A/N:This is going to be a dark fic, none of the usual comedy that you might be used to from one of my fics. Thanks to victoria morgan for beta-ing this.



SCARS

In my heart there’s cruel war that must be waged
In darkness vile with moans and bleeding bodies maimed;
A gnawing hunger drives me, wild to be assuaged,
And bitter lust chuckles within me unashamed

- From “Peace” by Siegfried Sassoon

Sunnydale 1999

Xander’s back slammed into the cave wall so hard that an aftershock travelled up his spine. He groaned but barely had time to register the pain as the demon swung his own axe at him. He lifted his hands to block it, grabbing the handle of the axe and pushing against it, trying to keep the blade away from his chest and arm.

The demon in front of him was really strong and Xander Harris was just a high school kid. Sure, he’d been battling demons for three years now but it never got much easier. The demon opened its mouth and blew out flames in his direction. He ducked out of the way, feeling the heat on his cheek. Xander kicked out and managed to land a lucky kick to the creature’s nuts, assuming it had any. He gained control of the axe and as the demon stumbled backwards Xander swung it around in an arc and sliced through it. It fell to the floor and didn’t get up. Xander wiped his hand across his sweaty forehead and sighed.

He looked around the dark cave, lit only by the sunlight streaming in from the entrance. Buffy was battling the fiercest Incinerato Demon. It was seven feet tall and almost as wide. Xander had to pause and watch for a moment at Buffy’s fluidity as she whipped around and hit it with a kick to the face.

"Man, she is something," Xander said to himself, admiringly.

A cry sounded behind him. "Xander!"

He spun around and ran to assist Willow. The witch was throwing small boulders at a demon using her relatively newly developed telekinesis but she was tiring fast. He hefted the axe and ran up behind the demon, trusting Buffy and Giles could hold their own, wherever Giles was; and Xander was betting he was guarding the exit of the cave to make sure nothing demon got out.

Xander struck the thing in the back with axe; it screeched and whirled around, hitting him with its forearm in the face. He tumbled to the floor and skidded across the sandy ground, hitting his head against the rock of the cave. "That’s gonna hurt tomorrow…" He reached up slowly, rubbed his head, winced "Scratch that it’s gonna hurt right now" He sat partially up and heard a loud sort of whooshing sound that his brain couldn’t process in its addled state. However, it did understand the sound that followed right after that.

The most blood-curdling, terrible scream Xander Harris had ever heard reverberated through the cave. It was followed by several more, just as heart-stopping as the first. They all belonged to one voice. Xander blinked, his head seeming to turn in slow motion as if he didn’t want his fears to be confirmed.

There was a figure in the cave, right in the middle now.

And it was on fire.

And it was Buffy.

Xander heard Giles shout out and Willow scream but he kept silent as he watched his friend’s back aflame. He blinked again, took in a breath, swallowed. Her arms were flailing about as she continued to scream. He knew, in the deep recesses of his brain that he should be doing something, but sitting there in the sand, in a cave, he couldn’t move. He was numb.

Giles tackled Buffy to the floor, forcefully rolling her back and forwards to put out the flames, with no heed to his own safety in the matter. Willow ran over to help. The screaming still didn’t stop.

Xander stayed where he was, watching, transfixed.

Another scream…

---

Sunnydale 2000 (present day)

Buffy bit down on her bottom lip to keep the scream from escaping. Torture. As the Slayer she was prepared for pain, of course. She herself had been tortured many times. Nothing as bad as this. It felt worse this time then it had the last time. It seemed like they came up with new and inventive ways to hurt her. Worse part was that she let herself be subjected to the treatment. She walked willingly into it, undressed for them and offered herself to them as a slab of willing meat.

"Just a little longer, Buffy" One of them promised her.

She gritted her teeth. They always said that. Of course, a little longer always felt like eternity. Here, lying on her front, tears prickling the corners of her eyes. Degrading was one word for it. Painful was another. Useless, was Buffy’s favourite word to describe these little torture sessions.

It never helped. It never would. She knew that.

Yet she kept coming back for more.

A slither of flesh was ripped from her body and Buffy yelled out, grounding her teeth against her lips hard. She closed her eyes and tried to keep her body from trembling. It burned, the pain, all over. Running up and down the length of her torso.

"You’re doing so well, Buffy"

This voice was softer, a familiar comfort. Or, it used to be. A slender hand stroked the hair away from her forehead tenderly. Buffy turned her head the other way, moving herself out of her mothers reach.

The Slayer focused on her breathing, regulating the pain, not letting it own her. It never worked, of course. The pain always had possession of her.

Another, final, slash of pain and the feeling of her skin being peeled away from her body and Buffy’s shoulders began to shake. A single tear slipped down her cheek. She wiped it away, quickly.

"Okay, Buffy," The doctor said "We’re all done here"

She pulled in a few long deep breaths and then nodded that she understood. A nurse moved to help her up but she shook her head. Buffy pushed herself up on her hands shakily, leaning all her weight on them. She got up to all fours on the gurney and pulled up her gown, covering her naked chest away from the prying eyes of the medical assistants.

The Slayer slung her legs over the edge of the gurney and held the gown in place, not able to reach back to fix it herself. The pain in her back was too fresh and if she attempted it then it was likely more of her flesh would rip and seep blood. The doctor, the nurses and the other people that worked there soon filed out of the room as they had become accustomed to doing. Then Joyce would help Buffy dress.

In some ways the Slayer hated this part the most. It was humiliating to have your mother dress you at her age. However, the quicker they got it over and done with the quicker Buffy could get back to pretending none of it happened. Joyce knelt on the floor and pulled Buffy’s socks on, smoothing them along her feet like she was a little girl. Buffy ground her teeth. Her mother stood and then helped her off the gurney to stand, the Slayer leaning her weight against the older woman.

Joyce then proceeded to dress the rest of her being slow and careful. They had to wrap bandages around Buffy’s torso, just until her back re-healed again. Only to be ripped apart again next month Buffy thought disdainfully. She had been having this treatment ever since that Incinerato Demon had burned her back beyond repair. Even her enhancing Slayer healing abilities hadn’t helped the scarring much.

Her back still looked like a mutilated, ugly, perverse thing.

Buffy shuddered just thinking about it. This racked pain through her body but she did her best to ignore it.

As her mother finished helping her slip her shirt on over the bandages, Joyce frowned, looking Buffy in the eyes "Oh, Buffy, you’ve cut your lip..."

The Slayer reached her fingers up to prod against the soft swell of her bottom lip. She took her fingers away and saw them stained with red. Must have bit down too hard against them. Not that it mattered. The blood looked vivid against her pale skin. After a moment she rubbed her fingers against her jeans.

Once the shirt was on Buffy proceeded to do the buttons up slowly. It still hurt to do even this but she couldn’t just let her mother take care of her like she was an invalid. She had too much pride for that.

The two of them left the hospital slowly. It was still difficult to walk this soon after but Buffy was determined to. The nurses knew by now not to even bother offering her a wheelchair; she always refused it.

Upon stepping outside Buffy squinted against the bright summer sunshine. There had been a time when summer was her favourite season. Now she despised it and everything it stood for. Heat. Warmth. Happiness. Melting ice creams and kids having hosepipe fights. She didn’t get out much any more. Not in daytime at least. Her skin was pale and washed out, compared to the bronzed Californian girl she had been.

As she shuffled towards her mother’s car Buffy felt the sun’s rays on her back and hurried herself. The warmth on her back just brought her pain. It triggered the memory of what it had felt like when her skin had been too warm. On fire.

She shuddered and slid into the passenger seat before her mother closed the door. The windows were black-tinted. Joyce had to have them installed after Buffy made it perfectly clear she would not travel in the car if it was flooded with such lovely Californian sunlight.

"I think it went better this time, don’t you, Buffy?" Joyce asked, starting up the car and pulling out of the lot.

Buffy stared out of the window "No"

"Oh, Buffy, I know it’s hard to keep your spirits up," She said, reaching across to place her hand on her daughter’s shoulder "But you have to keep hoping, Buffy"

She hated that. The way people kept saying her name over and over. Talking to her like she was a child and an ungrateful one at that. Naturally, she didn’t respond. Didn’t understand how her mother could still somehow be under the illusion that her back would be magically healed and that all would go back to how it was. It had been a year. No sign of improvement, not even after all the painful and humiliating treatment. Buffy wasn’t naive enough to think it would make the slightest difference, so why was her mother? The sooner Joyce realised her little girl wasn’t going to heal, the better.

When night came Buffy felt like she was more in her element. She had spent a lot of time in the dark before, but now more than ever she felt comfortable there. She knew all its secrets; she thrived on it and relished it. Nightfall was her time. Time to slay.

She dressed much as she always did these days when going out. Jeans, sneakers, long sleeved shirt and jacket, buttoned up. It was too humid outside for the outfit but it didn’t matter to her. She grabbed up a couple of stakes and slid them in her jacket pocket. Then she picked up her crossbow. Trusty old thing. Buffy liked using it. Felt confident when it was in her hands.

The Slayer marched down the stairs. The house was empty. Her mother was working overnight at the gallery having to make up her hours that she missed by taking Buffy to the hospital. Buffy welcomed the respite from having to act like she was okay. Not that she made a great effort to even do that these days.

She walked out of the door and down the pathway to the street. The moon was full. Chances were she could find a werewolf. Shame. She was in the mood for killing something and it was against the rules to kill a werewolf. Still, a good grapple would have to sate her if nothing slayable came along. Slinging the crossbow up against her shoulder like a soldier with a rifle Buffy Summers started down the street.

She did a patrol of the town, slowing down as she reached the alleyway behind the Bronze. Music still pumped out of the club, typical sounds of partygoers and retching could be heard. A young couple stumbled out and Buffy melted into the shadows so as not to scare them. She was, after all, packing a medieval crossbow. From what she could see of the back of them the girl had long blonde hair, a slight frame and a very attentive boyfriend. He had his arm around her waist, his dark-haired head bent to kiss her bare shoulder.

Buffy leaned against the wall and watched, transfixed. Once upon a time this could have been her. Just a normal girl, dating, having fun. She couldn’t ever have that again. Part of this was because she was the Slayer but another, bigger, part was that she couldn’t bear the thought of anyone ever seeing her without clothes on. To be intimate with someone was something she couldn’t imagine. To see the look of revulsion on their face when they saw the scars. She shuddered just thinking about it.

When the couple were gone Buffy emerged again and decided to try one of the cemeteries that were renowned for being demon hotspots. She really needed a good slay now. She strolled down the dark streets, senses fully heightened, as she scanned every shadow and crevice for signs of trouble. It all seemed quiet. Buffy sighed. Quiet was not what she needed right now. She needed loud and obnoxious. She needed...

A scream cut through the silence.

She needed that.

The Slayer ran in the direction of the scream. She made it to the mouth of the alleyway it had come from. She looked but couldn’t see anything but shadows. Taking a breath and hefting the crossbow in front of her Buffy started carefully down the dark alley.

She was about halfway down the path when she heard a small noise behind her. Spinning around, Buffy was greeted with the sight of two vampires following her into the alley. She levelled her crossbow and was about to shoot when a growl came from behind her. Swinging the crossbow round as she spun Buffy managed to strike another vampire who had been attempting to sneak up behind her. He fell to the ground on his ass. He had a friend with him.

Four vampires. One Slayer. One narrow alleyway. The odds did not look good.

Buffy smiled. It was a different smile to one she may have had before. It was broken, a fractured smile. One that had seen pain and lived through it. It was a hollow grin.

The vampires all rushed her at once – it wasn’t like the movies when the bad guys waiting their turn to get smacked down.

She shot the crossbow bolt into the nearest one as it ran at her. The bolt hit home and moments later he was dust. She didn’t have enough time to reload the crossbow so instead she just used it as a club, hitting out at the vampire in front as she simultaneously kicked her leg backwards at one behind. She spun around and threw the crossbow at the last standing vampire. He went down. Buffy pulled a stake out of her pocket.

A vampire grabbed her around the waist and threw her against the wall. She recovered quickly and kicked him in the head then the gut and finished with a stake to the heart. Two down, two left.

They both approached her, faces feral and full of...distaste for her. Not hate. Distaste. She wasn’t even worthy of their hate anymore.

"Looking hot, Slayer," One hissed.

His companion nodded "Burning hot"

Of course, it was a well-known fact in the vampire and demonic community. After all, they all liked a good laugh.

She felt her eyes narrow. Lighting fast she shot both her hands up and hit each of the vampires in the nose with the heels of her hands. The bones in their noses shattered and splintered up into their brains. Whilst they were understandable distracted with that, Buffy staked them each in turn.

She stood in the newly dusty alley and pushed strands of her hair back behind her ears. Her forehead was glistening with sweat but not so much from the fight. It was hot out and she was over-dressed, but, again, that wasn’t the only factor.

It was the taunts.

After all this time they still got to her and the vampires knew it. Each time she met with one of their kind she was sure to get some kind of snipe directed at her. If they thought it would weaken her then they were wrong. It only made her stronger. The iron walls around her became reinforced with each barb. She stooped down and picked up the crossbow, sighed.

Making her way back out of the alley and onto the street Buffy looked around. The street was empty again. It had been a long while since anything apocalyptic had happened in Sunnydale and Buffy half wished some big brewing evil would hurry up and get into gear. It was foolish to wish that sort of thing upon herself but she still did.

It would be better than the constant numbing feeling of being useless. In the grand scale of things she hardly helped at all. One Slayer in all the world and it had to be her. Buffy believed that she was not the best person for the job. Surely, some girl, somewhere, could do this job a hundred times better than Buffy Summers of Sunnydale, California? She made her way back to the main streets intending to do another sweep of the town even though she knew she would find nothing. She never found what she was looking for.

---

Spike hated the Slayer. She was always bollocksing up his plans. She’d dispatched nearly half of his group already and all without ever even bothering to find out that her old pal Spike was back in town. That was rude and arrogant. Reminded him too much of himself. He’d sent four of his best fighters out that night to kill her. It was now almost time for the sun to rise and they weren’t back. Spike had to assume that they’d not make it back at all. So much dust blowing in the wind.

Well, it was to be expected. Buffy Summers was no ordinary Slayer. It wasn’t likely a bunch of half-assed attempts on her life would be successful. No, it was time to make it personal.

If the Slayer really did have no idea Spike was back then she was about to get a bit of a shock.

Spike grinned, taking a hit from his cigarette as he stood outside her house. She was walking up the path and made it up on the porch before she turned around, suspicious. Her eyes scanned the semi-darkness.

For a moment it seemed like she saw him but that moment passed and she trudged inside, shoulders weary from a hard night’s work he wagered.

"See you soon, baby," Spike whispered, turning on his heel to find shelter.

+ + +

A/N: thanks for the reviews. Hopefully at least some of your questions will be answered during the course of the story.



She shed her jacket as soon as the door closed behind her. The pain was excruciating, but she only let it hit her once she was safely inside. Earlier, back on patrol, she had managed to keep back the agony that fighting took out of her. The doctors had told her, as they always did, that she was not to engage in any strenuous activity for the next five to seven days. They didn’t know that that wasn’t possible in her line of work. Take that many days off and someone, most likely a lot of someone’s, end up dead.

Buffy groaned at the sensation running up and down her back. It hurt like hell. She slowly started up the stairs, each step bringing throbbing pains to her back. As she ascended, the Slayer unbuttoned her shirt. By the time she reached the landing above she had it all the way undone. Trudging towards the bathroom she gingerly began to pull the shirt from her shoulders. The twinges were sharp, her skin felt hot and suffocated.

Biting down on her lip and keeping the groans to a minimum she finally managed to get the shirt off. Buffy held it up in front of her. The back of it was soaked in dark crimson blood. She tossed it carelessly to the floor.

Walking over to the tub, Buffy turned the shower on. Cold water, of course. She then started on unwinding the bandages that her mother had helped her with earlier. As she did this Buffy looked in the mirror over the sink. Her face was slightly flushed, hot. She wondered briefly how it had come to this. One minor patrol and she was ready to curl up in a ball and die. Her back felt so hot yet, at the same time, she could feel the blood trickling down.

When she finally had the bandages completely unwrapped, Buffy threw them to the floor as well. She slowly and carefully shed the rest of her clothes. Several treacherous whimpers escaped her lips, though she tried to quell them. Finally, fully disrobed she stepped gingerly into the tub. The water from the showerhead hit her in a cold spray. She gasped at the sensation. Her back seized with the sudden sensation, causing her to emit a small yell.

Once the initial shock of it was over, her body gradually relaxed and the cold water began to soothe her wounded back. Buffy wanted to reach up and touch the ruins of her once smooth skin but she knew it would only hurt her too much. In more ways than one. She closed her eyes and leant her head against the cold tile, the water beating down on her back. This was just too damn much. She couldn’t keep doing this. It was killing her.

But she had to.

One girl in all the world.

It wasn’t like she hadn’t thought about leaving before. She had, many times. Over the course of the last year Buffy had packed her bags numerous times. Never went through with it, though. Too much of a coward. Couldn’t just up and leave. Her mother would miss her. Giles would miss her, Xander, Willow; all of them cared about her. It pained her that she didn’t return that feeling any more. She didn’t stay because she would miss her friends. She stayed simply because she had no where else to go. Buffy knew it was terrible to think like that but that’s the way it was.

Sighing, the Slayer turned the water off. Staying in the shower for eternity was not a luxury she could afford. She lifted her leg over the bath and to the tile below then started with the other leg. Unfortunately, she wasn’t careful enough. The floor was slippery and Buffy couldn’t stop herself – she fell. Arms flailing for anything to grab, but finding nothing, she tumbled to the floor. Her back hit the edge of the bath producing fresh torment. She screamed.

"Shit, shit, shit!" Buffy hissed through gritted teeth.

The Slayer squeezed her eyes shut and took deep breaths waiting for it to pass. She gripped the edge of the bath and the sink and used them to pull herself up, shakily. Several incoherent sounds and curses tumbled from her lips during this process. How was it possible for it to hurt this much? She was the Slayer, for god’s sake!

"Stop being such a wimp!" Buffy scolded herself.

She lifted her head, chin up, defiant glare in her eyes. This was nothing. Grabbing her towel she wrapped it around herself. The fibres on the towel were rough and invasive against her tender back. No matter. She was stronger than this.

Padding out to her room, stooped like a little old lady, the Slayer was glad that her mother wasn’t home. Buffy could just imagine the embarrassment of Joyce dashing in to rescue her invalid daughter. Finding Buffy sprawled on the floor like some useless little girl. Her jaw tightened just thinking about it.

She made her way over to the set of drawers. Pulling out some fresh pyjamas, Buffy laid them on the bed. Dropping the towel she turned around to grab her hairbrush. It was a mistake. She caught herself in the full-length mirror. Buffy hated that mirror. She had wanted to get rid of it but Joyce had insisted that she keep it. So she could see her beautiful face, her mother had said. Buffy had scowled. It wasn’t her face that made her want to retch.

Now here she stood, naked, vulnerable, in front of it. Her first instinct was to look away but some kind of perverse curiosity made her look back. She tried as much as possible to never see herself completely nude. When circumstances made it necessary, such as showering, she paid the least attention to it as possible.

Gazing at her body, Buffy was surprised. Front-on she still looked normal. She had lost weight, eating not really being a primary concern of hers. Her collarbone protruded slightly, as did her ribs beneath her small breasts. Her stomach was almost non-existent and her thighs were not exactly womanly. Buffy knew she would probably be considered waif-like; all skinny and pale-skinned, but at least she wasn’t hideous. Not from this side, at least.

Turning back around, the Slayer took in a deep breath before she glanced back over her shoulder. Buffy’s throat contracted at what she saw. It was worse than she had imagined. The usually coarse, mottled, and raised scars were now open, seeping wounds. Bits of her flesh looked pink and raw, others the deep red of scabs. They covered her whole back, starting at the very tops of her shoulders and trailing down over the top of her left buttock. She turned away, quickly.

It was enough to make her sick. The image now imprinted on her mind. Quickly she pulled on her pyjamas, ignoring the sharp, stabbing pains that protested. She had to cover them up. She had to cover herself up. She was frantic with the need to hide. It was so ugly. She was so ugly.

Buffy grabbed the pills she kept by her bed and popped a few, probably too many. Not that she really cared. The Slayer climbed into bed. Lying on her front she pulled the covers all the way up. No part of her exposed except her head, and the hands clutching at the sheet. It was a hot night but still she trembled and shook.

Buffy Summers closed her eyes tightly. That way she wouldn’t have to see. That was a lie, of course. In her mind’s eyes she still saw. Saw them as clearly as before.

The scars. Her scars.

A couple of days passed and Buffy’s back was healing well, thanks to the benefits of Slayer healing. She had taken it easy, not patrolling too much, letting Giles and the gang pick up the slack. They were happy to do it, to feel useful. She hadn’t exactly been big on the group bonding, recently. It wasn’t that she didn’t love her friends, she did. It was just that she couldn’t stand to be around them and see how easy their lives were. Willow was attending college, Xander had a job, and both of them were involved in relationships.

They had moved on with their lives and she was stuck with what she had. She didn’t have the time or motivation for college, paid work wasn’t an option, and she couldn’t even comprehend dating. It wasn’t like she hadn’t had offers from guys. Some of them didn’t seem to get the vibe that she put out. A vibe that said she was not to be approached.

Buffy was resigned to the fact that she was meant to be alone. That was what the whole Slayer mythology was about. The Slayer fights alone. The Slayer is alone. She sighed as she walked through the streets. Nightfall was approaching and it was still that kind of humid climate that was suffocating. The jacket she wore was light but still too confining. Briefly, she thought about taking it off. Then she remembered the sight she had seen in the mirror that night. Suddenly the muggy weather didn’t seem that important.

She approached the Bronze with every intention of just passing by. However, the cold shiver that ran up her spine stopped her in her tracks. There was a vampire inside the club. Possibly more than one.

Buffy walked to the door, finding no-one outside, she tugged on the handle. It opened. She took a deep breath and pulled it open completely.

Stepping inside she found the club was nearly empty. There was no music playing, no staff seemed to be working, and the dance floor was desolate. There was only one figure, sitting at the bar. A trail of ribbon-like smoke danced its way up from the cigarette he held in his pale hand. The black leather of his duster creaked as he shifted on the stool, and she heard the soft chime of ice hitting the sides of a glass. She knew who he was, of course. Had known as soon as she entered the building. He wasn’t easy to forget.

"You going to sit down and have a drink, or just stare at me all night?" Spike enquired, without turning around.

Buffy felt her fists clench at her sides, ready for a fight. She didn’t know why the vampire was back in town but the reason couldn’t be good. Spike had killed two Slayers’ in the past; no doubt he was here to try his luck with her again. Nevertheless, she walked slowly and calmly towards him. She reached the bar, keeping a safe distance as she looked the man over. He looked the same as he always had; the benefits of immortality. His white-blonde hair stood out even more starkly against the dark and dank ambiance of the club. His pale skin made him appear somewhat ethereal, the cheekbones still sharp as knives gave him a gaunt look to his chiselled face.

Spike turned to look at her, glittering blue eyes locking on hers. He motioned, with a casual wave of his hand, that she should sit down. She shook her head. He sighed, brought the cigarette up to his oddly sensual lips and took a drag. Buffy couldn’t quite figure out why she hadn’t already staked him. Spike was trouble. He killed without conscience and he revelled in the blood lust. Some sort of curiosity for what he was doing here made her just stand there and wait for what he had to say.

"Know what, Slayer?" His voice was heavy with smoke and liquor, his accent as harsh as she remembered "I’ve missed this place."

Buffy folded her arms, still on alert "What are you doing here, Spike?"

Taking a sip of whiskey, he shrugged, "Like I said, I missed the place. There’s a certain charm attached to a place such as this. Hellmouth underneath it, overrun by evil, witless Slayer as its only guardian. My kind of place"

"Witless, huh?" She arched an eyebrow "This witless Slayer has beaten you in a fight and will do again. Only this time, the ending will be more permanent"

Spike chuckled, genuinely amused "I doubt that, love. You see, I’ve noticed something ’bout you. You’ve not exactly been on top form, of late. I reckon I could easily get you to walk into an ambush"

Buffy felt her spine go rigid. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up and her eyes darted around the empty club.

"Oh, don’t worry," Spike said, taking another hit from his cigarette. "This isn’t an ambush. Just tryin’ to keep you on your toes. Proved my point though, Slayer. You didn’t even stop to consider this was an ambush. Careless, that"

She felt a flush creep up her neck "You shouldn’t have come back here, Spike. I told you if you ever did that I’d kill you"

"I’m already dead, pet," He grinned "Besides, how could I keep away? Sunnyhell’s my home. What with all the tasty treats walking about, it’s easy pickings. Nothing to stop me from painting the town red"

Buffy lifted her chin, glaring at him "There’s me"

He nodded, smiling "Right, right. The Slayer. Stuff of nightmares. Strange then, that I’ve been in town for a while now...and you haven’t even noticed"

The stopped her for a moment "Well...I guess you aren’t as big and as bad as you think you are, Spike"

"Maybe," The vampire nodded agreeably, pouring two chasers of whiskey "Or, maybe, you’re just not that good anymore"

With that he slid one chaser down to her. She caught it instinctively but did not drink from it. Spike smiled and downed his in one swallow. He let out a deep sound from his throat and poured himself another shot.

Buffy reached for the stake in her waistband, while he was preoccupied. She withdrew the weapon and held it down by her side. If she was going to move it would have to be now.

"Uh, uh, uh," Spike chided her, wagging a finger in her direction. "None of that. Honestly, a bloke tries to have a nice, civil conversation with a girl; what does he get for his troubles? A stake to the heart. I blame the feminists"

The Slayer just looked at him "No more games, Spike. I don’t want to talk"

"I always knew you were more of a straight-to-action girl," He licked his lips, suggestively "But let me ask you one thing before we get down to it"

She held her stake up "Sorry, but I don’t have heart to hearts with vampires"

Buffy lunged at him, stake aimed at his chest. Spike sidestepped her easily and kicked her in the back of her leg. Her legs gave way and she fell to the floor on her hands and knees.

"Now, what I was going to ask?" Spike mused, face now mutilated into the visage of the demon within him "Ah, yes. Is it true what I’ve heard? Angel left you?"

Buffy felt herself go cold. She gritted her teeth and stood, back straight, eyes deadened. The Slayer turned around to face the vampire. He was smirking arrogantly, like this was all one big party. She stared him down for a moment. Then she landed a snap kick to his chin, it was so fast it blurred. Spike flailed backwards but just managed to stay on his feet.

"So, that’s a yes then." He chuckled, reaching his hand up to his bloody lip "Not that I’m surprised. I mean, it’s not like you’ve really got anything to offer. Angelus told me himself that you’re a big disappointment in the sack"

The grip she had on the stake was so hard that her hand trembled, splitters bit into her skin, she ignored the pain.

Spike sucked the blood from his finger "Hmm. You really want to kill me right now, don’t you?"

Buffy remained silent but her face said it all.

"Well, before you do – remember that thing I said about this not being an ambush?" He smiled slowly; arms outstretched "I lied"

Buffy spun around and saw that there were three vampires behind her. She turned back and Spike had been joined by three others. Two more appeared behind the bar and several more were up in on the balcony.

Buffy heard a sound behind her, before she could turn a chain was wrapped around her neck. She grabbed at it but was yanked off her feet by whoever was holding the noose. The chain was pulled tighter and tighter around her neck, Buffy clawing at it. There were spots in her vision. Just before she passed out, Spike appeared in her line of sight.

He was grinning.

Spike finished lighting the candles all around his dark and somewhat dank lair. It was underground, nice and sheltered from the sun. The candles were not necessary, since his eyes were well accustomed to seeing in the dark, but he liked them. They made the place look more presentable; just because he was an evil vampire didn’t mean he wanted to live in squalor. Okay, so maybe he did most of the time. This was different though. He had company. He was nothing if not a welcoming host.

He glanced over at the Slayer, hanging from the ceiling by the chains his hired-help had attached to her wrists. He’d removed her shoes and jacket, had thought about removing more but decided he’d wait for her to be awake for that.

Yeah, he knew how to show a lady a good time.

Still, it provided him with a unique opportunity to watch the Slayer when she was defenceless. He was used to her defiant glare, her ice-maiden persona. Now, though, she was completely at his mercy. That was just the sweetest thing imaginable. Not that he had an abundance of mercy. He fully intended to kill her. After he had had some fun, though.

There were plenty of things Spike wanted to do to her. She had humiliated him in the past; beaten him, laughed at him. He wanted to claw out her heart. He wanted to drink from her delectable neck before he snapped it. He wanted to fuck her.

Maybe even in that order. He hadn’t decided yet. The night was, after all, still young.

As he was contemplating further games to play, Buffy began to stir. She let out a whimper, a pained one that made him smile. Her arms had to be aching; he had made sure they had got the chains just the right length and tightness to make it feel like her arms were being pulled from their sockets. Of course, the pain she was feeling might have been down to the chain that had been wrapped oh-so-lovingly around her slender neck. She still wore the indentation of it against her skin, like the phantom of some ornate necklace.

Whatever the cause of her pain was, Spike was just glad it was there. Bitch deserved it. He was looking forward to inflicting more of it.

Buffy’s eyes flickered open, took a few moment to adjust to the semi-darkness, and then fixed upon him.

“Ah, nice of you to join me, sleepyhead” Spike smiled cheerily, stepping into the pool of light created by a cluster of candles “Was worried I’d have to wake you up. I mean, the evening wouldn’t be very much fun if you were unconscious. No screaming, then”

The patented Buffy Summers’ glare was her only reply.

It made him chuckle “I think tonight will be good for our relationship. Bring us closer together as people. Help us grow and whatnot”

“Firstly, you’re not people” Buffy said coolly, voice raspy “Secondly, I don’t think you’ll ever grow a pair, Spike”

His eyebrows rose as he pretended to look distraught “So, you have still got some fire in you, Slayer. I’m glad. It’ll be much more fun to make you snivel and beg”

“Like you once said – I’m not the begging type”

“We’ll see”

Spike lit a cigarette and took a long drag as he watched her test the weight and strength of her bindings.

He began to pace, showboating “Guess what, Slayer? I’ve come to a realisation. You and me – we’re destined to kill each other. It’d be bloody and messy and soddin’ glorious. Problem is I don’t intend on ever letting you shove the pointy end of a stake in me. So, I have to off you before you off me. It’s a shame but there it is. You understand?”

Buffy was silent a moment “Trust me, Spike, if you keep on talking you won’t have anything to worry about. I’ll kill myself”

“I like it,” He nodded “You’re gettin’ it back. The attitude. The heat. I must be a good influence on you, love”

She snorted. Spike took another hit from his cigarette and walked slowly towards her. Bathed in the soft glow of the candles she looked like something out of one of those masterpieces – something painted by Da Vinci, or Michelangelo. Her skin was paler these days, nearly as pale as his, her hair like spun gold against the milky white. Bit too skinny, though. From what he could tell under the baggy clothes. Hadn’t been eating well, this one. Maybe even starving herself. A Vampire Slayer with an eating disorder?

That was just perfect.

He’d wondered briefly about the clothes when he had seen her at the Bronze. Spike was used to her dressing in all sorts of skimpy outfits. If you could even call half the stuff she’d worn outfits. Nothing more than scraps of material, some of them. She had known what to wear to get a man – and a vampire’s – juices going. Now, though, she seemed to lack the zest she’d had the last couple of years. Dressed in unflattering clothes, nothing fancy done with her hair. She was starting to look more and more like a Slayer and less and less like Buffy Summers.

Spike frowned to himself. He shouldn’t have cared about what fashion direction the Slayer was going for these days. Yet, for some reason, it bothered him that she’d let herself go. He shrugged to himself and continued towards her.

She watched him closely, like a predator. She had yet to realise she was the prey.

The Slayer kicked her legs out at him as soon as he was in striking distance. Spike caught one leg and knocked the other back down. He held her leg up at a painful angle, making sure she couldn’t kick up with her other leg again. “Such dainty little feet,” Spike mused, studying her foot “for a killing machine.”

Quickly, he flicked his tongue out against her big toe. He didn’t know why, he just felt the desire to do it and she was at his disposal now. So, he could do whatever he wanted. Buffy let out a sound and tried to jerk away from him. Spike held on tight, looked her in the eyes and grinned.

“Get the hell off of me,” Buffy warned, eyes narrowed “You ever touch me like that again and I’ll –”

He kept his eyes on hers as he slowly drew her toe into his mouth. Buffy started thrashing around wildly, rattling her chains like a spook. Her eyes held anger, confusion and discomfort but there was something else there too.

Strangely, she didn’t say anything. He expected another scathing comment; in fact he was quite looking forward to one. He tilted his head away, releasing his lips hold on her, and smiled arrogantly “Enjoyed that, didn’t you?”

Buffy’s scowl quickly returned and she tried to kick him in the face again. He released her foot and took a step backwards, out of range.

“But, you know the deal, don’t you?” Spike stepped back into the shadows.

She strained her eyes trying to keep sight of him in the darkness. He stooped down, picked up his fallen cigarette and stuck it between his lips. The glowing tip alerted her to where he was.

Spike watched her, the Slayer all trussed up in his home sweet home. It was a beautiful sight. A Kodak moment. He snickered at that. Maybe there would be Polaroid’s later. Could make one of the lackeys go and nick one. He had all the time in the world.

Shame she didn’t.

After one last drag he threw the fag to the floor and ground it out with his boot. He stepped back into the light “Deal is – you get pleasure, you got to have pain. Little something Dru and Angelus taught me” Spike withdrew the knife from behind his back. Her eyes fixed on it. “So, tell me, baby – where do you want to hurt?”

Buffy knew one thing for sure – she didn’t want Spike to come anywhere near her. The long knife he held in his hand glinted in the candlelight menacingly. How she had got herself into this mess, she didn’t know. Well, actually she did. She had been sloppy. What had she been thinking going into the Bronze when she knew there was a vampire inside? She hadn’t done a proper perimeter sweep, hadn’t kept close to an exit, hadn’t even had her stake out until it was too late. Stupid and careless.

She might have gotten away with it if it had been some minor vampire but, for all the cracks she used to make about him, Spike always came prepared. He always had minions, always had back-up. Something that she had lost in the past year. Her friends used to patrol with her a lot but after her increasingly anti-social attitude they’d all begun to leave well enough alone. She liked it that way, most of the time. Slaying was a time when she could be alone, could be quiet, could still feel powerful.

Now she was feeling the complete opposite; helpless. She was trussed up in a vampire’s lair like some typical damsel in distress. Buffy scowled, she was the Slayer. She could handle Spike. He was nothing special. Even as she thought that, a nagging little voice in her head reminded her that this so-not-special vampire had killed two Slayers in the past.

Buffy locked eyes with him, a mocking grin still fixed to his face. Slayer killer or not, she couldn’t wait to wipe that grin off his face. Rip his fangs out and ground them into the floor.

Spike took another step forward and she shifted backwards instinctively “Come on, Slayer, make your choice. What’ll it be first? A finger? An eye? Oh, how ’bout one of them little toes I was enjoying so much?”

Buffy grimaced at the suggestion. The way he had touched her earlier had almost made her throw up. The bile had risen in her throat, and did so again now at the memory. It wasn’t just that he was a vampire, and Spike, but that she didn’t completely understand how he could bear to touch her in that way. He was an evil, soulless, creature but surely even he would be repulsed at the very idea of her. He still had his looks; death hadn’t taken away the blueness of his eyes, the sleek curves of his cheekbones, the smooth marble of his skin.

