’t burst between them. The movement of their colliding hips was fluid, slow and drawn out like an ocean wave, stirring their need higher and higher but not allowing them the release.


Buffy had never felt this way before, never knew anything could feel so amazing, that she could be so complete. The incredible thrill of Spike’s cool skin sliding against hers, every stroke within her brought her closer to the edge of complete ecstasy. Everything about him was fascinating; his every whimper and moan, his gaze telling Buffy that her touch was worth dying for. That she owned his heart.


The movement between them grew faster, more frantic, their linked fingers squeezing tightly as Spike’s demon burst forward. What Buffy did next almost did him in. She tilted her head to the side, baring him her throat and said the only thing that could make him lose control. “I love you.”


“Mine!” Spike growled.


The sting of his fangs breaking her skin was instantly drowned out by pleasure oozing through her veins, her internal muscles tightening until they spasmed wildly around him, making her gasp out before she whispered back in reply, “Yours, Spike.”


He pulled out his fangs out and gazed down at her in wary expectation. Buffy freed one of her hands from his clasp to pull him towards her mouth and sank her blunt teeth into his neck, his skin breaking beneath the pressure, the crimson liquid trickling down her throat. “You’re mine!” she said possessively.


“Yours, forever.” Spike’s hips jerked and he spilt himself inside her.


The feeling of belonging unlike anything she’d ever felt blanketed Buffy’s every sense. It was so much more intense and real than the connection they had shared before. She felt all of him within her, his emotions, his desires, and the darkness of the demon slithering through him blinded by the goodness he was capable of.


Spike had slipped out of her and gathered her into his arms as he lay on his back, both of them reeling with the intensity of the claim. Unable to move.


No words were needed as they let the sensations wash over them.


******


Buffy stirred awake to a dull ache pulsing through her belly. Convinced that she must be sore from the night before, she frowned when the pain shot through her belly again. The realization slammed into her.


She must have gotten her period.


She couldn’t remember the last time she had gotten it, not since she managed to escape her imprisonment. She must have had one during the coma a month ago. Blush stained her cheeks as she glanced at Spike’s sleeping form, feeling bad for him for having to take care of that.


The cabinets in bathroom were all empty, no sign of feminine hygiene products in sight, and Buffy silently cursed. The sun was high in the sky and there was no way she could wait until dark for Spike to be able to get them for her.


Leaving a note next to Spike’s stretched out hand, explaining where she’d gone, Buffy dressed hurriedly, grabbed some money and ran down the stairs. She hesitated in front of the door, terrified of leaving the house, terrified of going out in public, and her fingers trembled as she reached for the doorknob. Her cramping belly made the decision for her.


*****


Buffy was just walking out of the drug store when a familiar voice called her name. Fear and shock made her its slave as a bottle of water slipped from her numb fingers and crashed on the concrete next to her feet.


At the same moment, Spike’s eyes snapped open and he shot out of the bed, Buffy’s note resting unnoticed on the sheets.


TBC


Author's note: So, what do you think about the chapter? I'm anxious!!!

This beatiful banner was made by Sylvia (nmcil). :)


Author's note: Beta'd by three amazing ladies Dawn, Mabel and Lis... thank you!!!

Huge thanks to all those who are reading and reviewing, I appreciate every single one of your reviews!!! :)


Chapter 21


“Buffy?” called the voice again.


Numbness born out of shock spread through her body as the familiarity squeezed around her like an iron band. With her back to the person she never expected to see again, the emotions within culminated at a dizzying speed. She wanted to laugh. She wanted to cry. There wasn’t anything she could do but stand there frozen and aching with expectation.


A warm hand touched her shoulder, and her knees nearly buckled under the implications. Too terrified to turn around and face what was probably just a figment of her imagination, Buffy whispered, “Mom?”


Suddenly, there were arms around her as she was turned around, her face buried in hair that smelled of lavender and home.


“God, Buffy… where have you been? I’ve been looking all over for you for months.”


Joyce squeezed her shoulders and stared at her as if she couldn’t believe this was real. Buffy wasn’t sure it was either.


“I thought you were-” Joyce started to say, then cut herself off, physically unable to say the word. To even admit the possibility of thinking her only child might have been dead.


Buffy couldn’t say anything, couldn’t comprehend the turn her life had taken, throwing things out of perspective just as she was finally starting to find her way to live again. Looking at her mother, she noticed for the first time how old she looked; the deepened lines around her mouth and eyes making Buffy ache inside. The irretrievable passage of time and absence must have been just as hard for her mother as it had been for her.


Joyce was talking to her, but Buffy couldn’t focus on the meaning of words when she didn’t even know what she should feel. It seemed impossible to settle on just one emotion. But it didn’t matter because a reply wasn’t needed, as Buffy found herself in a familiar embrace once again, her own arms hanging limply on her sides.


******


Spike cursed as he gracelessly stumbled his way through the house, moving and dressing at the same time. He could feel Buffy’s distress running through his veins, her rampant emotions swirling inside him as well, as he snatched a blanket from the couch, throwing it over his head.


The sun was high in the sky when he opened the front door, hiding in the shadows, assessing the best way to get to the sewers without bursting into flames before he got there.


Even as Spike planned on screaming his head off at Buffy’s stupidity and recklessness, leaving the house when he couldn’t get to her, he had to admit he was terrified of not being able to help her.


The door slammed close and his hands burned and started to blister, the smoke rising off his skin before he dropped into the nearest manhole.


'What was she thinking, scampering off in the middle of the bloody afternoon without telling me a rot? Stupid bint’s gonna kill me… I hope she’s okay!'


Spike stopped and closed his eyes, focusing on the pull of his demon towards its mate, the irresistible attraction of her light drawing him towards her. Dirty water sloshed around his boots, rats scurrying away from his approaching feet as Spike made his way through the tunnels and heaved himself out of a manhole, the blanket over his head as he sought the refuge of the nearest shadow.


******


“I’m going to get you home,” Joyce whispered into her ear, her voice thick with unshed tears as she stroked Buffy’s hair.


Home? How did her mother know where she lived? Home… Spike would be so worried if she didn’t come back soon.


“I… yeah, I have to go… home,” Buffy said, looking around in confusion. “Spike will be worried-”


“What happened to you? Where were you all the time?” Joyce grasped her shoulders, her expression a mixture of exasperation, hope, and grief.


“I… can’t,” Buffy answered. Not like this. Not now. Maybe she never would. Hurting her mother with the knowledge of what she’d been through was the last thing Buffy wanted.


“And who’s this… Spike?” Joyce asked, the name rolling off her tongue with disdain.


Buffy was quiet. Her mother would never understand what he meant to her, had done for her, struggling with the monster within to be a better man. Not when the supernatural world was still something to be hidden behind excuses and with the fear of being locked up in a madhouse ever present.


“Is he the reason you left? Did you run away with a boy? How could you do this to me? To your father? Do you have any idea what we’ve been through, trying to find you, thinking you were… How could you, Buffy?” Her eyes were accusing and hurt as she let go of Buffy’s shoulders.


Was it worth it to keep her mother in the dark, to bear her disdain for something Buffy hadn’t even done?


One look at her, and Buffy knew that the truth would destroy her. Knowing that her daughter had been raped time and time again, stripped of her innocence and pride. If lying meant lessening her mother’s pain, then that was what she had to do.


“I’m sorry, mom,” Buffy whispered as she took a step back and away from the sight of the false truth dawning in her mother’s eyes.


“How could you?” Joyce asked, as tears spilled down her cheeks. “Do you hate me that much? Is it because we sent you to the institute? You needed help! All that talk about vampires-”


“I don’t hate you! Don’t you see? I’ve just-”


“You what? Decided to break my heart and just run off? I know I haven’t always been the best mother, but… the least you could have done was call me and let me know that you were alive.”


Buffy squeezed her eyes closed, a wave of nausea washing over her after she’d seen the expression on her mother’s face. The disappointment. She couldn’t tell her even though the white lies stained her hands, needing so much to be the child that could let all the barriers down and let her mother hold her as she wept.


She hadn’t been a child for a long time.


“I-” Buffy gazed at her mother, feeling the invisible wall separating them like a tangible force. “Can we just… can we just start over?”


Joyce hesitated, obviously trying to smother her temper as she leveled Buffy with a look she knew better than to oppose. “I want to meet him,” she said resolutely, then softened her tone. “I’m here for a week, and then I have to get back to LA. I’m staying at a colleague’s place… she found some antiquities for my gallery that I’ve been seeking for a long time-”


Buffy watched her mother close the distance between them and hug her, whispering into her ear, “You can come whenever you like. Or at least call me.” She pushed an address card into Buffy’s hand, closing her fingers around it before she squeezed them and let her daughter go.


One last glance, and Buffy’s feet were pounding against the pavement, ignoring the grocery bag hindering her movement as she ran down the street as if hellhounds were chasing after her, wearing face of the past Buffy couldn’t deal with. No matter how fast she ran, the image of her mother’s hurt expression was engraved into her retinas. She let out a yelp when a hand snatched her from the side, dragging her into the shadows of an alleyway.


******


Spike felt Buffy getting closer and when he spotted her running past him, he didn’t hesitate to yank her into the shadows. Their bodies collided and they fell to the concrete as Spike lost his balance.


“Wha-” Buffy started to say, but the rest faded away when Spike rolled her under him and sank his teeth into her neck.


The pain flashed through her veins, but it was gone in a moment, leaving her breathless and too aware of Spike’s jumbled feelings as she held onto his arms. A cool tongue licked at the twin puncture marks as growls vibrated against her skin.


She watched him lift his face to stare down at her, blue eyes flickering yellow, muscles tense. “What the bloody hell did you do that for?”


“I-”


“Do you have any sodding idea how dangerous it is? I know you’re the Slayer, but anything could have happened to you, and when I felt you… the sun’s up, Buffy! If something happened to you, I couldn’t-”


He turned his face away, squeezing his eyes shut to force away the tears threatening to spill over. He’d never been more terrified in his existence and it scared him to think he might have lost her. It made him even more angry.


“I can’t lose you!” he said roughly, and glanced down at her when he felt her tremble.


A sob escaped her throat, and she looked so lost that all anger abruptly faded away like a cloud of smoke.


“I c-can’t seem to do anything r-right!” Buffy managed to say before she collapsed into heaving sobs and flowing tears that tore at Spike’s heart with frightening intensity.


“God, I’m such a wanker. I’m sorry, luv. Please don’t cry… I can’t stand it.” Spike rose, tugging Buffy along with him as he enveloped her in a tight embrace, pressing apologetic kisses into her hair.