She, on the other hand, had lost all of her vibrancy. Everything that made her real, tangible, alive. So much so that even a walking corpse like Spike had one over on her now. Buffy had never thought of herself as a great beauty or anything like that, but she had known she was pretty. Now, she couldn’t even remember what that felt like. So, why he touched her like she was still sexual confused and disgusted her.

“Get the hell away from me, Spike,” Buffy seethed through gritted teeth “I mean it.”

He just laughed, like he always did “Oh, well, why didn’t you just say? If you mean it then I guess I’ll just cut you down and let you go. Or, you know, not.”

She balled her fists, the chains rattling “You might as well just kill me then because I won’t play your games. I won’t scream for you and I won’t cry.”

“No? You think you’re that tough?”

“No,” Buffy shook her head “I think I don’t care enough.”

Spike frowned, running a finger absently down the blade “What’s that mean?”

“You can’t hurt me, Spike. There’s nothing left of me to hurt.”

He smiled slowly “Looks like there’s a fair bit left to me.”

“Physically, maybe,” Buffy pulled on her chains, loosening the fixtures in the ceiling “But that’s not enough for you, is it? You don’t just want my body you want my mind; my soul.”

Spike paused, as if thinking hard “Actually, I’ll settle for just your body,” he grinned.

Buffy shook her head “If that was the truth you would have started cutting me already. You want to play mind games.”

The vampire paused again before nodding in agreement. He started to pace, walking slowly around her in circles. Buffy tensed when he came around behind her. She couldn’t guard against any sort of attack from him and feeling his presence so close without being able to watch him was infuriating and, she had to admit, frightening. She wasn’t afraid for her life, but rather, for the last remaining shred of dignity she clung to.

Suddenly the cold blade of the knife was pressing against the back of her neck. Her spine straightened.

“You’ve got lovely long hair, Slayer,” Spike told her, his other hand gripping the ponytail tightly “I think maybe I’d like to keep it for a souvenir.”

Buffy’s jaw clenched “You think you’re powerful, but you’re not. I have all the power. I always have and I always will.”

A laugh came from behind her. “Really? You look sort of powerless from where I’m standing, love.”

“You might think you’re in charge, but you’re not,” Buffy told him, trying hard to keep her breathing even, “because you can torture me all you like but you’ll never get what you want.”

His chest was pressing lightly against her back as he whispered in her ear “And what, pray tell, is that?”

“My respect,” she said softly.

Spike laughed, his chest shaking against her “You think I want your respect? I couldn’t care less about what a little Slayer bitch thinks of me.”

“So, why haven’t you killed me then?” Buffy clenched her fists “I’ll tell you why – because you’re not man enough to do the job. You’re not a man, you’re not anything. You’re something that people wipe off their shoes. A piece of shit.”

“That so?” Spike growled in her ear, the blade suddenly pressing against her throat “Want to say that again, Slayer?”

Buffy swallowed, her skin grazed along the knife “You’re nothing to me.”

Spike yanked her hair hard pulling her head back till it was almost resting on his shoulder. He had morphed into vampire face and his fangs were sharp and gleaming, only inches from her neck. The vampire leaned in and sniffed her. Buffy closed her eyes. Then Spike stopped suddenly; his face melded back into smooth lines and blue eyes.

He smiled “I see what you’re doing. You think that by pissing me off I’ll finish you quicker. Oldest trick in the book, that. Can’t believe I almost fell for it.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t fall for it. You’re an idiot!” She spat, jaw tight.

Spike smiled; pulling her head back farther he looked in her eyes “You’re a peach, Slayer. Always keepin’ me on my toes. I might have to keep you around. You make a nice decoration for the lair. A party piece I can show all my friends.”

He leaned down, nestling his face in the junction between her neck and shoulder. Buffy frowned and tried to shake herself free. His contact was making her skin crawl. She assumed he was going to bite her but instead he licked a long, wet, line up her neck. Buffy let out a small scream and tried to pull away from him.

Spike took a step back, and moved back around in front of her, smiling “No need to make such a fuss, I wasn’t going to bite you.”

“What you were doing was a lot worse” Buffy replied angry and flustered.

He laughed “Oh, right, ’cos you’re too good for a vampire. Anyone here remember a certain dark-haired nancy boy of a vampire you gave it up to a couple of years ago?”

“I’m not too good for a vampire,” she sneered, her heart still hammering from his touch “I’m too good for you.”

Spike brandished the knife again “Well, then I suppose we’ll just have to bring you down to my level.”

Before Buffy even realised what was happening he slashed the knife down the front of her. She screwed her eyes shut and waited for the pain. All she could hear was her own heavy breathing and the pounding of her heart. After a few moments she opened her eyes and looked down. He hadn’t cut her but he had sliced her shirt open. Somehow that was even worse.

“Don’t.” She warned as a flush crept up her neck.

“Why not?” Spike asked, playfully “I’m likin’ the view so far”

Buffy felt her whole face grow hot. No one other than herself and her mother had seen her in any state of undress for the past year. The last person she wanted to be exposing her less-than-sexy underwear to was Spike.

He placed the blade lightly against her collarbone and slowly dragged it down. She knew that one sharp outtake of breath would be enough to cut her. The knife settled over her breasts and Buffy clenched her fists, pulling with all her might on the chains.

“You’re all skin and bones, Slayer” Spike noted eyes most definitely not looking in the direction of her face “What happened to all those lovely curves?”

She bit down on the inside of her mouth to stop herself from making some remark, or worse, crying. Buffy wasn’t afraid of dying, or even afraid of Spike. She was scared that she’d lost control over her own life; her own body. Control was a very important thing to her these days and hanging here like some scarecrow, her fate in Spike’s hands, she didn’t feel much in control. Despite her earlier words.

“Well,” Spike looked up into her eyes “Maybe it gets better. Let’s take off this top, shall we?”

“No!” Buffy practically screamed, then realised her mistake.

By giving Spike a reaction she had only provoked him further to do the complete opposite of what she wanted. He grinned devilishly. Throwing the knife to one side, perhaps sensing that she was more threatened by his bare hands then a piece of metal, Spike moved to undress her.

“Spike,” she breathed, unable to keep the desperation out of her voice “Don’t. Don’t do this.”

“Come on now, Buffy” He murmured his eyes skating over her collarbone as his hands went to her shoulders “What’s a little skin between sworn enemies?”

Buffy struggled harder then she thought possible, inching the fixtures out of the ceiling, thrashing like a caged animal to get away from his touch. He backhanded her and she saw stars for a few moments. It was enough to placate her long enough for Spike to begin pulling her shirt from her shoulders.

Her breathing doubled, her pulse was thrumming in her ears and every nerve in her body was telling her to away, to run.

She did what she had to.

“Please.”

Spike stopped and looked up, slowly. The expression on his face was slight confusion which rapidly turned to utter delight. His eyes sparkled as they surveyed her defeated expression, the pleading in her eyes. He tapped a finger against his chin “Hang on a mo’, is that the sound of a Slayer begging I hear?”

“Don’t do this,” Buffy swallowed, keeping eye contact “Kill me, cut me, but not this.”

“Hmm, let me consider”

Spike turned around, his back facing her. It lasted but a few moments before he turned back, wolf grin on his face “Nah!”

Buffy drew in a breath and when he took a step back towards her she lashed out at him with her feet, shaking and thrashing. Spike punched her in the stomach hard, grabbed her shirt and ripped it off. She was left with only a few shreds of material still clinging to her. The dank air rushed up against her bare back and Buffy’s head hung down low, defeated.

“There, now. Not so terrible, is it?” Spike looked her over “Not as bad as I thought. Bit skinny but then, so was Dru. Let’s have a proper look at you, shall we?”

Her spine straightened and her head rose back up. She met his face with a look of complete contempt. It was all she had left now. Spike seemed a little taken aback at first, though she didn’t know why, before his arrogant expression returned and Spike started to circle her.

He had to give himself credit; it had been surprisingly easy to break Buffy Summers. Easier than he thought it would be. Spike doubted she was completely down for the count but it would be soon. One more push would be all that was required.

Who would have thought that it wasn’t violence or threats of torture that finally fragmented the walls she had put up to protect herself, but sex? The promise of sex; the danger of it. She had never struck him as the kind of girl to be frigid about such things. Angelus had, after all, delighted in describing in detail to him and Drusilla how she had practically begged for it. Acted like a cheap whore, he’d said, who told him he could do whatever he wanted to her.

Either Angelus had been embellishing their little sexual encounter or something had changed the Slayer. Maybe both. Whatever the reason for it, Spike was glad. He wasn’t one to shy away from any aspects of sex, desire, and the power that both of those things held and he planned to use this to his advantage to tease her, taunt her, drive her mad. The anticipation of how many times he would break her over the coming days brought a lewd smile to his lips.

Coming up to her side, he ran a finger slowly across her ribs. She flinched away, her skin covered in goose bumps. He could smell her fear heavy in the air, and it smelt delicious. Spike leaned in and brushed his lips against her cheek. Buffy turned her face away in disgust.

He took a step behind her and barely lingering, he started to move around to complete his circle before he came to a halt. It didn’t register with his brain at first, almost as though his mind tried to protect him from seeing that the Slayer he had, in some ways, put upon a pedestal had been tainted.

Ruined.

That was the only word that seemed to fit. She’d been ruined.

In his fantasies it was he who got to mark the Slayer. Slash her, stab her, burn her. Someone or something had beaten him to it. Yet it wasn’t even that which disturbed him as he looked at the ruin of her back. It affected him so deeply because he didn’t want to see her marred. For all his bravado and bragging about wanting to torture her, Spike couldn’t have done this. He’d kill her, he’d drink from her, but he wouldn’t leave her broken yet alive.

Even he wasn’t that sadistic.

Spike had an unspoken code of conduct when it came to Slayers, or even just plain old food. He wasn’t one for artistry or playing games in the name of a so-called “perfect kill”. He killed because it was necessary for his existence. Sure it was fun too, but he couldn’t remember ever having had the patience to break someone’s spirit, no matter how often Angelus had tried to convince him that it made the blood sweeter.

He didn’t understand how this could have happened to her in the first place. She was quick, agile, and full of fighting grace. She had almost seemed untouchable. Yet something had gotten close enough to inflict this on her.

Of course, it all fell into place now. The reason she wore unflattering clothes, the dejected attitude, the desperate plea for him not to subject her to this. Spike took a step closer and her back became completely rigid. He moved back again and the muscles remained tense for a moment before slowly loosening. She reacted instinctively like this to someone getting to close.

God, what had they done to her? This wasn’t the glory he had expected in taking down Buffy. He’d been ready for her holier-than-thou bitchery, her viper-quick quips, and her hot little body. He’d expected hate and heat and banter and bloodlust, and all he got was a broken mockery of a Slayer. Spike wanted to turn away, to forget he’d even seen it and pretend she was the same old Slayer. The one he had dreamed about killing so many nights. He tried to convince himself he could just carry on like normal. Keep up the torture, draw it out, and kill her. Except he couldn’t.

He found himself trying to speak “What...what did this...?”

Buffy laughed. It was full of bitterness and vile hatred and Spike didn’t doubt that there was no one on this Earth she’d rather kill then him right now. Her laughter was so soulless, it was barely human. Her head bowed forward, arms pulled above her head at a sharp angle, shoulder blades protruding obscenely from underneath the mass of scars and blisters.

Spike tried to imagine what her skin had looked like before. Smooth, tanned, the contours of her back rippling as she danced, or fought, or trained. He had imagined the Slayer in all her naked perfection so many times, the idea that he would never see it in reality brought a sharp twinge to his heart.

Staring at the welts, bumps, indentations and thin silvery lines that twisted across her shoulders, around and over her spine and down further, Spike felt his fists clench. In places her skin was pale and healed, in others it was pink and new, and in some it was red and angry. Old wounds had been re-opened.

“Why do you even care?” Buffy asked, voice scathing as she pulled on her bindings.

Spike blinked, he had almost forgotten his own question “I...don’t. I’m just curious.” His voice was dry and raspy as he spoke.

She yanked on the chains, rattling them “Well, I’m so glad I gave you something to stare at. I suppose this is just great for you. What you always wanted.”

It was far from that. What he had always wanted was the battle of a lifetime with a Slayer who seemed invincible. He wanted to trade punches, shove her up against a wall and bite her. He wanted to watch her as the life drained out of her and just before it did, kiss her with her own blood still smeared across his lips. That was what he wanted.

Spike’s hand reached out towards her. He couldn’t help it. It seemed unreal to him, and to make sure it wasn’t all just some ghost of a nightmare, he had to touch them. Had to feel her scars beneath his fingertips. He was surprised to see his hand was shaking as it got closer. He wanted to scold himself; he was a vampire, she was the Slayer and seeing her like this should have been sweet victory to him. It should have been what he wanted.

The tips of his fingers brushed against her rough, violated skin.

Buffy jerked away from him, shouting, “Don’t touch me! Don’t you ever touch me!”

It had been enough, though. They were as real as they appeared. Spike took a few steps back, and numbness enveloped him. He barely even noticed when she managed to rip one chain out of the ceiling. The strength of her fury didn’t surprise him; if this had happened to him he would have wreaked destruction upon anything and anyone in his path. Spike didn’t stop her as she pulled the other chain free. He just watched, detached.

Buffy whirled around to face him, her eyes hard and unforgiving, her face otherwise blank. They locked eyes for a moment before she lashed out at him with the chain attached to her wrist. He didn’t have time to block as it lashed across his face, ripping off a good portion of his skin, and sending him tumbling to the ground. Hot pain flashed across her face as he looked up in time to see her grab her jacket and run out into the sewer tunnel.

She didn’t look back and Spike’s eyes stared blankly after her.

A/N: Warning: This chapter get's decidely gross at times. BEWARE!


“Oh god,” Buffy panted as she fell against the sewer wall “Oh god!” She took a few deep breaths that burned her lungs as she slipped her jacket on and buttoned it up tightly. She started running again, faster than before. It didn’t help that she had no idea where she was going. The tunnel was dark and she was finding it increasingly hard to breathe. She was hyperventilating, she knew that. She also knew that she had to get out of this place. Get out of the dark.

Buffy touched her hand against the wall to try and guide herself. Something slimy coated her palm and she yanked it back, disgusted. Her footfalls echoed loudly as her bare feet splashing through the ankle-deep raw sewage. The smell was pungent. She felt the need to vomit, but her need to get to fresh air was stronger so she pushed the rising contents of her stomach back down. Her mind was racing a mile a minute, but the one thought that came through loud and clear was get the hell out of here.

Buffy came to the end of the tunnel and saw there were two possible ways to go from here. She felt herself trembling all over, her heartbeat was thundering in her ears, the muscles in her legs were twitching from their impromptu sprint. Buffy had no idea how long she had been running – it could have been ten minutes, it could have been eternity. She looked left, then right. Neither option looked appealing.

The panic that had washed over her entire body meant she didn’t hear the loud footsteps behind her until it was too late. A heavy weight slammed into the back of her as she started to turn. Buffy fell forwards, the vampire still riding her back. She put her hands out to catch herself but slipped on the watery surface of the sewer tunnel. Her chin hit the metal, jarring her jawbone painfully. Worse still, the excrement all over the floor lapped against her mouth. The smell filled her nose, making her gag as she raised her head up.

The vampire clamped his hand down on her skull and pushed her face back down into the sewage. Buffy kept her mouth and eyes closed as she was submerged in human waste. She wanted to scream but feared what she might find floating into her mouth.

Her arms and feet thrashed around, splashing foul-smelling water everywhere. She had drowned once before but this was one hundred times worse. Death by shit. It just made her life complete.

Buffy reached up behind herself and grabbed the vampire’s wrist. She exerted all of her strength on crushing the bones to powder. By the shriek that reverberated through the tunnel, Buffy guessed she had succeeded. He let go of her and she instantly swept her head up and backwards, slamming it into his nose.

Another shriek and he fell off of her and onto his ass.

Buffy gasped large mouthfuls of air, using her hands to push loose strands of hair from her face. She looked down at her hands. She could only imagine how bad her face looked. Except she didn’t want to imagine, just get out of there.

The Slayer stood shakily, her clothes bogged down with the water, the stench thick in the air and Buffy felt the vomit rise in her throat again.

The vampire, it seemed, wasn’t quite as finished with her as she had thought. He grabbed the back of her neck and slammed her face-first into the tunnel wall. Pain exploded behind her eyes, but she was shoved again. This time her back hit the opposite wall. She let out a strangled cry of pain.

The vampire stood before her, blood sluicing down his face, amber eyes cruel and hungry. Buffy recognised him as one of Spike’s who had assisted in her capture at the Bronze. It was foolish of her to think Spike would let her go that easily. Buffy felt her anger rising again at the memory of him, she gritted her teeth against the pain and landed a snap kick to the vampire’s face. She had no stake so would have to settle for beating it into submission. She clenched her fists, the knuckles cracking. No problem there.

She slammed her fists into the vampire before he could even comprehend recovering. The punches became so fast and so brutal that they blurred into one. The meaty pounding noises of the blows hitting their mark sounded loud and marvellous to her ears. Buffy grunted, sweat pouring down her face and mixing with the other fluids that had soaked into her hair and skin.

Finally the vampire could simply not stand anymore and fell to the floor in a heap. Buffy looked down at him, panting with physical exertion. His face was swollen and bruised so badly that it didn’t even look like a face anymore, didn’t resemble anything human or vampire.

Buffy turned and ran. This time she didn’t care which direction she went in so long as it led her out. She felt blood running down her hands and didn’t know if it was hers or the vampire’s. Didn’t care, either.

A ladder appeared at the end of the tunnel and she let out a breath. She grabbed onto the rungs and climbed up as fast as her shaky legs would carry her. Her feet slid on the metal ladder several times. When she finally reached the top she pushed against the manhole. It didn’t budge. Buffy let out a small sob and pushed on it harder and harder, desperately. Finally, it moved. Only a fraction of an inch but it moved. With renewed vigour she raked her hands across it, dragging it slowly aside, her fingers bleeding from the effort.

Daybreak was approaching outside. She squeezed herself through the space she had made and flopped down onto the grass. The air had never felt fresher. The Slayer rolled herself onto her back, panting and took a moment, before she got onto her hands and knees and retched. The little remaining contents of her stomach spilled up past her lips and onto the green, green, grass of home. The acid burned her throat and mouth, pieces of semi-digested food stuck between her teeth and under her tongue. Splatters of vomit decorated her jacket and pants, mixing with worse things.
She had nothing left to vomit up but her body still tried. Dry heaving, her whole body shook, her ribs seemed to be pressing against her lungs. A thick, viscous stream of bile slithered out of her oesophagus and onto the ground. This made her want to gag even more, the deep, raw sounds escaping from her throat.

Eventually it slowed then stopped.

Buffy pulled in a lungful of fresh air, her throat still burning. Looking around she saw she was in a cemetery. Not a big surprise. She stood still long enough for her head to stop spinning before she began to trudge home.

It would be light soon and that would mean people would be out. People who could see her in this state. People who would be able to smell her from miles away. Her jacket was sodden but there was no way she was taking it off. She reached the street and with each step she took a squelching sound echoed around the empty street.

The Slayer had been humiliated many times in her life but this had to be the worst. It wasn’t just the shit shower she had just taken. In fact, that really didn’t seem like anything compared to what she had been subjected to earlier. The torture, the knife, the taunts. All that she could take.

But he had touched her.

Her jaw tightened just thinking about it, her cut and bruised fists clenching painfully tight. He had touched her back with those cold, dead hands. If she’d had anything left to hurl, the mere reminder of the feeling of his skin against hers would have brought it up. No one had touched her like that for so long. His fingers had felt cool and gentle against her spine.

Buffy ground her teeth together and carried on down the road as fast as she could. It was no good dwelling on how it felt to be touched again. She didn’t want to think about it because if she thought about, she would have to deal with it. She so didn’t feel like dealing with it at that moment.

However, it wasn’t like she could constrict her own thoughts and eventually they drifted back to Spike. Or, more accurately, his reaction. Laughter, teasing, overpowering joy...she had expected. He was, after all, a particularly vicious vampire bastard. Yet all he had seemed was saddened.

In some ways that pissed her off more. If Spike, of all non-people, was feeling sorry for her then she truly had lost every modicum of dignity. Buffy looked down at herself covered in shit and piss. No doubt about that.

A man appeared running up the street, an early-morning jogger. Buffy cursed inwardly. As he got closer he seemed to notice that she was soaked. Then he got closer and it hit him. His nose wrinkled up and he eyed her with disgust. Speeding up he veered out onto the road to run around her.

The Slayer clenched and unclenched her fists.

Her house loomed in the near distance. She wandered aimlessly towards it. Buffy had expected to feel relief but she didn’t really feel much of anything. Just tired and disgusted at herself. The physical exertion of her escape, not to mention her grapple with Spike and his cronies had started to take its toll.

She stumbled inside the house closing the door quietly behind her. Her feet were mostly dry by now but discoloured water and god knows what else still dripped from her onto her mother’s beige carpeting. Buffy ascended the stairs slowly, gripping onto the banister for support. Her heart-rate and breathing had both slowed but her muscles and joints burned and there was a dull ache coming from her head. Buffy reached the bathroom door before her mother called out.

“Buffy? Is that you?” Joyce’s voice was concerned, and half-drowsy from sleep.

The Slayer stepped into the bathroom and slammed the door shut as her only answer. Walking over to the bath she turned the shower head on. Her fists were clenched hard, her entire body shaking as she thought about the look on Spike’s face she had seen right before she had run.

Pity.

Pity from a soulless demon.

Buffy’s fist smashed into the bathroom tiles before she even realised what she had done. They shattered, pieces falling down into the bath with a loud clatter. Her hand started bleeding all over again, a shudder running up the bones in her arm. She was shaking again but this time it was from anger. How dare he feel sorry for her?

Pure rage coursed through her veins. She hadn’t felt this way in a long time. She hadn’t felt much at all for a long time. Funny, how it took sympathy from a vampire she hated to get her anger back. To get any kind of feeling back.

She undressed and carefully got into the bath. She felt too exhausted to even stand and so ended up sitting in the corner of the tub with ice cold water beating down on her. One thing was clear though, as she washed it all away – she would see Spike again, and when she did he was going to die.

Buffy watched as the brown water swirled around the plughole and disappeared.

The wooden chair shattered against the wall with impressive force. Spike didn’t know why he kept wooden objects around him, perhaps it was the danger of it all, but right then he didn’t much care. Wooden furniture was good for breaking, even if it did leave those nasty little murder weapons lying about.

He snatched up another one of the ugly chairs, his last in fact, and hurled it against the wall. It hit even harder this time. Spike threw his arms up in the air and roared, full on game face exposed.

The reason for his rage was obvious. Having had the Slayer in the palm of his hand he had let her go. She had run off on him and he hadn’t even attempted to give chase, and for his troubles he also got a lashing to his face. His lifted his hand to his cheek and pressed his fingers tentatively to the wound. It stung like hell, and Spike was more than sure that what he was feeling was his actual cheekbone. The bitch had ripped his skin clean off leaving the bone exposed.

What pissed him off more though was that he knew, given the chance to go back in time and do it all over again, he’d do the same stupid thing. He’d let her go, he’d get half his bloody faced ripped off in the process, and then he’d be left here throwing a hissy fit over his own idiocy.

Spike was pacing the room now, trying to work through it all in his head. It was her fault, of course. It was always her bloody fault. He’d had it all worked out before hand; he’d torture her to breaking point then he’d have a taste of her and she’d be dead. Simple. The Slayer would be dead and all would be right with the world. Sure, another one would be called, but Spike would bet money that she wouldn’t be as annoying, infuriating, patronising, and beautiful as Buffy Summers.

Except, was she still beautiful now?

The sight of her scars had floored him. He’d been rooted to the spot, gulping like a sodding goldfish. Spike shook his head, annoyed with himself. He should have loved it. He should have laughed his head off and taunted her no end about it. He should’ve done a lot of things. But, yes, he realised. She was still beautiful.

Not that that was the point, he reminded himself. He’d seen a lot of beautiful women over the years, she was nothing special. What was really important right now was what the hell was wrong with him. He was Spike, William the Bloody. He wreaked bloody mayhem, he revelled in death and carnage and...

“Oh, bugger this” Spike growled to himself.

A pep talk wasn’t going to cut it. There was only one solution to this dilemma.

With no more chairs left to break he set about the sturdy wooden table over in the corner. Tattered books, candles, and etchings lay on top of it. Spike swept the contents off the table and onto the floor then lifted it up. It was heavier then the chairs but still nothing to him.

“Sir?”

He heard the voice but couldn’t see who had spoken. Spike decided it was best to ignore them right now anyway. The minions could sod off. He had a lot more things to break before he would feel even slightly better. Spike hurled the table against the wall. The loud crash echoed throughout the room and down the sewer tunnel. The sewer tunnel she had escaped down. Spike felt his fists clenching. More damage was needed.

“Sir?”

“What!” Spike spun around, growling.

Two of the idiots that worked for him stood in the tunnel entrance. Well, one was really more slumped then standing, he had an arm wrapped around the other vampire. His face was messed up pretty badly, both eyes swollen shut, cheek bloated. Spike grinned. He looked like one of those fat sumo wrestlers. Funny the things that cheered him up.

“Sir,” The more able-bodied one said, “She got Jonas. She fucked him up bad.”

Spike’s smile dropped “She?”

“The Slayer.”

He felt his face morph back into his human visage “And what exactly was ol’ Jonas doing anywhere near the Slayer?”

Jonas tried to speak but it came out as just a series of gurgles.

The other vampire answered “He was tailing her”

“Why?” Spike felt his fists shaking.

“Because she was escaping,” he answered, as if it was a no-brainer.

Spike bared his teeth, taking a step forward “Did I tell you to get the Slayer?”

Jonas looked up at him, afraid. Spike grabbed him around the throat in a vice-like grip. He tossed the vampire across the room like he was a rag-doll. Jonas hit the wall and fell to the floor in a heap, whimpering.

“I’ve got no more furniture to break,” Spike announced as he stalked up to the fallen vampire “so, you’ve been upgraded to punching bag, mate.”

He stomped his foot down onto the vampire’s already unrecognisable face.

+ + +

Buffy sat at the breakfast table in the kitchen, reading the newspaper. Usually she just read the obituaries and scouted the rest of the articles for any heads up on demon activity. There was a small mention of a young couple dying of severe neck trauma, but this was such a common occurrence in Sunnydale that it wasn’t even considered front page news anymore. She wondered for a moment if it was Spike’s work; murdering a young couple sounded right up his alley. No way to tell, though.

Her mother placed a plate of pancakes in front of her. Buffy pushed them away absently, as she continued to pretend to be engrossed in an article about the Sun Cinema being renovated. Joyce had yet to mention the cracked tiles in the bathroom but Buffy was sure she’d seen them by now. Having a Slayer for a daughter was expensive when it came to household breakages.

Not that she had the excuse of fighting a demon and accidentally harming innocent bathroom tiles. No, this had been a deliberate attack on the poor dears and her mother knew it. She also probably knew about the stinking pile of clothes Buffy had set fire to in the back garden earlier that morning.

“Buffy,” Joyce said slowly and carefully “You should eat something. You’ll waste away.”

I wish. Buffy didn’t look up from the newspaper, just shook her head and prayed her mother would leave it alone. Leave her alone. Being a typical mother, she did no such thing.

“Where were you last night? Was there some kind of...demon?”

Buffy snorted “Something like that,” she murmured.

“Well, did you get it?”

“No,” she said quietly, “but I will.”

Joyce sighed, walking over to the sink and starting on the dishes. Buffy looked up from the paper to watch her for a little while. Her mother put up with a lot of shit from her, Buffy knew that. She was doing the best she could but there probably wasn’t a chapter in the parent’s handbook on ‘What to Do When Your Teen Gets Mutilated’.

She stood and folded the newspaper, leaving it on the counter. Glancing down at the pancakes she thought about eating some just to make her mother happy. Problem was having been floating around in a tunnel full of human waste only a few hours ago Buffy wasn’t really in the mood for any kind of food. Even delicious pancake-y goodness.

So, instead, she decided now would be a good time to get some training done. If she was going to take down Spike and his gang then she would have to get into shape again. Buffy left the kitchen and walked to the basement door, pulling it open.

She glanced back and saw her mother standing in the doorway, her eyes sad.

Buffy descended the basement stairs, shutting the door behind her.

After the high school had been blown up Buffy had found herself with no place to train. She had turned her basement into a temporary place for just this purpose. Only, it hadn’t turned out so temporary. The plan had been for Giles to find her somewhere more suitable but after her scarring Buffy decided this place was good enough for her.

The basement afforded her a quiet, dark, sanctuary where she felt she could be alone. It was a little small but she could deal with that.

She picked up a staff, feeling the weight of it in her hands. The Slayer doubted she’d be using this against Spike, but who knew? Maybe it was time to go all Robin Hood on his ass. Buffy smiled to herself. She twirled the staff around; the whistling of the stick as it cut through the air was the only sound to break the silence. Buffy started her shadow fighting, jabbing the staff, sweeping it up in quick, graceful, movements as if she were fighting an invisible opponent.

Buffy closed her eyes and imagined he was in the room with her. Spike came up behind her and she spun around, slicing the staff towards him. He slid out of reach with liquid grace. The Slayer turned and stabbed the stick out quickly in a jab aimed for his solar plexus. He knocked the weapon to the side and took a few steps back from the imaginary fighter.

Buffy slowed her breathing, readied the staff in her hands and shoved it forwards at him. She imagined him catching it and pushing back on her with equal force. They stood locked in this stalemate for a few long seconds before Buffy crouched down and swept her leg out, toppling him from his feet.

He fell to the floor and she charged at him with the staff but he rolled out of the way and all she hit was the concrete floor, sending painful vibrations up her arms. Spike was behind her suddenly and she whirled around and cracked the weapon over her head. He fell to the floor with a cry.

Buffy frowned. She opened her eyes, and they instantly widened in shock.

Giles was flat on his ass on the floor, glasses askew and clutching his head whilst groaning in very real pain.

“Giles!” Buffy blinked, concerned “Are you okay?”

He looked up at her, still holding his hand to his temple “I...think I’ll live...ow.”

“Sorry,” she replied.

He gave her a small smile. Buffy knew he wanted her to return it. So, she did. Giles sat up fully and held his hand out to her so she could help him up. She started to reach out to him but froze. Looking down at his palms Buffy felt a cold shiver run up her spine. The skin on his hands had healed mostly but the white scar lines were still visible, spread across the heel of his hand and up winding around his index and middle finger.

It brought it all back to her. That day when everything had gone horribly wrong...



“Buffy!” Giles called to her as she started to walk into the dark cave.

She turned back. He stood just behind her on the sand, with Willow and Xander. They all held axes or swords. Heavy duty weaponry. Buffy had insisted that she needed to come and clear out the nest of Incinerato Demon’s but Giles had argued that she couldn’t go alone, so they had come along. She’d been doing that a lot recently – being over zealous with her slaying. Ever since Angel had left she needed something to occupy herself with before college.

“I know, I know, ‘be careful’.” Buffy rolled her eyes, but gave him a wolfish grin.

“Well, yes,” Giles nodded peering up at the sun that was beating down on them all, “But I was going to say – that perhaps sometime this summer, maybe, we could all come down here for something other than demon slaying.”

She mock-gasped “Giles! Are you suggesting that I shirk my Slayer responsibilities?”

“I’m disappointed in you, G” Xander nodded sagely “You just haven’t been the same stalwart, stuffy Brit since the Watchers fired you.”

“Made me redundant,” Giles corrected “And, as you all know, I am simply between jobs at the moment. I was only suggesting that we have all been patrolling very hard recently, you especially Buffy, and that we could use some time to ‘chill’ as you might say.”

Willow frowned “I think the word ‘chill’ has been ruined for me now.”

Xander nodded with her, and they beamed goofy grins at Giles who looked, as usual, like he was dealing with a bunch of idiots. Buffy laughed as he rolled his eyes and tilted his nose to the sky in a show of mock-Victorian snobbery.

“You got it, Giles,” Buffy tilted an invisible hat at him “Soon as we deal with these suckers, we’ll go frolic. You Watchers’ do frolic, right?” She started forward into the cave again.

Giles was close behind her “I may be slightly older than you all –”

“Slightly?” Willow choked up a laugh.

“– but I have no doubt in my mind that you won’t be able to keep up with my frolicking,” Giles finished, readying his axe.

Xander slapped his hands together “Alright, so we’ve got ourselves two bodacious babes, me – the handsome cabana boy type, and Mary Poppins over there. It’s going to be quite the party. Giles, don’t forget your sombrero.”

“I don’t own a sombrero,” Giles looked aghast.

“Sure, you don’t!” Xander grinned.

Buffy’s smile dropped as they got deeper into the cave. It was dark, but she could hear well enough. A slight shuffling sound off to her left.

“Down!” She yelled hurling herself backwards into Giles.

They all fell to the floor as a gigantic flame whooshed over them. It was gone a moment later and a big, dinosaur-looking demon appeared in its place. Buffy flipped herself up onto her feet and sidled away from her friends. The demon seemed to be torn on where to keep its attention – her or her friends.

“Hey, Barney!” She called “Over here. It’s rude to keep a girl waiting.”

It roared at her and spat another stream of fire at her. She ducked and managed to hack her axe into its side.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Giles, Xander and Willow holding their own. Giles had retreated back to entrance of the cave to make sure none of the demons escaped. Buffy twirled around and ducked underneath the demon’s large tail. She swung the axe down and embedded it in the tail. The demon screamed and whirled around to face her, breathing fire all over the place. She flipped and ducked to dodge, until it turned into something of a game. Her movements were graceful and swift, like a dancer.

Buffy had to jump to move out of the way of its injured tail as it swept towards her. She dropped into a roll then leapt up, ready to go again.. Across from her Xander was fighting another, a slightly smaller, but still formidable Incinerato demon. She saw him get shoved into the wall and worried for him, but Xander ducked out of the way as the demon blew fire at him. He got his axe back and swung it into the enemy; it fell to the ground and stayed there.

Buffy breathed a sigh of relief and turned around just in time to see a plume of orange fire hurtling towards her. She flung herself to the floor, then jumped back up and whirled around landing a solid kick to the Incinerato who had tried to incinerate her.

“Well, that was rude,” Buffy noted, dancing around the demon again “It’s just not done in polite circles. You wait for me to turn around and pummel your dinosaur ass.”

She twirled her axe around and motioned for the demon to come get her but it stayed put, eying her. The Slayer heard Willow call out Xander’s name, and she turned to see he had run to assist her. She turned back and swung at her demon. It dodged her blow and swung its large tail at her. Buffy jumped over the tail, smiling, “Come on, Barney, you’ve got to do better than that. Maybe –”

She never did finish her quip.

She heard the noise of the flames behind her, but couldn’t turn in time. The heat against her back was scalding and that was before the fire even touched her skin. She felt her shirt go up in flames first and then felt the burning against her skin, boils appeared within a second and popped just as fast.

All the while Buffy was screaming so loudly her lungs were protesting, but she didn’t even feel it. She flailed around; panicking, forgetting anything she had even learned about fire safety and instead could only think of the pain as it fired off what seemed to be all the nerves in her body.

Something barrelled into the side of her throwing her to the sandy floor. She was still screaming as Giles rolled her backwards and forwards over the ground, yelling her name. He used his bare hands to beat out the remaining flames, not even thinking about himself. Buffy couldn’t stop screaming. Then, mercifully she passed out. Her eyes fluttering closed....



She blinked, still looking down at his hand. Giles seemed to realise and pulled himself up, dusting off his pants and coming to stand in front of her.

“Buffy?”

She knew she still had a glazed over look in her eyes as she finally turned to look at him, “Yeah?”

“Are you alright?”

“Sure.”

Giles looked at her, sadly, “I worry about you, Buffy,” he said softly, “I worry, and I care, because I can’t help but do that. You seem so distant and lonely. You don’t have to be either of those things. I’m always here for you.”

Buffy looked back at him, silent for a long moment. “I’m fine, Giles,” she sighed eventually, “I was just getting a little training in.”

His shoulders slumped, “Oh, yes? Any new villains I should know about?”

Buffy shook her head, “No one new.”

+ + +

Spike laced his fingers together and cracked his knuckles. You could only beat someone up for so long before it started to take its toll on you. He walked over to the pile of broken furniture he’d left on the floor. Picking up half of a chair he snapped the leg off and walked up to Jonah.

The vampire deserved it. Taking matters into his own hands. No one was to go after the Slayer unless he said so. Spike staked the pitiful excuse for a vampire and dusted his hands off, turning to Jonah’s pal who he could never remember the name of.

“Listen...” He started.

“Spud,” The vampire filled him in.

“Really?” Spike arched an eyebrow.

Spud just shrugged.

“Okay. Listen, Spud,” Spike walked over to him, hands behind his back, “What do you know about the Slayer?”

“She’s short, blonde, and a pain in the ass!” Spud laughed.

Spike laughed along with him good-naturedly, “Anything, else? She got any injuries?”

“I don’t think so,” Spud shrugged, “Nothing ’cept those burns.”

Spike gritted his teeth, “You know about the scars?”

“Everyone knows.”

“I see,” Spike tilted his head “And none of you halfwits thought it might be a good idea to fill me in on this?”

Spud blinked, “We thought you knew. Everyone knows!”

“Not me!” Spike grabbed him by the lapels and shoved him up against the wall, “I didn’t know!”

He stared into the vampire’s scared eyes and knew one thing was obvious. He knew what he had to do with Buffy Summers. And it had to be done tonight.

“Spud, my old pal,” Spike grinned, letting go of the vampire and letting him slip to the floor, “Gather the troops. I want ten of our best. We’re going after the Slayer.”

“...you mean...?”

“Yep, we’re gonna have ourselves a feast.”

The sooner she was out of his life, the better. The bitch just confused him no end, and he couldn’t have that. He was a vampire, she was the Slayer. This was how it was done, he convinced himself. She had to die.

Buffy slipped quietly out of the house. It was dark out and she wore a hooded sweatshirt, the hood pulled up over her head, as she glided down the sidewalk. Her mother was still at home, getting ready for some date with a guy she’d met at the gallery. She had left just before Joyce started panicking about what she was going to wear.

Giles had left some time ago, realising he wasn’t going to get anything sociable out of Buffy. He’d stuck around for a while to ask her some general slaying questions, and had inquired politely about the other side of her life. There was very little to report on that front and Giles had left, feeling uncomfortable around the Buffy he felt he didn’t know.

Buffy hadn’t told him about Spike. She knew this was exactly the sort of thing she was supposed to tell her Watcher, but she had just felt like it was something she had to deal with alone. If she told Giles he’d go into a big panic, gather the gang, and they’d all go way overboard on the mob-mentality. All of them hated Spike, which she understood. However, they’d only get in the way and maybe get themselves killed in the process.

She could take Spike. She knew that. It was just a matter of when he would show his face again. It wouldn’t be long; he was impatient about these sorts of things. A perfect example of that had been the first time they had ever fought. He’d been unable to wait for the Night of St. Vigeous and had instead crashed her Parent Teacher Evening, therefore summing up what kind of relationship the two of them would forever have – a string of impulsive, ill-timed, spontaneous smack downs. At least until one of them finally killed the other one.

She dug her hands deep down into her pockets, keeping her gaze locked onto her surroundings. Buffy surveyed for danger instinctively, never putting much effort into it. She had enough self-confidence in these matters to know that if there was something lurking in the shadows wanting her blood then she would sense it. So far there had been nothing. She had yet to spot even a group of the usual rowdy teenagers on their way to the Bronze. It was a bad sign.

Usually the streets only cleared like this if there was something big about to go down. It was like people had a built in sensor for these things that told them to just stay inside. Buffy stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and looked around.

The air was charged. Something was going on. She just didn’t know what yet. She started walking again, figuring that whoever, or whatever it was would find her eventually. Buffy knew there was chance it was Spike. He always liked to strike when the iron was still hot. If it was him then she was ready. As long as she didn’t think too much about the look on his face as she had escaped the night before. The way his face had held sadness and confusion. Sympathy from the devil, Buffy thought, with a snort.

Generally speaking, Buffy thought she understood vampires quite well. It was necessary for her to be able to predict their patterns and know the way their minds worked. Spike had always been a little off for her, though. He never quite fit into the expected category. He had the bloodlust down, the viciousness, but then at times he would seem almost hesitant about it – like last night. And most of the time he didn’t care about people’s feelings, he was soulless so it was expected, but then he had loved Drusilla intensely. Buffy had seen it in his eyes, in the way he used to protect her when she was frail, he loved Drusilla as much as Buffy had loved Angel.

She didn’t like admitting that she and Spike had anything in common, but there was that.

He was evil, of that she was absolutely certain. But then he had to go and confuse things there by helping her save the world. It had been motivated by selfish reasons but he had still come to her and had helped her against Angelus and kept Giles alive when he was in their captivity. Buffy wondered if she would have still won if it wasn’t for Spike’s help. There was no point in rehashing over all that again. The point of it all was that Spike often defied expectations and that’s what made him such an unpredictable, and ultimately, deadly opponent. Buffy knew as well that Spike’s volatile nature may have been what helped him to win against two Slayers. It didn’t worry her though. Not much, anyway.

It started to rain. Buffy looked up, frowning. Droplets of water fell onto her cheeks and nose, as she looked up at the stars. It hardly ever rained in Sunnydale, hence the name. Buffy decided this was bad omen number two. She shook her head and carried on. The Slayer debated on giving the nearest cemetery a quick sweep for bad guys. It was in this moment of indecision that a scream sliced through the air. Reacting immediately, Buffy ran towards the direction it had come from. Another scream, echoing off the alley walls.

She sprinted along the street looking for the source of it. There was a whimper, closer now. Buffy inched along carefully towards the mouth of the nearest alley and withdrawing the stake from her waistband she stepped into clear view. Two vampires, one male, one female, were feasting on a girl who was maybe Buffy’s age. They held her from both sides, looking almost like an embrace. The girl's eyes were rolled back exposing just the whites.

"Hey!" Buffy yelled.

The vampires turned towards her, growling and baring their bloodied fangs. Buffy waved the stake at them. They dropped the girl and she fell to the ground with a thud, already dead. The Slayer looked at her for a moment before turning her eyes back to the vampires. They grinned at her simultaneously and then ran.

Buffy frowned. Vampires were never usually smart enough to run from her. They always seemed to want to try their luck. Obviously, these two were not counting on being easy slays. With a sigh, she followed after them through the winding alleys of Sunnydale.

She could hear them howling with laughter, sounding eerily like hyenas. Buffy rounded the last corner and ground to a stop. The two vampires stood only a short distance away, side by side. She looked around and saw that they were behind the Bronze. Music was pumping from inside the club, a haunting melody from some live band who had been stupid enough to agree to play a vampire town. Buffy felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. This was a trap. How could she be so stupid to fall into a trap again? Buffy had no answer for herself. She simply reached up and pulled the hood from her head, the cold rain sluiced across her face and down her neck making her shiver.

"Let me guess," Buffy said calmly "Spike sent you?"

They didn’t answer, just smiled as several more of their buddies stepped out from the shadows. There were three of them behind her, plus the two in front. Five vampires against one Slayer. Buffy wasn’t a math genius but she knew the odds were stacked against her. Buffy readied the stake in her hand. She worked the cricks out of her neck and shoulders, always aware of where the vampires behind her were, eyes fixed on the ones in front of her. For a long moment nothing happened. Then they all ran at her together, roaring.

Buffy leapt up, grabbing hold of the fire escape ladder attached to the alley wall. She swung herself up and landed on the steps. The vampires careened into one another, a couple of them getting knocked to the ground.

The ones who still stood looked up at her, confused and pissed off. She gave them a little wave.

"A crossbow would be handy right now," Buffy mused to herself "Or, you know, a machine gun"

With wooden bullets, of course...she added silently. The vampires were all growling at her and hissing. Buffy took a moment to consider the best course of action. Fight or flee. She leapt down upon two of them, knocking them to the floor. Buffy plunged the stake into them each in turn without even breaking a sweat. She flipped herself up into a standing position again to find herself surrounded by the three remaining vampires. Buffy motioned for them to come and get her but instead they just circled, fangs bared at her. She shrugged and reached forward, staking one as easy as pie, when he wasn’t ready for it. The look on the vampire’s face was priceless.

The two vamps she had started off with were the two who were left. They grabbed at her, landed a couple of decent kicks to her stomach and head. Buffy stumbled back into the wall, one lashed out to hit her again but she ducked and his hand smashed into the brick wall instead. He let out a howl of pain and she kicked him in the balls. As he fell to the side gasping, his female companion aimed a kick at Buffy’s head. The Slayer grabbed her leg and pushed her hard enough that she fell to the ground. Buffy walked over to her and kicked her hard in the side. She shrugged and kicked her again and again. It was good for the frustration.

However, she didn’t count on the vampire behind her recovering so quickly from the swift kick to his family jewels. He grabbed her from behind, pinning her arms to her sides and leaving her wholly immobile. The female vampire got up, stood before Buffy and punched her hard in the stomach. Buffy bent forward, gagging. That made the vampire grin. She punched her again and again, and Buffy thought she might throw up yet again but she hadn’t eaten anything so it was unlikely. As the female made the move to punch her again, Buffy leapt up and planted a foot on her chest, pushing off and using the momentum to launch herself over the vampire who had been holding her and landing behind him gracefully. She staked him quickly in the back. As the dust cleared Buffy faced off against the last remaining vampire.

"Tell Spike, if he wants me he has to come get me himself" Buffy spat at her.

"If you insist, pet"

Buffy’s head snapped around in the direction the voice had come from. Spike stood in the alleyway, just below the Bronze sign. His arms were folded and he had smug grin on his face. The Slayer was so busy looking at him that the female vampire she had been fighting before ran up to her and knocked her to the ground. Buffy let out a sound as she held her arm against the vamp’s neck, trying to keep the fangs away from her throat. Instead the vampire settled for sinking her teeth deep into Buffy’s arm. Buffy screamed, and kneed her in the side, shoving her off, as the vampire took a good chunk of Buffy’s arm with her.

The Slayer grabbed up her stake and finished the bitch off. She stood shakily, clutching her arm, trying in vain to stem the bloodflow. Buffy faced Spike as she ripped a long strip of material from her sweater and wound it around the wound, tying it tightly. It hurt like hell.

Spike sniffed the air, "I love the smell of Slayer blood in the evening."

"Let’s you and me finish this," she said, voice strong.

"Um…Okay," Spike took a step towards her.

She tensed.

"Second thought – not!" He grinned, then held his fingers up to his mouth and whistled.

Buffy groaned as five more vampire lackeys emerged from various shadowy nooks. She really had to learn not to get herself into these traps. Buffy slammed the heel of her hand into the nose of one vampire and kicked her leg back into the kneecap of another one behind her at the same time. The other three leapt on her, actually slamming into her bodily. They had been heavy men when alive, and now they were heavy vampires. She was thrown to the floor and they all piled on top of her as if they were playing a game of rugby, that sport Giles was so fond of watching.

Buffy was punched and kicked, scratched and scraped. She bucked against them wondering where the hell her stake had gone. She managed to get enough leverage to kick one vampire off of her. Fangs sunk into her knee and she screamed loudly.

Slamming an elbow into the face of the vampire directly above her, Buffy then drew up all her strength and pushed against them all. Amazingly, they all went flying off of her in a multitude of directions. Buffy gasped the air, glad to be free. She dragged herself up into a standing position, her knee seeping blood. The vampires were fast recovering.

She saw her stake and dived for it as a vampire jumped at her. Landing on the ground and grabbing the stake she held it up in front of her as vampire soared towards her. He couldn’t stop his own momentum and ended up impaled on the stake. She scrambled up before the dust had even settled. A vampire tried to creep up behind her but she shoved the stake backwards and staked her effortlessly. The three remaining vampires all stood looking at her. Buffy looked back. They ran.

Spike’s eyebrow rose, "You just can’t get the help these days."

Buffy leant one hand against the wall, taking a few deep breaths, "So, now you have to get your minions to soften me up? How the mighty have fallen. Not that you were ever very mighty, Spike."

He smiled, walking slowly towards her "Yeah, well, at least I’m still pretty."

Buffy looked at him, sourly. Spike stood before her, one hand clutching his belt, slouching cool guy pose perfected. The rain was still beating down on them hard but he seemed unfazed. His eyes were focused solely on hers. Buffy had always thought he had the most entrancing eyes, and she wondered briefly if maybe he had some kind of thrall.

"That’s a matter of opinion," she replied, standing up straight and readying herself for a fight.

He moved closer. "So, come on – honesty time. How long has it been for you?"

She frowned "What?"

"Since your last fuck," Spike smirked, looking her up and down "I hear that some blokes are into that sort of thing." Buffy’s fists clenched. "You know, they like their girls disfigured and all that."

She punched him in the face hard. He stumbled backwards into a dumpster, laughing. He stood up straight again, brushed the shoulders of his duster off, then he came at her. She blocked his first punch but his second landed. His fist slammed against her right cheek hard and she in turn careened into the wall. Dots swam in her vision. Spike didn’t even hesitate. He kicked her hard on her already injured knee and she screamed in pain, clutching onto the wall for support. His hands grabbed at her sweater and he tossed her across the alleyway into the wall on the opposite side. Buffy crumpled to the floor.

"I mean each to their own right?" Spike walked over to her, "Everyone’s got their kinks. I might not understand what any man could see in an ugly little bitch like you but I respect that it takes all kinds."

She looked up at him and felt tears prickle at the corner of her eyes. Buffy tried to sit up, and place her emotionless mask back on but it was too late, he had already seen it.

"What’s the matter, love?" He frowned, grabbing her injured arm and yanking her to her feet, making her scream again, "What’s with the waterworks? I thought you were tough. I guess those revolting little scars didn’t just take away your beauty, eh? They made you weak too." Spike backhanded her across the face and she fell back to the floor on her knees, head bowed. "Get up," he said firmly. She didn’t move. "I said get up!"

Buffy rolled her eyes up to look at him "Just do it" she whispered.

Spike tilted his head "Do what?"

The Slayer stood slowly, readying herself. She stood before him, stands of her hair blowing in her eyes and sticking to her face. Rain slid down her forehead and cheeks mingling with the tears, as she turned her head and bared her neck to him.

Spike’s eyes fixed upon her throat, he swallowed hard. Buffy felt his hand grip her wrist as he pulled her into him. Their chests were flush against one another; his body was hard and cold, the rain soaking their clothes. He leaned his face into the junction of her neck; his lips were wet and soft as they pressed against her throat. He kissed a line down her neck gently, tracing the vein that ran beneath the surface of her hot skin.

Buffy closed her eyes. She knew he was about to kill her but still some irrational part of her could only think about how strange this all felt. To be touched again. The fact that it was Spike who was touching her should have bothered her and the fact that he was about to end her life should have bothered her even more but it just didn’t. Suddenly all she could think about was the feeling of his skin against hers. The way a strange little tingle started at the base of her spine and ran up the length of it. It didn’t make any sense. And she didn’t care.

Spike let out a growl and his lips were gone suddenly. Buffy frowned, her eyes opening. Spike still stood in front of her, inches away, but his face was upturned to the sky, his eyes were closed and his jaw was clenched. "I...can’t" He uttered to himself, disbelieving. Spike let out a roar and threw his arms out to the side of him, held them up to the sky "I suppose you think this is funny!" He yelled to the stars.

Buffy watched this display without comment or reaction. Spike looked down again and locked eyes with her, looking surprised as if only just remembering she was there. "Well..." He started, struggling to find the right words "...It’s just no fun if you don’t –"

Buffy grabbed his face in her hands and kissed him.

A/N: WARNINGS: Some dark stuff in this chapter.



His lips were cold. Everything about him was. Just another thing they had him common. Buffy tried not to think about that, or anything, as she kissed away her self-reliant facade. The rain didn’t slow; it bucketed down, soaking her to the bone and beyond. She ignored it, she ignored everything, and just relished in the feeling of being touched. Being a person again, after being treated like less than human, like a leper, for so long. She had almost forgotten what it felt like to be kissed; to just lose yourself in the touch of another.

His hands were gripping her biceps hard, his mouth working against hers forcefully, pushing her lips open as his tongue slid against hers. He tasted of stale cigarettes; once upon a time she would have cared, now she really didn’t. The pain, from her injuries seemed to dissipate and she was left feeling blissfully okay. Just okay. It didn’t sound a lot, but to Buffy it was everything. She hadn’t felt anything close to okay for a long while.

Spike pushed her away suddenly and she stumbled backwards, slipped on the wet ground and fell straight on her ass. Blinking, she looked up at the vampire. He was looking back at her, his face a picture of confusion and unease. It was then that it hit her. She had been kissing Spike, overall bad guy and asshole extraordinaire. Not to mention he was a vampire, and that never ended well. Or, even began well. What the hell had she been thinking? Her face burned with abject embarrassment and humiliation. She couldn’t look into those staring blue eyes any longer. Buffy scrambled to her feet and turned, running from the alleyway.

The Slayer nearly slipped over several times in the puddles that covered the ground, the raindrops were falling in her eyes and coating her eyelashes making it hard to see where she was going. It wasn’t just that weather that was making it so hard, it was her confusion. Her mind was racing, scolding her for her idiotic and downright disgusting behaviour.

She had kissed Spike and he had rejected her.

This was a new depth, even for her. Buffy considered Spike to be the lowest of the low, and if even he wasn’t interested in her then she really was worth nothing. She had already considered that to be the case but this had really just hammered it home.

Buffy sprinted down the streets of Sunnydale, her clothes were sopping wet, her hair was matted to her head and tears burned in her eyes. She wouldn’t cry over this. That would be useless and far too pathetic.

In her haste to escape Spike, herself, the world – in which order she wasn’t quite sure – she slipped over again. This time she fell forwards but managed to catch herself on her hands. The impact sent painful vibration running up the bones in her wrists and arms. Buffy winced, breathing deeply, as she just rested there in the middle of the sidewalk on her hands and knees. Briefly, she laid her forehead on the concrete below her, it was wet and cold. She closed her eyes, let out a shuddering sigh, and pulled herself back up. Buffy was up and running again soon enough, telling her mind to just shut the hell up.

She didn’t need the torment that her own brain kept brewing up, about how it had felt to kiss that soulless thing. About how she had needed it, wanted it, and now had to pay the consequences. Buffy had had enough of consequences. She found herself outside of her house without even realising she was subconsciously heading in that direction. Thankfully, her mother’s car was gone. This meant she could do what needed to be done alone and in peace. Small mercies.

Buffy entered the house shedding her shoes, and yanking the wet sweater off leaving her in her jeans and camisole. Blood was sluicing down her arm, through the makeshift tourniquet, and dripping on the carpet. She padded silently into the kitchen, her movement methodical, not really thinking too much about what she was actually doing. She took a glass from the kitchen cabinet and filled it with tap water. She limped slightly over to another cabinet; the wound in her leg was giving her hell. She reached up to the top shelf and pulled the pot of Methadone down. Strictly, it was supposed to be for easing the pain in her back but it would work for this purpose too. Buffy downed a couple of pills, sipping the water to get rid of the dryness and cardboard taste.

Looking down at the vial of pills that lay on the counter, she hesitated a moment before picking it up, and shaking out another couple. She swallowed those just as smoothly as the first two. Buffy hobbled over to a stool and sat down on it, her hand shook slightly, making the pills rattle against the side of the bottle.

She tipped a couple more into her trembling hand.

+ + +

Spike didn’t understand women, at all. That had always been painfully obvious to him. He was a self-professed love’s bitch. However, when it came down to it he knew he understood Slayers. For a vampire to successfully kill a Slayer, they had to understand the inner workings of their minds their strategies, their weaknesses, their strengths, and their loneliness. He’d bagged himself two Slayers, simply because he knew what made them tick.

Then, of course, Buffy Summers had to foul it all up. She had always defied convention and had always kept him on his toes, been a real fucking challenge. It had exhilarated him at first, made him want to be the vampire worthy enough to take down the best of the best.

Truth was, she was too good for him. He’d given it everything he had that first year in Sunnydale and she hadn’t even broken a sweat. So, naturally, this had pissed him off. Leaving Sunnydale, on a misguided attempt to win back Dru, he had also set out with the knowledge that he would get better, he would learn how to fight harder, faster, and with more skill. He would re-learn how to slay a Slayer. This was why he had come back. He knew he could take the bitch down now. It was only a matter of time before she fell at his hands. It was inevitable.

As usual, Buffy disobeyed the fates. They were all betting in favour of her grand death, and she was giving them the finger the whole time. It was glorious, if he really thought about it. She was glorious. He had dreamed of killing her, had even managed to capture her and then...he had let her go. It was the scars. If it wasn’t for those fucking scars he would have finished her off. He could have been taking a bath in Slayer’s blood right now. The thought sent a delicious shiver up his spine. Instead of that, instead of painting the town red – killing, shagging, and rioting – he was slogging down a rain soaked street in search of the bint in question.

He wondered why the guy upstairs hated him this much. Sure, he was a murdering soulless demon but surely the punishment should fit the crime? And worrying about the bloody Slayer was so far beyond an acceptable punishment for his deeds.

You're all covered with her. I look at you... all I see is the Slayer.

Spike had hated Dru for saying that. It was ridiculous. Him enamoured with the fucking Chosen One? Not a chance. He was William the Bloody, he was Spike, he killed Slayers, he didn’t love them. That was Angelus’ thing.

Still...that kiss. Christ, he had no idea what must have been going through her mind to do such a thing. One thing was for certain – Buffy was well and truly fucked up. Not that he minded, quite the opposite. She was ripe for the taking; he could seduce her and kill her. He’d get a decent lay and an exquisite meal out of the deal. Not to mention bragging rights for at least the next century, maybe the next two.

Oh, yes? Then why didn’t you do just that? Why did you push her away, let her go, again?

A nagging voice sounded in the back of his mind sounding a lot like Drusilla. He didn’t have an answer. Maybe it was the shock of her kissing him, but he didn’t think so. Another part of him, a part he didn’t like to listen to, told him he had pushed her away because he didn’t want her to sully herself with him.

That was a load of bullshit.

He was evil. He was all about the sullying. Especially if it meant Princess Buffy, her royal high and mighty bitch, was taken down a peg or two. It had to have been a moment of insanity. Yeah, that was the only explanation for letting her go again. And he wasn’t trying to find the Slayer because he was worried about her, no; he wanted to find her so that he could rip her throat out. Spike smiled, “It’s good to get things in perspective.”

The Slayer’s house was just up ahead. He didn’t see a car in the driveway, or any lights on, but that didn’t mean no one was home. He’d been tracking her scent since he came to his senses in the alleyway. Spike felt his fists clench at his side, the smile on his face widening. He’d wanted this moment for so long, he couldn’t delay it any longer. He walked quietly up to the house, keeping in the shadows as much as he could, and keeping an eye out for the Slayer. She was inside, he was certain of that now. Spike stomped up the porch and stopped in front of the door. Should he just barge in? He’d looked pretty stupid if she had put the no-invite barrier up again, and he’d lose all element of surprise.

Spike rapped on the door politely and stood slightly to the side of the door so she couldn’t see him through the window. Nothing happened. Charming, he thought a vampire tries to be polite. Spike shrugged and kicked the door in. It slammed into the wall nosily and bounced back towards him. He pushed it aside, and stepped into the Slayer’s house. No barrier. Spike smirked. That girl was monumentally stupid. She deserved to die.

“Nice to see you can still welcome an old friend, Slayer,” Spike called, hands behind his back.

The house remained strangely quiet, just the wind howling outside breaking the silence. Spike wondered for a moment if he was wrong and she wasn’t in the house.

He entered the living room cautiously. Pictures of Buffy and Joyce cluttered the tables and shelves, none of them recent. Slayer wasn’t too fond of cameras these days, he expected. Spike frowned and moved into the dining room, always on alert. He couldn’t hear any movement from downstairs or upstairs.

The kitchen was next up and he stopped in the doorway. There she was. The Slayer was slumped over the counter, arm thrown over her face, sleeping. Spike chuckled to himself. How she could sleep through the racket he had just made he didn’t know.

“Wakey, wakey, morning glory!” Spike chorused, expecting her to jump up, startled.

She didn’t move. A strange heavy feeling settled in his stomach. He crossed the floor quickly and strode up beside her. Spike gave her a light shove on the shoulder. Buffy’s head smacked against the kitchen counter.

Spike grabbed her shoulder and shook her hard. She didn’t respond. He could still hear her heartbeat and breathing, but they were slower than they should have been. He should have noticed before. His eyes darted around the kitchen and landed on the bottle of pills that had spilled over the counter at some point. “No,” He whispered, the sound carrying through the silent kitchen “No!”

Spike grabbed her again and shook her harder this time, causing her head to loll around on her shoulders limply. Letting go, he ran to the sink, instincts kicking into overdrive. He grabbed the nearest cup and filled it up with water. Panicking, he began to open all the cupboards throwing food and drinks everywhere in his search. Bottles and cups smashed onto the floor and dry spaghetti rained all over him, he almost slipped in a puddle of custard.

“You stupid bint! You stupid, stupid bint!” Spike yelled, still rooting through the cupboard “You don’t get to go out this way! The Slayer doesn’t go out this way!”

Finally, he found what he was looking for. The salt canister. Ripping it open he poured a large quantity of it into the glass of water. Rushing back over to her side, he lifted her head up and put the glass to her lips. She made a slight sound of protest.

“Open you bloody mouth, Slayer!” Spike growled, his face vamping out “Open it now!”

Buffy struggled weakly against him as he forced the liquid into her mouth. It sluiced down her chin and throat, salty like tears. Her body reacted mechanically, trying to spit the foul stuff out. Spike clamped a hand over her mouth and nose. The need to breathe won and she swallowed the concoction, coughing and gagging almost immediately. She turned her head to the side and vomited onto his boots.

He barely noticed, as he lifted the glass to her mouth again. Buffy tried to fight it harder this time, knowing what was going to happen. She flapped at him weakly with her hands. He ignored it and forced more down her throat, using the same method again to make her upchuck. Spike did this until there was nothing else to come up and then he let out a sigh of relief as the Slayer flopped forward again onto the counter, breathing, heartbeat erratic but strong.

This moment of calm was replaced by one of pure rage. He grabbed up the salt canister and hurled it as hard as he could into the wall. It exploded and covered the floor in the stuff. Spike let out a primal roar followed by a string of curse words.

Spike took a couple of breaths, a force of habit, and turned to look back at Buffy. She was completely zonked out. “Moron,” Spike murmured, he glanced down at his ruined boots, “Oh, bloody marvellous!”

Grunting, he reached over and picked up the Slayer. Carrying her in his arms, Spike walked into the living room and laid her down on the couch where her mum could find her. Joyce would know if she needed hospital or not. She looked pained, her skin was an unsightly grey and sweat beaded at her forehead. Not to mention the rank stench of sick that seemed swathed around her. All in all the Slayer had seen better days. Spike reached down and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear before turning and walking back out into the kitchen.

Buffy was going to have a hell of a job explaining this to Joyce. Oh well, he thought to himself, that wasn’t his problem. He walked to the back door and pulled it open, about to leave. Then he stopped. Slowly, he turned back around to face the room again. Rolling his eyes, Spike walked over to the counter and quickly scooped up all of the spilt pills. He placed them back in the bottle and then placed the bottle back in a cupboard. The Slayer’s mum didn’t need to know what had gone down tonight.

Spike still wasn’t sure why he gave a toss about the Slayer or her mum, and he doubted he’d ever fully understand why he had just saved her life when his plan had been to take it. “Hell of a night,” Spike pondered, as he left.

Buffy had stopped listening to the voices of her mother and the doctor a while ago, but the vague sounds of conversation still registered on her periphery. Her thoughts were occupied with other matters, things that had very little to do with what was being said in-between those four walls.

And what ugly walls they are...Buffy noted silently, gazing at the sickly yellow the cramped office was painted. The carpet didn’t help much either, a dull grey, with a suspicious stain over in one corner. She’d been in this office at least a dozen times and it never ceased to depress her. The desk was made of cheap mahogany, small and nicked in many places, as if they’d had trouble getting it through the door. It was littered with papers and files; her own lay sprawled across the desk obscenely, airing her dirty laundry out for all to see. Or so it felt like. The doctor’s coffee cup had left watery rings all over the desk, which had stained it. Buffy was willing to bet it was the same mug that rested on the desk right now, temporarily forgotten. It was white and chipped on the top, the message 'World’s Best Father’ displayed proudly. Only, from where she was sitting it looked like it said ‘Word’s Best Fat’.

There were a row of dark green filing cabinets behind the desk, off to one side from where the doctor sat talking animatedly. They were battered in a few places and looked well used. Buffy’s gaze flickered to the state-of-the-art computer on the desk. She wondered why there was still a need for filing cabinets. Wasn’t the whole point of computers to get rid of those bulky monstrosities?

She sighed to herself, looking over at the window behind the desk. It was partially obscured by the doctor’s balding head but there was still too much of it showing. The slatted blinds were opened letting the Californian sunlight stream in across the desk, reaching towards her menacingly. Buffy shifted back defensively in the plush chair.

She would have thought a doctor who specialised in burn patients would know better than to have his office bathed in glorious, and deadly, light. Obviously not.

Buffy wondered why the office was so crappy. From what she could see this guy had it made. There was always a need for doctors in Sunnydale and they charged a high enough rate to splash out on some new carpeting, or some decent paint. Not that she truly cared about the state of the office. She was just trying to keep her mind occupied. It had been two nights now since she had woken up in a drowsy stupor on the living room couch. Her mother had been staring down at her with this look of total and utter hopelessness and disappointment.

Buffy was more concerned by the fact that she herself wasn’t dead. She had taken enough methadone to sink a small elephant. The hazy memory of hurling everywhere and the horrible taste of salt in her throat had only just started to come back to her.

That and the lingering ghost of a voice in her ear ‘The Slayer doesn’t go out this way!’ It made absolutely no sense that he would save her life. First of all – she hadn’t wanted to be saved, and second of all – he was Spike.

It didn’t bear thinking about.

“Miss Summers?”

She blinked and looked up slowly into the bespectacled eyes of the doctor seated across from her. He was staring back at her expectantly. Buffy flickered her gaze to her mother and saw she too was waiting for some sort of response.

Buffy stared back blankly, “Yes?”

“Have you given it any thought?”

She shifted in the seat, pulling herself further upright, feigning attention, “Given what any thought?”

“The skin graft,” he replied, fingers tented in front of him, “Your mother and I were discussing it, and we’ve agreed that now is a good time to consider it.”

Buffy gripped the arms of her chair tightly, her fingernails digging into the leather. She turned to Joyce and tried to read her mother’s expression. It was strangely similar to the one she had worn when she had found Buffy half passed out on the living room chair. She hadn’t said a word then, remaining silent but cagey. She never even mentioned the mess in the kitchen, or the muddy footprints that clearly didn’t belong to either herself or Buffy.

It was like she was a muted version of herself. Not quite Joyce Summers anymore.

Buffy knew this was her fault. It was her attitude and unwillingness to deal that was dragging her mother down with her, but just because she was aware of it didn’t mean she was going to address it. There was a time to heal and this was not it.

“What does it involve?” Buffy asked finally, her throat dry.

“We would take some skin from your thigh and transplant it onto your back. We will have to do this a number of times over a number of months but the end result should be satisfying,” The doctor smiled thinly.

“Should be?” Buffy whispered incredulously.

They wanted her to go through dozens of operations for a ‘should be’? This was unreal.

“Now, Buffy,” He breathed nasally “We can’t expect miracles. There could be complications. However, I have the utmost confidence –”

“What exactly does ‘satisfying’ mean, anyway?” She interrupted “Will my back look normal again? Anything close to resembling normalcy?”

“Some scarring will still be visible and the nerve endings will never fully –”

“So, you want me to endure all the pain, all that...misery,” Buffy spat, “for essentially nothing? Scar me up everywhere else so I can be your pin cushion so maybe, possibly, one day I should be satisfied?”

Joyce reached over and placed a hand on her shoulder “Buffy,”

“I can see you’re upset,” The doctor sat back in his chair “I suggest you mull it over for a few days and then get back to me.”

“No.”

The doctor frowned, quirking his head “I beg your pardon?”

“No,” Buffy stood slowly, her eyes catching the sun and causing her to squint, “I don’t want to mull it over. I’m stuck with this body. I really don’t want to make it worse. If that’s possible.”

Her mother stood up next to her and took her arm “Honey, you’re tired. Let’s go home and I’ll make you some soup.”

She shook her arm free “I don’t want any goddamn soup!”

The room was suddenly too quiet.

And the sun was still in her eyes. Buffy lifted a hand to shield them from the light. She looked at her mother. It was all too much. She had to get out.

Grabbing her jacket up, she slipped it on and left the office. The door clicked softly behind her as she padded down the air conditioned corridor. Buffy turned the corner, breezing past the snooty secretary and out of the heavy doors. Humid air enveloped her and she ran her hands through her hair, eyes closed. This was all too much. Everything. Her life was hell. Maybe that’s why Spike had stopped her ending it. Maybe he wanted her to suffer.

“Is that what you want?” Buffy spoke softly.

There was no answer.

Her mother appeared next to her silently. Buffy glanced at her with what she hoped was a halfway apologetic expression. It wasn’t her mother’s fault. None of it was. It just happened that she was the only one who stuck around long enough to feel the Buffy Summer’s wrath.

Buffy couldn’t remember that last time she had seen Xander or Willow. She supposed they were consciously avoiding her. She didn’t blame them for that. Buffy wouldn’t even blame her mom if she threw up her hands and said she had had enough. Instead, she slipped an arm around Buffy’s shoulders cautiously.

Just this once she let her.

+ + +

Spike drained the very last drop from the boy he held in his grasp. The body had stopped thrashing around a while ago, slowing to twitch every now and then until it went deathly still. The vampire reared his head up and wiped the blood from his lips, sucking it from the ends of his fingers. He sighed in contentment and let the body drop to the floor with a thump. Spike stepped onto the dead boy and over him to fling himself in an almost threadbare armchair some lackey had retrieved from the home of a family he’d killed. It wasn’t half bad. Comfortable, if a little stained from the bloodshed. Slinging one leg over the arm of the chair, Spike lit a cigarette and took a deep drag from it. “Spud!” He yelled.

The vampire trundled into the lair obediently “Yes sir?”

“See to it that gets dumped somewhere,” He motioned absently at the body on the floor, “It’s already starting to stink to high heaven.”

“Right away, Sir.” Spud hefted the body over his shoulder and left, whistling a jaunty – and bloody annoying – tune.

Spike scratched his chin and looked at the blood splatters that remained on the dusty floor of the tunnel. It had been good to get a decent meal again. Having laid laid low for the past couple of days to make sure the Slayer wasn’t trailing him, his stomach had started to rumble painfully.