“I screw e-everything up,” she said.


His demon finally at peace, having Buffy close and touching her, allowed Spike to clear his head. When the scent of her reached his nostrils, he growled.


“Are you hurt?” He asked, scanning her over with frantic gaze. “I can smell your blood.”


“I’m not hurt… I-”


“What?” Spike inspected her, seeking a cut or a bruise concealed by her clothes.


“I… didn’t you read the note?”


“Note? What note? Bloody hell, Buffy… just tell me where you’re hurt so I can help you!” He fought the urge to shake her.


“It’s… umm, I got my period this morning and there were no… so I went to buy tampons.” She gestured at the bag on the pavement, which she dropped after Spike had tackled her.


“Oh,” Spike said sheepishly, and rubbed at the back of his neck.


Buffy squirmed and picked up the bag. “Spike?”


“Yeah?”


“I really need to go home.” She grimaced and glanced into the sunlit street.


“Right. Umm… But we’re going via sewers. They stink like… well, shit, but there’s no way around it. No way in hell I’m leaving you to go alone.”


“Okay.” Buffy walked into the street and lifted the lid of the manhole, dropping in after Spike dived in, blanket smoldering.


******


“You’re saying you met your mum? Just like that?”


They lounged comfortably on the couch, Buffy’s head resting in Spike’s lap as he stroked her hair with his fingers.


“Yeah, it was… strange. I was so happy to see her, you know? But at the same time I… I don’t know. It scared me.”


“It figures.”


“It does?” Buffy asked, perplexed.


“Well, yeah. Seeing your mum like that, it brought all the past memories back to the surface and what not. I figure you’re not ready to deal with telling her yet, and going to a shrink which I’m sure she’d make you.”


“I don’t want to go. I have you to talk to.”


Spike glanced down at her. “I’m not sure I’m qualified to help, luv.”


“You already did. More than anyone ever could. I could never talk to a stranger about the things I’ve told you. And even if I could, what’s the point when I’d just have to lie about what really happened,” Buffy said, closing her eyes at the feel of Spike’s capable fingers massaging her scalp.


“Yeah, I reckon the shrink would think you’re off your rocker if you mentioned demons.”


“And if I told them I was being… raped… and abused, for money. Well-”


“They’d end up bringing police into it too,” Spike finished.


“Yeah. It’s not like they would just let it go if I told anyone I was being prostituted,” Buffy said bitterly. “Please, Spike… promise me, you won’t tell anyone!”


“Sure I won’t. It’s your call, kitten.” Spike glanced at the muted television, watching a lioness hunt its prey. “Never trusted those psychiatric gits anyway. Bad childhood seems to be the reason for everything these days.”


“I don’t think I can ever tell her… it would hurt her to know. More that it hurts me to keep the secret-” Spike could feel her anxiety. There was more to it than that, but he wouldn’t press her.


“And I… I don’t want to go to the mental hospital again.” Her voice was so quiet Spike barely caught it, but when he did, his demon wanted to claw its way on the surface and exact revenge.


“What do you mean?” he asked, deceptively calm, even though there was no hiding what he felt. Not from her.


“It was… when I became the Slayer… I was so scared, you know? I tried to tell them… my parents. I tried to tell them, to explain why everything went so downhill. My grades, my behavior. I told them what I was, but they didn’t believe me… thought I was going crazy so they sent me… to the clinic. I learned to fake it, said I just made it up so they would let me go. They did after few weeks, but… I still have nightmares sometimes. About being there.”


Spike clenched his teeth, forcing himself to stay calm and not go on a warpath. She wouldn’t like it if he hurt her parents even though they deserved it in his mind. Nobody went around hurting his slayer and got away with it.


“What did you tell your mum today?” he asked, pushing the murderous thoughts aside.


“She assumed I ran off with a boy, so I kind of left her in it. She’ll forgive me one day… won’t she?”


“’Course she will,” he assured her, scratching her back lightly. “Besides, I am a real handsome boy. Really, luv. Who could blame you?” Spike smirked and Buffy smiled.


They watched television for a while, Buffy monopolizing the remote and switching through the channels at a dizzying speed.


“How can you even know what’s on the telly when you barely see a second of it?” Spike asked.


“It’s a thing,” Buffy answered, smiling against his thigh.


“How’s your belly? Still hurts?”


“Would you bring me another cup of hot chocolate if I said yes?” Buffy asked, focusing her wide hopeful gaze on him.


Spike chuckled. “Whatever my princess wants.” He extricated himself from beneath her and went to the kitchen. “Want some marshmallows in it?” he called.


“Yes, please!”


He came back a few minutes later, cup of steaming chocolate in his hand, and Buffy licked her lips, eagerly sitting up and snatching it from him.


“Mmmm… yummy,” she moaned in bliss after the first sip and grinned at Spike.


He plopped down next to her, throwing his arm around her shoulders as she snuggled to his side. “Not as yummy as you,” Spike said in his teasing, sexy voice and she blushed.


“Pig,” she said good-naturedly.


“Never said I wasn’t.” Spike inhaled and let out a tortured groaned. “Bloody hell, the smell of you is driving me insane.”


“I smell?”


Spike eyes focused on her pout, unable to resist as he leaned in and pressed his lips against hers in a languid kiss, his tongue dipping into her mouth to steal away the taste of Buffy merging with chocolate.


“Delicious,” he whispered against her lips. “I want to taste you.”


“You just did,” she panted against his mouth.


“I want to have a taste of a different sort.” He gazed intensely into her eyes, licking his lips as he glanced at her nether regions. Buffy’s eyes widened as she caught on his meaning.


“But… it’s so gross!”


“Vamp here. Nothing more delicious than your blood mixed with your juices.” Spike sucked her earlobe into his mouth, tugging at it with his blunt teeth.


Buffy’s mind rushed, trying to come up with a topic that would distract him from this particular plan, though the waves of his lust combined with hers lapping at her insides made it difficult.


There was something she wanted to discuss with him… something important. Blood. Injuries. That was it!


“Spike!”


“Hmmm?” he rasped into her ear, making Buffy shiver and almost stealing her thoughts away.


She distanced herself from his wandering hands and kissable lips, trying to control her own quick breath. “There’s something I needed to ask you.”


“Can’t it wait?” Spike pouted, trying to scoot closer to her, but encountering the palm of her hand on his chest preventing him from doing so. He frowned.


“You’re very distractive… ummm, you promised to tell me about the bruises.”


Spike’s whole demeanor changed in a blink of an eye, his emotions shutting off, matching the guarded look in his eyes.


“I know you’re not just plain fighting. I need to know… I worry about you! And you promised to tell me the truth. Or was it just to shut me up before we slept together?”


“That’s not it and you know it.”


She knew, but if there was a way to make Spike talk; there was no better way than to make him lose control than to make him angry. She waited.


“Bloody hell… I’m doing it for you, alright? I’m hunting down and killing every one of the sods that have touched you! Demons, humans… I don’t’ bloody care! I’m killing all of them, and I’m not gonna stop until the last one bites the dust, no matter what you say.”


“What?” Buffy asked, a lone tear spilling down her cheek.


TBC

Author's note: My course work is piling on, and essays are due in a couple of weeks, so I hope I'll be able to keep up the weekly updates. Reviews always help me write. *winks*

Lovely banner by Vette.


Chapter 22


So that was what Spike had been doing. She couldn’t believe he’d sneak behind her back to… avenge her. Should she feel guilt and remorse about the lives he had taken? The blood he had spilt?


“Why?” Buffy whispered.


Spike raked his fingers through his hair as he stood up from the couch and paced. “Because I love you!”


“But-”


“Look, I don’t care if you think I’m a monster-- okay, yeah I do care, but… if I had a chance I would do it all over again. I will. They hurt you.… What was I supposed to do?” Spike threw his hands up in a gesture of surrender as he stalked around the living room, convinced that the minute he stopped to look at Buffy, she’d gaze at him with a look of disappointment. Seeing him for the monster that he was.


“Spike-”


“I’m not sorry! I enjoyed it, alright? I could feel their bones break like twigs beneath my hands, and it left me hungry for more. And the screams? Made it all worthwhile, luv.”


He dropped to his knees in front of her, staring intensely into her eyes, baring himself open and vulnerable. “This is who I am, Buffy. I kill and I relish it.”


Buffy’s emotions were a jumbled mess, too complex for him to read, so when she slid from the couch and threw her arms around him in a fierce hug, it startled him.


“I don’t care… you’re mine! Does it make me a horrible person? Maybe… but if you think for a second that anything can make me stop loving you, then you’re… you’re a bonehead.”


“Bonehead, eh? That’s a new one.” Spike smiled and buried his face in her neck. “You’re not a horrible person. You’re not the one who did the killing-”


“But I am! You did it for me!” Buffy exclaimed.


“See? This is why I didn’t tell you. You can’t blame yourself for what I did. Every single one of the buggers-- even the humans--they deserved what was coming to them, Buffy. You know that.”


“I know,” she said, “but I feel guilty for not feeling guilty. Does that make any sense?”


“Perfect,” Spike mumbled. “You know I’m not gonna stop, right?”


“I know, but-”


“No buts,” he said.


“But-“


“Buffy-”


“I worry about you,” Buffy said quickly and leaned back to look him in the eyes. Spike brushed away the tear she had shed, and pressed his lips into hers in a gentle kiss.


“I can take care of myself, and I’ll be careful… I promise,” he whispered against her mouth. “I’ve got too much to lose to act reckless.”


“Now you’re just trying to make me all mushy,” Buffy said as she caressed his cheek.


“Is it working?”


“Maybe,” Buffy admitted and smiled.


******


The following morning, the microwave beeped and Spike took out the mug, shifting into his demonic visage as he drained it in a few greedy gulps. Drinking even just a few drops of Buffy’s blood could fill his belly for a long time, but he didn’t want to drink from her every time he was a little peckish. She wasn’t his personal blood bank.


Legs swinging back and forth as she sat on the kitchen table, Buffy watched Spike drink as she munched on an apple


“How did you find them?” she asked.


Spike rinsed the mug in the sink and turned to face her. “I paid a bloke-- a hacker-- to get into their database and he found a list of… clients-”


“Don’t kill him!” Buffy abruptly said, her eyes wide.


“What are you talking about, kitten? Don’t kill who?”


“Lukas.”


“Are you kidding me? The wanker deserves to die a horrible, gruesome death!” Spike stared at her in disbelief. “This isn’t some weird Stockholm syndrome, is it?” he asked worriedly.