“The Slayer,” Spike murmured to himself.

That, in itself, was another problem. How to deal with the Slayer. Every time he tried to kill her, he seemed to end up saving her life. Clearly, he’d entered the Twilight Zone. There was only one real option left. Spike would go to the Slayer once darkness had fallen. “And see what the night brings,” he whispered to the empty room.

Buffy combed through her long hair slowly, it was still wet from the bath she had taken a few minutes ago, and for once it seemed to be relatively free from tangles. She sat on the edge of her bed dressed only in her white fluffy robe. The material itched against her back but she tried to ignore it. Droplets of water fell from the ends of her hair onto the floor by her bare feet.

She supposed she should have been patrolling tonight but she couldn’t face it. The thought of going outside and exposing herself to danger and, worse still, people, was just too harrowing. So, this night was a Buffy Only Night. Alone in her own company. Her mother was downstairs watching soaps but Buffy knew she wouldn’t disturb her.

Sighing, she put the comb down on the nightstand and reached her hands up to her shoulders rubbing them firmly. Her muscles were tense, painfully so. Buffy leaned over to her nightstand and pulled the top drawer open. Inside was a tube of silicone gel. Generally speaking, she was supposed to have someone massage it into her back every day at least once a day. Her mother had attempted to keep to this routine in the beginning but it soon became clear it wouldn’t work. Buffy would flinch and squirm around every time she felt her mother’s hands on her scars. She plucked up the tube and held it in her hands, eyeing it disdainfully. It would make the itching stop and that in itself was a miracle. However, she was never very successful when she had previously tried to apply it herself.

That was the problem with burn injuries. You could never just take care of them yourself, they had to be seen, tended to, and touched. Buffy loosened the bath robe tie and slipped it off of one shoulder, making sure it didn’t expose anything indecent at the front. Not that anyone was looking, but there was a mirror directly in front of her and she didn’t need to see that. The breeze from the open window blew against her naked shoulder; it was pleasant against her irritated skin. She uncapped the tube and splurged some of the cold transparent gel onto her shoulder. Slowly, she rubbed it in, eyes rolled up to look at the ceiling. Anything to avoid her reflection.

She wondered if right now some innocent was being viciously killed all because she couldn’t stand to face the world. It was her duty to protect people, to do the right thing. She found herself not even caring. If some girl’s neck was being broken, if a guy was drained of all his blood, it wasn’t her fault. It’s not like she had asked to be the Slayer. It had never done her any favours. Even her Slayer healing couldn’t save her from the disfigurement.

They’d even tried magic. Her friends, that is. They wanted more than anything to make her better, to help her become Buffy again. The Buffy they loved. The Buffy they missed. It didn’t work. Willow’s spells were useless. She was no where near powerful enough to heal her. Afterwards they all just seemed to drift away.

Buffy slowly slid the other shoulder of her robe off, anxiously letting it fall to her waist. She applied the gel, massaging it firmly. Her muscles began to relax, the cool night air soothing her bare skin. Buffy decided that if she could reach the rest of her back she may even be halfway comfortable in her own skin. Even if that did feel like an alien concept to her. Instead, she slipped the robe back over her shoulders and tightened the belt.

That was when the tingle at the base of her neck started.

“Just when I was enjoying the show,” The deep voice purred from behind her.

She felt herself go rigid. Looking in the mirror she could see no one behind her, but then she hadn’t expected to. After all, Spike wouldn’t have a reflection. The heat rose to her cheeks as she tried to deal with the fact that he had obviously been there for a while and had gotten a crystal-clear view of her naked scars. Taking a deep breath, she turned to look over her shoulder.

He was perched on the windowsill like an over-grown gargoyle, hands gripping the sides of the window frame. The vampire climbed the rest of the way in, standing up straight, the black duster unfolding around him. His stance screamed casual as he leaned against the wall, watching her with obvious glee. The truth was Buffy had expected him to pay her a visit again sooner or later. After all, there would be no point in him stopping her from dying if he didn’t plan to witness her continued desolation himself.

She had know this...yet she hadn’t gotten Willow to do a de-invite spell. Hell, she hadn’t even told any of them that Spike was back in town. Buffy wasn’t exactly sure why she felt the need to keep his presence to herself, only that it was somehow important.

“What do you want?” she asked, voice low.

Spike gave a slow shrug, “I think the question is, Slayer, what do you want?”

Buffy turned away from him, looking in the mirror, “I want you to leave.”

Even with her Slayer senses she didn’t hear him move. Yet, suddenly, there he was sitting behind her on the bed. The very fact that Spike was on her bed seemed wrong. She should have staked him on the spot. Except that there wasn’t a stake handy, and she imagined if she made any sudden movements he would just nonchalantly snap her neck.

“Is that so?” Spike whispered, lips brushing against her ear, “correct me if I’m wrong, love, but it was you who kissed me.”

She stared at her lonely reflection, “That was a mistake.”

“Rot! I’m bettin’ you’ve been gagging for some play for a long time, Slayer.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she replied, “And if you could hurry up with the whole plan to kill me, that would be good also.”

Spike shook his head, “Not here to kill you. I’ll save that for later.”

Buffy snorted, noticing how unattractive that looked in the mirror, “You mean you’ll try. Thing is, Spike, you’re just another vampire. Granted, a slightly more annoying vampire than usual but –”

“One that gets you hot.”

Buffy rolled her eyes, about to reply with a clever retort, when Spike’s hands landed on her shoulders. Any relaxation in her shoulders and back that she still had vanished and the Slayer found herself sitting ramrod straight. His touch was light, not threatening in any way, but that somehow made it worse. If he was about to fight her, she’d know what to do. Now, all logic and strategy seemed to fly out of the same window he had entered.

His hands slid slowly down her back, rubbing the material of the robe across her scars, making her grit her teeth. Her face felt hot, goose bumps covered her flesh in response to his proximity. Spike moved his hands around her waist, gripping her belt and slowly loosening it.

This is not happening...

But it was. It really was.

Her breath caught in her throat as he undid the belt completely and then pulled the robe from her shoulders. The sight of herself naked from the waist up in the mirror made her feel nauseous and she tried to grab the robe back, to put it back on.

Spike grabbed her wrist and growled, “Don’t.”

Oddly, she did as he said. Dropping her hand and gripping the covers of the bed, Buffy stared straight ahead at herself. Without a reflection Spike just wasn’t there. She could at least pretend she was alone and not completely exposing herself to a vampire she loathed. When his cold hand found hers, she realised pretending he wasn’t there was going to be impossible.

With all the thoughts running through her mind about what he was going to do next – kill her, kiss her, fuck her – she had never anticipated him gently taking the tube of silicone gel from her grasp. Buffy felt her back arch in response as he trailed a finger down her spine. A tremor ran through her, like an aftershock response.

She hated anyone touching her back, even hated having to touch it herself, but there was something different about this. He had seen her scars with glaring clarity and he was still here. His hands began to massage her shoulders, oiled with the gel. Buffy didn’t want him to be touching her, he was evil. He was a killer. But he made tingles shoot down her spine; he touched her like she was still a person and not just the Slayer. Cold fingers glided over her scars softly, searchingly.

Spike’s hands slid down her shoulder blades and back, moving around in slow wide circles, relaxing her muscles and making a slow sigh escape from her lips without her permission. She quickly clamped her lips shut to stop any more such noises. This was a whole new realm of strange – he was her enemy, and he was making her relax far more than any of her friends or her mother had ever been able to. So, she closed her eyes. She wasn’t willing to face up to herself and what was occurring.

Of course, Spike had other ideas. “Open your eyes,” he demanded, hands still dextrously working her back “I want you to see yourself.”

I don’t want to see myself, Buffy thought stubbornly, but nevertheless, found herself doing what he told her to. Looking at her reflection she didn’t recognise the expression on her face. Her cheeks were a pale pink, eyes half opened looking lazy and content – if she remembered that emotion rightly. The very fact that she was looking at herself naked and exposed and she wasn’t grimacing was pretty out of character for her these days.

“See that?” Spike whispered, kneading her lower back.

“Why aren’t you biting me?” Buffy asked suddenly.

“You see what you are, don’t you?” He continued, ignoring her as if she had never spoken, “That they don’t change anything. You’re still the Slayer –”

Her features darkened and she jumped up away from him, pulling her robe on and doing it up tightly. Suddenly feeling way too bare and thoroughly stupid for having let it get this far. Buffy turned to face him, sitting on her bed where he really didn’t belong. Her room was bright and girlish and he was sitting there dressed like some social deviant who had never gotten over the seventies. He was out of place.

But then so was she. She barely belonged here anymore, either. Being the Slayer meant she always straddled the world of humans and the one of demons but since she had been scarred she always felt sub-human. In the past she had desperately clung to the notion that being the Slayer didn’t make her different from other girls but it was clear to her now that she was. Even if she didn’t want to be, and Spike reminding her was just what she didn’t need.

“Have you ever thought that I don’t want to be the Slayer?” Buffy asked, eyebrows high, “no, of course you didn’t. That’s all I am to you. That’s all I am to anyone.”

Spike stood, making her take a step back. He didn’t try and touch her again though; instead he walked around behind her to one of the shelves packed with belongings she didn’t really consider to be hers anymore. Once there, he picked up Mr. Gordo her stuffed pig.

“I don’t think an all-killing, all-powerful Slayer would have a weakness for fluffy hogs,” Spike commented, eyebrow quirked, “I’m well aware that you’re not all Slayer. I’ve always known that. None of you are. You’re all still people. Doesn’t mean I won’t drain you dry though.”

Buffy folded her arms, regarding him, “So, why don’t you?”

“Because you’re not in the game,” he answered simply, “and there’ll be no pleasure in killing you till you are...okay, maybe there’d be a little. But still-”

She shook her head, “That’s not it. It doesn’t explain what you just...did.”

Spike shrugged with one shoulder, tossing Mr. Gordo onto the bed, “Just because I’m an evil vampire doesn’t mean I’m gonna pass up the opportunity to cop a feel of a good looking girl.”

She rolled her eyes and turned her face away from him, “I don’t fit into that category.”

“Oh, really?”

He stalked up to her and grabbed her hand. Before she knew what he was doing, Spike had shoved her hand up in between his legs. Buffy’s eyes widened as she felt his hardness in her palm. Her eyes flickered up and met his ice blue stare.

“You still do it for me, love.” Spike smirked.

Buffy opened her mouth as if to say something, but nothing came out. Instead, her mother’s voice sounded from outside the door “Buffy? The Cutting Edge is coming on. Want to watch it with me?” She jumped at the intrusion.

Spike just grinned and leaning in, whispered, “Re-match, tomorrow night.”

And with that he left the way he came in, silently and swiftly. Buffy just stood, unblinking for a moment as she tried to come to terms with the whole evening. Re-match? He means a fight, right?

“Buffy?” Her mother called.

What if he doesn’t mean a fight?

“I’ll be there.”

It was all over the newspapers; a spate of deaths in Sunnydale. Vicious, brutal killings – puncture wounds to the neck. It could have been any one of a number of vampires. But it was Spike. She knew it was Spike. Call it Slayer intuition, call it simple common sense. Buffy knew as she read about all of the murders, all of the bodies that had been discovered in the recent days, that they were Spike’s victims.

He’d been keeping a low profile up until recently and now it had all caught up to him.

Buffy sat at the kitchen breakfast counter with a horrible sense of dread in the pit of her stomach. She had let him into her house. She had let him touch her. How had she forgotten the very important fact that he was a killer? He ate people, for God’s sake. He didn’t have a soul, he didn’t feel remorse and he had never pretended otherwise. She didn’t even have the excuse of being lied to. Spike had always been upfront about how much of a monster he was yet she had still let him in. What did that make her? With Angel she had been in love with him but she didn’t even like Spike. He was annoying and arrogant and he smelled weird. He was short and skinny and he had terrible hair. He was a smoker. The fact that he had tried to kill her and her friends numerous times should have also been a factor. She couldn’t trust him and he didn’t want her to.

He had taunted and teased her over her scars, he’d sent his vampire pals after her, had kicked the shit out of her himself. He always managed to find the most horribly truthful thing to say and twist it around to hurt her. It was an art, the way he always found the exact right words to inflict pain. Other vampires were good with their fists and fangs, but a well-timed barb from Spike hurt more. He was evil, with a wolf grin.Yet she had arranged a rematch with him.

So, she’d give him a rematch. It wouldn’t be what he expected, though. It wouldn’t be when he expected it either.

She stood and brushed past her mother, walking through the dining room and then up the stairs. She was the Slayer and it was about time she did some slaying. Spike would be just another pile of ashes soon enough and she wouldn’t have to worry about what it meant that she had let him touch her scars, and that she had enjoyed it.

Buffy dressed for practicality. Jeans, shirt, jacket, sneakers. She tied her hair up in a tight plait, and looked in the mirror briefly. Her face was devoid of make-up. She’d given up trying to make herself feel pretty a while ago. Not that she needed to. This was about business not anything else. She slipped a couple of stakes into her pockets and slipped her sunglasses on. It was time for an early morning slay.

+ + +

Spike slumbered heavily. The bed they had looted from some poor old sod’s house kept him nice and snug. As soon as the sun rose he felt the compunction to have a nap. It had been a very busy night, last night. All kinds of revelations going on. Namely, that the Slayer had a thing for him. It was clear now and oh so very delicious.

Currently, though, he dreamt. A dream full of death and pain, bloodshed and delight. Spike’s favourite kind of dreams. He was chasing some pale, supple, young thing through an endlessly dark alleyway. She was fast, and he could hear her blood pounding through her veins loudly in terror. Dressed in a skimpy white nightdress, her hair fluttered in the breeze as she tried to escape him.

Spike was confident the girl wouldn’t get away. He was just toying with her, teasing her, fooling her into believing she had a chance in hell of living past this night. She rounded a corner and Spike followed close behind. She was nowhere to be seen. He ground to a halt, looking around in confusion. It didn’t make sense. He had been a mere few seconds behind her. Yet the alley was empty. Steam billowed from some unseen grate into his face. Spike flapped his arms at it, annoyed and turned back around to go the way he had come. He stalked away back through the alley.

“Spike,” she whispered.

He spun around, on guard. There she stood right in front of him, an apparition of death. The Slayer. Of course, it was the Slayer. He should have realised that before. Her stance was easy; she was comfortable around him, her bare feet resting on the fetid ground. The nightdress blew around in the soft breeze moulding to her body and showing more than she probably realised. Her hair was short, just brushing her shoulders. Much like it had been when he had first met her. It was blowing artfully in the wind, in a way only a dream would permit.

“Buffy,” he replied, smiling, “Nice to be chasing you again.”

She smiled back. It was a genuine smile, quirky with a hint of flirting in it. He’d seen her smile at Angelus like that dozens of times when he had bothered to follow the nutty pair. She’d never directed a smile like that towards him though. He liked it.

And, just like that, she turned and ran from him again. Grunting, he chased after her. It was the chase he loved the most, really. The thrill of the hunt. She wouldn’t slip away from him again. His boots splashed through puddles of God-knows-what in his haste to catch his prize. She seemed to always be just out of his reach. The unattainable girl.

Spike leapt at her and made contact. They fell to the ground in a flurry of limbs. When he grabbed her dress though, he found she was gone and what he was holding onto was a sheet. The sheet that was on his stolen bed.

Spike opened his eyes, grouchy. He never usually awoke from dreams involving the Slayer before he’d given her a good seeing to. He felt robbed. Sighing, he rolled onto his back, enjoying the way the sheets glided over his naked body. The room was dark, lit only be a few candles he had left burning whilst reading Dr. Faustus in bed that night. Old habits die hard, and he remained somewhat of a bookworm. Not that anyone was to know about that. Reading didn’t really go with his image. He just found it a nice contrast after a night of killing girls and feeling up the Slayer.

He’d see her again soon enough. She had practically agreed to a shag. It got him all worked up just thinking about it. The things he’d do to her. It would be a night to remember he was sure. Maybe, if she was really good he’d let her live. Maybe not.

Angelus had told him, that to kill the girl you had to love her. Since that wasn’t likely to happen anytime ever Spike would have to settle for ‘to kill this girl, you have to fuck her six ways to Sunday’. It just sounded better. He grinned to himself.

“Something funny?”

His eyes widened at the voice. Bolting upright in bed, Spike couldn’t believe his eyes. The Slayer stood at the end of his bed and she did not look happy. How she had gotten in without him sensing her he didn’t know. He had to assume that his gang had been dispatched. Oh well. There was the more pressing matter of a pissed off Slayer standing before him.

Buffy lifted her hand up, her index finger and thumb an inch apart, “I mean, apart from that.”

He followed her eyes down to see his erection tenting up the sheet, like a trooper. He looked back at her, mouth wide. “Hey, now!” he protested, “There’s no need to get personal.”

Spud came running into the lair, grinding to a sudden halt. “Sir! The Slayer is...here…”

“I see that.” Spike replied through gritted teeth.

Buffy casually leaned over and staked the gormless vampire. He turned to dust, exploding all over the bed. Spike looked down at the remnants of Spud and brushed them from the sheets distastefully.

“Was that necessary? He was a nice bloke. Whipped. The kind of vampire you like.” Spike shot back at her, easily.

She didn’t say anything, didn’t seem to react at all. Just stood at the end of his bed, hands on her hips, clutching a stake. She removed the sunglasses that had been perched on her nose. Her eyes were cold. As cold as they had been when he had first seen her after she had been scarred. Clearly, this was not going to be a pleasant visit. She was here for blood and he had a sneaking suspicion it was his she was after. Well, then they had another thing in common. They wanted each other’s blood. So be it. “Couldn’t wait till tonight, hmm?” Spike asked, stalling for time, trying to catch her off-guard.

“I was stupid,” Buffy said simply, “I was stupid to forget what you are. What you do. How you kill, torture, bring pain to every person you meet.”

He shrugged slowly, “I never kept it a secret. I’m a vampire. Killing is sort of the whole point, love.”

“I know. It’s my fault, really. But it’s okay. I know what I have to do. I’m the Slayer. And you’re dead”.

The way in which she said it chilled him to the bone. He was a creature of the night, and it still sounded all kinds of wrong even to him. No human being should sound that way about something as important as death. Her tone of voice was clinical and without any kind of discernible emotion. She was close to the edge and he was annoyed that he hadn’t even done anything intentionally to put her there. Spike pushed the sheets aside and unfurled himself, stepping onto the cold stone of the floor. The Slayer’s eyes swept over him.

“Put some clothes on,” Buffy insisted.

“Why?” he shrugged, “If you’re just gonna dust me, no point in taking some perfectly decent clothes down with me. Give ’em in to Oxfam. Make yourself feel even better.”

Her eyes looked down at the floor, “Well, you could at least stop pointing that thing at me.”

Spike looked down at himself and then back up, laughing, “Can’t help it. Impending death gets me all kinds of hot. ’Sides, it’s only fair that I get my Mr. Pointy too.”

Buffy looked back up at him, scowling, “This isn’t a joke, Spike. I’m going to kill you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“So, what’s with the chatter? Have at it, woman.”

She tilted her head; slowly, “That’s it? You’re not gonna try and stop me?”

“Oh, I’ll stop you,” Spike told her sincerely, “but it would be a whole lot easier on both of us if you just admitted the real reason you’re here.”

“I have. I’m here to kill you.”

He waved a dismissive hand at her. “You’re all talk, Slayer. Truth is – neither of us can kill the other one. God knows, I’ve tried enough times over the past few days. But I’ve figured it all out, you see.”

“Have you?” she replied casually, disinterested, readying her stake.

“Yeah. I have.” Spike kept both eyes on the weapon “You want me.”

Buffy snorted, “Of course, you would think that.”

“I don’t think it, I know it. Don’t worry, pet,” he leered at her, “it’s more than mutual.”

Her face screwed up in disgust and she lunged at him, stake aimed at his chest. He caught her wrist and yanked her off balance. He followed this through by kicking her in the gut. She fell backwards onto the bed and Spike grinned. Right where he wanted her. He climbed onto her, straddling her waist and pressing her wrists down onto the bed.

“Get off!” The Slayer cried, bucking up against him.

Spike groaned in pleasure, “Oh don’t worry, I intend to.”

She arched up against him. “Stop!”

“Do you really want me to?” he asked, his voice low.

Buffy started to reply.

“Think about it carefully, Buffy,” Spike warned her, “Is that what you really want?”

She went still beneath him and he could see the cogs in her brain moving as she looked up at him with a vacant stare. He could have easily killed her right then. Just snap her neck. Nice and simple. No more bloody Slayer to get on his nerves and spoil his fun. At least not until the new one was called.

Except, he didn’t. Some part of him wanted to know her answer, wanted to see if maybe she wanted him as much as he wanted her. If maybe she dreamed about him.

“No,” she breathed so quietly anyone else might not have heard.

But he did.

He realised in that instant that he’d been expecting rejection. He’d geared himself up for a fight. Now, he had something a lot better than that. The only thing better than killing this girl would be having her. She’d made her choice. Spike leaned down and kissed her.

Buffy grabbed at him desperately, starved of physical contact for so long. She became barely aware of her surroundings, of Spike, her body fixed solely on what it wanted. Her arms snaked around his neck bringing him closer, as they crushed lips. She had never been kissed like this before – with wild abandonment. It wasn’t perfect; it wasn’t the best kiss of her life. It was messy and reckless and ferocious. More like a fight then a declaration of love.

She wasn’t under any illusions that it was that at all. It wasn’t love. And she was glad. As much as she needed, wanted, hungered for love what she craved right then was unadulterated lust. She needed to feel wanted. To feel desirable. To have someone, anyone, grab at her, touch her, kiss her, fuck her.

Spike’s tongue pressed against hers, his hands roving unconsciously up and down her body. He yanked at her clothing, forcing her to release her hold on him as he stripped off her jacket. She opened her eyes, watching him as he ripped her shirt open. Buttons flew everywhere and the cool, dank air settled over her completely exposed torso.

Buffy had lost so much weight recently that she often didn’t wear a bra. From the way Spike’s eyes lit up he clearly appreciated it. Without hesitation his hands found their way to her breasts. The coldness of his skin made her gasp, her nipples hardening in response. He ran his thumbs over them, gently. She sighed in delight, feeling things lower down in her body tighten. Her heart was hammering in her chest as he lowered his face to kiss her neck. Fear ran through her, pulsating, making it feel like the veins in her neck were throbbing against his touch. She was afraid but she didn’t mind. Fear was good. The fear that he would rip her throat open let her know that she was still alive.

Spike’s kisses trailed lower, over her collarbone, until he reached her breasts. Slowly, he drew one hard nipple into his mouth. Buffy groaned and closed her eyes, her hips arching upwards into his. His cock pressed hard against her thigh, her clothing being the only thing separating their skin. Spike let his tongue tease around her nipple, before it darted forward to lick the sensitive spot. She grabbed his hair, her hand tangling in it, and pushed his head down harder onto her.

As he continued to lick and kiss her breasts his hands made their way down to her zipper. Deftly, he had her jeans undone and half way down her hips before she even realised what he was doing. It should have freaked her out. It should have been the wake up call. She should have punched him in the face and ran. Except she didn’t. She couldn’t. As much as she wanted to have the moral high ground, to do the right thing, to be the champion everyone thought she was or should be, sometimes she was just a girl. This had nothing to do with her job. She was the Slayer and he was a vampire but that didn’t matter just then. She was content to just be Buffy, for a while.

And Buffy needed this.

She was free of her pants in no time at all, and Spike wasted not another second before clawing her underwear off. The Slayer squirmed as his eyes swept over her, she felt out of her element, uncomfortable with herself and his attention. He placed his hands on her stomach and then very slowly, very deliberately, moved them down over her body.

Buffy squirmed away from his touch, no longer so sure. Spike shook his head, grabbing her thighs and pulling her back to him. He clamped his hands down on her stop her from trying to escape again. As much as she wanted to be touched, in her brief and amateur sexual experience no one had been as rough and callous and crude as Spike. He saw what he wanted and he took it, no whispered ‘are you sure?’ no gentle and tender touches.

He didn’t pretend to care about her. Simply wanted her for his needs. And, in that, he showed a kind of openness, a brutal honesty that Buffy had never experienced with anyone before. Everyone had a secret agenda, wanted more than they would admit.

Buffy knew with perfect clarity what Spike wanted because it was the same thing she wanted. To feel, to fuck, and to fight. They locked eyes and Spike smiled.

Buffy arched an eyebrow, a new found understanding and brazenness taking over her. She reached her hands up and placed them against his chest. She didn’t feel his heart beating, but then she was used to that. She ran her hands down his stomach and abdomen. Just revelling in the feel of a man again. She had only ever had one sexual partner and that had been soft, a series of gentle caresses, exploring one another with infinite curiosity. Buffy reached down and grabbed him. She wasn’t interested in exploring him, she’d found the part of him she wanted. Spike closed his eyes and issued a sound of contentment at the feel of her touching him.

Buffy ran her hand down the length of him, he was cold and hard but his skin was silken. She felt him throb in her palm and looked up into his cool blue eyes. There was something there mixed with the desire and she couldn’t exactly place what it was. He reached up and stroked her cheek and Buffy, curious and unsure, just watched his face as he did. Then he frowned as if he too wasn’t sure what the hell he was doing. He removed his hand from her face and placed it back on her leg, parting her knees and nestling himself in-between. Buffy could feel him pressed up against her and her pulse started to race again.

She thought he’d be a talker, murmuring all sorts of sleaze about her and what he was going to do but he remained stoic. Maybe he was as overwhelmed as she was, or maybe he was having second thoughts about being anywhere near her. Spike slid a finger inside of her, making her hold her breath. It was an entirely different sensation to being touched on the outside, the sensations it caused in her sent ripples throughout her body. As quickly as it had started he withdrew the finger and the feelings left with it. Buffy growled in disappointment. Apparently he had merely been seeing if she was ready for him. Trust him to be an evil tease.

The moment she thought that, he thrust himself into her. It had been a surprise, her mind not totally focused on what he was doing. And it was fast and hard and not hardly pleasurable for her. Spike groaned above her, eyes fixed on hers. A small sound escaped her throat, one of pain and shock. He tilted his head and withdrew, before entering again but this time softer yet no less fast. Buffy felt his fingers entwine with hers and simply watched as he drew her hands up above her head and pinned them to the bed. She knew the risks of letting him have so much control, knew that in a split second he could have bitten her. The worse thing was she really didn’t care that much.

As he pounded into her, Spike bowed down and placed a soft kiss on her cheek. His chest rubbed against her breasts spreading the thin sheen of sweat from her skin onto his own. His mouth trailed down her jawbone, landing in the small dent behind her ear and nuzzling against her. She closed her eyes and wrapped her legs around his waist tightly.

The friction between them at this angle was incredibly and both of them let out small sounds of mutual gratification. Spike kissed a line down her neck, his teeth grazing her skin. She imagined them right over the throbbing vein, elongating, ready to strike.

Instead he kissed her gently on her shoulder, leaving his lips there.

“Open your eyes,” he whispered.

It echoed the order he had given her last night, wanting her to look at herself in the mirror. She did as he asked and all she could see of him was the side of his head, as his face was over her shoulder. How he had known she had her eyes closed Buffy wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

He wanted her to be a fully active participant in this. Well, then she would be. She pushed against his hands and broke free of his hold relatively easily, and from the way he drew his face up to look at her Buffy knew she had surprised him with her strength. Maybe he even thought she had changed her mind, the worried little-boy-lost look in his eyes certainly seemed to suggest so.

She took his face in her hands and traced her fingers down his cheekbones, his jaw line, running the tip of a finger over his soft bottom lip. Spike opened his mouth and drew her finger in as she moved her hips up against his. The inside of his mouth was cool and moist; his tongue ran down her digit in a line making her shiver. The coolness of his body produced goose bumps all over her; she removed her finger and placed her hands on his shoulders, digging her nails into him.

Spike began to thrust faster and faster, become more and more violent. She knew she’d be bruised inside later, the sound of flesh hitting flesh filling the emptiness of the room. Somewhere in the distance the sound of water dripping entered her peripheral hearing and soon left it when Spike let out a feral growl. Buffy looked up at him and he was in vamp face, gone were the deep blue eyes replaced by angry gold. His once smooth forehead was now covered in deep furrowed ridges, his teeth elongated and sharp as a viper’s. She expected this to be the end. Mess with an evil vampire and you’re messing with death. She closed her eyes and waited for it, and in some ways, welcomed it. There would be worse ways to go, and it would be befitting for her to go out this way. In a violent embrace of sex and blood and bodily fluids.

What will Giles say when he finds my corpse? What about mom?

Except the moment dragged on too long and he was still thrusting into her hard and unrelenting like he wanted to hurt her from the inside out. Buffy opened her eyes and his face was smooth and beautiful again. Like she had imagined it all. Maybe she did. Maybe she was going mad. She didn’t know, only knew what she felt and what she felt was Spike.

A wave started to build inside her and she threw her head back waiting for it. He slammed into her, running a trail of kisses all over her again, whispered filthy nothings into her ear. She knew he’d be a talker. She knew it.

Spike reached a hand down and brushed his finger over her clit, a ragged sound emerged from her lips and the wave in her started to build and get higher and wider with every small stroke of his finger. She was moments from being consumed by it. Spike kissed her savagely before slamming into her one last time.

Their release came simultaneously, both arching their backs and crying out in ecstasy.

Buffy felt as though, for a moment, she was okay. Her life was okay, she was just Buffy Summers, she didn’t have anything in particular to worry about. It was all right to be alive. For that little while at least.

Spike drew himself out of her and flopped down on bed next to her. She didn’t look at him, didn’t really look at anything. She lay naked on the bed and she wasn’t even self-conscious because he didn’t matter. This had never been about Spike, really. It had been about her. She had needed to feel like this, had needed someone to want to be with her.

“God, Slayer,” he groaned, “Might not kill you after all.”

She took a few long shuddering breaths, and glanced over at him. He was grinning widely staring up at the ceiling, his chest rising and falling erratically out of habit as if he felt the need to act human. She looked away when he turned to her. The problem with this all was that she had to deal with it now. Everything had consequences, even if she wished they’d just go away. He was Spike. He liked to brag. There was no way he’d keep his mouth shut about this.

Buffy sat up and grabbed the bedcovers, wrapping them around her so he couldn’t look at her back. She bent down and grabbed up her jacket, rifling through the pockets.

The Slayer turned and looked at him over her shoulder “Sorry, Spike, but I can’t return the favour.”

She held up the stake gripped tightly in her hand.

Am I to take it that that’s not battery-operated fun for all the family?” Spike murmured, eyeing the stake.

The Slayer had caught him off-guard. Here he was sprawled across the bed, defenceless and more than a little knackered, and she had the upper hand. He could make a leap at her, try and use brute strength and speed but she’d have him dusted before he even realised what had happened. Best to play it cool and calm, then, Spike decided.

He sat up slowly, hands plainly visible, as the Slayer tensed anticipating an attack. Instead he leaned over and kissed her shoulder. Miraculously, she let him. Spike reached over and grabbed the stake from her hand, tossing it across the room. Buffy glared at him but made no move to stop him.

He tilted his head, “So, you were just going to stake me after what we just did? I feel used.”

She turned away and bent down, searching through the clothes on the floor for her belongings. He watched as she tried to hold the sheet up and root around on the floor; it was a near impossible task. Buffy’s pale shoulders peeked at him from above the fallen sheet, scarred and raised. Spike reached out and ran a finger across them. Her back straightened and she moved out of his reach, glaring at him again.

“Knew you couldn’t do it, anyway,” Spike grinned stretching back out on the bed, lazily, “knew you couldn’t kill me.”

“Oh, but I could. I really could, Spike.” Her voice sounded as though she was talking about something far less serious than his death.

He looked up at her, “So, why didn’t you?”

She shrugged with one shoulder “I’m giving you a pass. Just for now. A one time only deal. You get out of town now, you can go on existing.”

Spike regarded her seriously. She was offering to let him skip off out of town and carry on with his carnage and mayhem as long as he didn’t do it on her doorstep. It was interesting to know that she was willing to let him continue to kill. They’d had a truce of sorts before but this was different. She had nothing to gain from not killing him. He wasn’t here to help save the world and by rights she should have staked his arse good and proper already.

Maybe it was because they had just shagged each other silly. Maybe she didn’t like to mix business with pleasure. And what a pleasure it had been. Spike smiled just thinking about it. She moved with such raw intensity that it had been a challenge for him not to shoot his load as soon as he’d entered her. She was so hot as well. Spike had only ever had vampire lovers, finding humans were much better for eating than screwing. Angelus had taught him that, not to bother with the mortal women, but now Spike began to think that maybe the bastard had just not wanted to share. Of course, the fact that she was the Slayer must have had something to do with it. He’d just fucked her breathless yet here she was, half a second later, threatening to kill him and gathering up her things like it hadn’t even amounted to the exertion of a brisk jog.

Spike wrapped an arm around her and yanked her back down onto the bed in front of him. She cursed and protested but he held on tight. Pulling the covers off of her he was afforded an unobstructed view of her back. He wondered how he could have ever truly found them ugly.They belonged to her, were a part of her, and in that they were wonderful. He’d never really been one for thinking scars were sexy but he could see now why some would. He placed a kiss against her back and felt her muscles tense, she stiffened.

He had no doubt in his mind that she hadn’t been touched like this since before she got scarred. Maybe she hadn’t even been with anyone since Angelus? Spike shrugged that thought away. He didn’t know and he didn’t care to dwell on it either. The point of it was, that he was probably the first bloke to see these scars, to have her let him see the scars and touch them and kiss them. There was a privilege in that, like taking some innocent’s young thing’s virginity. There was power in it too. Spike knew her fears now – that she perceived herself to be ugly and maybe even less than human – and he could use that to his advantage if he wanted.

However, he didn’t want to think about any of that. At least, not now. For this very short space of time she belonged to him. They weren’t going to fight no matter how many stakes she waved in his face. She wouldn’t stake him today; maybe she would another time, but not today. Today was a temporary respite from the regularly scheduled vampire vs. Slayer show.

Spike ran his hand along her back taking his time to feel each bump and indentation. The texture of her skin was rough in places, newly scabbed, whereas in others it was smooth as silk. It was a wonder for the senses.

“Don’t think this changes anything,” Buffy whispered, “this...what we did. It doesn’t mean I’m not the Slayer anymore.”

Spike shrugged, “Never said it did. Wouldn’t find you half as interesting if you weren’t.”

“Thanks,” she replied sarcastically, sitting up.

He watched as she leaned down and picked up her clothes, slipping them on quickly.

Spike wasn’t too pleased about that. She couldn’t leave so soon, it just wasn’t proper.

“You can’t go yet, we haven’t even cuddled,” he smirked, grabbing her shirt from her.

Buffy looked over her shoulder at him, “I’m going home. My mother will be worried.”

“Your mum can wait,” Spike tugged at her shirt “We’ve got so much more to discuss. Living arrangements, how many brats we want, whether you’ll be wearing white at the wedding or not...”

The Slayer wrinkled her nose, “Have I mentioned how not funny, you are?”

“Good thing I’m a looker, then.” Spike beamed.

She pulled a face and tried to grab her shirt back from him. He didn’t let go and it ripped all along the seam. Buffy looked down at the shirt and then lifted her eyes to his, disbelief on her face. Spike let go of the material and fixed a charming smile on his face.

“You...I hate you!” She pointed at his face.

Spike playfully tried to bite her finger but she pulled it back moodily. “Yeah, I hate you too, baby. Still, I’d be willing to fuck you again”

The Slayer huffed and picked up his T-shirt. “Never again, Spike.”

“You say it, but you don’t mean it.”

Buffy pulled his shirt on. “I do mean it. You’re a vampire, I’m the Slayer. We don’t do this.”

“You’re not nicking my shirt, Summers,” he sat up, face resolute, “you can’t just screw a guy, then threaten to kill him, break up with him, and then steal his clothes. Didn’t anyone ever teach you how these things work?”

She stood and picked up her jacket, slipping it on, “Break up with you? Spike, we were never together. And stop it.”

“Stop what?” He arched an eyebrow inquisitively.

“Talking like that,” she slipped her shoes on, flustered, “...like we’re talking.”

Spike frowned. “You make no sense.”

“Stop talking to me like we’re a couple. We aren’t. What happened to the big bad, hmm? A couple of nights ago you were ready to kill me and now you’re joking around like we’re best friends. This isn’t a game. If you don’t leave then this is going to end bloody.”

Spike looked into her eyes “Well, I’m not leaving.”

Buffy scooped up a stake, looked at it “Your choice.”

He watched as she picked up the rest of her scattered weapons. Even now she moved with a Slayer-like grace. She smelt of him, of his scent. Spike knew that her scent was all over him too now. Demons would pick up on it and he liked that. It would give him major credibility if the underworld of Sunnydale found out about it. It would mark the Slayer as his territory and could provoke two different reactions from the demon world – they would either avoid her at all costs, or seek her out and slaughter her.

Spike figured he should maybe warn her about that but she was being such a bitch he decided against it. Let the cow find it out for herself.

“You’ve really lost your sense of humour, blondie.” he remarked.

Buffy shrugged, turning back to him, “What have I got to smile at?”

She had a point there. The Slayer’s life wasn’t exactly a laughfest at the moment. Spike had even noted the absence of her annoying friends when he’d been keeping an eye on her. He knew they were still in town, had seen them out and about more than once. He supposed they’d been keeping their distance for a while now. Bastards.

Not that he cared. “So, when do I see you again?” he asked, half-jokingly.

Buffy held up the stake, her face emotionless, “That depends. When do you want to die?”

She didn’t wait for an answer, though, likely anticipating the sarcastic reply that was on his lips. She turned and left and it was like she had never been there at all. Spike sighed and lay spread-eagled on the bed looking up at the ceiling. It had been an odd and eventful day.The Slayer would be out for his blood if she saw him again, and not in the nice way. Still, he’d started to think that killing her would be a waste. There were so many other ways to have his fun with her and he was determined to try them all.

A/N: Something has gone drastically wrong with my evil computer, so till I get it fixed (and I have no idea when that will be) this might be my last chapter for a while. And it's kind of filler. Eek. Sorry.

---

By the time Buffy reached ground level it was barely noon. Somehow, it felt like more time had passed. Like she’d aged a lifetime in an hour. The sun was bright and blazing, not a cloud in the sky as she trudged along keeping to the shadows and trying to get her hair to resemble something close to presentable. She got the feeling she looked tragically mussed, someone to feel sorry for but easily forgotten.

The soft material of Spike’s T-shirt glided against her breasts pleasantly, reminding her of his touch. Buffy wanted to be ashamed. In many ways, she was. He was Spike and a vampire and evil. She had only ever had sex twice and both times it had been with someone who was classified as “undead”. She wondered if it was her. If maybe she attracted them, in other ways than just a Slayer capacity. Or maybe it was she that was drawn to them. Either way, it had to be wrong. She’d spent many hours perusing through Giles’ Watcher’s Journals and never once had any of them mentioned a Slayer having relations with a vampire.

Of course, whether the Watcher’s would have recorded such matters was unknown. Perhaps they were selective with what they wrote. The need to have everything prim and proper and make sure their Slayer didn’t come off as ‘untoward’ was probably important to these people. Buffy had a hard time believing that if Giles found out about what she had done with Spike that he’d jot it down for all to see.

Not that he could ever find out. None of them could.

Buffy barely wanted to think about it herself. Yet, here she was, walking down the road wearing his T-shirt, aching from the way he had pounded into her. It wasn’t a bad ache but that wasn’t the point. She got the horrible feeling that the memory of Spike above her, inside her, wasn’t just going to fade away. She didn’t really understand why he hadn’t bitten her. He’d had the chance, she’d given him the chance, but he still hadn’t. That made two opportunities he’d had to kill her but hadn’t. Buffy didn’t know what was going on in Spike’s head, neither did she care to imagine, but it seemed to her like he should have taken advantage of her and gone for the kill. It seemed like a Spike thing to do.

Everything was such a mystery to her now. Nothing was the same as it had been.
She found herself in a world where she barely felt comfortably in her own skin, where her friends didn’t make time for her anymore, and where she fucked vampires who were evil through and through. It was like a nightmare, only worse. At least you got to wake up from nightmares. This was her life now, no taking it back, no waking up. Buffy had to deal with this, with the consequences of what she had just done and with whom.

“Buffy?”

Annoyed at being interrupted in the middle of her thinking session, she spun around, an irritated expression on her face. She came face to face with Xander, of all people. Xander who she hadn’t seen it what felt like weeks, possibly months. Xander whose hair had grown out longer than the last time she’d seen him.

She removed her sunglasses to get a better look at him. He seemed taller, somehow. Taller and broader, like he had been working out. His warm brown eyes lit up as they took her in, a slow smile curving his lips. Buffy thought he looked incredibly different. He hadn’t undergone a miraculous makeover or anything but when she thought back to the Xander she’d first met in high school and the kind of man he had grown into, it seemed almost unreal.

They stood only a few feet apart but the distance between them felt longer to her. A branch from a tree snapped in the breeze, the sound of birdsong up above them.

“Xander,” she replied, finally.

God, why was this hard? Why would talking to a friend be so hard? It didn’t make much sense to her, but still it felt strange. She shifted from foot to foot, uncomfortable with being in his presence. For his part Xander just looked like he didn’t know what to say. His hands were linked behind his back and he was rocking on the balls of his feet. Maybe he expected some kind of outpouring of emotion. If that was the case then he would be out of luck. Emotion wasn’t exactly one of her strong points anymore.

“It’s good to see you, Buff,” he took a small step closer “I mean, you look good. Sort of...glowy.”

Buffy almost snorted at that. If he knew how she obtained this so-called ‘glow’ she could just see his lips curling up with distaste, that usual self-righteous Xander face she had been on the wrong end of so many times. The Slayer had no idea why he thought he could judge people the way he did, but that wasn’t really relevant right now. He didn’t know about Spike and never would. She didn’t want to see that look directed at her again.

She didn’t graciously accept his compliment as she might once have. Instead she just looked at him; waiting for him to say whatever it was that was on his mind.

“That a new shirt? Kind of big on you,” he noted with a smile, pointing.

Buffy looked down at Spike’s T-shirt. She looked back up, blank-faced.

Xander cleared his throat, “So, are you coming over to Giles’ tonight?”

“No,” Buffy shook her head, “why would I?”

“Oh, I thought...well, you’ve seen the newspapers, right? The sudden increase in vamp activity?”

She swallowed hard, feeling something in the pit of her stomach roil. Buffy pulled a face of vague interest, urging him to continue.

Xander gave a half-shrug, “Giles thought we should gather the troops. Do a little research, a little recon. Like the old days, remember?”

“I...see,” she said softly, looking at her shoes.

“Could be we got a new big bad in town,” Xander continued, oblivious to the conflicting emotions bubbling within her.

Or an old one.

Buffy looked up to meet his eyes, “Maybe you should let me handle this.”

“Hey, the more the merrier, right?” he grinned, “We can make it a party. Stake a few vamps, a couple of bags of chips and movies for afterwards.”

She just looked at him, not really comprehending what he was saying. Her brain was too busy trying to think up reasons to get Giles and the gang away from this subject. If they found out Spike was back in town and went to hunt him down, the vampire might – no, scratch that – would let something slip about just how much the Slayer knew he was in town. That couldn’t be allowed to happen.

“We’d...we’d really like to see you, Buff.” Xander added earnestly.

Buffy lowered her eyes so she was looking over his shoulder instead of directly into his eyes. If she was honest with herself, if she let down her own defences to be honest with herself for just one moment, she would have admitted that it didn’t sound that bad to her. Xander’s proposal for slaying and playing. Deep down she missed her friends and she missed how things used to be, and she would have loved to have curled up on the couch with them after a hard night’s patrolling and watch crappy martial arts films.

I’d really like to see you too.

“I can’t.” she told him, “I have some things I need to take care of. Xander, tell Giles that I’ll handle the new vampires. Tell him that for me. I don’t want you guys to get hurt.”

He frowned, “Yeah, but –”

“Please. Just tell him.” Buffy started to back away. She put her sunglasses back on and watched him a moment longer before she turned and walked hurriedly away. She heard him call her name once before she disappeared around the corner.

+ + +

After she had showered and dressed again, Buffy paced the floor of her room trying to figure out what she should do. She had told Spike that if he left then she wouldn’t hurt him, but now Giles would expect her to come to him with some results on the recent cluster of victims. If the gang knew that Spike was back and that Buffy had kept it from them they would react badly. They would probably try and go after Spike themselves and that would end in nothing but their own deaths.

She sat on the edge of the bed and propped her elbows on her knees, staring at the wallpaper with disdain. She didn’t like her room, anymore. The stuffed animals, the butterflies taped to the walls, the little girly knickknacks just weren’t her anymore. Buffy briefly considered trashing it in a violent burst of hysteria. Her mother probably wouldn’t say anything. She’d lost her spine where it came to confronting her daughter. It was always best to humour her emotionally deficient daughter. It was out of the question, though. She didn’t have the time or the effort to launch herself into a destructive massacre of Mr. Gordo and his pals.

She reached over and plucked the soft pig from her bedcover, running her fingers lightly over his ears. Buffy had always treasured the little hog, ever since her father had won him for her at the carnival when she was six. Gordo was a little worn around the edges these days but he was still holding it together. He was a refined kind of pig.

She sighed and put the pig down. His beady black eyes continued to stare at her though. Buffy wondered if a vicious diatribe towards the animal would make herself feel better, but decided against it. She had to deal with this in a rational and adult way. There was no point in taking it out on a toy. She wasn’t a little girl anymore. The Slayer knew what needed to be done.

Buffy stood and left her room, walking down the stairs slowly, and seeing her mother curled up on the couch watching some soap opera. She stood in the doorway. Joyce turned to look at her, surprised.

“Buffy,” she smiled warmly, “want to watch this with me? I’ve got some hot cocoa with your name on it…”

Buffy shook her head, “No.”

“Oh, okay.” Joyce’s smile faded a little.

“But…thanks, mom. You know…for asking,” she shifted from foot to foot awkwardly.

Her mother nodded, “No problem. Of course, this just means there’s more for me.”

Buffy smiled briefly, “I’m going out.”

“Oh? Patrolling?”

“Yeah.”

“Be careful, Buffy.”

“I always am.”

She gave her mother one last look before she slipped on her shoes and jacket and left the house to go and find Spike.

A/N: Computer is still not working right, but managed to write this out on Notepad (evil, satanic program! hiss!). Sorry this has taken SO long and that it's unbeta'd.

Of course, when she wanted to find him he was nowhere to be found. So typical of him. Buffy wandered through the empty streets of Sunnydale and found herself speculating on what the bleach-blonde vampire might be doing. Every option she came up with ended in him committing a slayable offense. She couldn't shake the feeling that because she had let Spike colour her judgment that some innocent was having the life drained out of them as she took a tour of the town.

The grip on her stake tightened almost painfully but she didn't mind. It provided her with some focus.

In the near-distance she heard an unearthly howl and added werewolves to the list of things she should look out for on her nightly patrols. The town was becoming swamped with all sorts of beasts, these days. She was the only guardian of the Hellmouth and it was wearing on her. To shoulder this much responsibility was just too much for one girl to take, super powers or no super powers.

Buffy sighed and kicked a stray pebble across the street. She stopped in surprise when it hit a leather boot. She looked up, expecting it to be him. It wasn't. It was a vampire but not the right one. This guy was tall and sinewy, a mop of black hair atop his head and serious stubble covering his angular chin. His eyes were blue, his nose had been broken at least once. It was odd; usually when vampires faced up against her they were already in game face.

She shrugged to herself and lifted the stake, motioned wearily for the vampire to come and get her. He shook his head slightly, a peculiar smile etched on his face.

Buffy sighed, "Vampires. Aren't you at least going to put up a little fight?"

"Only if you like that kind of thing" He drawled in a Southern accent.

She frowned "What? You do realise I'm the Slayer"

"Right. Guess it makes sense you'd like it rough"

Buffy was still trying to process on whether he was playing some sick joke, simply being suggestive, or was really a dimwit, as he crossed the road towards her. He wore the standard creature of the night costume - leather pants, white wife-beater, leather jacket. He still hadn't changed into vamp face, however. She got into a defensive stance as he came to stand a few feet in front of her.

"Oh, but you're a pretty one, darlin'," he looked her over "don't want to damage you too much."

Buffy rolled her eyes "Can we just get on with this?"

"Feisty, too."

Buffy kicked him in the head. Just to shut him up. Then she whirled around and landed another kick to his gut knocking him to the ground. He flipped up, barely wounded and began to circle her, all the while grinning. Buffy shifted her stake from hand to hand, eyes watching his every move. He moved gracefully, quickly, and with an ease to it all. She estimated he was at least a hundred, possibly slightly more.

"I've heard about them, you know. Your scars." He confided. "And I'm here to tell you, they don't bother me"

She gave him a look. This was some tactic to put her off her game, bringing up the scars, she did her best to ignore it.

"I'm so glad." Buffy replied landing a sold punch to his chin.

The vampire stumbled backwards "Woo! You sure know how to hit, Slayer. I can tell this is going to be fun"

"Yeah," she nodded, slamming another punch into him "my fun!"

He chuckled and instead of moving away out of her reach, as she would have expected, he moved in closer. He drew in the scent of her and moaned in delight. Buffy grimaced and lifted her hand up to stake him. The vampire grabbed her wrists quickly and then did the one thing Buffy really didn't account for. He kissed her.

Instinctively, her foot shot out and connected with his abdomen sending him tumbling to the floor. Buffy reached up and wiped her mouth, spitting several times on the floor at his feet. She raised the stake and looked down at him.

"What the fuck! What the fuck...!"

The vampire sat up "Oh, damn, you're not exclusively his, are you?"

"What are you even talking about!" Buffy yelled, still trying to work out what the hell was going on.

"Spike"

She froze, hand still clutching the stake tightly, eyes on the vampire in front of her. How did he know? Well, that was a stupid question. Spike had obviously made it public knowledge. She shouldn't have expected better from him but she did. She'd actually thought that he might let her keep a little shred of respect. Foolish to think so. He'd probably bragged to half the demon population of Sunnydale by now.

They all knew what she had done. Who she had done.

Buffy took a step back and cleared her throat, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Right," He smiled getting up "playing coy? I like that in a girl."

"Well, I'm not a girl. I'm a Slayer. I slay vampires."

"Slay and lay, the way I heard it" He chuckled, working the cricks out of his shoulders.

Buffy felt a blush burn at her cheeks "Well, you won't be hearing anything after I stake you"

"Tough talk." He motioned her closer "Let's have it, then"

She paused a moment, waiting for him to shift into vamp face. He didn't and it disconcerted her. It wasn't like she hadn't staked vampires that looked human before, but she had never held a conversation with them. Buffy clenched her fist and hit him squarely on the nose. He stumbled backwards but was back on form within seconds.

He blocked another punch from her "Name's Jeremiah, by the way"

"You tell me this after you kiss me? Boy, you vamps have really got to learn a thing or two about manners" She replied kicking him in the knee and sending him to the ground.

"Well, figured if you're doing Spike you were pretty much willing to forgo the formalities" Jeremiah grunted as he looked up at the stars.

She climbed onto him, sweeping her arms down to stake him. He blocked the blow and his knee connected painfully with her side, sending her tumbling to the asphalt. The next thing she knew Jeremiah the vampire was on top of her, still in his pretty boy human visage. His hands pinned her shoulders to the ground.

"I've never grappled with a Slayer, before." He noted "I kind of thought you'd be butch. Or, maybe, taller?"

"Size doesn't matter, Jer." Buffy replied bringing her knee up to meet his groin.

He yelped and fell to the ground on his back, clutching his family jewels. Buffy sighed and stood up looking for her stake. She spied it in the middle of the road and moved towards it automatically. It was only when she heard the sound of a car horn that she realised she was about to get hit. And, in that split-second, she didn't fear it. She didn't exactly want it, either, but it felt alright. Not a bad way to go.

Strangely, Jeremiah had other ideas. He slammed into the side of her at blurring speed knocking both of them out of harms way and into a tangle of limbs.

Buffy was still trying to get her head around the concept of a vampire saving her life again when he backhanded her across the face.

"Are you stupid, girl?" He yelled angrily. "Are you tryin' to get yourself killed?"

She pulled her fist back and punched him in the face "Why the hell do you care! You're a vampire, you want me dead!"

Jeremiah actually looked dumbfounded "Now, why would you say such a thing? I'm not hungry and you're definitely not easy pickings. So why would I ever concern myself with killing you?"

"You...what?" Buffy cried "I'm the Slayer. I kill your kind"

"As long as you don't kill me, I don't hold no grudge"

The Slayer stood, shaking her head "God! What is wrong with you vampires? Haven't you read the rules?"

"Don't you see, girl?" Jeremiah dusted himself up as he stood "Not everything is black and white. I pride myself on being a nice grayish hue"

"You kill people"

"To survive, yes"

She shook her head "And you think that makes it okay?"

"Now, you don't go throwing stones in glass houses, missy." He wagged his finger at her "You're sleeping with a vampire who's twice as bad as I could ever want to be"

"I'm...not sleeping with him"

"The scent doesn't lie, Slayer"

So, that was how he had known. Spike hadn't been shouting his mouth of. Buffy found herself feeling relieved. Then that was squashed when she realised that she was covered in Spike's scent and that every demon or supernatural would know. She suddenly felt the need to shower over and over again.

First she had a vampire to deal with.

Buffy scooped up the stake and looked at him standing easily before her, arms folded. He looked so human but every nerve in her body told her otherwise. It was her job to kill vampires and if she was ever going to be able to stake Spike she should at least be able to take out a vampire she barely knew.

Jeremiah locked eyes with her "You got a tough life, Slayer. Killin' demons when all you probably want is a nice white picket fence and a couple of rug-rats. I don't envy you."

"Well, it's better than being a vampire"

"Maybe," he nodded "but then how would you know?"

Buffy sighed "I'm going to stake you, Jeremiah"

"You gonna stake your boyfriend too? It's only fair, after all"

"He's not my boyfriend"

"Really not the point, darlin'"

She knew that he was probably full of crap - that he probably killed innocent people all the time just for fun or out of a sadistic need, but he was really making this hard for her. She had no fangs to focus on, no bumpy forehead, no yellow eyes. Nothing to make him just another villain of the week. She knew his name, he'd saved her life and he called her pet names.

It suddenly became very obvious why she was hesitating. He reminded her of Spike.

"You know what, Jeremiah?" Buffy shrugged, stake loose by her side "I'm gonna let you go. Let's call it Buffy's 'get out of slayage free' card. One time only deal"

He tilted his head to the side. Buffy was starting to think that he was Spike's brother or something. Stranger things had happened.

"That's very gracious of you, Buffy" Jeremiah said her name as if it were a novelty, something to be careful with.

"Better get gone before I change my mind" She warned.

He nodded and turned away, walking slowly down the road he called back "He's up on the roof of the cinema, in case you're wondering"

Buffy watched him go, completely confused. Deciding it was better to just let it go she looked down at the stake in her hand and after a moment started off towards the Sun Cinema.

A/N: Notepad is still a fiend, but I bring you more. Thanks for the reviews, keep 'em coming


Spike was right where Jeremiah said he would be. Buffy contemplated whether it was a possibility he was working for Spike, then decided against it. The platinum vampire tended to prefer the newly risen vampires for lackeys. 'Recently dead, easily led' seemed to be his motto.

It wasn't really all that important, anyway. She climbed up the remaining rungs of the side ladder and set foot on the roof of the cinema. Spike sat with his back to her on the ledge, legs dangling over the edge of the building. The green neon of the Sun Cinema sign next to him lit him up like a horror movie monster. He was humming a tune she didn't recognise as he took a drag of his cigarette. He seemed oblivious of her presence but, of course, he wasn't.

"Here to off me?"

Buffy took a step forward "I told you to leave town"

"Yeah, well, I'm not in the habit of taking orders from anyone," He replied still giving her nothing but a view of his back "especially not you, Slayer"

She watched him take another easy hit from the cigarette, absently flicking the ash down onto the ground below. Buffy had a very vivid image of herself pushing him off the roof. It wouldn't kill him but it might be fun. As if reading her mind, Spike glanced over his shoulder at her. He looked her over appreciatively and so openly that it made her squirm.

Patting a space on the ledge next to him, he called "Pull up a seat, love"

She smirked "Right. How about I just give you my neck on a platter, too?"

"That sounds like a splendid idea" He grinned. "But in all honestly, I'm not goin' to push you off a roof"

"And I'm supposed to believe that, why?"

"There's no fun in shoving you off here, is there?"

Buffy folded her arms and tilted her head "I'm sure you'd find the fun in it. Why should I trust you?"

"'Cos if I was gonna kill you I'd have done it while I was fucking your brains out." Spike raised on eyebrow, a grin lighting up his features.

With the green light colouring his pale skin in such a way it painted a somewhat frightening picture. He looked inhuman, which he was, but now he looked garish and sickly. Kind of reminded her of what she saw when she looked in the mirror. Deciding there was a measure of truth in what he had said, Buffy warily moved over to the ledge, sitting down tentatively and swinging her legs over. She made sure there was a decent amount of space between them.

Spike looked over at her smugly "You know, when you ran away from me I cried for hours"

"Shut up, Spike."

"A man could end up feeling used"

She scowled at him "Good thing you're not a man, then"

He shrugged with one shoulder "Got all the right parts. You can attest to that"

Buffy shook her head and looked up at the sky. It was late enough for the sky to look black. She could just about see the stars struggling to shine through the darkness. There was a metaphor or something there but Buffy hadn't exactly been a scholar so she just kept it simple; it was pretty....in an overrated way. In different circumstances, with a different man, it might have been romantic. She glanced over at Spike to see he was staring at his boots still humming. When he felt her gaze on him he looked up and they stared at each other.

"In all seriousness, love..." He started.

"The evil vampire now wants to be serious? Somebody call the press!" She rolled her eyes.

"Will you shut up for ten bloody seconds?" Spike groused and she made a 'get on with it' motion "You know I'm not in love with you or anything, right?"

Buffy laughed, looking back up the sky "Trust me, Spike, the possibility had never crossed my mind"

"Good. So, you'll know what I'm about to say isn't because I actually care or anything...but just out of curiosity. Why aren't your mates around you anymore?"

She turned to look at him again, surprised. That had really been the last thing she expected him to ask. She wasn't altogether shocked he had noticed the absence of her friends but she did wonder why he wanted to know the reason. She had figured him for pretty much a two-track mind - kill and fuck. Why he wanted to know anything about her life now, she didn't know.

Buffy stared down at the ground and swallowed "I'm not much fun to be around these days"

"So, they just ditched you?"

For someone who didn't care he sure sounded irate. Buffy really didn't understand his interest in the matter or his indignation but she doubted she'd ever understand Spike.

"No." She shook her head "I pushed away. After...after the accident. It was me who didn't want to see them and they tried. They really did...but people can only take so much. And I know if I went back to them today they'd let me but..."

"You don't much fancy being in that crowd now? Don't blame you. They always were a bunch of tossers"

"You know nothing about them" Buffy said icily.

Spike shrugged again, taking a drag from his cigarette "I know enough. Mustn't be too fond of them if you won't see them"

"It's not that. I just don't feel like being around anyone"

"Now, that's a load of bullshit" Spike pointed at her "humans, like vampires, are generally pack animals. They need contact with others no matter how much they're hurting. Often more so because of that."

She arched an eyebrow "And you became a Psych major, when?"

"You live as long as me...you pick up a few things. 'Sides I met Jung a couple of times. He had some weird stuff going on in his mind. Not half as dirty as Freud mind you..."

"You've lost me, nerd-boy" Buffy replied lightly.

Spike smiled then. She found herself almost returning it before she caught herself. Being a Slayer she should've known better than to let her guard down around him. Her moral compass had gotten pretty screwed recently and Jeremiah's apparent "grayish hue" had unbalanced her even further. Whether Spike had the capacity for good remained to be seen but she severely doubted it. He'd done nothing to prove himself. Except maybe help her save the world once...and not kill her a couple of times...

Buffy dropped her head into her hands. Nothing made sense. She wished he would just attack her and make it easy. That way she could dust him without a second thought.

"Cheer up, Summers." Spike patted her shoulder "It's a beautiful night, you've got a handsome companion and you're still young enough to be considered veal in my book"

She straightened her shoulders and lifted her head "Why won't you just leave?"

"I like it here. A decent club, a nice comfy Hellmouth, Slayer ass on tap...no where better"

"You're an asshole"

Spike brightened up, shifting closer "Speaking of, where's Angelus these days?"

Buffy's spine went rigid at the mention of his name. She stood up on the ledge, and after only a brief moment looking down at the ground below, she set foot back on the roof and turned to leave. Spike called out to her asking, with a gleeful giggle, what her problem was.

She stopped with her back to him, her fists clenching "Where's Dru, Spike? I thought you were going to make her love you again. Yet, here you are, alone"

"Yeah, well," Spike mumbled chucking his cigarette off the edge of the roof "Didn't work out, did it?"

Buffy turned to look at him, smugly "I'm guessing she found someone better, someone who could satisfy all her freaky vampire tendencies. Probably some nasty old demon. Taller than you, stronger, bigger in so many ways..."

"Enough!" He growled on the verge of vamping out.

She smiled slowly, pressing the tip of her finger against the point of the stake "What's the matter, Spike? You don't want to talk about your ex?"

He looked at her then, a strange mixture of surprise and respect on his face. He took a step towards her on the roof but didn't come any closer.

Folding his arms, an easy smile played at his lips "You made your point, Slayer. No Dru, no Angel. Works fine enough for me, anyway. The less time spent dwelling on that piss-pot the better. We'll keep things strictly in the present. Just you and me now, pet"

"There is no you and me"

"Could've fooled me"

Buffy sighed, tossing her hair over her shoulder "Spike, you've gotten careless. Bodies have been turning up everywhere. I've noticed. Giles has noticed, they all have...and they will hunt you down and kill you"

The vampire chuckled "They can try, you mean"

"I'll kill you"

"You can't"

"I can." She held up the stake "I will"

"So why haven't you, then?"

Buffy eyed him a long while "I want you to prove something to me. If you're not going to leave this town, then you have to stop killing people"

"You are hysterical you know that, love?" Spike grinned.

"I'm serious. Either stop, or be stopped"

He scratched his chin "Fuck me again and I'll think about it"

Buffy threw her hands up in disgust and started to walk away from him back towards the ladder she had used to get up there in the first place. The vampire chuckled and jogged back to her, grabbing her arm. She shook him off, placed both hands onto his chest and shoved him back hard. He gracelessly fell onto his ass and Buffy looked down at him with a hard expression on his face.

"You bloody bitch!" Spike snarled, morphing into vamp face.

"I'm sick of this! I'm sick of you playing the big bad vampire because if that's all you are, Spike...well, if that's all you are then fine. I'll stake you. I'll get on with existing." Buffy's voice began to rise as her anger flared "You think you can keep treating me this way? Taunting and laughing and trying to hurt me - then think again. I'm through with being your little project."

He stood slowly, amber eyes narrowed "I don't know what you mean, Slayer"

"You think this is fun. Being a shithead to me, not bothering to tell me that I'm carrying your stench on me for every demon in this goddamn town to recognise..."

"Ah, now, you see -"

"I don't want to hear it, Spike. Yes, I'm different than I was before. I guess I've been more vulnerable. But if you think I'm just going to sit back and let you kill then you're even more of an idiot then I thought" She stared him unwavingly in the eyes.

Spike looked back at her and he smiled. It wasn't a malicious smile or even one of his usual arrogant, flirting smiles. It was just a smile. A genuine one. He nodded slowly and let his arms hang loose down at his sides.

"Now, that's more like it." He beamed "Not taking no shit from anyone, being a snotty bitch...that's my Slayer"

She didn't know exactly what he meant by that. She had never been his in any way and if he thought that their...what they had done constituted him having posession over her, then he was wrong. Buffy would never belong to anyone ever again. It just caused heartache and pain that she didn't have the strength for anymore. Up until recently she had thought she'd never even know the feel of someone else's body against hers again. Being naked in anyone's presence had disgusted her. In a way, it still did, but Spike...he hadn't made her feel undesirable. He'd tried to earlier to hurt her but when it came down to it he still wanted her. When they had had sex he had looked at her with need in his eyes. She had seen it then if not truly believed it.

Buffy held her stake out "So, what's it going to be?"

"Well, naturally I don't want you to stake me but I'm a vampire. I kill to feed. It's in my bloody nature -"

"No. It isn't. You don't have to kill to eat. There's butcher shops that sell blood"

Spike snorted "Oh yeah, - congealed, cold, pig's blood. Mmm baby. I don't think so"

"Then don't kill. You don't have to kill"

He cupped his chin in his hand as if in deep thought "Well, now that you mention it...I did get wind of a little place in town that's recruiting"

"What?" She frowned.

"Place where humans go to get bitten and pay for it too" Spike grinned "I could do with some cash"

"They pay you to bite them?"

"Yeah, sweet deal. I could charge more with my rep"

Buffy pulled a face "Sounds like a whore house"

"Yeah" He sighed wistfully.

The Slayer stared a him a long moment "Fine. Do that. As long as you're not leaving bodies, I don't care how you feed"

Spike took a couple of steps towards her "Do I get a kiss out of it?"

"How about - no way in hell?"

"I like a girl who plays hard to get" He smirked "If I stick to my end of the bargain, I expect a reward"

"Not dying isn't reward enough?"

"Not nearly"

Buffy tilted her head and scrutinised him for several moments as he had done to her, earlier. He didn't bristle at the attention though. He revelled in it. She figured he might even pose for her if she carried on looking.

She nodded "Okay, I'll kiss you"

"Knew you couldn't resist -" He started forward.

Buffy put her hand against his chest to stop him "I'll kiss you when you earn it, Spike"

She looked at him a moment longer before turning away and making a graceful retreat down the ladder. Buffy decided she'd done her part. Whether Spike showed any shades of gray was up to him.

A/N: Computer is sorted! Well, not really but Word is working! So here's the next chapter. Still unbeta'd cos I'm an unbeta'd ho these days.



The walk home seemed shorter than usual and she had turned into Revello Drive before she even realised it. Her mind was occupied on other things. Namely on Spike. On whether she was right to give him this chance. She could be endangering people’s lives. The chances of Spike actually letting his victims live was extremely small. And, even so, he’d killed a lot of people. He more than deserved to meet the pointy end of a stake. He wouldn’t reform, he didn’t want to. She began to feel ill, knowing that she’d probably let Spike go again and that someone else would pay for her misjudgement.

It wasn’t only Spike that was playing on her mind. There was also Jeremiah. She didn’t even know him and she’d let him go too. If she wasn’t careful she’d get the reputation of being a vampire sympathiser. As well as being vamp-whore. Buffy cringed. The whole demon underworld knew about her relationship with Angel and now her tryst with Spike. Were they all going to try chatting her up now instead of killing her? She wasn’t trained to deal with that kind of shit. It used to be so simple. Vampire Slayer slays vampires; not sleeps with them.

Angel. Spike just had to mention him, didn’t he? She’d done her best to stop thinking about him and she’d done pretty well, too. Now, though, she couldn’t help it. Buffy wondered what he was doing in L.A. Probably being noble and gallant, saving the damsels in distress and never faltering. Not like her. She was more screwed up than she had ever been. It made her jealous that Angel, who was technically dead, was having more of a life than she was. That he was better than she was. At the job, at life as a whole. She felt all kinds of useless.

He didn’t know about her, either. Angel probably thought she was doing fine, slaying, going to college, having the life he had so desperately wanted for her. Buffy laughed bitterly to herself. He had been so self-sacrificing, hadn’t he? Leaving her for her own good, supposedly. It hadn’t felt so damn good at the time. Still didn’t. She had no doubt that if she called him up now and told him about her scars that he would come running. He’d probably try to hold her, console her and apologise for not being there. The thought made her shudder. She never wanted Angel to know. She wanted him to still have this idealised picture of her in his head. If she were to come face to face with him now, she would probably just break down. He’d never just think of her as Buffy again, she’d be Buffy – his mutilated ex.

Angel had called a few times quite soon after leaving, just to check in on her. After she got burned she stopped taking those calls. Giles and Willow offered to tell him, to get him to come and see her in the hospital. She had practically begged them not too. Angel had stopped calling, eventually. It had been easier then.

And harder.

Buffy sighed to herself as she unlocked her front door and entered the house. She shrugged off her jacket and placed it on the coat hook. She fully intended on going straight to bed to get some much needed rest and she was half way up the stairs when a voice called out to her.

The Slayer froze on the staircase and turned to look into the living room. It had been Giles’ who had spoken but he was not alone. He’d brought the whole gang with him this time. Buffy cursed inwardly and backtracked down the stairs, coming to stand in the doorway of the living room.

For a few moments she just let her eyes glance over her friends. Xander sat on the couch giving her a friendly smile and a small wave. Willow was next to him.God, Willow…it had been so long since she’d even laid eyes on the witch. Too long for best friends. Her hair was shorter, in a cute flicked up style and she seemed to be going for a sort of bohemian look. Noticing Buffy’s attention was on her Willow gave her one of her brightest smiles that faded considerably when the Slayer did not return it.

Next to Willow was Oz. Buffy had never exactly taken the time to get to know the werewolf too well but she knew she had liked him and in a strange way she felt close to him too. He was so monosyllabic and closed off about his emotions that she felt they had more in common now. Oz acknowledged her with his eyes only, not unfriendly, just casual. She preferred that to the beaming smile her mother was giving her from her position in the armchair.

“Buffy!” Joyce came to stand next to Giles “Look who came to see you”

Buffy felt like rolling her eyes. It wasn’t as if she was blind, she had already seen who was here. And she hated it. Not because she hated them, not by any means, but because she now felt wholly uncomfortable again.

“Why are you guys here?” Buffy asked sounding a little more annoyed than she had intended.

Giles stepped up to her, removing his glasses and polishing them with the bottom of his sweater “We came to see if you succeeded in ridding Sunnydale of the latest vampire threat?”

The wave of guilt flooded over her again, this time stronger as she saw her friends’ expectant looks. She hadn’t even told them about Spike. There would have been a time that she confided everything to them and now she was keeping the secret that one of the most vicious killers they had ever faced was back in town and that she had just given him a free pass at murdering more people. Not to mention the small fact of sleeping with him.

She nodded, swallowing hard “Yeah, I think so. I slayed a couple. I’m pretty sure they were the ones causing the increase in bodies”

“But we should all be on the lookout just to be safe?” Giles questioned.