“No, it’s not.” Buffy hopped off the table and threw the apple’s core into the trash can before turning to Spike. “If someone’s going to kill him, it’s going to be me.”


“Buffy-”


“No, Spike. I know that you don’t want me hurt, but this is something I have to do on my own. I need to.”


“Right. But at least let me help you, luv. I’ll watch your back without getting in the way, promise,” Spike said as he grabbed her around the waist and hauled her to him. “I’ll be a bloody saint.” He grinned and bit his lower lip.


“Yeah,” Buffy said, too distracted with the feel of him pressed against her to argue further.


“Fancy giving it a spin, Goldilocks?” Spike asked between the slight nips and licks on her throat.


“Huh?”

Her fingers buried in his soft hair, and Buffy’s eyes fluttered shut as he shifted his attention to her lips, coaxing her into a deep kiss. Her back met the counter as Spike’s hand roamed over her backside, stoking the fire burning in her veins.


They parted, their quick breath echoing in the silence of the kitchen.


“What I meant was, wanna spar?” Spike asked.


“Really?”


“Sure. You know me… always up for a bit of rough and tumble,”


Spike grinned and waggled his eyebrows. Buffy couldn’t help but laugh, and his smile widened even further.


“Hmm… love you like this,” he said, the emotions on his face shifting from teasing to tender and loving, “smiling, happy. God, you’re so beautiful.”


Buffy blushed. He caressed her cheek, gazing at her reverently. Every time his eyes met hers, she could feel the love he held for her flowing through her, warm and soothing, shutting out everything else. It was hard to believe someone could love the way Spike did. So wholly and completely, holding nothing back and giving everything he had.


“I’m not.” Her lower lip jutted out. “I have a funny nose.”


“Not funny,” he said, with a shake of his head. “Cute.”


“You’re just saying that,” Buffy said, but couldn’t help smiling.


“Fishing for compliments, are we?”


“Nope.”


“Minx,” Spike said affectionately and kissed her cheek.


******


“You ready to get your ass handed to you, Slayer?” Spike asked, grinning as they circled each other in the middle of the basement.


“Are you?” she countered, smiling at his giddiness.


They’d been training every day for the last two weeks, and Spike was nothing if not determined to make her work for it. Every time they fought, Buffy could feel the lost part of herself coming back bit by bit. The confidence and belief that she had the power to conquer her fear of being helpless.


Besides, the fact that she yet to best Spike made her only focus harder on honing her skills.


“Come and get me... if you can,” Spike said, smirking.


They met halfway. Spike, as always, too impatient and eager to wait for her to make the first move. They traded a flurry of quick blows and kicks with Spike blocking every single one of her attempts.


“Come on, luv. Try harder.”


She feigned a blow, but Spike had been anticipating her trick, avoiding the next kick to his side and grabbed her leg, pushing her to the ground. She barely avoided the fall by cartwheeling backwards and away from him. The air around them crackled with restless energy and excitement as Spike closed the distance between them.


He aimed a punch towards her face, which she blocked. Every blow they dealt or were about to receive never connected, mostly because they didn’t really want to hurt each other and the fact they were linked made it easy to guess what their next move would be. Regardless, Spike always managed to win, to pin her down and fake biting her.


“There’s my girl,” Spike said proudly, as she managed to back him against the wall.


His eyes were alight with unrestrained glee, pulling her in, distracting her enough for him to reverse their positions. Shaking off the effect he was having on her, Buffy shoved him away with all the strength she possessed, watching him stumble and fall flat on his ass.


She giggled at his stunned expression. “See? Your butt is totally mine.”


Jumping on top of him before he could spring back up, she mock staked him and grinned. “Gotcha!”


“That you did, pet. But in my defense, you got me distracted,” he pouted.


“Really?”


“You’re not wearing a bra!” His eyes immediately zeroed in on her breasts and Buffy good-naturedly rolled her eyes.


“You’re such a horndog, Spike.”


“Well… yeah.” He tugged her forward so she lay fully on top of him while straddling his hips. Before she could utter a word of protest—not that she would-- his hands were buried in her hair and his lips were devouring hers.


“Can’t get enough of your taste,” he murmured.


“Mmhmm,” Buffy agreed and reclaimed his lips in a deep kiss, letting his flavor caress her taste buds.


“You taste like marshmallows,” Buffy said, smiling.


“You got me... snuck a few of them before coming down here.”


“Like you need any more sugar,” she teased, kissing his neck. “You’re hyper enough as it is.”


“You should see me,” he panted, “after I drink coffee.”


Hands stroking his chest, Buffy giggled into his neck. “You’re the strangest vampire I’ve ever met.”


“And you’re the only one that gets away with saying that,” Spike said, as his eyes fluttered shut under Buffy’s ministrations. Shivers ran through him, and he tilted his head to the side to give Buffy better access as her tongue teased the bite mark she’d given him.


Lust licked his insides as she suckled his neck, her hands descending to delve beneath the fabric of his t-shirt to lightly scratch his stomach.


“Are you trying to kill me, luv?”


“Not yet,” Buffy whispered and ripped his tee in the middle, leaning down to kiss his chest. Feeling his muscles tremble beneath her lips and hearing his desperate gasps as she ground against his pelvis was intoxicating.


“Christ… the things you do to me…”


She slid down Spike’s form, her unbound hair tickling his skin and she was just about to unbutton his jeans when Spike gripped her wrist.


“What are you doing?” he asked, eyes hooded and slightly unfocused.


“Umm… I thought-”


“You don’t have to-”


“But… I want to,” Buffy said. “I just… want to make you feel as good as you make me feel.”


One look at her sitting between his thighs and Spike just nodded, unable to utter any sound as he watched her slide the zipper down.



Warm hands engulfed him, followed by Buffy’s lips, swollen from his kisses, wrapping around his girth, and Spike fought the urge to let it end all too quickly. He felt like William all over again, pleasured by a woman he admired and loved for the first time. Not that his human self had ever gotten this far.


Barely coherent words of praise and affection passed his lips, one hand twining itself in Buffy’s silky hair to sweep it off to one side so he could watch her. She was magnificent, so beautiful and so very his.


Buffy raised her eyes to catch Spike gazing at her as if she’d fallen from heaven. She never thought this was something she’d ever want to experience again. Not after the painful memories connected with the act itself. Spike, though, was nothing like any of the men that had abused her. Right here and right now, she was the one who held all the power. Her lips and tongue driving Spike insane with need as she drank in every expression that flitted across his face. The moans, the gasps, even an occasional whimper, whispering past his parted lips as he helplessly writhed beneath her.


She took him as far as she could, watching his eyes roll up and feeling his hand tighten in her hair as he became a slave to the passion.


“God… I’m gonna-”


Buffy just sucked harder and he growled, thrusting forward before spilling inside her mouth as she swallowed him down.


“That was,” he breathed out, “bloody amazing.”


“I like the way you taste.” Buffy’s eyes widened in response to his smoldering gaze as he tugged her upward and kissed her breathless.


They didn’t leave the basement for several hours.


TBC


Author's note: I don't have the next chapter written yet, because I didn't have time, but I'll do my best to write and post it at the end of the next week!!!

Author's note: Beta'd by awesome Dawn and Mabel! Thank you everyone who is reading and enjoying, I hope this chapter won't disappoint.



Gorgeous banner by Sylvia (nmcil).


Chapter 23


Buffy blearily opened her eyes, stretching her muscles and yawning as she stirred awake. She didn’t remember coming to the bedroom to take a nap, nor did she recall dozing off. It must have happened some time after she and Spike had christened the whole basement. A lazy smile settled on her lips. He must have carried her to the bedroom.


A heap of comforters and pillows were strewn around her, cocooning her in her own warmth, lulling her to go back to sleep as she burrowed her face in the pillow and breathed in, Spike’s scent still lingering on the linens. There was nothing more comforting than the smell of him, the feel of him surrounding her, giving her the assurance that she didn’t have to be alone anymore. That she no longer had to put on a strong front for anyone. He made her feel both free and like she belonged at the same time.


Kicking off the covers, Buffy’s feet hit the plush carpet. She padded towards the window and drew it open, peeking outside. The sun was just disappearing behind the trees of a nearby forest, allowing the darkness to ooze and cover the town in its shadows. The curtains swished back into their rightful place as Buffy made her way down the stairs in the search of him. She couldn’t stay away from Spike a minute longer.


The light of the television flickered across the walls of the living room, casting a blue hue on Spike’s face. His feet were propped up on the coffee table, arms hugging a pillow, his eyes riveted to whatever program he was watching, and Buffy stilled at the bottom of the stairs, content with appraising him.


Spike didn’t detect her, which probably meant he was watching one of his soap operas again. She could never understand what he saw in those things. Being a vampire, one would assume he would be more into some gory, gross flicks with lots of fake blood and mayhem, not soppy romantic ones. But that was Spike, her unique vampire. Who still thought she wasn’t aware of his very not evil movie tastes.


He gasped softly and clutched the pillow closer to him, as he leant forward, his eyes not even blinking as he got lost in the plot. Buffy had to stifle a giggle when he furrowed his brow and muttered something under his breath. Succumbing to the irresistible urge to be closer to him, she snuck silently to the couch and plopped down. Spike’s hand flew to his chest and he drew in a breath.


“Bloody hell, woman! Almost gave me a heart attack, you did. You should know better than to sneak up on a Big Bad like that.”


“I scared you? Aren’t you supposed to be the one instilling terror, what with being all big and bad?” she asked with a teasing smile. “What are you watching?”


Buffy was all innocence as she batted her eyelashes at him.


“Uh… just some stuff. It’s nothing.” He scrambled for the remote, but Buffy was faster and snatched it before he could switch to another channel.


“Are you watching Dawson’s Creek reruns?”


“No! I mean… why would I.” He sighed. “Okay yeah, you got me. But in my defense, there was nothing better on. Besides, I love seeing that wanker Pacey serve himself up for more misery.”


“You old softie.” Buffy grinned and ruffled his hair.


“Am not.” He pouted in misery.


“You covered me with three blankets, you know that right? What kind of evil vampire are you, making sure a slayer is all cozy and warm?”


“A rebellious one. Besides, need my Slayer to be healthy as a horse. Wouldn’t do for you to get all snotty on me if you catch a cold,” Spike said with a grin.


Actually, he would hardly mind her getting sick. At least he could be all doting and taking care of her, cooking her chicken soup and cuddling with her.


'Bloody hell, I really am a pathetic excuse for a vamp.'