“No.” Buffy shook her head “I’ll be on the lookout. You should all just get on with your lives”

Xander sat up straighter “This is a part of our lives, Buff”

“No, it isn’t. I’m the Slayer. It’s my life”

“You make it sound like that’s all there is,” Willow frowned, clutching Oz’ arm “like that’s your only purpose”

Buffy wanted to turn away and go upstairs to bed. She didn’t want to get into an argument about her life or lack thereof. This was exactly why she had been avoiding her friends. It was easier if she was alone because then she could just get on with her job, without being distracted. Buffy was aware that thinking of her friends as distractions was a terrible thing to do but that was truly how she felt. Before she had the time to speak up Oz did it for her.

“This isn’t what we came here for” He reminded Willow, before turning to look at Buffy.

Giles nodded “Oz is quite right. We’re not here to make you feel uncomfortable, Buffy. We’re just here to offer our support and help should you want it”

“I don’t want to go against the plan or anything, but come on! Since when did we need a plan to talk to our friend?” Xander stood holding his hands out in a gesture of disbelief “This is Buffy, guys. And Willow has a point. We can go on pretending like we’re not being ripped apart but that won’t solve anything”

Willow nodded, her eyes sad “We can’t carry on like this. I don’t know how we let it get this bad to start with. Well, yeah, actually I do. We were all scared. We couldn’t deal with this. And Buffy shut us out because of that. It’s our fault. It’s my fault that I can look at my best friend and not even recognise who she is anymore”

Buffy felt the skin on her face heat up as everyone in the room turned to stare at her. Her mother looked like she might say something but quickly closed her mouth when she saw the stare her daughter gave her. She felt herself take a step backwards into the hallway. Her mouth felt incredibly dry like she needed a cup of water.

“Willow” Oz said with a slight warning in his voice.

“No, I’m sorry. I know I said I’d try and be strong about this but…” She stood, taking steps towards Buffy “But being strong isn’t about brushing this all under the carpet. It’s about getting it out in the open. I want my friend back”

The Slayer took another step away and her back hit the stair railings “I don’t have time for this, Willow”

“You never have time for us anymore,” Xander replied angrily, also coming towards her.

Buffy couldn’t help it; she snorted “Who abandoned whom, Xander? I know it wasn’t me who was too busy fucking Anya to visit me in hospital”

That shut him up. And everyone else in the room. She didn’t know if it was the use of expletives or because it was the stone cold truth. Buffy regretted it almost as soon as she said it, mostly because she knew it would result in more confrontation. She had let slip that their absence had bothered her and now she knew they would not let it go. She should have just stayed cold but that time had passed. If they really wanted to know who she was now, then they damn well would. It was their problem if they didn’t like it.

“That’s not true, Buffy” He replied finally, shaking his head and a blush coating his cheeks “You made it pretty clear you didn’t want me, or any of us, around”

She folded her arms “Then what makes you think I do now?”

“Buffy!” Her mother scolded her.

The Slayer shook her head “You all come here to ambush me into some, what, intervention? And you expect me to just stand here and take it when you tell me it’s all my fault.”

“That’s not what we were saying at all, Buffy” Willow took another step towards her.

Buffy put her hand out “Don’t”

“This was not intended as an ambush” Giles told her, wearily “But there are issues that need addressing”

“Right. I can’t see where I got the ambush idea from!” She spat, turning on her heel to leave.

Xander grabbed her arm to stop her. Buffy froze, staring down at the hand gripping her. She looked up into his eyes, her face a mask of complete and utter anger. He didn’t even have the sense to let go of her. She felt her hand tighten into a fist. She was going to punch him, every Slayer urge in her screamed at her to do it. The blood in her veins felt like it was boiling, her heart pounding. Her rage was a live, tangible thing.

“Enough”

That one word broke her out of the spell. She might have expected it from Giles, but not Oz. They all turned to him – the short werewolf standing slightly behind Xander, looking her in the eyes. She felt her fist loosen slightly and sucked in a deep lungful of air.

Oz reached over and took Willow’s hand “I think we should go. Give Buffy some time.”

“Not to sound like an asshole or anything, Oz, but we’ve known Buffy longer –” Xander started.

“Let go of me” She seethed.

His eyes locked on her. She saw the sadness behind them. He really did miss her and she missed him too but now was not the time for a heartfelt reconciliation. Not that it had looked like it was going that way. Xander’s hand dropped from her arm and he took a step back, shaking his head.

“Fine,” He shrugged “I guess there’s nothing more to say”

Buffy watched as he grabbed his jacket and stormed out the front door leaving it wide open. She didn’t mind, though, because the breeze was effective in calming her down a little more. However, when she turned to face Willow she felt instantly worse again. The redhead’s whole face had wilted, her eyes filling up with unshed tears. Oz’s arm slid around her shoulders but she shook it off.

“I’m sorry, Buffy” She whispered before following Xander out of the door.

Oz barely glanced at the Slayer before he went after his girlfriend. Buffy turned to face Giles. His expression was unreadable as he headed for the door. Before he left he turned back and looked her square in the eyes.

“They all care for you, as do I. We are still your friends.” He spoke softly “It’s time you started treating us as such”

And then he was gone. She gave her mother a look that told her not to even bother trying to speak to her right then. Buffy turned and walked up the stairs, sighing audibly. She wondered how badly they might have all reacted to her news regarding Spike. And, despite the seriousness of the situation, she found herself laughing at the visual as she trudged to bed.

+ + +

Spike drained the very last drop of blood from the girl he held tightly against his body. When he was sated he let the body crumple to the floor. The vampire wiped his hands across his mouth then licked the fluid from his fingers.

Sighing, he scooped the girl’s body up into his arms and walked over to the edge of the quarry. He tossed her over the side and watched as she tumbled down further and further before the darkness swallowed her whole.

Spike turned and walked away, lighting a cigarette, the sound of the body hitting water barely reached him before he was gone.



A/N: Thanks for all reading and reviewing, guys. And if you fancy voting for me and this fic at the VK Awards Reader's Pick then I won't stop you :)

He had been looking for the Slayer for two nights but she’d managed to evade him thus far. Purposefully avoiding him, that was for sure. Well, Spike was having none of that. He’d been all around town looking for her and he wasn’t too fond of having to hunt her down like a tamed little puppy dog. By rights she should have come to him. He was the one who was supposed to be in charge here. Have himself a little fun with Buffy and then kick her to the curb. That was always the way. But since their last meeting the balance of power had shifted.

For the first time since he got back in town she actually seemed to be behaving like herself again. Partly, at least. She had laid down the ground rules of their relationship – if it could be called that – and made it clear that she wasn’t going to be walked all over by him. Spike kind of liked it, if he was honest. He’d always been a bit of a sucker for being dominated. And her determination and stubbornness had been what first attracted her to him way back when they first fought. Of course, just because she’d been all resolute didn’t mean he was actually going to do what she asked. Stop killing? Not bloody likely. He was a vampire. It was, as he had once told Angelus, their raison d’être. Still, she didn’t have to know that. Spike was fine with her believing he’d gone down the reformation route. It kept her off his back – in the non-literal sense only – and it meant he had the best of both worlds.

He jumped over the gate to Buffy’s back garden deftly, keeping to the shadows and being as quiet as possible. It would do no good to alert his presence to Buffy or, even worse, her mum.

Spike scaled the trellis placed again the wall of the house, and then climbed onto the small ledge of roof outside the Slayer’s window. He peeked in and could see her laying in bed, or rather just a mass of blonde hair was visible above the covers. The window had been left open a crack, which was handy for him. He slid it up swiftly and climbed into her room. She didn’t wake up. Probably knackered from slaying and being such a depressed bint.

It still gave him some pleasure that she had yet to revoke his invitation into her house. She knew he was dangerous, so either she trusted him or she had a death wish. Giving her present state of mind it was probably the latter.

Spike kicked off his boots and shrugged the duster off, leaving them in a pile on the floor. He glided across the floor and over to her bed. Leaning over her he could see Buffy was still fast asleep. Her face looked troubled, even when resting. Her eyebrows knitted and her lips set in a frown. He slipped into bed behind her as gently as he could. His arms snaked around her waist and he awaited her inevitable indignant scream regarding his being in her bed. Instead, she stayed mercifully silent. Still asleep.

Spike was flummoxed for a moment but then a grin spread across his lips. He’d make sure she got a pleasant awakening.
The vampire’s hand slithered up the front of her tank top, his cold hand reacting to the warmth of her skin beneath it. He saw the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, the goose bumps rising, but still she slept on. He ran a fingertip along the underside of her breast, noting with approval that she wasn’t wearing a bra.

Spike used his other hand to sweep the hair away from her neck, he placed a soft kiss there, and the feel of her pulse steadily beating against his lips almost made him change into game face. He held it back though, knowing that if the Slayer woke up to find him nuzzling her neck with his fangs on display he’d get a sharp stick to the heart.

He moved his mouth to her shoulder, kissing the bare skin exposed there. Spike pushed the strap of her top down her arm, displaying a small portion of her scarred skin. He ran his fingers lightly over them and she instinctively shifted away from his touch even in her sleep.

Pulling her back to him, he spooned more closely against her back, burying his face into her hair and inhaling the scent of her. She always smelt so damn good. Spike found that Slayers always had an appealing smell to them but with Buffy it manifested itself tenfold. A primal part of him was attracted to the Slayer but Spike found that he, actually, found Buffy Summers more captivating. Sure she was a ditzy blonde Californian girl but there was something else underneath that. He’d seen it, even back when they’d first met. And now that she’d shut herself off from her pals and her mother he could sense it even stronger. There was a coldness inside her, a darkness. She was a mixture of light and dark.

And Spike identified with that.

He was by no means good but he had the capacity to be good. He just chose not to be. The dark ruled over him, the light suffusing below the surface. Spike was aware of his difference to other vampires like Angelus, Darla or Drusilla. He could be as evil as they were but there were moments when he simply wasn’t. Sometimes, that poncy git William reared his ugly head. It made no sense, really, since he lacked a soul. But ever since he’d been turned Spike had the nagging feeling the geeky sod had managed to cling onto him instead of being swept away.

The softer side of him always seemed to manifest itself around women, too. He could slaughter a whole town with glee but the minute he laid eyes on Drusilla his stomach would flip-flop and for a moment he felt like a schoolboy. With Buffy, he’d always wanted to kill her, but beneath that all he’d held a bit of a candle for her ever since he first watched her dance. Nothing serious, just thought she was a pretty bit of skirt. He’d wanted to kill her and kiss her in equal measure.

Buffy’s foot moved backwards and hit his leg, a moment later the blonde tensed in his arms. Spike knew she had woken up. She was probably deciding the best course of action for finding someone in bed with her who hadn’t been there earlier.

“Comfy?” He drawled, announcing himself.

She didn’t relax a jot. “…what are you doing here?”

“Came to see my best girl, didn’t I?” He replied jovially. “She promised me a kiss if I was a good boy”

Buffy broke away from his hold and sat up in bed. She turned around to face him and inched towards the furthest side of the mattress away from him. Spike propped his face on his hand and looked her over – with the bed hair and the bleary eyes, not to mention the polar bear pyjama bottoms, she looked adorable even to an evil git such as himself.

Buffy’s expression turned into something not-so-adorable. “Get out of my bed, get out of my house. And, hey, get out of town if you’re feeling generous.”

“Now, now. That’s no way to treat a paramour.”

“You’re not my para-anything,” Buffy groused. “And I notice how you’re still not getting the hell out”

Spike sat up slowly, stretching. “What’s gotten your knickers in a twist?”

The Slayer rolled her eyes at his choice of words before her face returned to its sullen disposition again. She threw the covers off of her legs and turned away from him, sitting on the edge of her bed with her back to him. Spike arched an eyebrow and wondered if this was the part where he was supposed to comfort her. He almost snorted aloud. He wasn’t the dutiful boyfriend, he wasn’t even a friend. Still, he found himself crawling up next to her and sitting with his legs dangling off the bed in a position that mirrored hers.

Buffy barely glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “Like you care, Spike. Like you even care what’s wrong.”

“You’re right; I don’t,” Spike nodded. “But why don’t you tell me anyway?”

“It’s nothing. Just my friends stopped by a few days ago.”

Spike frowned. “And this is a bad thing?”

“They stopped by to tell me they don’t like who I’ve become,” She looked at him. “And it’s not like they’re wrong. I mean, look at me.”

He did look at her “Seem perfectly fine to me.”

“Yeah, ’cos perfectly fine Buffy would really close herself off from her friends and have sex with you.”

“I’d like to think so,” Spike grinned.

“Why am I talking to you?” She huffed.

“Look, love, the truth of the matter is your friends are ninnies,” Spike announced. “They handled you all wrong, from what I can gather. They didn’t know how to deal with you so they just didn’t. Kept their distance, hoped you’d just revert to Happy Sunshine Buffy. People don’t work that way. If they don’t have anyone to keep them afloat, they’ll sink and drown.”

She regarded him suspiciously. “The fact that that made some kind of sense to me really just goes to show that hell has frozen over.”

“I understand humans, Buffy. I was one for a while. And now, being set apart from the whole race I can still observe and laugh at pathetic human behaviour.” Spike leaned back on his hands.

She glared at him “Right. Like vampires are so perfect.”

“Far from it,” he acquiesced. “But we just kill anyone that makes us feel low. Want me to wipe out your old mob for you? Be a pleasure.”

“I thought you were being a good boy, now.”

Spike smirked, “Haven’t given me my kiss yet, I could still revert to form.”

“And how do I know you’re not still killing?”

“Trust me.”

Buffy scoffed. “Not likely –”

He shut her up with a kiss. Spike’s arms slid around her waist and he pulled her close. And, for all her many protestations, she kissed him back hungrily after her initial surprise faded. He felt her hands tangling in his hair and sighed into her mouth. The Slayer kissed like she fought – vicious and uncompromising. He loved it.

Spike moved down onto the bed, taking her with him and placing her on top of him. She straddled his waist uneasily and he kissed her more softly to soothe her. And, somehow, the kiss turned slow and sensual and not at all like any of the others kisses they had shared with each other. Buffy’s tongue slid smoothly over his as her fingers drew circles on his chest. He trailed his hand down her bare arm, feeling the hairs rise up in his path, and her hips push into his, and knew he had to have her right there and then.

So, naturally, Buffy pulled away. She sat upright, her back ramrod straight as she looked down at him warily.

Then she did something unexpected. She grinned.

“Oh, I get it,” she arched an eyebrow. “You think you can throw around a few insightful words and you’re gonna get you some.”

Spike sniggered. “You’ve got me pegged, Slayer.”

“Buffy,” she corrected. “I mean, unless I’m slaying you, then it’s Slayer. And Miss. Summers if I’m asking you for a loan.”

He rubbed his forehead in a sign of stress. “Please tell me I’m going to get a shag after this very useful lecture on the naming of things.”

“You’re a prick,” Buffy smacked him on the shoulder and started to climb off him.

Spike sat up with her still straddling his lap, and grabbed her arms. Her hands went to his shoulders, eyes searching his face for malicious intent. He placed a soft kiss on her jaw line, followed it with another behind her ear and then down on her neck. She didn’t even tense. Maybe it was because she wanted him to bite her. His hands moved down her arms and to her waist, gathering up the bottom of her tank top he started to lift it up. Buffy placed her hands on top of his to stop him.

“My mom’s in the next room.” She informed him seriously.

Spike waited for her to elaborate and when she didn’t asked, “Yeah, so?”

“So, she’ll hear!”

“Best be quiet then, hadn’t you?” He teased, pulling her top up over her body and head, tossing it to the floor casually.
Buffy automatically crossed her arms over her breasts to conceal them from him. He rolled his eyes and took one of her wrists in each hand, pulling them away. Spike’s eyes looked her over unabashed before he bowed his head and pressed his lips to the hollow of her collarbone, arms snaking around her waist to rest on her lower back. It was then that she shifted off of his lap and scuttled backwards on the mattress.

“Buffy, I’ve seen them before,” he groaned, referring to her scars, “I’ve touched them before. Come back ’ere.” When she made no move to do as he asked Spike looked into her eyes and spoke, “I’ve lived a long life, Buffy. I’ve seen things that’d make you scream, things that are sick and twisted and revolting. Things your mind won’t even let you conjure up. And, you know what? You’re not one of them. You’re not disgusting. Far from it. So, you have a few scars, so bloody what? Everyone does. Yours just happen to be more visible than other people’s. People, in general, are royally fucked up. Their scars are in their heads. Yours are on your back. They’re behind you. So, put them behind you. Forget about them.”

Her eyes swept over him cynically, “Easy for you to say, Spike. You’re not the one who’s scarred for life.”

“No, I’m not.”

Spike expected her to give him the brush off. It was, after all, her raison d’être. But she’d surprised him more than once tonight and it seemed that he was about to get another one. Buffy crawled towards him on the bed and in her topless state it was a very pleasant view. Then she climbed onto his lap, reinstating her earlier position there. Before he could make some arrogant comment about this she slammed her lips down on his and he suddenly didn’t find it so important.

He wrapped his arms around her and slowly slid his hands up the length of her back. She stiffened in his arms, pulling just far enough away for her forehead to touch his as she looked him in the eyes. Spike gazed back at her a little perplexed. She had avoided any kind of deep eye contact with him ever since he’d made his presence known. His hands glided over the rough and smooth of her back, the warmth of her skin pleasant to his cold body.

“Turn around,” he instructed, voice hoarse.

Buffy pulled away further then. Spike kept his hold on her and watched her face earnestly. A few moments passed before the Slayer sucked in a shuddering breath and turned herself around, sitting back down on his lap. Spike eyes swept over the scars, they looked darker in the moonlight. He could feel her trembling and understood how much it must have taken her to do this. To let him see, again. And it made him feel guilty about lying to her. He wasn’t supposed to feel guilty but he did. Spike was on the verge of just calling it all off when she spoke.

“So,” Buffy said, a nervous tremor in her voice, “regretting seeing the full monty again?”

Spike barked out a laugh “Oh, this is no where near the full monty. And, no. Not regretting. Just admiring.”

“Yeah, it’s a sight for sore eyes,” Buffy riposted a tinge of self-deprecation evident.

Spike found himself wanting her all over again. She was so fragile and vulnerable these days but he would still see flashes of the old Buffy Summers in her. As if to back up his observation, she began to move her hips around in slow, grinding circles against his. Spike’s eyes widened and a small smile curved at his lips. He kissed her shoulder and then dipped his head lower, kissing along the jut of her shoulder blade. She made a small sound as his lips landed on a particularly ruinous looking scar. He placed a hand on her back and attempted to push her forward, so she would be positioned on her hands and knees in front of him.

Buffy wasn’t quite so compliant this time.

“What are you doing?” She asked, resisting his semi-gentle pressure.

“I want you on all fours.” Spike explained casually.

Buffy snorted, “Not a chance, Spike. Now take off your clothes.”

This girl just did not stop baffling him. He laughed aloud but after she climbed off of him, he did as she asked – shedding his shirt, T-shirt and jeans he resumed his position naked as the day he was born. Buffy had followed suit and got rid of the pyjama bottoms. Spike just admired the view for a few moments before reaching out to her.

She shook her head and climbed onto his lap, her back against his chest. “God, what am I doing?”

“Me,” he grinned, taking the lobe of her ear between his teeth and pulling it gently.

Buffy hissed and lifted herself up to get the right angle before she slid down onto his cock. Spike gasped at the sensation, the heat of her, and bucked his hips up driving himself in deeper. As they rocked together he found himself noticing the way it felt when his chest rubbed against her back. The sensation was an odd one, bordering on pleasant, as the rough patches moved against his smooth skin. His hands slid around and up to fondle her breasts as she began to move faster, leaning forwards slightly to find a better angle for her. Spike bent his head down to kiss and lick her scars, still not quite believing that the Slayer was riding him. And it wasn’t even the first time they’d fucked. He started grinning goofily to himself and was half glad she couldn’t see the expression on his face. I’m a lucky sod, oh yeah he thought to himself as he lets his hands roam over her body.

He’d never been with someone so warm, so alive. And what she lacked in experience she definitely made up for in vigour, in the very physicality of every one of her touches, in every one of her movements.

“Buffy,” Spike sighed in her ear, almost in delirium, as she moved her hips around in a circle while he was still encased in her.

She arched her back as she neared her orgasm, back of her head resting against his shoulder and giving him a partial view of her face and the line of her torso, “This the great vampire stamina you keep boasting about?” she smirked.

Spike’s eyes narrowed and he kissed her roughly, his neck bent at an odd angle to reach her lips. He placed his hands firmly on her waist and thrust into her slower and more laboriously, prolonging the experience and bringing her down from the edge of ecstasy. She moaned a little in both disappointment and anticipation of a greater pleasure. As he inched his way out of her, deliberately drawing it out, Spike began to think that maybe he should just leave town. Just leave the Slayer well enough alone. It’d be better for her. She’d make up with her moronic pals, buck up and be the Little Slayer Who Could all over again. He knew this thing that they had would not end well and for one reason or another he actually cared. It was like he was in a parallel universe – he cared how Buffy Summers felt.

But then she reached up and ran her hand down his cheek so softly that he actually quivered inside her. Her hand fixed around his neck and she pulled his face down, pushing it into her neck. The heat of her skin, the pulse beneath it, made him thrust into her harder than he intended, bumping against her cervix and making her cry out. Spike pulled up and kissed her temple in apology, drawing himself out of her once again before sinking back in slightly faster this time. Buffy rocked back and forth on him, starting out slowly, her momentum getting faster and faster.

“Spike,” she groaned, annoyed, clearly wanting him to finish her off.

Spike arched an eyebrow “What, pet? Don’t want me to showcase my stamina anymore?”

“No!” Buffy leant forward again; the friction between their bodies was pleasurable agony.

“Want to come right quick?” He asked, his voice sounding casual but he was anything but.

She nodded vigorously and Spike was secretly relieved. He didn’t know how much longer he could have kept himself from coming if she’d insisted upon the whole tantric bit. Just because it was good enough for Sting didn’t mean much to Spike. He’d met the man once and found him to be a nice enough bloke, if not a touch eccentric. But that was hardly relevant, Spike reminded himself.

He increased the speed of his strokes and watched curiously as Buffy took one of his hands from her waist and guided it down over her hip, to her clitoris. He obliged, touching her gently between the legs, whilst whispering inconsequential things into her ear, making her shudder. His touch became rougher, running the nail of his finger over her and making her whimper. Spike loved that sound.

He continued to use his hand to bring her pleasure at the same time he pulled out of her and slammed into her hard enough that she came without warning, Buffy cried out in surprise as much as euphoria. When her inner muscles clenched and unclenched around him Spike could no longer stop himself from coming inside her, even as she was still riding the waves of her own orgasm.

All he could hear was Buffy’s shuddering breaths, and the pounding of her heart, for a moment before he collapsed backwards onto the bed, taking a very satisfied Slayer with him.



A/N: Talk about the chapter that would never end! Crickey. Thanks for all the reviews and keep them coming.

A/N: Happy Holidays to everyone, I got you a little something -



The following night Buffy patrolled one of the largest cemeteries in Sunnydale. She wasn’t exactly sure if she wanted to encounter any demons tonight. Part of her wanted to have her mind taken off all the stuff that was clogging up her brain whereas another part of her wanted to go over it all in depth and come to some conclusions about what she should do.

Her problems came down to two very different issues – number one being Spike, number two being her friends.
She had woken up that morning alone in bed. Not that she had expected different. In fact, if Spike had stayed over and gotten trapped in her house due to the extreme sunshine outside she probably would have had a mental breakdown. She envisioned a whole day of having to shove him under the bed or into her wardrobe to keep Joyce from seeing him. Although, Buffy reasoned, her mother would probably be somewhat happy to see she had a “boyfriend”. Never mind that she and Spike would never have that kind of relationship or that he was an evil vampire. In fact, if Buffy remembered correctly Spike and her mother had actually got along quite well considering the circumstances. Joyce would beam and cook him breakfast in blissful ignorance. She cringed, just thinking about it.

However, her original train of thought had been leading her to a certain comparison; when she had awoken that morning alone, it reminded her of Angel. Of being abandoned. It was stupid, really. The thing she had with Spike was nothing like her relationship to Angel. Which, in a way, was a good thing. Buffy didn’t think she could handle another relationship based on that much angst and wanting and not having. It wasn’t “healthy”, as Giles had told her once. Of course, fucking an evil vampire probably wasn’t healthy either.

Spike was weird. She’d come to that conclusion. He wanted her and he could look at and touch her scars without being disgusted. It made her wonder, briefly, if perhaps Angel would feel the same way. If maybe he could look at her, at all of her, and how she had changed, and still have that same look in his eyes that he had always had for her – that she was perfect. Then she realised that she had answered her own query. Angel had always put her up upon a pedestal, holding her to ideals that she wasn’t sure she actually fulfilled. If he were to see her now, less than flawless, less than whole, he wouldn’t be able to take it.

A part of her noted that she couldn’t be sure how he’d react at all. But the doubt was enough. She wouldn’t call him. She wouldn’t ask him to come down to Sunnydale, simply because she feared his rejection.

But, God, how this is so not about Angel…Buffy scowled to herself, weaving between tombstones absently, stake in hand. It was about Spike. About how he was totally wrong for her. About how he was the antithesis of everything she was supposed to stand for. And, it was about how he actually made her feel like Buffy Summers again. Not the Slayer, just Buffy. She’d felt different, recently. A fraction of her old self-confidence returning. She’d been quipping, for god’s sake. She hadn’t quipped in a long time. It felt nice; to banter, to spar, to have some kind of conviction in herself, again. Buffy had begun to feel like maybe it didn’t matter that Spike was Mr. Wrong. The sex was good…very good…and it wasn’t like there was anyone around to stop her from doing what – or who – she wanted.

And that’s where her friends came into it. They wanted a reunion, all is forgiven, let’s be friends again. She should have resented them for trying to just sweep the past year of abandonment and separation under the carpet, but she didn’t. Buffy missed all of her friends so much that sometimes it physically hurt. She missed sitting in the Espresso Pump with Willow, dancing with Xander in the Bronze, bowling with Oz and training with Giles. Buffy knew if they found out about Spike, about her neglecting to tell them he was back in town, they might not be so quick to want to be best friends again.

They’d take it as a personal betrayal and they’d never understand her sleeping with him. They’d probably disown her.
So, she guessed, either she had to get rid of Spike and make up with her friends or let things continue as they were. Buffy had no idea what the hell to do.

Thankfully, a couple of vampires jumped her from behind, thus cutting off her increasingly annoying introspective mood. She tumbled to the floor, but her reflexes were fast and she rolled off to the side just as one of the vampires leapt at the space on the ground where she had been.

The Slayer jumped up and slammed the heel of her hand into the nose of the nearest vampire. He stumbled backwards, screeching, as blood sluiced down his face. Buffy took a step towards him, stake raised. Unfortunately, the other vampire had recovered and barrelled into the side of her, sending them both sailing down to the ground.

Buffy’s head truck the edge of a tombstone on the way down and pain exploded from behind her eyes. She must have blacked out for a few seconds because the next thing she was aware of was the slobbering vampire on top of her, holding her hair in one hand and her stake in another. He grinned and swung the stake down towards her heart. Buffy took a second to appreciate the irony before she braced herself for the pain.

Instead, all she saw was a heavy black biker boot slam into the side of the vampire’s head causing him to topple off her and drop the stake harmlessly by her side. Buffy’s gaze swept up to the owner of the foot. It wasn’t who she had been expecting.

“Buffy,” Jeremiah smiled down at her. “You looked to be in a bit of a precarious situation there, girl. I was worried.”

She sat up, clutching the side of her head. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Just lending a helping hand.” He replied.

“Why?” Buffy asked, incredulous.

“My mama always told me if a lady is in need, a proper gentleman will always do whatever he can to help her. Speaking of…” Jeremiah offered his hand to help her up.

Buffy scowled and grabbed the tombstone, using it to pull herself up, “Jeremiah! You are a vampire. I am a Slayer. You don’t help me.”

“Oh.” Jeremiah’s eyebrows knitted. “Good point.” He walked over to one of the tombstones slightly out of the way and lifted himself up, sitting on it. “I’ll just sit here and wait ’til you’re done”

Buffy rolled her eyes and was about to say something else when an arm wrapped around her neck from behind. She cursed herself for losing concentration so easily and shot an elbow back into the gut of the vampire behind her. Then for good measure she swept her arm up and knocked her fist into his face. The hold around her neck was released and she spun around, aiming a roundhouse kick to the vampire’s head. He went down and Buffy scooped up her stake, intent on finishing him.

The second vampire jumped onto her back, nearly sending the Slayer back down to the ground. Instead she stumbled forward a few steps and growled as the vampire started pummelling her about the head. Buffy shot her head up and backwards straight into the face of the vampire. It’s hold on her loosened enough so that she could simply shake him off and to the ground.

Buffy backed away a few steps so she could keep both of the vampires in her line of sight. In the corner of her eye she saw Jeremiah watching eagerly and she wondered why it was all the wacko vampires seemed to be attracted to her.

The vampires were both on their feet again, hissing at her and looking just generally pissed off. Buffy motioned them forward and they rushed her together. How unfair. The Slayer shrugged and jumped up in the air, lashing both her feet out simultaneously and striking both demons in the face. They both yelled out and fell to the floor. Buffy smiled to herself and dusted one as he attempted to sit up. The other vampire seemed to realise his days were numbered and tried to make a break for it. Buffy ran after him and shoved him hard in the back. He careened into a mausoleum and fell back to the ground, dazed. Then it was just a simple matter of dusting him, and brushing the dirt from her clothes.

Jeremiah jumped off the tombstone jauntily and clapped. “I liked that kick. I might try it someday.”

“How ’bout right now?” Buffy challenged, motioning to herself with her stake.

“Buffy, come on. You know I have no interest in fightin’ with you,” he took steps towards her, “not unless it’s a precursor to sex.”

She made a sound, “You wish.”

“I never wish. Got into trouble with a Justice Demon once, ’cos of a foolish wish. You shoulda been there. See, I wished that human blood tasted like ice cream and, I don’t mind telling you, I got mighty fat that decade –”

“Jeremiah!” Buffy interrupted him testily. “What are you still doing in my town?”

He clasped his hands behind his back, his face the very picture of confusion. “Why, whatever do you mean?”

“I told you I’d let you go one time. You should have left town, Jeremiah. Now, I’m gonna have to dust you.” She took a step towards him, stake ready.

“Oh, like how you dusted Spike, you mean?”

The Slayer opened her mouth then closed it again, before answering “Spike has nothing to do with this.”

“Really? I’m inclined to think he has everything to do with this.” He took another step towards her, “I know for a fact that he’s done far worse than me during his existence.”

Buffy shifted from foot to foot, “Oh yeah? You a Spike groupie or something?”

“Not hardly. A vampire like him tends to make a good deal of noise in my world. Second only to Angelus in his viciousness, I heard.”

She turned and started to walk away. For some reason she really wasn’t in the mood to get a lecture from a vampire about how her current boyfriend was almost as evil as her ex-boyfriend. Not that Spike was her boyfriend. Jeremiah, however, did not get the hint and came up to the side of her to walk with her.

He shook his head slightly. “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about me, Buffy. I’m certainly not judging you; I don’t have the right to. It’s up to you who you sleep with. Even if I happen to think I’d make a much studlier vampire consort for you.”

Buffy snorted at that and kept walking, intent on getting home and shutting out the annoying vampire who just would not get the hint. She sighed. Her real problem was that she didn’t find Jeremiah annoying. If she was completely honest with herself, she kind of liked him. He’d done nothing untoward in front of her and he seemed like a nice guy. However, he wasn’t a guy. He was a demon. She could not start getting friendly with vampires. That was the road to career failure.

“So, how are things goin’ with you two anyway?”

Buffy turned and looked at him, disbelieving “Are you trying to ask me about my…involvement with Spike? Why are you even talking to me? Why aren’t you fleeing in terror or at least trying to kill me? I really do not understand vampires!”

“Woah, down girl.” He held his hands up. “I was just asking a simple question. You know, just because I’m a demon doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy a bit of gossip. It’s so hard to engage people in conversation these days. They’re all too busy screaming and running for their lives, you know? Gets a guy down sometimes.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m sure you’d prefer your victims to just stay still listening to your scintillating conversational skills while you drain them dry,” she rolled her eyes.

Jeremiah arched an eyebrow “That’s rich coming from you, girl. You make out like I’m evil to the core well your boyfriend is no better. So, what, it’s alright for him to kill but not me?”

“Spike’s not killing anymore.” Buffy blurted out in defence.

She wasn’t exactly prepared for the vampire next to her to burst out laughing in hysterical giggles. Buffy scowled and traipsed forward, quickening her steps in an attempt to lose Jeremiah as he almost doubled over with laughing. She was just so glad that her life was one big joke to a vampire, of all non-people. She gave a moment’s pause to staking him while he was unprepared for it but decided that she’d rather provoke him into fighting her. As it was, a dark blush had begun to creep up her neck towards her face at the implications of his mirth. He clearly thought she was nuts for believing Spike and, if she were perfectly honest with herself, she thought pretty much the same thing.

“Aw, come on now,” Jeremiah jogged up behind her. “I didn’t mean to be rude or anything. You just caught me by surprise, is all. Come on, Buffy, you can’t blame me. Spike not killing is like me saying I don’t go to church.”

Buffy looked at him, frowning. “You go to church?”

“Well, ’o course I do.”

“You do realise that God’s pretty much forsaken you, right? Hence the cross and holy water damage.”

Jeremiah shrugged, slowly. “Just because He has turned His back on me, doesn’t mean I’ve turned mine on Him.”

The Slayer made a sound. “You’re wacko, you know that?”

“Hey, I’m not the one making friendly with William the Bloody.” He pointed out. “Where’s your proof he’s stopped killing?”

She paused. “Well…the number of bodies…I mean, there hasn’t been any reported…any more than before he came, I mean.”

“Pretty shoddy reasoning, Buffy. I’m sure he’s more than capable of disposing of his dinner.”

“I’m well aware of the situation, Jeremiah. I don’t need advice from a vampire!” Buffy snarled storming ahead.

“Alright, alright. You always gotta bring up the vampire thing don’t y – YAAH!” Jeremiah screamed and dropped down out of sight.

The Slayer called over her shoulder, “Might want to watch out for that open grave.”

She carried on walking at a brisk pace until she left the cemetery, running over the seeds of doubt Jeremiah had sown, her mind in turmoil about Spike and the promise he had made her.

Buffy perused the aisle of books with a careful eye. She was hoping the library had gotten the next novel of a series she was reading. She’d gotten into reading in a big way, recently. Nothing too verbose. She definitely wasn’t an academic, or anything. But reading was fun and also very anti-social so it went with her whole outlook these days. She often enjoyed reading the horror novels just so she could marvel (and laugh) at the way vampires were portrayed in them. They usually fell into two categories – brooding and tortured or wild and carefree. Although, come to think of it, that was pretty accurate.

They didn’t have the book she wanted. Buffy scowled and turned to leave, nearly walking straight into the young man who had been standing behind her. She apologised absently whilst trying to make her way around him. It was only when he spoke her name that she actually let herself look at him.

Oz gave her a polite smile and a brief nod of his head. He had a stack of college textbooks under his arms as well as other novels including, what looked to Buffy, like a book about the city of Rome. He was dressed in his usual sheepskin jacket – a wolf in sheep’s clothing – a faded green T-shirt with a baseball logo emblazoned on it, and dark blue jeans and sneakers. With his long spiky hair and cool musician stubble Oz was the quintessential college guy.

“What are you doing here?” Buffy blurted.

Oz’s gaze ticked down to the books in his hand “Books.”

“Right. Stupid question.” Buffy groaned inwardly. “Doesn’t the college have a library?”

“It does but I like to get out and mingle with the townsfolk once in a while. Keeps me healthy.”

She nodded slowly and eyed the door, “Well, I better…”

“Willow misses you.” Oz said gently.

It was a simple statement but it hit her straight at her core. She missed Willow. She missed them all. Her throat dried up as she tried to think of an answer to that but she couldn’t and when she felt the tears well up in her eyes she turned back towards the bookshelf to compose herself. Oz stepped up beside her gracefully and scanned the books with his eyes.

“Dracula,” He said, picking the book up, “the original classic. Or, if you’re looking for something a little more modern, Salem’s Lot. Of course, you could go with something kind of fruity like My Stepmother’s a Vampire. Your call.”

Buffy smiled a little, then it faltered. “If she misses me then why didn’t she come see me sooner, Oz?”

“I don’t know.” He replied, honestly.

“She just stopped visiting me in hospital. They all did. And I never knew why. I know that I wasn’t exactly cheery but I had a pretty good reason for that.” She eyed him, sideways.

Oz just nodded and motioned that he was going to go and check out his books. Buffy hesitated a moment before following him to the desk. There was no one in line so Oz made his way straight to the front, placing his books on the counter. Buffy stood slightly apart from it all, watching as he paid off an overdue library fare using several crinkled up notes. The woman behind the desk gave him a tempting smile but either Oz was oblivious to it or he simply chose to ignore it, leaving with a civil thank you and walking back towards Buffy. The librarian shot her a dirty look having clearly decided that Buffy was his girlfriend. It almost made her laugh that the woman was jealous of her. She had absolutely no reason to be.

They made their way outside into the semi-darkness of the Sunnydale street. It was approaching sunset and Buffy was hoping to get home, have something resembling dinner, and grab a more substantial coat before she ventured out to patrol.

“There’s this thing. Party. Over at Stevenson House,” Oz informed her. “Townie friendly.”

Buffy shook her head, “Not much for parties these days.”

“Okay.” He nodded, “The Dingoes are playing tomorrow night at the Bronze. Willow’ll be there. Xander too, I think.”

Buffy understood what he was implying.That it might be a good time to have some kind of reunion with them. And where better than a crowded place where fists probably wouldn’t fly. However, given The Bronze’s reputation that probably didn’t apply. She shifted from foot to foot, eyes on the descending sun.

“I don’t know.” She was the very picture of non-committal.

Oz gave her a brief smile “Just an option.”

He took a step backwards; to make it clear it was okay for her to leave. Buffy nodded at him and turned on her heel. She had only taken a couple of steps away from him when he called out her name again. Slowly, she turned back.

“For what’s its worth,” Oz looked her in the eyes, intently, “I tried to visit you. Once. But I wasn’t on your visitors list.”

Buffy just looked at him, having no idea what to say. The werewolf held her gaze a moment longer before turning and walking slowly down the street, books in hand. The Slayer watched until he was gone from her line of sight and then she walked away.

+ + +

By the time she came across Spike, later that night, she was in no mood for a confrontation with him. She’d already dusted three vampires and grappled with a Dravlok demon she had since lost and was attempting to track. Instead she had found the white-haired vampire sitting on the cemetery floor, leaning back against the doors of a mausoleum. Serve him right if the occupants decided to take a midnight stroll and he fell flat on his back when they made their exits. At least it might give her a laugh.

Spike was smoking a cigarette and looked up as she approached. “Nice night for it, eh?”

Buffy thought about her conversation with Jeremiah the night before. The fact that she had needed another vampire to point out Spike’s possible untrustworthiness was just sad. She was the Slayer and, hello, also had common sense enough to figure that out for herself. Or, at least, she should have. Maybe she was just deluding herself. So she decided to just come right out with it.

“Are you still killing?”

He spluttered, coughing loudly, after inhaling a large quantity of smoke. “You what?”

“It’s a simple enough question. One I really should have asked before.” Buffy stopped and looked down at him. “Are you still killing people, yes or no?”

“Buffy, love,” Spike murmured, fully recovered, as he stood up, “what’s this about?”

She sighed at him. “Just answer the question, Spike.”

Spike dropped the cigarette, crushing it under foot. Then he looked up at her and just stared for a couple of moments, hand pressed against his chest as if he were swearing allegiance to the flag. Buffy waited for him to come out with some sly remark, or any remark, but when time seemed to stretch on a little too long for such a simple question, she began to get suspicious.

The vampire blinked. “No. I’m not. Satisfied?”

“Not really, no.” Buffy watched him, more than a little perplexed.

“Well, we can sort that out.” Spike’s usual cavalier grin erupted onto his face. “I’ve got all night to get you nice and satisfied.”

As he took a step towards her she put her hand out and spoke, “Spike, if you are killing again…then tell me now. End this now.”

While I still have a chance to make things right Buffy added silently to herself. If he was killing again then she could forget about him. She could even kill him. Then she could go to The Bronze tomorrow, meet up with her friends, get reacquainted. She might be able to start over. Get her life back on track again. It wouldn’t be easy but it might be possible.

“I’m…I’m bloody not!” Spike cried, throwing his hands up. “What’s a guy gotta do to convince you, eh Slayer?”

Buffy looked him square in the eyes. “Swear on your life. I’d say…swear on Drusilla’s life or on anyone else you care about but you care about yourself most. So, swear on your life, Spike.”

“Fine.” He took several steps towards her, so they came face to face. “I swear on my life.”

She considered him for a moment and then took a step back and shrugged. Either he was telling the truth or he was lying. There was no way she could know for sure, but if she decided to trust him about this then maybe she could finally feel comfortable around someone else. By some crazy twist of fate Spike was the person who knew the most about her these days. He knew her physically, carnally and he knew her fears. She became aware in her periphery thoughts that he could one day use this all against her. Truly bring her to her knees in a powerful and violent crescendo.

Either she took the leap with him or she didn’t.

And Buffy was so tired of not taking the leap. So tired of playing it safe, of being alone, of isolation and alienation and all those other ugly words.

So, she nodded and felt the tension in her shoulders relax. And this time when Spike moved towards her she didn’t stop him. She pulled him closer.

The music from the nightclub pulsed out into the alleyway, a steady beat of techno sounds, without lyrics and made solely for dancing like a lunatic to. Buffy remembered dancing with Faith to a very similar sounding song. The memory made her smile, a little. Happier times. Simpler times. Before she got so messed up and before Faith went psychotic.

The Slayer stood staring at the entrance to the The Bronze. She’d been there for at least ten minutes, trying to weigh up all of her options. Either she went in or she didn’t. If she didn’t go in she knew she would regret it. And she was all about the no regrets policy these days. Taking a deep breath, she strolled towards the bouncer at the door. There was no one in line, it was pretty late, and people were probably already crammed inside.

Buffy heard the dance music cut off as she handed the guy at the door her money. He looked her over briefly before nodding and opening the door to the club. There was no real dress code for The Bronze, so she had to guess that he had simply been checking her out. And she felt oddly pleased about that. Which really showed the shift in her attitude over the recent weeks, when she thought about it. Sure, she’d still feel extremely uncomfortable if some guy tried to hit on her but she was okay with them looking. She knew she had her scars covered up.

She’d opted for a black cotton fitted shirt, tapering in at the waist and completely opaque – so the lights in the club didn’t highlight any of the damage – and fitted blue jeans with boots to complete the look. It was casual but still feminine. Her hair was tied up tightly in a bun and she’d actually made the effort to wear some mascara and lip gloss.

Stepping inside the club as the door slammed shut behind her the heat of the building swept over her like a rolling wave. There was a fair amount of people on the dance floor, though no music played yet as the band was setting up on stage. All the tables were occupied with people either standing or sitting around them, red paper beer cups littering all surfaces. Several people were propped up by the bar waving dollar bills at the staff and trying to shout over the din of multiple conversations.

People brushed past her on the way to the toilet or to the stairs that led to the walkway. Buffy looked up and found the balcony housing quite a few couples who were using it for their make-out sessions.

She winced as the band plugged one of their guitars into an amp and sent a high-pitched squeal across the club. Devon was tapping the microphone saying ‘1, 2, 3…testing” over and over again, whilst Oz stood to the side looking down at his guitar with concentration. As if feeling her eyes on him the werewolf looked up and awarded her with a slight smile and a nod. Buffy returned the low-key greeting.

Her eyes scanned the crowded club until they came to rest on a head of coppery-red. Willow. The witch sat at a table, front row and centre, to get a good view of her boyfriend. Xander sat with her sipping a bottle of beer, which he must have used fake ID to buy. Buffy looked around for any sign of Anya or even Giles but found neither.

She took a long, deep breath and worked the crick out of her neck. Her cheeks felt suddenly hot and she wondered if it was obvious that she was blushing. Deciding that it would be better if she just got it over and done with, the Slayer weaved her way through the patrons of the bar towards her friends.
Buffy had almost made it to the pair when a suddenly shudder ran through her body, the hairs on the back of her neck lifting up. She looked around but could see no one who looked even vaguely like a candidate for slaying. Shrugging, she resumed her course towards the table.

Buffy could hear Willow attempting to engage Xander in a conversation about how cute Oz looked up on stage and the boy was clearly uncomfortable with the whole deal.

After a long moment of indecision on what to say, Buffy came out with, “Oh my god, are you guys with the band?”

Willow turned around to give her the stink-eye but abruptly changed course when she saw who it was, a surprised expression pasting itself on her face. “Buffy!”

“That’s pretty much me,” she replied, shifting nervously from foot to foot.

“Are you here to scold us again? ’Cos I didn’t enjoy the scolding.” Willow questioned, a tad playfully but with a serious undercurrent.

Buffy shook her head and the redhead visibly relaxed. She stood, slowly, and there was an awkward moment before she reached over and pulled Buffy into a warm hug. The Slayer felt herself tense up instinctively but after only a moment she unwound enough to hug her back, even if it was a somewhat generic embrace.
As she pulled back, her gaze turned to Xander. He had remained seated, his finger tracing the rim of the beer bottle, facial expression defiantly moody as he tried not to look at her. She glanced back at Willow who pulled a disapproving face at her old crush. Buffy shook her head, indicating Xander’s reaction was understandable.

“Guess you hate me now.” Buffy remarked to him.

Xander locked eyes with her and said nothing.

She shrugged one shoulder “Hate you too.”

“Gee, thanks,” an almost smile quivered at the corner of his lips. “I always wanted to form a mutual hate society with my best friend.” Willow cleared her throat. “One of my best friends.” Xander amended.

Dingoes Ate My Baby started to play suddenly, loud music boomed out of their speakers and people on the dance floor jumped up and down, cheering, before settling down into more suitable dancing. Willow frowned, actually annoyed at the interruption, from what Buffy could tell. She motioned for Buffy to sit down at the table and then sat down herself.

“So, how’d you know we were here? Not that it’s not good because it is.” Willow nodded, “Right, Xander?”

He shrugged, slowly. “It’s good that you’re here, Buffy. But we still have things to talk through.”

“Yeah. I guess we do.” Buffy agreed. “So, let’s talk.”

Willow and Xander looked at each other then back to Buffy, neither of them saying anything. She tapped her fingers on the tabletop waiting for one of them to have the courage and come forward to say what they wanted to say. It wasn’t like they had had much trouble expressing their feelings the last time they had met with her.

Xander cleared his throat. “Right. Well. It’s just that…you’ve been avoiding us. I know we handled things badly. Okay, more than badly. Hellaciously, if you will. But we’re still your friends and you shut us out completely. It got to the point where we couldn’t remember the last time we had seen you.”

“It was easier that way, Xander. By keeping myself to myself I didn’t have to feel the way you all look at me.” Buffy replied.

“And how is that?”

“Like you pity me,” she said. “Like I’m someone to be pitied”

Willow shook her head, “Buffy, no.”

Buffy shrugged. “I can’t have people around me who can’t see past the scars. I need you to see me. You said before that I was a different person, well, that’s because circumstances made me that way. It wasn’t the scars. It was the reaction to the scars. I might as well have hung a sign around my neck saying ‘mutilated girl, come see the freak show’.”

“Well, cut us some slack, Buff. It’s not like there are blueprints on how to deal with this kind of thing. Everything we said…everything we did…seemed to rub you up the wrong way.” Xander added, carefully. “We couldn’t do a thing right, as far as you were concerned. I get that you were hurting, that you still are, but so are we. You gotta realise that. We’re all in the same boat. You might be the one who got burnt but we all wear the scars from that day.”

Buffy had to look away from his warm, dark eyes. She fixated on the band up on the stage. Devon was holding the microphone almost obscenely close, eyes closed in concentration as he belted out one of their up-tempo numbers. A spotlight had landed on Oz as he let rip with a well-practiced guitar solo.

She took a deep breath and turned back to her friends. “All I know is that I needed support. I needed my friends to be there for me. I was difficult, I was moody, I was a complete bitch to you guys – this I know. But I was going through something you can’t even begin to understand. I needed that anger. I needed it so that I could grit my teeth and get on with living. Because even that, even living, was like a trial for me. I wanted out. I wanted to be gone. In my eyes my life was not worth it. And when no one but my mother was there for me…it burned worse than that demon’s flame ever could.”

“Buffy,” Willow’s voice trembled, “we know we should have been there. We know that if we had then maybe things would be different. Maybe you wouldn’t still be so angry. I just…we’re here now. At your disposal. I’ll do anything to make it up to you.”

She wondered if maybe now would be a good time to tell them about Spike. They wouldn’t understand that. Their kind and gentle visages would melt away into disgust and scorn. The way Xander had reacted towards Angel made this perfectly clear to her. Yet, maybe, it would be a good idea to just get it all out in the open now. Save for confrontation and blame later on.

Looking at them now, so full of hope for reconciliation, Buffy knew she wouldn’t say a damn thing.

“You could start by getting me a drink. I’ve got a bad case of dry throat.” She replied.

Xander’s eyebrows rose. “Not to be confused with deep throat.”

Willow practically threw herself off her chair and ran towards the bar with a skip in her step. Buffy watched her for a moment before turning back to the table. Xander was looking at with a deep concentration. She wanted to flinch and move away, the scars on her back felt hot and clammy all of a sudden.

He placed the cap from his beer onto the table between them. Buffy looked at him questioningly.

“Bottle cap for your thoughts.” He leaned in.

She looked down at the table for a moment. “You always were a cheapskate. As for my thoughts…they’re mostly dark in a gothic, woe-is-me type of way. You don’t want to know.”

“Alright, then. I’ll just tell you my thoughts. I was just thinking that you have never looked more beautiful.”

Buffy rolled her eyes and scoffed, feeling her cheeks light up.

“I know, I know. Cheesy. But totally true. It’s not a line, I have a girlfriend now…a sometimes crazy, often nymphomaniac girlfriend but…still. You have this new way about you. Like, confidence I guess? I’m not explaining this very well.” Xander rambled, looking embarrassed.

“I beg you to stop.” She nodded, also embarrassed.

Xander gave her a quick grin as Willow came back to the table with a couple of colas. One for each of them, whereas Xander made do with his illegal beer. Buffy gulped down a large quantity of the ice cold drink to alleviate the flush that had alighted itself around her face.

“But, Buffy, I’m serious.” Willow sipped her own coke. “I’ll do anything. You can hit me if you like. Just not in the nose. No…no…you can hit me in the nose. I deserve it. Please, hit me in the nose.”

“I left my hitting hand at home.”

Xander balled his fist “I could lend you this one.”

“Ack, no!” Willow cried. “Not a man hand. That would be too much.”

He laughed. “Willow, you just gave permission for a Slayer to hit you. Buffy’s got more strength in her little toe than I have in my whole body.”

“Yeah, but…her hands are less threatening looking, you know? Less beefy.”

“And way less hairy” Buffy added.

“Totally.”

“Hey!”

Buffy smiled.

As Buffy exited the Bronze an hour later, she was instantly aware that there was a vampire near. Standing in the middle of the alleyway for a moment she paused to consider if going after a vamp without a stake was a good idea. Decided it was her duty, or whatever, to do so she walked deeper into the darkened alley. When she cautiously turned a corner and saw no signs of any demons lurking, Buffy sighed to herself. Assuming that she had just been paranoid she turned to go back the way she came.

And nearly walked straight into Spike.

He was leaning up against the chain link fence, a satisfied smirk on his face. He was happy to have surprised her. She had to wonder, though, how vampires did that. Just appeared out of no where. Buffy wanted to be able to do that. It seemed nifty. Not that she would tell him that. Instead she just scowled at him in annoyance.

“It’s rude to corner a girl in a dark alleyway,” she pointed out.

Spike stood up straight and shrugged. “I’m a rude man.”

Buffy rolled her eyes and walked past him back in the direction of the club and the main streets. She had decided to leave early because she didn’t want to push it. This re-established connection she had with her friends now was still very fragile and Buffy was tentative about not pushing any boundaries. They still had a long way to go before they would get back to a bond as strong as they had all once had. And she hadn’t even spoken to Giles yet. She thought that in some ways, she missed him the most. Not just because he was her Watcher and he was meant to guide her through her slaying but because he was her father. In every sense except biology.

As she passed him by, Spike grabbed her arm and swung her backwards into the fence causing it to rattle loudly. She started to tell him to fuck off but he cut her off with a rough kiss. Hands snaked underneath her shirt, groping her quickly. Spike darted backwards, away, before she had a chance to shove him.

“Are you insane or just an idiot?” Buffy asked, wiping her mouth. “My friends are in there. What if they saw?”

Spike glanced at the entrance to the club. “What if they did? And since when are those tossers your friends again?”

Buffy didn’t answer as she straightened her shirt. Spike snorted and folded his arms, either annoyed or just confused. She didn’t know which. The Slayer watched his face and when he didn’t say anymore she sighed and walked past him, again attempting to leave. And again he stopped her. He darted around in front of her and held his hand out towards her. She regarded him for a moment, unsure. Then slipped her hand into his.

Spike, to her surprise, twirled her around in a circle and then pulled her in close. One of his hands resting on her hip, the other clasping her hand. It was then, she realised, he wanted to dance with her. Buffy’s self-consciousness immediately kicked in and she tried to extricate herself from him. Spike held on tight and began to sway to the music that seeped out of the Bronze and on to their own little dance floor.

She knew that anyone could come out of the club and see them. Her friends might see them. And then how would she explain dancing with William the Bloody in a dank alleyway, under a starry sky? Buffy had no answer, had no idea why she didn’t just pull away.

She used to love to dance. Had never been one of those girls who were too embarrassed or shy to move to the pulsing of the music. She would twirl around and sway her hips, run her hands up the chest of the boy she had chosen to move with. Buffy remembered dancing with Willow, everything perky and sugar-coated, and light and breezy. Then there was the time she danced with Xander, full of scorn and vindictiveness, using him to provoke a reaction. Faith and Buffy, holding hands whilst they jumped up and down, moved their bodies with a liquid grace only Slayers possessed, the Chosen Two dancing like they owned the place. Owned the world. And they had, for those few minutes.

And now, here she was, sharing a dance with Spike. Life really took twists and turns you couldn’t anticipate, Buffy had come to learn. She guessed that was the whole point.

She pressed her face into his neck. “What are we doing?”

“Dancing.”

“I mean us,” she sighed, breathing in the scent of his skin. “This…isn’t supposed to be happening. Not with us.”

“The universe is funny like that.” Spike replied, hand creeping up her shirt. “Doesn’t listen to what you tell it.”

Wasn’t that just the truth? If Buffy had her way she would never have been burnt. She’d be with Angel, he’d be curse free and everything in life would be intrinsically right. Instead she was here. In the dark. With the wrong vampire, the wrong body, everything intrinsically wrong. Yet, at that exact moment? She didn’t mind all that much. It felt kind of nice to be held in someone’s arms, to have found a man who wasn’t awkward and nervous with his movements, who knew how she liked to dance, and who let her forget it all. Her burns, her problems with her friends and her mother, her slaying duties – none of them mattered for the length of that dance she shared with Spike.

But the thing about a dance was it always had to end.

The music in the Bronze ebbed and Spike and Buffy parted almost instinctively. She looked at him and something occurred to her.

“Were you in the Bronze earlier?”

Spike pulled a cigarette out. “No. Why, wanted to introduce me to your mates? I think they remember me, love.”

“No. I thought…” she shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. I should go.”

He lit the cigarette, took a puff. “Don’t let me stop you. But, ’fore you do go, how about we just nip ’round the corner and indulge in a knee-trembler.”

Buffy snorted and left the alley, hearing him follow her she slowed a little so they walked side by side.

Spike took a puff of his cigarette. “Patrolling?”

“Home,” she corrected.

“I’ll walk with you, then.” He glanced at her. “It’s on my way, anyway.”

Buffy smiled. “On your way to where?”

“Your bedroom.”

She laughed and carried on down the street. Spike was straightforward and she appreciated that. It meant there was no confusion as to what they were doing. It wasn’t love, but it wasn’t exactly hate anymore either. It was like a mutual understanding. They both needed each other in a way but neither of them would become too attached. At least, she hoped they wouldn’t because that would lead to a whole big mess.

“So,” he flicked some ash to the ground, “why the reunion with your mates?”

“Seemed like the right time.”

Spike snorted. “Bet those wankers are glad to be back in the bosom. So to speak.”

“Don’t call them that.”

“Why not?”

Buffy walked ahead, looking over her shoulder at him. “If you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends.”

Spike gaped, cigarette hanging out of his mouth comically. “Did you really just quote the Spice Girls to me?”

She found herself laughing again, the sound echoing up the street, and they walked the rest of the way back to her house in relative silence. Apart from the occasional muttering Spike was making about really ‘getting with’ her friends. Buffy mostly just ignored his cruder remarks and enjoyed the fact that she wasn’t alone. Every night she patrolled alone, walked home alone. Not tonight.

When Buffy told him he couldn’t come up she was lying, but he didn’t know that. Spike shoved her against the tree in her front yard and proceeded to try and persuade her otherwise. His methods really were very persuasive and Buffy found herself giving in to his demands after letting him sweat it out for a while. She told him he’d have to get in through her bedroom window and be quiet, since her mother was still up. Spike just grinned, kissed her on the nose and made his way around the house.

Buffy straightened her clothes and clomped up the porch to her house, welcoming the warmth as she opened the door and slipped in.

Neither of them had noticed they were being watched.

Spike knew he wasn’t where he was supposed to be as soon as he woke up. He was still in the Slayer’s room, in the Slayer’s bed, when he should have been halfway to his lair by now. Yet as he lay with his chest pressed to the soft mattress, sheets tangled around his waist, and the gorgeous Miss. Buffy Summers only a few inches away…he found himself not caring. She too lay on her front, facing away from him. The sheets were bunched up around her waist also, revealing the canvas of her back. Spike let his eyes dance over the expanse of skin and barely noticed the silvery scars that graced her body.

His hand sneaked out to smooth down her hair against the pillow, careful not to wake her. Not for the first time since they had started these series of trysts, Spike wondered why he felt so attached to this girl. As usual, he came up with no clear answers. Just more questions.

The vampire sighed and was seriously considering getting out of bed like a good boy, when a sharp tapping sound drew his attention. Spike sat up abruptly, looking around for signs of danger. He saw nothing. A few moments passed and then the sound came again.

He slipped out of the bed and followed the sound as it became more and more frequent.

Eventually, Spike realised it was coming from the window. He carefully looked out, hiding himself behind the curtain.

There was a man in Buffy’s garden, throwing stones at Buffy’s window. Spike felt his jaw tighten and he looked back over at the slumbering girl. Her forehead was creased showing the dream she was having to be unpleasant.

Quietly he pulled his jeans, boots, and duster on; not bothering with the shirt as he sloped out of the Slayer’s room and down the stairs. Making his way to the back door he pulled it open and stepped out into the darkened garden. The man was still there and turned to him as he came into view. Spike seized the other man up with a sneer. Curly black hair, blue eyes, medium height and build and one hundred percent vampire.

He had to wonder what a vampire was doing trying to wake up the resident vampire Slayer. So, he asked.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

The other vampire looked him over genially. “I was tryin’ to get Buffy’s attention.”

Buffy. He calls her Buffy.

Spike scowls. “Well, you got me. Lucky boy, you are. Who the hell are you then, mate?”

“Jeremiah.”

“Never ’eard of you.”

“I keep a low profile.”

Spike took a step closer, approaching the centre of the lawn. Jeremiah’s hands rested comfortably in the pockets of his jacket, a composed look on his face. Spike narrowed his eyes and tried to get a better read of the bloke. He was like a stone wall. Easily forgotten but hard to break through.

Jeremiah smiled, slightly. “I’ve heard of you, though.”

“All good things, I hope.” Spike spat.

“Depends on how you look at it.” He shrugged with one shoulder. “I’d really like to speak with Buffy.”

“Not gonna happen.”

The dark-haired vampire chuckled, looking at him straight on. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realise you were her keeper. My mistake. Can I make an appointment?”

Spike gritted his teeth. “No, but you can tell me how it is you know the Slayer.”

“Buffy and me? We go way back.” He scooped up a handful of small stones. “I’ll admit, I tried to get a little frisky with her when we were first acquainted but she knocked me back.”

Spike’s fists tensed at his sides. “I’m not surprised.”

Jeremiah nodded, grinning. “Yeah, why would she stoop to my level when she’s got William the Bloody? Although, she does think you’ve stopped killing, so she doesn’t exactly have all the facts. Maybe she’ll change her mind. I’m a savvy dancer and know all about good table manners…”

He grabbed the intruding vampire by the lapels and drove him backwards into the wall of the house, hard enough to knock the wind out of a human. Spike’s face automatically slid into its vampire visage, teeth lengthening, eyes bleeding to yellow, forehead ridged. His hands gripped Jeremiah tightly, their foreheads pressed together and every muscle in his body taut and ready to fight.

Jeremiah just laughed. “Spike, come on, let’s not turn to violence. Pistols at dawn would be more appropriate…but then I guess neither of us would win that. You should calm down.”

“Yeah, alright, how ’bout I calm down by battering your face in?” Spike snarled, slamming the other male against the wall again.

“All I was saying was that Buffy deserves to know. It’s hardly fair to her, is it? You think she’s not gonna find out? Come on, she’s a clever girl.”

He was itching to kill this bloke. “What I want to know is, why are you so bothered about her in the first place?”

Jeremiah frowned. “I like her. She’s a good woman. Pretty, funny, knows how to kick my ass ten ways to Sunday…what’s not to like?”

“She’s mine.”

“Oh, really?” His eyebrows lifted. “She never mentioned that to me. I guess she thought she was her own person. But, listen, you don’t have to worry anyhow. I only came to say goodbye.”

Spike leaned in closer. “I’ll be sure to relay the message.”

“That’s very kind of you. But I have a few other things to tell her too.”

Spike reeled his fist back and aimed it at the other vampires face. Jeremiah was too quick for him though; he ducked underneath the strike and danced backwards into the centre of the garden. Spike growled and leapt at him. Again, he simply sidestepped and Spike found himself sprawled in the mud. This served only to make him angrier, the need to shut this guy up before he spilled to Buffy his primary concern.

Jeremiah folded his arms over his chest. “I don’t wanna fight. I just came to see the girl.”

Spike didn’t bother to reply this time; he began to circle the stranger predatorily looking for a weakness, a way in. He faked a moved and the vampire fell for it, darting away, but Spike was upon him in an instance. They both tumbled to the floor, Spike straddling the other man. He let out a snarl and proceeded to punch the bastard hard about the head. He was just starting to think about where he could get a stake from when they were interrupted.

“Spike, what the hell are you doing?”

The harsh whisper cut through the sound of his fist hitting Jeremiah’s face. He stopped and looked over his shoulder. The Slayer stood in the doorway of her kitchen, hair tumbling messily around her neck and shoulders, a fluffy white robe tied tightly around her waist, showing off the pale skin of her legs. If it wasn’t for the dirty scowl she was giving him, Spike would have said she looked divine.
He almost grinned, she still looked divine. The scowl kind of did it for him. Or, it would have, if he hadn’t have realised he was skating on a knife edge at that very instance.

He climbed off of the vampire on the ground and turned around to face her, face morphing back to its smooth lines. “I was seeing to this intruder. Making sure you and your mum were safe.”

“Cut the shit, Spike.” Buffy said in a no-nonsense tone, she squinted and then her eyes widened considerably. “Jeremiah?”

The dark-haired man sat up, slowly. Spike glanced down at him and saw his face was already beginning to swell and turn a nasty shade of purple. He could barely open one eye and his lip was cut, dribbling dark, cold blood down his chin.

Still, he managed a carefree grin. “Evenin’, Buffy.”

Spike watched as a look of actual concern flittered across the Slayer’s face before she promptly concealed it. He felt his blood start to boil again. Just how well did these two know each other, anyway? The Slayer couldn’t be playing him, could she?

“What is going on?” She asked, nostrils flaring.

“Nothin’ much, me and Spike were just getting acquainted." Jeremiah stood slowly, brushing off his clothes.

Buffy took a step out onto the back porch. “Yeah, looked like your face was getting well acquainted with his fist. Jeremiah, what are you doing in my back yard? How do you even know where I live?”

“Followed you.”

Buffy recoiled.

Jeremiah put his hands up. “None too gentlemanly, I admit, but not for nothing sinister I swear. I just came to say goodbye.”

She frowned. “Why? I mean, why tell me? By rights I should slay you right now.”

Spike liked that idea.

“Oh, come now. I thought we were past the flirting threats,” Jeremiah smiled, taking a step towards her. “Me and Eloise are leavin’ town, Sunnydale is not the most friendly place. Demons roaming everywhere, etcetera.”

She looked at him blankly. “You’re an odd sort of vampire, Jeremiah. So, alright, I’ll bite – who’s Eloise?”

“My girl. Met her a couple of nights ago, I did. She’s sweet.” He tilted his head. “And aren’t I supposed to be the one who bites? Not that I’d mind if you fancied it…”

Spike just about managed to stop the possessive growl that started deep in his throat. Even in the darkness he could see Buffy’s cheeks colour at the vampire’s teasing. Then she shifted from foot to foot and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Spike’s bad mood worsened; she only ever did the hair thing for him.

Jeremiah shrugged with one shoulder. “If you change your mind, you know where I’ll be. Well, no you don’t, but I’m easy enough to find. I wanted to talk to you about some other things but I suppose you’ll just have to work them out on your own.”

Spike glared at the vampire but he didn’t pay any attention to him, his eyes focused on Buffy. The Slayer, for her part, looked mildly confused. Her eyes ticked between the two vampires who had been brawling in her back garden.

“’Bye Buffy. And Spike…” Jeremiah turned and looked at him, “…we should have a drink together sometime.”

Spike didn’t miss the implication in that invitation and, apparently, from the Slayer’s expression neither did she. The southern-accented man tipped an imaginary hat at the girl before exiting her garden and disappearing. This left Buffy and Spike standing in the pre-dawn darkness, looking at each other. She looked all kinds of suspicious and Spike gave her a blank look in return. He made a very conscious decision that if she straight out asked him in that moment if he was still killing, he would tell her. No matter the consequences.

But she didn’t ask. And he didn’t tell.

The courtyard was bathed in muted sunlight, the old fountain still as dried up and decaying as she remembered it. It had been a while since she had been here but nothing seemed to have changed. The poison ivy still crept up the walls; the potted plants were brown and wilting, it was almost exactly how it had been when she’d seen the place last.

Buffy pulled the brim of her sunhat lower as she felt the heat begin to warm unpleasantly against her neck. She walked slowly to the door and found it slightly ajar. Pushing it open gently with her hand she stepped into Giles’ apartment. It too looked exactly as she remembered it. With the exception of several books spread over the coffee table and floor.

The Slayer walked quietly into the living room, removed her sunglasses, and picked up one of the books titled “Glamour Spells.” Frowning, she picked up another one, “Healing and Recuperation Chants for the Advanced Spellcaster”. Buffy set the books back down and sat on the couch as she glanced over the pages of the open books. They were all magick books, all the same kinds of spells. Ones to conceal blemishes, or heal cuts and bruises, spells to aid recovery. Pages had been dog-eared, phrases underlined in pencil. Anything that related to scarring had been made note of, tiny scribblings in the margins – concerned with whether these spells were authentic or not.

“You can’t help me with spells,” she said simply.

“I can try.”

Giles stood in the archway of the kitchen, not looking at all surprised that she had sensed him there, unannounced. She turned to him; closing the book in her hand and putting it back neatly on the table. His apartment might have looked the same but Giles didn’t. He looked older. She hadn’t really noticed it before but his hair was greying and his eyes always seemed weary now. Buffy knew she was the cause of his premature ageing. Just one more thing to feel guilty about.

The Watcher took a step into the room, flinging the tea towel over his shoulder. “Not that I’m displeased to see you, Buffy, but I can’t remember the last time you ventured over here.”

“I can,” was all she said.

“Tea?” He offered, gently.

She shook her head and took her hat off, fiddling with the brim. “I’m sorry, Giles.”

“That’s quite all right. Just means there’s more tea for me.”

Buffy looked at him as he smiled at his own joke and she smiled back, laughing a little. Giles seemed delighted by this and looked as though he didn’t quite know what to do with himself. After a moment he turned around and walked back into the kitchen, filling the kettle up with water and heating it up.

Buffy stood and walked slowly into the kitchen, the long skirt gliding against her legs. She hadn’t worn a skirt in a long time. She leaned against the wall and watched as he spooned sugar into a mug, added a splash of milk and a teabag.

Giles turned back to her. “You’ve nothing to apologise for, Buffy. I should have handled the situation better. I am, after all, your Watcher. I was responsible for you and I didn’t…”

“Protect me?” Buffy stood upright and looked down at the floor. “Giles, I’m the Slayer. I didn’t dodge the attack in time, what could you have done?”

He folded his arms and said resolutely, “I should never have let you fight those demons. We were unprepared, outmatched and you weren’t ready.”

She shrugged slowly. “It was my idea to go and slay. I needed to. I needed something to take my mind off of…”

“Angel,” he murmured quietly. “I knew why you were out slaying every night. I knew you were emotionally vulnerable but I thought it might be beneficial to use your hurt and anger and channel it into slaying. I was wrong. I should have stopped you.”

“Newsflash, Giles; I’m pretty stubborn. I would have gone to that cave, anyway. But I probably would have gone alone and gotten killed,” she replied, looked up into his eyes sincerely.

The kettle abruptly started to whistle making them both jump a little and Giles made an apologetic face. He poured the hot water into his mug and stirred the liquid around with a spoon before scooping out the teabag and dropping it in the bin. Blowing on the tea, he took a sip and regarded her seriously. Up until recently she might have flinched or squirmed at his intent gaze but now she just returned it.

Giles cleared his throat. “Buffy…I’ve noticed a…change in you. You seem more at peace with yourself, which I’m glad about. However, I have been wondering what has brought about such a change in heart?”

Buffy paused a long moment before answering.

“Trust.”

+ + +

The grass was cold against her body; her skin seemed to glow against the backdrop of the night. So did his.

They were in the park, a secluded spot; Spike lay between her legs, his head over her shoulder as they lay recovering from a session of alfresco sex. Buffy wound her arms around him and stroked the hairs on the back of his neck without even realising what she was doing.

It was strange that she wouldn’t even feel slightly embarrassed lying naked in a public park with a very naked vampire on top of her. Earlier she had protested that if someone were to come along and see them she would stake Spike and then herself out of shame. Spike’s only reply had been that if anyone came across them in this state that they’d probably die from the sheer beauty of them both. That had gotten an eye roll from Buffy but nevertheless he managed to convince her. He always did.