“Eww, Spike. I would not get all snotty!”


He watched her wrinkle her nose, all adorable and dainty. 'Who cares as long as I have her?'


“God, you’re so cute. Cute as a button,” Spike said and snuggled against her, nuzzling her neck as he circled her waist with his arms.


Buffy smiled and ran her fingers through his locks. “I don’t get how your hair can be so soft after decades of bleaching it.”


“That’s because I’m perfect. You should have noticed by now. I’m a bloody handsome devil, aren’t I?”


Buffy giggled. “The handsomest.”


“Doubt your mum will see it that way too, though. Are you sure you don’t want me to meet her tonight?”


“Honestly? I want nothing more than to have you by my side when I face her, but… I think I should talk to her by myself at first. So you don’t end up a head shorter if she whips out an axe or something. She’s got a temper when it comes to protecting her only daughter, and right now… you’re the guy that took me away from her and Dad.”


“Lucky me then,” Spike said. “I’ll go with you anyway. Not inside, just-”


“Be all stalker guy?”


“Not exactly what I’d say, but yeah. I just need to know you’re alright. I know you can take care of yourself, but-”


“I know, Spike. I get it. I feel the same way about you.” She smiled and kissed his forehead. “Besides, what is there to worry about?”


******


A tickling sensation on the back of her neck told Buffy that Spike was watching her from the shadows, and even though it was impossible to see him in the dark, she instinctively turned in his direction as she stood on the porch. He could probably feel her nerves, just as she could feel the reassurance he was sending her way. Her hands shook with trepidation as she took in a breath and forced herself to ring the bell.


Her heart pounded against her ribcage so hard, it felt like it would burst out of her chest at any moment. The sound of footsteps approaching grew steadily closer, then the door swung open and Buffy found herself ushered inside right before her mom enveloped her in a hug.


“Hi, honey. I’m so glad you came. Come in, I’ll make us some hot chocolate.”


Joyce took Buffy’s coat and put it on the hanger next to the door. Following her mother to the kitchen, she felt the anxiety seep out of her as she sat on a stool. Maybe they wouldn’t have to talk about what happened. Maybe she wouldn’t have to lie.


“Oh, by the way, this house belongs to a colleague of mine. The one I told you about. She and her husband were very nice, letting me stay here. No worry though, we can talk. Carol is working late and Dave went to meet with some friends, I think,” Joyce said as she busied herself with preparing the hot beverage. She didn’t know how to talk to Buffy anymore. She was so quiet, so different from the bubbly girl she’d been. There was an odd sense of pain and knowledge in her eyes, as if she’d lived longer than her eighteen years.


“It’s very nice. They must be good people.”


“They are… Buffy, I…” Joyce hesitated, putting the cups on the table before them before she sat down on the stool next to Buffy. “Look, I’m not going to scream at you or force you to come home with me. Just… please tell me why you ran away. Was it because of your father and me? Why didn’t you call? We’ve been worried sick-”


“Mom-”


“Did that boy you ran away with force you to… Is he preventing you from coming home? I know you’re not telling me something, and-”


“He’s not. Spike is the only reason I-” 'The only reason I am sane, that I can sleep at night.' Buffy didn’t say that out loud though. She couldn’t. “It’s complicated, Mom.”


“Don’t give me that! I think I have a right to know. You used to tell me everything. What happened to change you so much? You’re so solemn and… I know there’s something wrong with you. I just want to help you, honey.”


'Like you did when I told you vampires were real? When I was so scared and alone, thinking you and Dad would understand and help me?'


“I’ve been through some things… you wouldn’t understand-”


“Oh my God!” Joyce covered her mouth with her hand and stared at her daughter as if she had an epiphany. Irrational panic slammed into Buffy. 'She couldn’t know, could she? There is no way-'


“You were pregnant, weren’t you? That Spike got you pregnant, is that it?”


Buffy was about to reply when the sound of the door being open and slammed closed echoed in the oppressive tension between the two women. Buffy grabbed her cup of chocolate and raised it to her mouth to take a sip, her back to the newcomer as he stepped into the kitchen.


“Sorry ladies, just grabbing something to eat and I’m off.”


An unsettling feeling fell over Buffy, the hair on her arms standing on ends, as she shivered. Her mom replied something and they chatted as Dave made his way over to the fridge, and Buffy got her first glimpse of him.


Colour drained away from her face, leaving her ashen and pale, blood rushing loudly in her ears. The cup slipped from her loose grasp and spilled on the table, the thick liquid dripping lazily on the floor.


At the edge of her conscious thought, through the haze of numb shock and terror, Buffy could feel her mother’s hand touching her shoulder, gently shaking. Her voice came to her as if from a distance, muffled and incoherent. The knuckles of her hand were white as she gripped the edges of her seat, the wood cracking under her grasp. Dave turned to face her fully, his eyes widening in recognition as they met hers. The memory flickered behind her eyelids.

Flashback

“You love getting slapped and beaten, don’t you? Makes you hot, you little whore, doesn’t it? Answer me when I talk to you!” Buffy’s head rocked to the side as he backhanded her. He gripped her hair and smashed her head into the ground until she could feel the coppery taste of her own blood filling her mouth and trickle down her chin.


“Y-yes,” she answered.


“What did you say, you bitch? I didn’t hear you!”


“Yes,” Buffy repeated, feeling humiliated and helpless.


End of flashback


Something snapped in her, and suddenly Buffy was rising from her chair, her hand was gripping the front of Dave’s shirt as she tossed him into the hallway. He started to crawl away from her, cowering. The surge of power and satisfaction filled her as she stared down at him. Her mother was screaming at her, but nothing mattered. There was only that driving need to make him suffer, to inflict as much pain as she could. She wanted to kill him.


Buffy straddled his waist and pinned him down as she punched him in the face.


“How do you like it, huh? Not so tough now, are you? I bet it turns you on, doesn’t it, you sick freak!” She couldn’t stop hitting him, couldn’t stop the tears flowing down her cheeks, the sobs tearing out of her throat. Dave’s face was becoming a bloodied mess, and Buffy could hear at the periphery of her perception that her mother was screaming. Someone was pounding at the door repeatedly, and her fist stopped mid-air when the door flew open and the voice she knew so well penetrated the haze she was in.


“Buffy, stop!”


TBC

Author's note: I'm sorry, but I couldn't help myself! :D No worry though, I have the next chapter written. :)

Pretty banner by Vette.


Beta'd by awesome ladies dawnofme and Mabel Marsters.


Chapter 24


“Buffy, stop it!” Spike slammed his palms against the invisible barrier preventing him from entering the house, eyes gleaming yellow as he felt Buffy’s rage transmitted onto him. He couldn’t give a piss about the useless human lying on the floor. But he knew Buffy, and once she snapped back to herself, she would never forgive herself for taking a human life.


There was so much blood. The crimson liquid stained her hands in a testimony of her rage and uncontrollable anger, dripping soundlessly on the beaten face of the unmoving man beneath her. Her hands trembled. The sound of his voice wheedled its way into her ears, rushing past the haze that had shut her off from reality. Buffy gasped and shot to her feet, her eyes wild as they met Spike’s.


“Buffy, what did you do? God, what did you do?” Joyce whispered, her eyes flickering between Dave and Buffy, until they finally settled on the man standing in the doorway. There was something wrong with his face. Was he one of those PCP gang members she had heard so much about? God, what did he get her daughter into? Should she call the police?


Joyce knelt next to Dave and felt for his pulse, breathing out a sigh of relief as the steady pulse jumped beneath her fingertips.


“Buffy… what is going on?”


Tears slid down Buffy’s cheeks in rivulets of helpless suffering, her voice silent and thick with pain as she whispered Spike’s name.


“Come here, lamb.”


Buffy rushed into his arms, letting him take over the burden of her jumbled emotions as she mumbled nonsensical words into his chest. She was in shock.


“Get your hands off my daughter!”


Joyce stepped towards them, meeting the eyes that had faded into blue with a determined look.


“What have you done to my daughter? Look at her! Are you making her take drugs? I’m calling police, and you sir, are going to the jail. I’m taking you home, Buffy, whether you like it or not!”
“How can you be so sodding blind, woman? Can’t you see? Maybe you should place blame where it belongs!” Spike growled and tightened his hold on Buffy.


“Excuse me? I am her mother. I think I know her better than you, and she needs me! What she obviously doesn’t need is your bad influence!” Who did this man think he was? Joyce was not afraid of him. She’d take Buffy with her to LA one way or another.


“Mum of the year, that’s you. Why don’t you ask the tosser on the floor what did to your daughter?”


Joyce hesitated and glanced over her shoulder at Dave. He was still unconscious.


“Buffy?” Joyce touched her daughter’s shoulder, dropping her arm when Buffy flinched.


Twisting in Spike’s arms to face her mother, Buffy tried to calm down. Shivers ran through her, her mind numb as she felt the blood drying on her hands.


“I-”


Spike sensed her turmoil and kissed the side of her neck. If only he could just take her home and help her. Instead here they bloody were, losing time by talking.


“Buffy, tell me… are you taking drugs?”


“No-”


“Then what is going on? And who is this man? I saw his face… is he one of those PCP gang members?”


“Mom… Spike is… he’s a vampire.” Buffy stared at her mother, willing her to believe her. To just accept the truth for what it was, at least this once.


Joyce could feel a hysterical laugh start building in her throat, but she suppressed it. All the medicine, all the psychiatrists and Buffy still thought vampires were real. She felt like she was losing her, and the harder she tried to grasp at her daughter, the faster she was slipping away.


“A vampire? Buffy… we’ve been through this. You admitted you were just making that up and now-”


“No, Mom! I didn’t admit anything! I just said what everyone wanted to hear. If I didn’t, I’d be stuck there forever. Why can’t you just believe me?”


“Well, I can’t accept this-”


“Bloody hell, how thick can you be? What did you think your daughter had been doing? How many times did she come home bruised?”


“Buffy always got in fights. What does that have to do with anything?”


“And miraculously, the bruises just disappeared the next day, eh?” Spike shook his head at the human ability of explaining everything that threatened their sense of normalcy.


“She’s just got good immunity-”


Spike chuckled and met Joyce’s gaze square on, shifting into his game face, sharp fangs glittering in the light from hallway.


“Does she?”


Joyce gasped and stumbled back, shaking her head in denial as she stared at the monster in front of her. She’d only glimpsed his distorted face before, but there was no way she could keep lying to herself now. She had never needed a stiff drink more in her life.


“Mom… you can’t stay here,” Buffy said, breaking through Joyce’s shock.


“Are you a vampire too? Oh my God, I need to sit down.”


“No, I’m not. And Spike… he won’t hurt you. There’s no time for panicking. You need to come with us-”


“Well, excuse me if I am in a bit of shock! I need to call the police… let them know-”


“Listen. You can’t call police. I… I’ll explain everything. What had happened to me… I promise. Just, we need to leave before… he wakes up-”


“You almost killed him,” Joyce said as if she couldn’t believe it.


“The twat deserves far worse for what he-”


“Spike. Not now. Please?”


He sighed and clasped her hand in his, the blood on her hand smearing on his palm as he tugged her towards his DeSoto.


Buffy gazed at her mother, pleading with her eyes to go with them. After a few beats of hesitation, Joyce crossed the threshold and followed them into the night.


******


As soon as they got home, Spike left the two of them talk and grabbed his cell phone.


“Hi, Clem.”


“Hey, buddy!”


“Listen, need you to do me a favour. Need to do a little cleanup. Would do it myself, but there’s the whole threshold issue.”


“Sure. What kind of cleanup are we talking about?”


“There’s a bloke, still unconscious hopefully. He needs to be dead, Clem. He knows Buffy is alive, and I can’t have him running his gob. God knows how the scum like him found out about a demon playground. Or from who. Get a couple of L’ashgka demons to clean all the traces of struggle, make it look like nobody was there. Let them dispose of the body; maybe toss into a lake… I don’t’ care.” Spike hesitated, anxiety creeping into his voice. “There’s too much at stake here, mate. I can’t… just, please make sure they do it as quick as bloody possible. I’ll pay anything. The address is Sunny Lane 1350.”


“Sure thing, Spike. I’ll go get right on it. I’ll let you know as soon as it is done. Don’t worry… it’s going to work out just fine. Send my greetings to your lady love.”


“Thanks, mate.”


“What are friends for?”


******


Three hours later, Spike lay alone in his bed, staring at the ceiling. Clem had let him know a short while after the phone call that everything had been taken care of, and Spike had finally let out a sigh of relief. Well, the wife would probably notice after some time that her husband hadn’t come home, but if the sod’s violent tendencies were anything to go by, Spike was sure he’d done the poor woman a favour. She would probably be glad her abusive wanker of a husband never showed up.


Even as Spike’s heart hurt for what Buffy had to go through, facing one of the men that had caused her such damage, he couldn’t help but smile proudly at the way she laid into the git. He didn’t stand a chance against her power. Weeks ago, Buffy would have gone catatonic at the mere sight of the man, everything around her crashing, trapping her back in the existence of slavery without the possibility of escaping. But she hadn’t. She had grasped the power and defended herself.


The door on the bedroom creaked open, and Spike watched as Buffy’s slender form slipped through the crack before she closed it behind her. Seeing her tiptoe towards the bed soundlessly so she wouldn’t disturb him, Spike warmly smiled.


“I’m not asleep, luv.”


“Oh.” She sighed in relief, and slipped beneath the covers, unconsciously molding her body against his.


“Did I wake you up?”


“Nah. Was just thinking.” Spike turned on his side and hugged her, running his fingers through her hair. “How are you? Are you alright?”


“Not really,” she answered.


“Wanna talk about it?”


“I’m scared, Spike.”


“Why? Did your mum-”


“No. It’s… me I’m scared of.”


“Buffy, you did nothing wrong. He had it coming. And you didn’t kill him.”


“But I wanted to! I wanted it so much, I could taste it. God, if you hadn’t stopped me-”


“Hey now. Stop blaming yourself. It’s what I’m here for, right? To keep you safe,” Spike murmured and kissed her lightly on the lips.


“I know. Have I told how much I love you?”


Spike smiled. He would never get tired of hearing those words, feeling and knowing that she meant it. He’d never had that. Not before. “Not since this morning you haven’t. Love you too. So how did it go with Mum?”


“She was wigged. By the way, I think she finished off your favourite whisky.”


“Bugger.”


“But I think she kind of came to terms with the whole supernatural thing.”


“Did you tell her about… why you were gone?”


“Yeah… I had to tell her. There was a big cry-fest, but I’m glad I told her even though she… I hurt her by telling her, but there was no other way. And she promised me she wouldn’t tell dad.”


“She’s not gonna call the cops, is she?”


“No. I explained how many questions that would raise and that I don’t want to deal with that extra stress. I told her I’d deal with it my way, and I think she accepted it. She’s going back to LA tomorrow morning.”


“Are you sad?” Spike asked.


“A little. But, to be honest… I’m kinda glad I’ll be alone with you again, without the stress of being under constant surveillance and questioning.”


“Wanna have you all to myself too, kitten.” Spike claimed her mouth in a tender kiss, running his tongue over her upper lip, he then pulled it into his mouth, before shifting to the seam of Buffy’s mouth, teasing her. Her fingers tangled themselves in the soft curls of his hair as she parted her lips and slid her tongue against Spike’s. She tasted like tears and the love that flowed between them like a live wire. Spike rolled onto his back, tugging Buffy on top as she tilted her head to the side to deepen the kiss.


The rhythm was still slow and languorous, both of them just relishing the contact, the feel and taste of each other without the desperate need to take it further. Buffy abandoned his lips in order to draw in a breath and nuzzled his throat.


“Wow,” she breathed.


“I’ll second that. Could be kissing you all day long.”


“Maybe we can make a date out of it.” Buffy grinned.


“Only if I can lick whipped cream off your luscious skin after the date.” Spike demonstrated by rolling Buffy beneath him and suckling at her neck.


“Mmmm… only if I can return the favour.”


“Bloody hell. You’re evil.”


Buffy giggled and hugged him to her, relishing Spike’s weight pressing her down into the mattress. “I learn from the best.”


“Mmm, that you do,” Spike confirmed and rolled to his side, so he wouldn’t be crushing her. “If your mum wasn’t in the next room, I’d be ravishing you right now.”


His wistful tone made Buffy suppress a giggle. He could be such a guy sometimes. “And if she wasn’t, I’d let you. It would be way too weird, even though she’s probably dead to the world with all the whisky she drank.”


“Tomorrow then?”


“Only if you order some fancy takeout food and watch a sappy chick movie with me,” Buffy said.


“Ooh, we can order Chinese. I love those fortune cookies!”


“What, no argument about the sappy part?” she asked teasingly.


“Eh… right! Damn you, woman. Watching those chick flicks… right. I’m not very convincing, am I?” Spike sighed in defeat as she grinned at him.


“Sorry. Maybe I’d buy it if I didn’t know you watch Dawson’s Creek. And Passions.”


“How long have you known?” And here he thought she only found out about his guilty pleasure today. How did she know he watched Passions?


“The DVD set in the cabinet under the television kind of gave you away,” Buffy admitted.


Spike groaned, and then turned his attention to nipping at her neck. “You know… we could go out to kill things tomorrow. Some fellow demons that have been naughty.”


“Umm… I-”


“Look, we don’t have to. It was just a suggestion-”


“No. I mean yes… but, are we talking just random demons or-”


“You wanna go with me on the revenge killing spree, don’t you?” Spike sat up.


“No. Yes. Maybe. I just… it’s something I need to do.”


“Gotcha, pet. But first we have ourselves a date, right?”


“It’s a deal.”


TBC


Author's note: I hope you enjoyed! :)

Author's Notes: Sorry for the delay in update, I was swamped by course work. *sigh* Beta'd by amazing dawnofme and Mabel Marsters. Thanks to all who review, it motivates me! :)






Beautiful banner was made by nmcil.



Chapter 25


Buffy gave a last little wave with her hand, watching her mother drive away until the car turned the corner and disappeared from view. With a sigh, she walked back into the house to finish her breakfast. Joyce had asked her to come back to LA, insisting that once Buffy was home, it would be easier to reclaim the life she’d had prior to the kidnapping. She would be loved there, and they would help her.


What her mother failed to see was that LA was no longer her home. Not when Buffy’s heart and soul were in the hands of the man currently sleeping in their bedroom. There would still be the lingering feeling of hollow longing to be able to fit in with her old life, to be just a child of her parents.


'Guess that’s what growing up feels like.'


Stabbing her pancake with a fork and putting it into her mouth, Buffy couldn’t seem to find it in herself to feel sad about the changes in her life. The pang of losing something she’d been used to was drowned out by the vision of her future. All she could see was the image of her in Spike’s arms as he stroked her hair. The feeling of his cool breath raising goose bumps on her skin. Even seeing the glee on his face as they pretended to kick each other’s butts. The thing that thrilled her the most though was the overwhelming solidity of his love for her. How could she ever regret anything with him standing by her side?


Spike showed her how to be strong again, encouraged her to grasp everything that made her who she was. And even though Buffy knew it was right to reclaim the Slayer part of her by going out with Spike to patrol, it was still daunting. The enormity of literally fighting the demons that had been haunting her for so long suddenly smacked her in the face. Was she really ready?


Managing to swallow the last bits of food despite her throat constricting with apprehension, Buffy rose and put the plate into the sink, busying herself with washing it. All the weeks of training, all the steps she’d made towards living again, and the cold fear that settled in her stomach still refused to go away. What if she lost it? Unable to remain cool headed in the face of her abusers and putting both her and Spike in danger? If something happened to him because of her, she’d never forgive herself.


Wiping her hands on the towel and grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, Buffy descended into the basement, needing to occupy herself with physical activity to will the doubts whispering through her mind away.


******


Spike hopped down the stairs, one hand running through his mussed hair as he strode into the living room. There were still several hours till sundown, but he wasn’t much for sleeping the day away. After becoming a vampire, the constant restless energy wouldn’t let him sleep too long, and Buffy always hid everything containing caffeine from him, joking he would probably spontaneously combust if he had a cup of coffee.


“Hey, luv, been waiting long for me?” He plopped down next to her on the couch and kissed her on the cheek.


“Nope. Just finished making popcorn.” She lifted the bowl resting in her lap in demonstration.


“But where am I gonna snuggle?” He pouted and scowled at the bowl.


Buffy playfully rolled her eyes and set the bowl aside, sitting comfortably and leaning back against the couch as Spike rested his head in her lap, grinning up at her.


“You’re such a big baby,” she said and started playing with his hair as he turned on his side, knowing how much he liked that.


“Hey! I’m all man here… now put on the chick flick.”


Buffy snorted and reached for the remote to get the film started.


Halfway through the film, and one empty bowl of popcorn later, Spike suddenly sat up and twisted his body so that he was facing her. Buffy stared back at him, thoroughly puzzled by his concerned expression.


“What’s wrong?” she asked.


“That’s what I’d like to know.”


“What do you mean? Everything’s-”


“Buffy, I can feel something’s bothering you, so why don’t you just ‘fess up… before I tickle it out of you.”


“You wouldn’t dare!”


“Wanna try me?” He arched an eyebrow and Buffy sighed.


“I don’t know… it’s just… I have this feeling… it’s really hard to explain, and I don’t even understand it, it’s-”


“Yeah?” Spike prompted.


“It’s about tonight… how we’re supposed to go after the demons that…” She hesitated, mulling it over in her head. “What if… What if I go all crazy Buffy again and get you hurt somehow? Or something bad happens, or--”


“It won’t. Look, Buffy… the way you reacted then was probably because you didn’t expect it. You couldn’t have known the git would be there, and it took you by surprise. And between the two of us, they don’t stand a chance, yeah? But we still don’t have to go. It’s entirely up to you. You know I wouldn’t force you into anything you’re not ready for.”


“I know.” She smiled and entwined her fingers with Spike’s. “I still want to go. It’s just me being worried for nothing, I guess.”


“It’ll be alright, you’ll see. You have my incredibly sexy and dangerous self to watch your back after all.” He led Buffy to sit astride him, letting go of her hand as he embraced her tightly in his arms.


“That I do.” Buffy lightly bit his earlobe, smiling as he growled.


“Thought you wanted to watch the film,” Spike teased as his hand moved beneath the fabric of her t-shirt to stroke the silky skin of her back.


“I’ve seen it before.”


Spike groaned as she wriggled on his lap and nipped at his neck.


“Right then,” he said as he rose from the couch with Buffy’s legs tightly wrapped around his waist as she clung to him.


With Buffy’s attention to his neck, it was somewhat of a miracle he made it to the stairs without accident.


Just as Spike was about to enter their bedroom, he tripped over the door step, yelping as the toes on his left foot slammed into the hard wood. He cursed as his eyes teared up from the pain. The little minx in his arms had the audacity to actually laugh too.


“That bloody hurt, you know. And here you are, laughing at my misfortune,” he said with a pout, as he set her down on the bed.


“Aw, don’t be mad. Come here. I’m going to kiss it better.” She threw him a sultry look and tugged at his hand, prompting him to sit next to her.


“You better.” The pain was almost gone, nothing but a dull throbbing left behind thanks to the accelerated healing, but what kind of evil vampire would he be if he didn’t milk this for all it was worth? He covered the smirk pushing at the edges of his lips by continuing to pout pitifully.


Buffy edged towards him, all knowing smiles and soft skin, and he had no other choice than to tackle her to bed and devour those lips that tasted like darkness and purity. Every gasp and every moan passing through her lips, every movement of her body and caress of her fingertips were driving him wild. Claiming him as her eternal slave. Spike was ready to cater to her every wish, even those she never said out loud. He was completely, irrevocably hers.


Clothes were peeled away, fluttering soundlessly to the plush carpet of the bedroom. The feeling of bottomless hunger fueled the raw need for her touch as their bare skin made contact, making him feel alive. Buffy’s fingers threaded through his hair as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss, her thighs cradling his hips making him shiver in anticipation.


Right now, nothing mattered. Not the thirst for revenge or fear of the unknown. There was nothing but the echoes of their heavy breathing and sounds of torturous desperation for connection tearing through the silence of the room. The colours of the sunset filtered through the thick curtains, bathing the silky skin of Spike’s back in orange and violet hue.


Spike broke the kiss, instantly missing the feel of Buffy’s lips as he let her take in gulps of air. Smiling against the skin of her neck, he let his hand slide down her side, stroking her skin and reveling in the shiver it evoked. Her fingers tightened in his hair as he lavished her sensitive neck with gentle kisses.


“Spike… please.”


“Please what?” And if it weren’t for the tremor in his voice betraying his own desperation, the teasing edge would have almost sounded convincing.


“Need you,” Buffy said breathlessly and squirmed beneath his weight.


Spike stroked her outer thigh and encouraged her to wrap the leg around his waist as he thrust inside her. Dropping his forehead against Buffy’s, their breath mingled as they relished the ultimate connection. The pleasure was sweeping over him in waves, and Spike’s hips started to move, overwhelmed by the intensity. Buffy’s fingers trailed down his back, leaving light scratches in their wake, and he moaned as both of her legs wrapped around him, allowing him to sink in deeper.


“Bloody… beautiful, you are. So hot you’re gonna burn me alive.”


“God, more…please.” Her eyes were unfocused, barely open as she gazed into his. He could feel her pleasure flowing through him, magnifying his own as he quickened the movement of his hips.


Her hair smelt like flowers when he buried his face in it, her warm breath tickled the skin of his neck. The thunder of her blood rushing through her veins called to him, and Spike was too weak to resist it. Tenderness collided with the raw animalistic desire, and Buffy’s internal muscles squeezed him as she reached the climax. Spike slid his fangs into her neck, pulling her life into his mouth, the heady taste throwing him over the precipice into the abyss of pure pleasure.


He could feel every muscle loosening and relaxing as he rolled onto his back and took Buffy with him.


“You’re perfect,” he whispered.


“No. We are.” Buffy smiled and stroked the skin of his chest. “We forgot the whipped cream.”


Spike chuckled and kissed her temple. “We have our whole lives to make up for that, don’t we?”


“I hope so.”


TBC



Author's note: There are only about two or three chapters left, so I hope you've enjoyed the chapter. :)

This gorgeous banner was made by nmcil. :)


Chapter 26


A cool winter breeze brushed against Buffy’s burning cheeks as she and Spike walked down the deserted sidewalk.


“You’re such a pig,” she muttered, still blushing from his early remark.


“I was just pointing out your talents, luv. God, the thing you do with your--”


“Look!” Buffy giggled nervously as an elderly lady, walking a dog, passed them by with a scowl on her face. Letting out a sigh of relief at averting one of Spike’s naughty comments offending the Sunnydale citizens, Buffy smacked him lightly on the shoulder. “You’re so evil.”


Spike just chuckled and threw his arm around her shoulders, leaning in to nuzzle her cheek. “What can I say? You bring out the animal in me. Plus, love seeing you blush… makes me feel all manly.”


“You’re plenty manly even without that.”


“Am I?” Spike drawled and bit the bottom of his lip as he glanced at her with those bedroom eyes.


“Mmm… maybe.”


She giggled as he suddenly stopped and slammed her against the nearest tree. “Now that you have me trapped, what are you planning on doing to me?”


Spike leered and pressed his body against hers, his presence alone warming her up beneath the coat she was wearing. “Why, kitten? Expecting me to ravish you, are you?”


Buffy lifted her arms and caressed his cheeks, grinning when Spike closed his eyes and purred in contentment. “Nope. Unless you want your manly bits to freeze and fall off.”


Spike’s eyes snapped open and glowered at her, trying to appear offended. “My balls are made of steel, woman. Takes a lot more than a slight chill to make me a eunuch.” He wrinkled his nose at the thought and adjusted the hat on her head.


“I still think you should have worn something warmer than the duster. I know it’s all sexy and stuff, but you must be cold.”


“Nah. Doesn’t bother me. I’m not a sissy when it comes to a slight chill as you Californian folks. And there’s no way you’d make me wear that poncy turtleneck.”


“Hey, we’re not… that weird British word! And I’ll have you know that that turtleneck brings out the colour of your eyes. Plus, it was you who made me wear the hat… and the shawl.” Buffy lifted her chin as she stared at him haughtily.


He chuckled and leaned in to steal a kiss from her lips. “I told you, sweetheart. No patrolling unless you gear up. Don’t fancy taking on a grumpy sick slayer.”


“I look like an Eskimo! And slayers don’t get sick… I think,” Buffy said with a pout.


“Let’s not test that theory. Want you all healthy so I can shag you until you can’t walk.” Spike stepped away and took her glove-covered hand while he grinned.


Buffy snorted at his remark and walked beside him towards the nearest cemetery. “How very chivalrous of you.”


“Bloody better believe it.”


******


Spike sat on the top of a headstone, blowing out a puff of smoke as he watched Buffy kick some demon ass. The poor sod was obviously a fledgling, fumbling and graceless as he tried to unsuccessfully dodge Buffy’s attack. She-- on the other hand-- was beautiful. Undiluted poetry in motion. Sleek and lethal as she kicked and punched the vampire without reserve. Playing with him. Asserting her role of predator.


The cigarette cinder fluttered on the breeze as he inhaled more nicotine and watched Buffy kick out the legs of the fledgling from underneath him, ramming the stake straight into his heart. She twirled her stake and put it back into her pocket as she approached him with a grin on her face.


“Had fun?” he asked.


“You know… I did. I think I’ve missed slaying more than I thought I would.”


“You were magnificent.” Spike flicked away the cigarette and rose from the tombstone, fingering the lapels of Buffy’s coat.


“I could feel you watching me,” she said.

“Yeah?”


“Mmhm. Made me feel all tingly.” She buried her head in his chest as she encircled his waist, her hot breath searing Spike through the cotton of his t-shirt.


“Too bad I can’t do anything about it right now. Could do with a bit of rough and tumble.” He waggled his eyebrows, making Buffy laugh.


“Seriously, Spike. I swear your mind is constantly in the gutter. We have a couple more cemeteries to cover and then I’m all yours.”


Spike groaned. “You’re a right tease, you know that? Get a bloke all worked up and then crush his hopes.”


“Restfield it is,” she said.


******


Spike turned in a swirl of black leather as he kicked a vampire in the chest.


“Traitor! Killing your own kind. You’re gonna pay for this!” The vampire snarled as he sprang back to his feet, immediately receiving a punch to his face for his effort.


“Never been one to follow the rules, mate.” Spike leapt at the vampire, tackling him to the ground and straddling his chest while punching his face in quick succession.


The vampire growled and tried to break free but Spike had the leverage and skills that the other vampire lacked. Spike glanced at Buffy out of the corner of his eye to check if she was all right and whipped out a stake from his boot to plunge it into the vampire’s chest.


Just as he was about to stand up, he saw the vampire Buffy was fighting get in a cheap shot and manage to lift her in his arms high above his head, flinging her into a tombstone.


“Buffy!” Spike called out and sent the stake in his hand spiraling into the distracted vampire’s back. His dust didn’t have a chance to settle on the damp grass before Spike was kneeling next to Buffy, brushing hair away from her face.


“You alright?” He peered at her, his eyes darkening with worry as he took in her pained expression.


“I’ll be fine. Once I actually manage to move,” she said with a gasp and winced when the nerve endings in her back screamed at her attempt to sit up.


Spike pushed at her shoulders and said: “Stay down, luv. Don’t want you to aggravate the injury. I knew this wasn’t a good idea.”


“He just got lucky. Good thing I have you, right?”


“Buffy-”


“I’m alright. Don’t worry. Just give me a sec.” Buffy breathed deeply, trying to ignore the stabbing pain from the small of her back where she’d hit the headstone. She glanced at Spike, his eyes concerned and so very blue it made her feel better just looking into them.


She grasped his forearm and rose, suppressing a wince as she smiled tightly at him. “See? No problem. All’s good.”


Hearing her exhale heavily, Spike frowned. “Let me carry you, luv.”


“Don’t be silly. It barely even hurts. Slayer healing is all part of the package, you know.” Buffy started to walk, suppressing the urge to rub at her sore back and groan, not wanting to alert Spike to the her still present pain. She was pretty sure she heard something crack when she fell, but she would heal in no time so there was no need to worry Spike further.


“I can feel your pain, and I know you can walk on your own, but it wouldn’t kill you to let me help you.”


“See me with the walking? Don’t worry. Besides, home’s not that far anyway.”


“Why do you have to be so bloody stubborn?”


Spike moved behind her and swiftly picked her up, ignoring her protests and huff of irritation. .

“You didn’t have to do that,” she said and sighed in resignation, leaning her head against his neck.


“You should know by now that I hardly mind.”


“I know, but still… thank you.” Buffy encircled his neck with her arms. “You’re the best boyfriend ever.”


Spike smiled at the label, ignoring the passing scenery as he quickly strode towards home.


An owl hooted somewhere in the distance. Music blared from the car passing them by and the wind stirred the leaves somewhere behind him. Buffy’s warm breath tickled his neck and Spike tightened his hold on her.


“Feel better?” he asked and gazed down at her closed eyes.


“Yes. I think I’ll hire you as my personal carrier… I’m too comfy to walk… you’re just going to have to carry me like this forever.” She smiled and kissed the side of his neck, eliciting a shiver.


“I think I can live with that. Anything else to service you, princess?”


“I wouldn’t complain if you wanted to give me massage when we get home.” She batted her eyelashes at him and Spike chuckled with that sexy throaty laugh that made her insides melt.


“You got it. Gonna make you--”


“Hey!” someone called from behind them, and Spike glanced over his shoulder.


“Spike?” the person asked, and hurried to catch up to them. “Is that you?”


Spike growled when he identified the person as one of his kind. “Do we know each other?”


“No, but I have message for you. Stop with the mercenary gig or you’re gonna pay. And that little human of yours just might happen to take the brunt of it.”


Spike stopped in his tracks and swirled to face the leering demon. “Are you threatening me?” he asked, gently putting Buffy down as he faced the vampire.


“Hey, I’m just a messenger.”


“Oh yeah? Tell whoever sent you they can go fuck themselves. I don’t deal with pathetic minions. If they got something to say, let them say it.”


“Well… about that…” the vampire smirked as dozen other vampires emerged from the shadows of the night, surrounding them. A man stepped out from the circle, approaching Spike and Buffy with careless leisure in his step, his green eyes glittering with cold detachment.


The sight of the man niggled at the back of Spike’s mind. He knew this man, had seen him before. Now only if he could place the face. He felt Buffy stiffen next to him, trembling so hard it made his skin vibrate. He glanced down at her pale face in confusion and was just about to ask her what was wrong when the well dressed man spoke.


“Well, if it isn’t Miss Summers. Here I naively thought you were long dead. How have you been, Sunshine?” The man caressed the fabric of his expensive suit. “Missed me?”


TBC


Author's note: There's only one chapter to go. I hope I won't leave you hanging for long, but just so you know... reviews can prompt me to write the chapter instead of the law essay I'm supposed to be writing. *winks*

Author's note: This is it, all you lovely readers...the last chapter. :) It feels both good and sad. I really hope you've enjoyed reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it. Huge hugs and sloppy kisses to all you who left me a review, it is thanks to you that this story is finished. *HUGS* And thank you so much dawnofme and Mabel Marsters for the awesome beta work! :D

These gorgeous banner were made by nmcil and Vette. Thank you! :)






Chapter 27


No, no, no, no…


Denial. Fear. Anger. Buffy’s head spun from the onslaught of sudden emotions and she swayed on her feet. Fortunately, Spike’s arm snaked around her waist, the physical contact grounding her.


This was supposed to be over. He wasn’t supposed to be here, gazing at her with those cold detached eyes as if she was an inanimate object to be sold and discarded. Calculating. The familiar lack of humanity and reason in his eyes made her shiver.


Spike’s chest rumbled behind her and his arms tightened around her possessively. The conversation between Spike and Lukas was blurry and inconsequential and she couldn’t concentrate to make out the words. But this wasn’t the time. She had to be strong. She was the Slayer, not the victim. Not anymore. If that was true, why couldn’t she stop trembling? Why could she feel the rough stone walls of her prison closing in on her, the concrete rasping her naked flesh as real as it had been months ago?


******


Spike glanced around him, not liking the odds they were against. There were more than a dozen vampires circling them, subtly closing in and cutting off all the escape routes. Buffy seemed to be completely oblivious to the danger surrounding them and Spike tasted the bitter flavor of fear on his tongue. He couldn’t care less if he made it out alive, but nothing would happen to her. Not if had any say in it. They would have to dust him first.


“You know, mate. It’s not nice to drop in on someone uninvited.”


'Better make the puffed up git talk. Gain some time to form something like a plan.'


“I apologize. I came here to discuss business with you. And look at what I found. One might call it fate perhaps.” Lukas took a step closer.


“What are you on about? And who the hell are you?”


Lukas hissed in displeasure. “Such manners, William. I am feeling rather hurt actually. We have met before, you know. You were anxious to find the Slayer at the time. Hunting her down to kill her.” He smirked. “How did that work out for you?”


Spike’s mind reeled and then it hit him. “You’re Lukas. The wanker that--”


Spike growled and unconsciously slid into game face. He was about to jump forward with every intention of ripping off the sod’s head when Buffy grasped the arm still encircled around her waist.


“You promised,” she whispered.


The promise of leaving her the final blow. He remembered. Spike could feel her trembling, so frail and vulnerable, but when his gaze met hers the only thing he could see in them was steel. The murderous glint he so often saw in the eyes of his kind when they were on the hunt. The hair on the back of his neck rose in response.


“Here I am. Talking and nobody pays attention to me. That’s just rude,” Lukas remarked. Seeing their attention was back on him, he intended to make them pay for their insolence. “You should thank me, you know. It is as I suspected. There is a bond between the two of you, isn’t there?”


“Any vamp could sense the mark,” Spike retorted and Lukas grinned. They were near the woods, the place deserted. Nobody would dare coming here this hour of the night.


“Ah, but I am not talking about the mating claim. There was a link before. Must have been, otherwise she would be dead right now. She somehow managed to survive, though I cannot imagine how since a new slayer had been called the same day I sold her to one of my clients. Still, you… William… must have found her, and you didn’t kill her though your reputation would suggest otherwise.”


“What are you saying?” Buffy spoke, locking gazes with her tormentor.


“Not that you are in any position to demand my answer, but I will be gracious. The drug I gave you to make you weak contained a rather interesting ingredient.” Lukas stared at them in satisfaction as they tried to figure out what he was talking about. “We slipped in a drop of an old vampire’s blood… to accelerate your healing abilities, since the drug stole your powers.”


“What vampire?” Spike had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.


“Why you, of course. A minion sneaked a sample as you were fighting the rest of them. It was almost too easy.” Lukas folded his arms across his chest. “But that is not why I am here. I have a debt to settle with you, William.”


“It’s Spike now, mate. And if someone has a debt to settle, it would be me.” Spike growled.


“You are wrong. You are not exactly subtle. Did you think I wouldn’t notice you killing off my clients? How very naïve of you. I came here to make you pay… in blood. But now that I have stumbled upon this delightful surprise of my sunshine being alive, I think there are other ways to make you pay.”


“You’re not touching her!” Spike snarled.


“Well, I cannot use her for business… she is damaged goods. But I would enjoy watching your reaction as my men debauch her body in every possible way. Then, I will kill you and make her watch,” Lukas said, grinning at the hungry vampires standing in a circle around them. “I want them alive!” he shouted and stepped out of the way as the vampires drew out their guns and started shooting. “For now.”


Spike swirled with his back to Buffy, ready to fight their way out of this alive when he noticed the vampires pulling out the guns. His eyes widened and he tackled Buffy to the ground, covering her body with his. Searing pain exploded in his legs and back.


The bullets were drenched in holy water.


“No!” Buffy screamed.


The used up guns were tossed away and the vampires were ready to throw themselves at the weakened vampire and slayer. Spike ignored the pain and sprang to his feet as fast as he could, followed by Buffy who stared at him, her eyes wide with concern. Sending her a flitting glance filled with determination, Spike’s back was to hers in a blink as he kicked and punched at the vampires surrounding them. Blood soaked the fabric of his t-shirt and jeans as it seeped from the holes that refused to heal.


They were holding their own; the sound of flesh meeting flesh in violent collision filled the empty clearing, and Spike knew they couldn’t hold on for long. There were too many of them and he could feel his adrenaline running out. Once the pain and fatigue took hold, it would be over.


Buffy kicked the closest vampire in the balls, sending him staggering back as she punched another one in the nose and staked him in the heart. She and Spike were circling; never shifting away too far from each other to leave their backs open for attack. The dust from four vampires swirled in the night air, but there appeared to be a dozen more. They kept coming and coming, and she could feel Spike running on the last reserves of energy as he continued to lose blood. She pushed back the panic threatening to break free and focused on dusting as many vampires as possible.


Spike gritted his teeth as every movement caused the bullets to shift, sending the jolts of excruciating pain to his nerve endings. He managed to dust another vampire, but as he was drawing his arm back, Lukas’ minion caught him unaware and twisted his wrist. The stake fell to the concrete with a clutter. Spike’s eyes widened in pain as the bones in his wrist broke and he kicked at the vampire’s knee, but he evaded the blow and grabbed Spike’s whole arm, sent him careening forward, head first into the ground.


“Buffy!” Spike called, unable to do anything but watch when four vampires piled on top of him, pummeling him.


Buffy felt the moment Spike’s presence disappeared from behind her a second after he had called her name. A vampire got behind her and kicked her injured lower back. The blow made her vision blur as she definitely heard something crack and she staggered. Someone kicked the stake out of her hand and she felt strong hands holding her, forcing her down on her knees.


Lukas stepped closer with a satisfied grin. “Great work, minions. You have not put my plans in peril for once. So what are you waiting for? Make him watch.”


They tugged Spike into a kneeling position, more propping him up than holding him down. His face was swollen with bruises and he could feel blood still trickling out of the gunshot wounds. His head was muddled with blood loss and pain, but when he focused and noticed they had Buffy, he tried to struggle. He was just too weak to break free.


His eyes locked with Buffy’s as the vampires holding her ripped off her shawl and coat. Spike had never felt more helpless in his life as he watched Lukas’ minion drop to his knees behind Buffy and sink his teeth into her neck, tearing her flesh in the process. The minion’s grubby hand sneaked its way under Buffy’s shirt and Spike’s demon roared, bursting forward as the hopelessness of the situation overwhelmed him. If only he was stronger. Faster. Anything to help her. All of this was his fault.


“Don’t kill her yet!” Lukas shouted at the minion who seemed to be enjoying slayer’s blood far too much. “You can play with her later. I am starting to get bored. Time is money.” He turned toward the closest minion. “Toss me the stake.” He caught it midair. It was light for a stake, which was strange but he didn’t care what wood it was made of when he had a debt to settle.


“I am going to enjoy this. I hate people mucking with my business, William. You should never have tried to do so.” He stood before Spike and kicked him in the stomach then nodded at his minions to lift him up. “Make her watch.”


Spike gazed at Buffy, trying to convey everything he felt for her. “Buffy…” he whispered and tears blurred his vision in response to the ones falling down her cheeks.


“Spike! No!” Buffy started to struggle, but there were too many holding her down and she was so weak. Lukas glanced at her over his shoulder before turning back to Spike and lifting his arm for the killing blow. She squeezed her eyes shut, unable to watch. Hearing the sickening wet sound of the stake penetrating Spike’s chest and his scream made something within her snap.


Fury and grief consumed her, its fiery fingers gripping her pounding heart as a red sheen fell over her vision. She cried out, her voice raw with pain and everything ceased to matter. Letting the primal animalistic need for retribution take over her, Buffy shut out everything but the wild pulsing thirst for revenge. The world around her was a blur as she wrenched away from the grasp of the vampires and tore off the head of one with her bare hands. Screams filled the night air as she ripped off any parts of the bodies of the vampires she could reach. Blood trickled down her hand as Buffy thrust it into a minion’s chest and ripped it out.


******


Spike’s eyes slid shut when he saw Lukas prepare to plunge the stake into his heart.


'I love you, Buffy.'


He could feel the stake penetrating his chest and he never expected it to hurt so much. He screamed. The pain went on and on and why didn’t it stop? Opening his eyes, he saw the stake protruding from his chest and met Lukas’ eyes who appeared to be just as confused as Spike felt.


“What the--” Lukas wrenched out the stake and looked at it. Turning to the minion responsible for giving him the stake, he asked with a deceptively calm voice, “Why is it not working?”


“I-I thought you w-wanted to torture him first, sir. It’s a plastic wood-grain--”


“Useless bastard!” Lukas shouted and tossed the stake away. Then he noticed something wasn’t quite right. The Slayer was dispatching his minions with alarming ferocity and effectiveness. “What are you staring at, fools? Go help them!” Minions let go of Spike who crumpled to the ground, crawling away from a distracted Lukas. Hiding behind bushes and trees, Spike never felt more of a coward. Turning his attention to Buffy, he watched in amazement as she mutilated and dusted the vampires surrounding her, her clothes soaked with their blood.


'Magnificent.'


In a span of a few minutes, every single vampire was dust and Lukas was facing one unhinged slayer.


The part of Buffy that thirsted for the feel of the life of demons ending at her hands clouded everything else. The scene of Lukas about to ram the stake into her lover’s heart was stuck on repeat in her head and she was pulled towards the place where the last threat was standing. She could feel the tingles at the back of her neck as she ran at him full speed, tackling him to the ground. She straddled him, reveling in the bones cracking and breaking beneath her fists. The scent of blood tinged the fresh winter air, but it wasn’t enough. He had to suffer. She kept hitting him every place she could reach, gripping his head and smacking it against the ground until the broken skull cut into her palms and then, he exploded into dust beneath her.


Reality slammed into her and Buffy glanced around her with wild eyes. Her hands were covered in blood, knuckles distorted but she couldn’t feel the pain. Sobs erupted from her throat after the tears started to pour down her cheeks. Spike couldn’t be dead. Not after everything. How could he just be gone? She’d never see him smirk again as he said something to make her blush, or arch his eyebrow as he teased her. She’d never again hear his laughter or feel his silky skin under her finger tips. She was alone. She would sell her soul and freedom if it meant Spike could be alive.


******


Spike watched her kill Lukas from a distance. He’d never seen such pure violence. But she wasn’t laughing or smiling. Instead, her body shook with heavy sobs as she curled on the cold ground and hugged her knees to her chest, mumbling under her breath. Spike gathered up all the strength he had left, and crawled towards her.


It took him a couple of minutes to make it halfway. His heart hurt with the weight of her grief that he couldn’t understand. Lukas was dead and they were alive, weren’t they? He was close enough now to make out the words she kept saying over and over. It was his name.


Spike frowned and crawled the last couple of inches towards her, then put his hand on her shoulder. Buffy froze under his touch and slowly glanced up. Her eyes, red from crying, widened in shock as she stared at him. Buffy reached out to touch him and as her fingertips traced a path down his cheek, Spike found himself with an armful of sobbing Buffy.


“Y-you’re alive!” Buffy hugged him to the point of pain, but he wasn’t complaining.


“Course. Told you once… not getting rid of me that easily.”


“But how? I saw you… I saw him stake you, and I heard--”


“Plastic wood-grain. The stake wasn’t real.”


Relief flooded her body like a tidal wave. She tightened her arms around him and felt him flinch. She gazed at him, for the first time registering the extent of his injuries. “Oh my God, Spike… I’m sorry!”


“Your hugs are always worth a little pain.” He smiled and caressed her cheek with the hand that wasn’t broken.


“I love you so much! I thought I lost you--”


“Never.”


******


Buffy sat next to Spike as she finished wrapping him up. The bowl on the nightstand was full of bullets.


“Spike?”


“Yeah, kitten?”


“Umm… do you remember what Lukas said… about the bond between us--”


“You’re afraid what I feel for you isn’t real--”


“No! I… I know you love me, and I know it’s real, but… is it true? That you would have killed me if we weren’t linked.”


“Dunno, luv. I don’t wanna lie to you and say I wouldn’t have. Prob’ly not. Not very sporting to kill someone unable to fight back, yeah? Where’s the glory in that? And you know… I could have killed you regardless of the bond.”


“Why didn’t you?”


“Because the moment our eyes met, I could feel who you were. Your essence. And… it reached something deep within me. I just… I couldn’t kill you after that.”


“I’m glad you didn’t.”


“So am I.” Spike lay down and tugged her towards him. “I was thinking--”


“Uh oh.” Buffy giggled and stroked his bandaged chest.


Spike glared at her for a moment, then sighed. “As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted… I was thinking about some things. I think you should go back to school.”


“Actually, I was thinking about that too. But I don’t think they’d take me.”


“Don’t you worry about that. I’ll sort them out if they give you any trouble. You’d probably have to repeat your junior year though.”


“I know. I don’t mind. And I kind of miss having friends… not that you’re not my friend--”


“I get it.” Spike smiled and stroked her hair. “You should have mates. The kind that don’t drink blood or bribe your boyfriend into playing kitten poker.”


“Yeah, I still wish you guys played for money. Well, as long as Clem eats kittens and not people--”


“I wonder what would animal activists say about your attitude, luv?”


Buffy pouted. “I like animals! Oh… maybe you could buy out all the kittens and we could set them free,” she said with a hopeful voice.


“We’ll see.” Spike chuckled then turned serious. “I forgot to thank you.”


“For what?”


“Saving me life,” he said. “You were so magnificent and deadly. Bloody poetry in motion.”


“We’re even then.” She kissed Spike’s collarbone. “I don’t even remember it. It’s all confusing… like a dream. It was like… the slayer essence completely took over. It was--”


“Scary?”


“Oh, yeah.”


******


Buffy clutched her books to her chest as she slammed shut the locker. Why did she think this was a good idea again? She couldn’t do this. It felt so strange to stand here among these people, feeling she could never be one of them. She didn’t belong. The girls passing her by gossiped about boys and clothes and all the things she used to talk about too before. That life felt like it wasn’t even a part of her. How could she ever find any friends here?


Turning around the corner, Buffy smacked into someone and all her books fell to the floor.


“I’m so sorry for being such a klutz,” she said as she picked up her scattered books.


No response. That was weird. Buffy glanced up and her jaw promptly dropped open.


“Umm… Buffy, right?” asked the red headed girl.


Buffy shook herself and stood up. “You’re the girl that… I forgot to return the sweater. I’m sorry I just--”


“It’s okay. You kinda seemed to be having a rough time.”


“Ehm, am I missing some one night stand situation here?” asked a brown haired boy with a goofy smile. “I’m very open minded here, girls. Don’t be afraid to lay the very graphic details on me.”


“Xander! There was no… I mean she was naked and all, but… I’ll just stop talking.”


“Please do,” Buffy said. “I feel like an idiot, but sorry… I forgot your name. I was a little out of it back then--”


“No! It’s totally okay. I mean… it’s Willow. Oh, and this is Xander.”


“And you’re Buffy, right?” Xander asked and shook her hand. “So Buff, wanna join us for lunch? I’m still convinced they sell us food stolen from prison but I’ll eat pretty much anything.”


Buffy smiled and nodded. “I’m pretty sure this food is luxury compared to the type served in prison.” 'I should know.' “Count me in.”


Willow grinned. “I’ve been dying to ask this question for years. Can’t ask Xander here, you know. So, any boys you’re crushing on?”


“I’m a ladies man,” Xander added.


“There might be one worth talking about,” Buffy smiled as they headed towards the school cafeteria.


She may never fully get rid of the nightmares haunting her dreams, or the memories causing them, but it didn’t matter. She had Spike and now, maybe she would find some friends after all.


THE END


Author's note: Even if you've never left a review, I'd really love to know what you thought. :) Reading reviews is the most favourite part of writing!