She sighed and closed her eyes as he kissed her jaw line, nuzzling his face into her hair. With their chests pressed together, she could only feel her own heartbeat. It might have felt odd to her if that wasn’t all she had ever known. She had only ever had sex with vampires. There was something wrong with that, she knew, but she didn’t have any effort left to think too much about it.

Suddenly Spike growled. Buffy frowned as he pulled away to look her in the eyes. He looked angry.

“What?” She asked, suddenly not feeling so at ease.

Spike’s hand touched her neck. “You’ve been bitten.”

Buffy knocked his hand away and covered the bite marks. “Yeah. It happens sometimes. You must have noticed it before.”

“Yeah, well, tonight it bothers me. Who bit you?” He demanded, scowling.

“You really want to know?”

“I knew it. It was him, wasn’t it?” Spike shook his head. “Bloody Angelus! Gets everything he does.”

Buffy balked and pushed him away, sitting up. “No, not Angelus. Angel.”

“Oh, right. That’s completely different,” he snorted.

Buffy wondered for a moment what the hell his problem was until she realised it was fairly obvious. Spike was a vampire. He wanted to bite her. He was jealous because Angel had bitten her, what he didn’t know was that she had made him bite her. To save his life. She wasn’t just a willing meal for any bloodsucker. She had loved Angel but she never would have let him bite her for recreation. It just wasn’t who she was.

“I know what you want but –”

“But you don’t trust me.”

This floored her. She hadn’t expected her earlier words to Giles to be thrown back in her face like this. When she had told her Watcher that it was trust that had changed her she wasn’t lying, because she had set herself an ultimatum. Either she agreed to trust Spike completely and continue seeing him or she had to kill him. She had chosen the former option and even now with him being a possessive, egotistical vampire she knew she couldn’t kill him. It just wasn’t an option for her anymore. Buffy was in too deep, deeper than even she realised.

She shrugged slowly. “You want to give me another scar, Spike?”

He had the decency to look pained at that.

“It doesn’t have to scar,” he assured her. “Only right vicious bites scar. He must have really bit you hard.”

Buffy looked down at the ground. “You have no idea.”

“Oh, you like it like that, do you?”

She looked up. “No. He was dying; I did it to save him. He had no control over what he was doing.”

“Right,” Spike seemed sceptical. “Well, there’s the difference between me and him. I have control. I know how to make it hurt just enough. Make it hurt in all the right places.”

Buffy admitted to herself that he had a way of making things sound so damn appealing. But then she had the suspicion that he could be reading a list of groceries and with that accent it would sound sexy. She sighed and looked up towards the sky, the breeze blowing softly against her skin.

“Promise you won’t kill me?”

He chuckled a little. “Promise.”

“No scars?”

“No scars.”

Buffy looked his face over, trying to look for any signs that he would be lying to her. She wasn’t sure she could tell anymore, anyway. Trust. Trusting Spike was just something that she had to do. She was well aware he wasn’t the most reliable person to entrust with her body but it was a test she was determined to pass. She wanted to be able to let people in again, without automatically assuming they were lying to her, revolted by her, or about to leave her. Spike was like a pilot test for integrating herself back into society, so to speak.

The Slayer lay back down on the grass and Spike was back on top of her in an instance. He smiled and moved his head to her neck. She placed her hands on his chest.

“No, people will see it.”

Spike’s smile broadened. “Then I’ll just have to go somewhere nobody but me gets to go.”

Buffy frowned and watched as he began to move slowly down her body, leaving a trail of kisses in his wake. By the time he had reached his destination of her inner thigh Buffy was tingling all over. She looked down as he tilted his head up to grin at her. Buffy then quickly averted her eyes and found herself trembling in a mixture of anticipation and nerves.

When his tongue quickly flicked out to taste her skin, Buffy’s back arched and she had to grab at the ground to stop herself from fleeing. Things lower down in her body began to throb with need. Spike made a noise of approval, his fingers playing with her almost casually as she writhed around. He bit down.
Buffy gasped involuntarily.

Spike had been telling the truth when he said it wouldn’t feel like it had with Angel. Angel’s bite had been full of vigour and hunger, the lines between pain and pleasure blurring irreconcilably. Buffy had always been a little bit in love with pain ever since that night.

This bite was different. It was full of hunger of another kind. Not for her blood, exactly, but for her surrender. Spike wanted her to completely submit to him and he took the blood from her veins slowly, swirling the red liquid in his mouth like a fine wine.

All the while his fingers were inside of her, teasing and explorative, but never offering anything close to release. Buffy closed her eyes and felt the pull of his mouth, felt her life being drained from her at a leisurely pace. It was almost as though a line was being pulled through her body, touching all of her erogenous zones, on its path to her groin.

She began to feel faint but it didn’t bother her and she didn’t tell him to stop. She opened her eyes and looked down at him. His eyes were closed, the expression on his face one of pure adoration. Buffy wondered at that, at what exactly he adored, before she let out a guttural moan as he sucked harder. His fingers curled forward to manipulate a part of her that had never been touched before. All Buffy had time for was a sharp intake of breath before the orgasm hit her completely by surprise.

Then things started to get a little wonky and her eyes felt like they rolled back in her head and she passed out for a minute before waking up and finding herself staring at the stars.

Spike’s face appeared in her line of vision. Her blood coated his bottom lip and he licked it away when he realised.

“You still with us, love?” He asked, putting his hand on her cheek gently.

Buffy pulled a face trying to look around. “Us? Who…oh god…did someone die from the beauty of us?”

Spike laughed loudly. “I think you’ll be just fine.”

“So you lied to me?”

Spike watched as Buffy snorted and strolled up to her wardrobe, pulling a top out and holding it against her body. It was long sleeved and plain, not at all revealing or intended to entice. Spike had a feeling her whole clothing selection was much the same. It made him feel a little nostalgic for the Buffy from a couple of years a go who had kicked his arse and bared a whole lot of flesh while doing it. Not that it really mattered. He’d seen all of her flesh now. He nearly smiled until he remembered he was supposed to be angry.

Buffy put the top back. “No, I didn’t lie to you. It’s not like we made plans, Spike.”

“Thursday night is shag night. It’s a tradition!”

She rolled her eyes. “Every night is…‘shag night’ to you. Well, you’ll just have to get yourself off some other way.”

Spike flicked the ash of his cigarette out the window. He was currently perched on the windowsill, having been told that smoking in the Slayer’s room was a stakeable offence. This was his compromise. He watched as she continued to search for something to wear. Spike mostly wanted to see her out of clothes but he’d been denied that pleasure for tonight. No matter how charming and persuasive his arguments were, Buffy was not budging.

“Why’s this so important to you anyway?” He asked, curious.

“Because it’s Oz’s birthday,” she replied without even glancing at him. “I always thought he was too cool to…you know…age. Apparently not.”

Spike crushed the cigarette out on the window frame and chucked it out. “This is Red’s boy, yeah? Wouldn’t have figured you to be a man stealer.”

Buffy did look at him then, scowling. “Is that all you think about? He’s a friend.”

“I thought you didn’t have friends anymore.”

She didn’t reply and he didn’t push it any further. Spike just sat and watched her as she got ready to meet her ‘friends’ at the Bronze. He could hear Joyce making tea downstairs and singing along to the radio. It made him smile slightly. He’d always liked Buffy’s mum, she was a decent sort and had never been unkind to him. Except for the axe incident but, considering he was trying to eat her daughter, he had deserved that.

Spike’s smile widened as he recalled the other night when he had finally gotten to taste the Slayer. Her blood had tasted sweeter than he had imagined. He’d had Slayer blood before but this was something else. Maybe because she’d given it willingly, maybe because there was an extra sexual edge to it, or maybe it was just because she was Buffy Summers. Maybe it was all three. Whatever the reason Spike found himself craving her even more now.

He straightened and sidled up behind her. She didn’t see him behind her as she looked in the mirror with disdain. The vampire slid his arms around her waist lightly, chuckling as she jumped in surprise. Buffy’s eyes remained fixed on the mirror. He knew that she was wondering what they would look like together, if only he had a reflection. Spike kissed the top of her ear, hands attempting to wander up her shirt.

Buffy pulled away and turned around, shaking her head. Spike grunted. She really would not be distracted tonight. Bugger.

He found himself vaguely bored at watching her continuing plight to find the right outfit, so he brushed her aside and started rooting around in her wardrobe himself. Buffy made a sound of protest but eventually just folded her arms and sighed. It didn’t take him long to find something he liked. All the good clothes were stuffed at the back, rumpled, and smelling faintly of dust. He held up the silk halter top for her consideration.

“Nooo,” Buffy shook her head, grabbing the top and balling it up. “Not a chance.”

Spike put his hands on his waist. “And why not?”

“It’s backless,” she said as though it were a dirty word.

“So…?”

Buffy shot him a look, as though she though he was being cruel. Spike snatched the item of clothing back from her and laid it down on her bed, smoothing it with his hands. Then he went back to her wardrobe and pulled out a skirt. It was short, black, split up the thigh. Perfect. He laid it down beneath the top.

“There you are, love. If you tell anyone I just picked out an outfit for you like a right royal poofter, I’ll rip your throat out,” Spike announced cheerily.

The Slayer cast her eyes over his choice. “No.”

“Give me one reason why not.”

“I’ll give you two – that top is backless and that skirt barely covers my ass,” she pointed at the offending items and then at him.

Spike nodded. “Your point being? Oh, come on. You’re not still worried about your scars are you?”

“I’m sorry if I find them kind of hard to forget,” Buffy spat.

“Then use them. Cause a stir, make heads turn. That’s what your style used to be.”

Buffy looked away. “I used to make heads turn for the right reasons, Spike. I don’t want to be some sort of freak show.”

Spike tsked. “Buffy Summers, don’t be a silly cow. You can either let the scars destroy your self-confidence or you can use them to rebuild it. So people look, people whisper? So what? At least they notice you. You’re not some wallflower, love, you’re like me. We stand out. We get noticed. And if you wear those scars like you’re proud of them? It’s like a slap in the face to all those bastards who would make you feel small. You’re the Slayer. Show them how strong you are.”

Buffy watched his face for a long moment. He didn’t know what she saw there and he didn’t want to wager a guess. She sighed and scooped up the clothes from the bed, brushed past him and out of the room. Spike stood in the centre of her room feeling wholly out of place with all her girly things. He went back to the window, leaning his hands on the sill and sticking his head out into the warm night air.

The vampire felt suddenly very tired. No, not tired – drained.

“He's no good but I'm no good without him…” Joyce wailed, in the kitchen.

Spike wondered when exactly it was that his life got so complicated. But that was an easy question with an easy answer; the moment he had laid eyes on the Slayer. He sighed to himself, eyes scanning the view of suburbia he was presented with. It wasn’t his style. He could never understand why people would want to live packed as close together as ants with identical houses and identical lawns. He supposed it was so they didn’t have to be alone. But they still were. No one knew anything of substance about their neighbours. It was bloody tragic – not in woe-is-me Shakespearian way – but tragic nonetheless.

He didn’t have much pity for humans, in general, but he was self-aware enough to know that he was getting himself dangerously attached to one. And he would only hurt her in the long run. Spike would never stop killing. It was a part of him he couldn’t deny. He wasn’t Angel, he didn’t have a sodding soul to hide behind and blame his past deeds on. He didn’t want one. He was proud of the mayhem he’d wreaked. He wore his conquests as surely as he wore his duster. Spike was content with himself and didn’t need nor want to change.

But he feared he might start to if he hung around Buffy enough.

And that wasn’t an option. He had to get out of town before she reeled him in completely because when he fell for a woman he fell hard.

Spike nodded to himself, resolutely. He would leave tonight. No goodbyes. Just blow out of town and move on. It had always been his style but something about it didn’t seem right anymore. Spike chalked it down to his raging libido. Leaving town would mean leaving behind the opportunity to have it off with the Slayer any time he wanted (except on her friend’s birthdays, evidently).

He managed to convince himself it was purely for the physical gratification that he had stayed this long…for about five seconds. Spike wasn’t an academic by any means, but he knew the onset of infatuation when he felt it. Best to get out while he still could. It might hurt her but he’d end up hurting her a lot worse if she found out about his lies. Lies always surfaced.

It was time to go.

“I can’t wear this…”

Spike jumped, hitting his head sharply on the window frame. He cursed loudly and repeatedly as he turned around. Buffy looked back at him, her face twisting in a way that made it clear she was trying not to break out into hysterical laughter.

“It’s not bloody funny!” He cried, rubbing his head.

Buffy’s smile broke and she managed to splutter; “Your face…” before the laughter took over.

Spike folded his arms and glared at her as she shook with laughter, the sound filling the room and drifting out into the street. It wasn’t long, however, before he rolled his eyes and half-grinned. It was just nice to hear her laugh like that. She sounded happy.

Spike’s smile fell. I have to go.

“You look wonderful,” he said softly, a little sadly.

And it was true – she did. The halter clung pleasantly against her breasts, exposing long lines of pale but perfect skin, catching the light prettily. The skirt showed off her great legs with a good deal of thigh on display. She’d get the attention of any red-blooded bloke within half a mile.

“I do not,” Buffy shifted from foot to foot.

“I’m all aquiver.” He smiled, taking her hands.

She let herself be pulled into him. “I really can’t wear this.”

“You really can and you will,” he insisted, glancing at the window. “I have to go.”

Buffy frowned. “Go where?”

Spike leaned in and kissed her softly on the mouth. Pulled away. Climbed through the window. He smiled at her. “Have a nice night, Buffy.”

“Okay…” she called back. “I’ll see you tomorrow…?”

He jumped down to the backyard without answering and left. He didn’t look back.


+ + +


The music was so loud that Buffy could barely hear herself or her friends speak. They sat around a table by the dance floor, Oz with a purple party hat perched on his head. He didn’t look uncomfortable about it, since he never looked uncomfortable, but he didn’t exactly seem perky either. The werewolf was surrounded by gifts. Willow had brought him a new T-shirt, which he wore dutifully. It was yellow with a picture of the moon on it and ‘Midnight Moonlight’ scrawled underneath in faded writing. The blow-up werewolf doll Xander had purchased was watching guard over the table, and the Pink Floyd ‘Dark Side of the Moon’ vinyl from Giles was in pride of place in the middle of the table. Oz kept eyeing it to make sure it was still there.

Buffy kind of wished she had been let in on the whole werewolf theme everyone seemed to go on for their gifts. Instead she had bought him something she thought Oz had been lacking his whole life – a copy of ‘My Stepmother’s a Vampire’. No one else around the table had understood but Oz had smiled at her in a knowing way.

Now, here she sat listening to Xander tell another joke and feeling kind of hot in her cardigan sweater. She’d worn the outfit Spike had picked out for her. She had simply added the cardigan as a way of accessorising…and totally defeating the point he had been trying to make. Buffy sipped on her coke and watched as Willow kissed Oz gently on the cheek, his arm slung around her shoulders easily.

Buffy doubted she and Spike would ever be that comfortable with each other. She couldn’t see them going grocery shopping together and doing the dishes. Domestic bliss wasn’t on the cards for them. It was okay, though. She didn’t expect that and she didn’t expect a fairytale this time, either.

“I like your skirt, Buffy,” Willow smiled, pointing at her.

Xander nodded rapidly. “You’re rocking that outfit. Oz was gonna wolf-whistle but he didn’t want to live up to the stereotype.”

Buffy smiled, embarrassed. “Thanks. It was just something I threw together…”

“You look hot.” Giles observed.

“Giles,” Xander’s eyes widened, “you finally noticed the hotness of the Buffster!”

Giles scowled at him. “That was incredibly uncouth even for you, Xander.”

“Uh…thanks?”

Everyone at the table laughed but Buffy was just glad the subject had been dropped. She could almost get used to wearing the skirt, even if she feared she was baring more than she intended, but what the hell had she been thinking wearing a halter? Now she was practically sweltering but she couldn’t remove the cardigan and reveal the scars beneath.

“S’cuse me, I do hate to interrupt, but I had to come over and say hello,” a familiar voice said from behind her.

Buffy turned and looked over her shoulder as her friends stared at the newcomer. Jeremiah waved at her jollily, a bright smile lighting up his chiselled face. Buffy gaped like a fish. He was back? Already? And obviously not shy. His clothes were different too, blue jeans and a plaid shirt, much more in keeping with his southern hottie image.

“What are you doing here?” Buffy managed to utter. “I thought you’d left town.”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Oh, well, that. Yeah, I was halfway to New Mexico but then I just did the darndest thing; I turned around and came back. Crisis of conscience, you know?” Jeremiah moved up to the table and held his hand out to her friends, greeting each one in turn. “Nice to meet you, I’m Jeremiah.”

Buffy held her hand up. “How? What? What – about Eloise?”

“She ditched me back in Arizona. Broke my heart really,” he turned back to Buffy. “May I have this dance, Miss Summers?”

Buffy just gaped at him again. What was he doing? He was a vampire and he was asking the Slayer to dance? In a crowded nightclub? In front of her friends? That was a new kind of evil, she decided. She caught Willow giving her the thumbs up and Buffy thought she might die of embarrassment right then and there. Giles was eyeing Jeremiah up carefully and Xander was just openly staring.

She shook her head. “No. No dancing for us. None.”

“I just need to talk with you for one minute and then I’ll be gone – really, this time.” He looked at her intently then made to sit down. “Or we could just talk right here…”

“Dance it is!” Buffy jumped up.

The Slayer grabbed his elbow and dragged him to the corner furthest away from her friends. She didn’t know if he would bring Spike up or not but either way she couldn’t take the chance. Jeremiah took her hand and pulled her in close, putting one hand on her waist, the other taking her own hand. It reminded her of dancing with Spike in the alleyway, away from the rest of the world. Now, here she was, with a whole club full of people around and her friend’s eyes boring into her. She could feel a hot flush creeping up her neck and had to resist the urge to bolt out of the room.

“Jeremiah, what the hell do you want?” she demanded.

He swung them around jauntily. “I want to make sure you know what you’re gettin’ yourself into.”

Buffy looked up into his blue eyes. “You mean Spike?”

“That I do,” he nodded, his fingers playing with the hem of her top. “I know you’re not stupid and I know you can take care of yourself but I can’t help but think that maybe you’re being a little naïve in regards to him and his…hobbies.”

“Just say it, Jeremiah.”

He leaned into her ear. “He’s not off the juice. We vampires…we kind of like the taste of human blood. It’s like our thing.”

“He’s not killing,” she pulled back to look into his eyes again. “He’s not.”

“Are you convincing me or yourself?”

Buffy started to move out of the circle of his arms but he held on tight, she whirled back to face him, angry. “Who the hell are you to tell me this? I’ll tell you – you’re a vampire. A vampire I barely know. A vampire I don’t trust. I trust Spike.”

“Why?” He asked simply.

“Because I do,” was her equally simple answer.

Jeremiah sighed softly and tilted his head. “Well, I tried, Buffy. Remember that I tried.”

She didn’t know what he meant by that and by the tone in his voice she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. Buffy again tried to extricate herself from his grasp but he didn’t let go and she got the impression that he wanted to finish the dance. She was half tempted to slap him and storm away but that would cause too much of a scene and he didn’t really deserve it. Despite the fact that he was a vampire, he seemed to be a vampire that cared about her. Why he cared, she couldn’t fathom and she didn’t trust him but she didn’t dislike him either. He was weird and jolly and random and totally unpredictable but he was Jeremiah. Whatever that meant.

He smiled down at her, cold hand entwined with hers. “Never thought I’d get a chance to dance with the Slayer. You’re a good woman, Buffy. I hope you realise that.”

“I’m not so good,” she sighed and looked at his chest to avoid eye-contact. “But you’re an okay guy too. For a vamp.”

Jeremiah chuckled as he whirled them across the dance floor energetically. “High compliments, indeed. I can’t help regretting something, though.”

“What’s that?” she asked warily.

“My timing. If I’d gotten into town just a few days earlier, who knows, it could have been me and you doing the horizontal waltz,” he waggled his eyebrows.

Buffy rolled her eyes but smiled good-naturedly and he scrunched up his nose and pulled a strangely adorable face, causing her to laugh a little. The music slowed and so did they until they came to a stop. He held onto her for a moment before releasing her. She held his eye contact as he tried to convey some deep message with just the power of his mind. After a moment he reached up and took her chin between his thumb and forefinger.

“Look after yourself,” Jeremiah insisted. “And if you ever feel like tasting my gumbo, just whistle and I’ll come a-running.”

Buffy snorted. “Tasting your gumbo? Is that some kind of euphemism?”

Jeremiah laughed. “Goodbye Buffy.”

And then he left. Really, this time.


+ + +


Spike leaned against the side of the Desoto, smoking a cigarette. He was staring at the Sunnydale sign. ‘You are now leaving Sunnydale, come back soon!’ He’d been staring at it for the past half an hour. Spike sighed, took one last puff of his cigarette then crushed it out underneath his boot.

“Bugger,” he murmured to himself as he climbed back into the car.

He drove forward, knocking the sign over, then did an abrupt u-turn and headed back into town.

Buffy was having one of those mornings. Well, it was the afternoon actually but that wasn’t the point. She lay in bed, mostly awake, staring at the ceiling of her room and not wanting to drag herself out of bed. She knew she was wasting the day away and that lounging in bed was lazy and idle and all that but she didn’t much care. It was one of those mornings.

The bed felt cold on either side of her and so she stayed rooted in the spot she had warmed up for herself over the night. The covers were half on the floor, a pillow had spilled off the bed at some point in the night but she couldn’t motivate herself to retrieve it.

She yawned loudly, arching her back and causing the muscles in her entire body to ache wonderfully. Joyce was listening to the TV and the muffled sound of voices mingled surprisingly well with the birdsong coming from outside her window. Buffy turned and looked at that window. The curtains were shut and warm orange sunlight coated the room – not blinding, just illuminating.

It was nice.

It was odd but now that she was just being quiet and still and, hell she’d admit it, lazy as hell she could actually smell her room. Definitely odd. It was like entering a new house and being hit with the inherent smell of the place. The residents who lived there every day couldn’t pick up the scent but someone new, a stranger to the place, could. And now Buffy became aware that her room was a mixture of musk and dust and something else, something sweet – oranges, perhaps? – and that she had never noticed it before.

It was interesting, and also totally inconsequential, she was sure it had something to do with becoming deadened to the world around us. Of being so used to something that it didn’t even register with you anymore. In much the same way as you could guide yourself around your room in the dark knowing where and where not to step, or of walking to school and finding yourself at the building with very little recollection of the journey there.

Buffy yawned again. She was even starting to bore herself, now. It was probably maybe possibly time to get up. Maybe.

She closed her eyes and shut down again for a moment or less and then she was awake again. Early-afternoon-slept-for-thirteen-hours-tiredness was weird and also kind of magnificent. It really was time to get up.

With sizeable effort Buffy threw her legs out of bed and regretted it immediately as the warmth of her bed dissipated within a second. California was never really cold but Buffy would admit she was a big wimp when it came to anything non-warm. Is that even a word? She didn’t know.

Resolutely she sat up and then stood, grabbing a robe and wrapping it around herself. She padded heavily over to the mirror; her footsteps sounding loud enough that Joyce could probably hear them from downstairs. I’m such an elephant in the mornings…or afternoons, whatever. Who cares; was the Slayer’s first coherent thought of the day.

She looked rough. Always did as soon as she rolled out of bed. Her hair resembled a bird’s nest and the dark circles under her eyes were pretty depressing too. Almost unconsciously, such was it a part of her everyday routine, Buffy grabbed up her hairbrush and combed through the long dirty-golden tresses.

She needed a shower but she felt too lazy to even do that. It was just the thought of all that effort of getting undressed and then with the washing and the shampooing and the…it was too much effort. Today she was slob-girl.

Looking slightly more presentable – but not much – Buffy left her room and made her way downstairs. Joyce was sitting curled up on the couch watching TV, a cup of cocoa in her hands and a croissant stuffed in her mouth.

Buffy stood in the doorway for a while, as had become her custom, as Joyce tore her eyes away from the television to look at her daughter.

“What’re you watching?” Buffy asked.

It was a stupid question, as Buffy could see that her mother was watching the news, but it was conversation and that in itself was progress. She knew she still made her mother nervous, concerned she would explode into violence and verbal abuse at any moment, and that she herself was tentative about reconciling with Joyce and with her friends. It was hard to try and take herself back to a place of comfort among them that she hadn’t been in for a long while. And it was hard for them as well.

Joyce removed the croissant from her mouth. “News. Something about some bodies found…”

Buffy walked over to the couch and sat on the opposite end to her mother. The space between them still evident but lessened. She turned her eyes towards the television where a reporter filled the screen, microphone held close to mouth, tie slightly askew, and voice monotonous.

“…in the quarry, by a group of teenagers. So far there are no similarities to connect the victims. Unconfirmed reports of neck trauma to all five but –”

Buffy changed the channel.

Warnings from southern-accented vampires and her own nagging inner voice attempted to make themselves heard again but she brushed them aside and closed the door on them.

“Mom,” she said carefully, uneasy.

Joyce looked surprised for a moment. “Yes, Buffy?”

“I’ve been thinking about my hair.”

“Your hair.”

Buffy nodded, eyes still fixed on the TV screen. “About getting it cut. Or something. And maybe about getting some new clothes.”

Joyce shifted on the chair but said nothing.

She pulled in a silent breath and turned to look at her mother. “You want to come with me?”

“Sure.”

And that was that.

+ + +

Much later, Buffy was showering. She’d had her hair washed at the salon but still she felt the need to shower, making sure she got all the discarded hair off her. She didn’t want to risk having it all stuck down her shirt and making the scars on her back itch like crazy. It felt weird; her hair. Like it was different. It felt so short. Even though it still reached just below her shoulders. She missed the comforting weight of it, the way it used to reach her lower back. Used to cover it.

Now she could feel the warm water sluicing over her scars, rivulets following the indentations of them like long spanning roads. But it was important to have done this, she knew. It was symbolic and all that other stuff therapists liked to spout at her.

She’d had a therapist for a while. A nice woman, really. Young, eager to help, attentive and intelligent. Buffy had spoken barely two words to her in all of the nine sessions they had had. The Slayer still remembered the way the woman, Lucy her name had been, had smiled at her sadly at their last session as Buffy was leaving. Then it had been Lucy’s turn to say only two words to Buffy.

“Find someone.”

Buffy hadn’t entirely understood what she meant at that point. She still wasn’t exactly sure. She probably meant for Buffy to find someone to lean on, to talk to, and to just be comfortable around. Maybe she had even meant for her to find someone else like her. Someone with scars. Buffy hadn’t found either of those.

She’d found something a whole lot more complicated and difficult and dangerous and implausible.

She’d found Spike.

She couldn’t lean on Spike, he wasn’t a talking buddy and she would never be entirely comfortable around him. He still had his fangs, after all. He wasn’t like her. He didn’t have scars. Not that he’d shown, anyway.

What he did have, though, was the ability to push her buttons. To say just the right thing to make her want to prove him wrong.

He was sneaky like that. Pushing her into making decisions and choices she had been too afraid to make in the past year.

She’d cut her hair and she’d updated her wardrobe and in a way it was because of him but it wasn’tfor him. Just like all the other things he’d led her into. Talking to her friends. To Giles. To her mother. Spike wasn’t even aware that he was the reason she was trying to make amends with them. He didn’t realise he’d pushed her into taking responsibility for herself and for getting her life back together.

Just the idea that an evil vampire had helped her would have seemed ludicrous not so long ago but things had changed and Buffy’s outlook on life had changed a lot too. Sometimes help came from strange places.

Buffy continued to contemplate all this while she stepped out of the shower and towelled herself off. She walked up to the mirror, condensation having fogged it up, and wrote on it with the tip of her finger. It was a juvenile thing to do but Buffy needed to be juvenile once in a while and, really, who could resist writing on a cloudy mirror? It was like the law or something. You had to.

Then she left the bathroom. And even as she did the word she had so artistically scrawled on the glass began to run.

'Ready'

Her room felt cold in comparison to the bathroom after a long hot shower and she shivered slightly as she walked to her dresser to pull out some pyjamas. It was only then that she realised the window was open, the light curtains blowing in the chill breeze. Buffy spun around as the door to her room slammed shut. Her Slayer stance loosened only slightly when she saw Spike. He had been standing behind the door. Who does that??? She wondered to herself, still slightly shaken.

“You know, there’s this custom where people announce themselves when they break into other people’s houses,” she told him, folding her arms over her chest.

He shrugged with one shoulder. “That was my announcement. Nice ensemble.”

Buffy managed not to blush. She really should learn not to walk around in just a towel. It never ended well. She shrugged in reply and went back to the dresser to find clothes. Clothes seemed very important all of a sudden.

Spike sauntered over to her bed and sat down, kicking off his boots, frowning in concentration whilst looking her over. “You’ve done something. To your hair.”

“Yeah, it’s called a haircut. Maybe you should consider one,” Buffy riposted.

Spike pulled a ‘you’re so funny’ face and lay down on her bed as though it was his own. Buffy ignored him as she left the room to get dressed. So, he had seen her naked – didn’t mean she was going to put her jammies on in front of him. That was just too ‘old married couple’. When she returned he had his eyes closed as if he was asleep, but he wasn’t and she knew that. So, she did what anyone would do. She took a running jump and leapt on him. Spike grunted loudly as she landed on him, kneeing him in the gut.

“Bloody hell! You crazy mare! What’d you think you’re doin’?” Spike protested raucously.

Buffy just laughed, only really serving to incense him more. He wrapped his arms around her and rolled them over. Sadly, he miscalculated and they toppled off the bed onto the floor. Spike landed on top of her cursing and bemoaning his poor knees or some such, while Buffy just continued to laugh. She’d been laughing a lot lately. As if now that she had uncorked it, she would never stop laughing. Like she was closing down and every single laugh must go!

Spike rolled his eyes, not amused. “You’re insane.”

Insane or not, he kissed her, and she laughed into his mouth, hands automatically sliding around his neck. Then somehow he got naked, which wasn’t bad, but it was such a blur that she barely remembered it happening and then he was pulling up her shirt and then there was her mother coming through the door.

Wait. What?!

“Buffy are you alright? I heard –” Joyce burst in, worried. “GAH!”

Spike looked up, surprised. “Oh…shit. Hi Joyce!”

Finally, an update. Oh and just to let you know - this fic will be wrapping up in a couple of chapters.


“Oh my god! Buffy!”

The Slayer shoved Spike off of her and jumped up in possibly the fastest manoeuvre of her entire life. A hot flush felt like it was burning her face, her shoulders, and setting a path of fire down her back. It caused her to actually wince and shift from foot to foot. Her mind was racing a mile a minute; she had no idea what to say. A brief thought – ‘how could you be so moronic?’ flittered to the surface of her consciousness before it too was lost in the melee.

Spike jumped to his feet, giving her mother an unobstructed view of his complete and utter nudity. Joyce screeched and covered her eyes as she clawed blindly around Buffy’s dresser for something. Spike hurried into his jeans just managed to zip himself up when Joyce whirled around with a cross in her hand pointed directly at him.

He flinched and took a step back, knocking into the bed. “Oh, come on now! There’s no need for that! It’s me – Spike.”

“Get out of this house!” Joyce cried, arm still covering her eyes.

“Look, Joyce, I know this has been a shock but –”

Buffy shoved him towards the window. “Just go!”

“Yeah, but –” Spike started.

“Go!” She ordered sharply.

Spike frowned at her, a flash of something that looked like hurt in his eyes, before he sighed and climbed out of the window, clothes in hand. Buffy stood at the window watching his descent just so she didn’t have to look at her mother. She could feel her hands sweating as she balled them into fists and thought she might be having a panic attack.

She’d been found out. This was it. There was no way she could fix this.

“Buffy, what the hell is going on?”

The Slayer took a deep breath and turned towards her mother. The look on Joyce’s face was one of absolute shock and confusion. Buffy could only guess she mirrored the same expression on her own face, albeit for different reasons.

“I don’t know,” she responded, shakily. “I just…it’s complicated, mom.”

Her mother’s face darkened. “No, Buffy, it isn’t. You’re having a relationship with a vampire. Again. Haven’t you learnt anything?”

She shook her head vehemently. “It’s not like that! It’s not a relationship!”

“Oh, well. That’s much better,” Joyce replied, expression turning weary. “Buffy, did I raise you this way? It’s bad enough you’re using him for sex –”

“Mom!” Buffy whimpered, embarrassed to hear her mother even use that word, despite the seriousness of the situation.

“No, don’t ‘Mom!’ me! He is a vampire, Buffy. He’s a demon, he’s not human. It was bad enough with Angel but Spike doesn’t even have a soul, am I correct? Did he get a soul, Buffy?”

She looked down at the floor. “No. It’s not the same, mom. He’s not Angel. And I don’t want him to be.”

“Neither do I. I don’t want him to be anything to you.”

Buffy did look up then. “You liked Spike. You made him cocoa for god’s sake!”

“That was before I found out he was corrupting my daughter,” her mother folded her arms, eyes searching her daughter’s face. “He’ll drag you down to his level, Buffy. He lives in the dark. That’s where you’ll end up too. And your friends won’t understand this. Just like I don’t.”

“You don’t have to tell them.”

“Yes, I do,” she replied. “I’m going to call Willow, have her come around and do one of those spells she does…uninvite or…whatever…” Joyce murmured mostly to herself as she walked toward the door.

Buffy caught her hand. “Mom, please don’t.”

She looked down at their hands for a long moment then back up to her daughter’s pleading eyes. “I have to do what’s best for you. Even if you hate me for it,” she pulled away and left.

Buffy sat down on the side of her bed, a numbness enveloping her. It was time. The confrontation was finally here. She knew how they would all look at her; disgust, confusion, maybe even hatred. She knew that but she had to be strong. A part of her wanted to do the easy thing; run away, hide. Maybe it would be better if she did but she wouldn’t. This was her town and her life and she had to stand firm in her decisions.

Buffy stood and walked over to her wardrobe, pulling a light yellow sundress out and examining it. Though it was the middle of the night she changed into the dress and then sat down at her vanity table and brushed through her hair carefully. It didn’t seem right that she be dressed in pyjamas when her friends came calling. She had to meet them on even ground.

As she worked a tangle out of her hair, Buffy looked at herself in the mirror. Her face was devoid of make-up and pale, her eyes seemed darker than they once had. The dress had thin spaghetti straps and she was sure part of her scars were visible in places. For once, it didn’t matter. There were more important things to worry about, or not worry exactly, but to consider. Like how she would get them to understand and if they couldn’t then where she would go from there.

Buffy mused on all of this as she drew in a deep breath and made herself presentable.

+ + +

Xander was the worst, she knew he would be. They all arrived together; Xander, Willow and Giles. Piling through the door and asking a hundred and one questions of her mother before they spotted Buffy standing in the centre of the living room. The sundress threw Xander for a split second before he started in on his barrage. A lot of it wasn’t even coherent, just a bunch of swear words and flailing arms. Buffy stood still, her face portraying a sereneness she didn’t really feel, and waited for him to calm down enough to make some actual sense.
Willow stood behind him looking upset and betrayed. Buffy didn’t know what that look meant but it hurt to see it on her friend’s face, maybe even worse than the raving anger Xander was portraying. Giles, for his part, stood in the doorway eyes turned towards the floor – a quiet disappointment about him. Buffy knew that was usually the calm before the storm.

After about two whole minutes of getting abuse shouted at her from a boy she had thought respected her enough to let her make her own mistakes and decisions, Buffy had had enough. She raised a hand in a gesture to make it clear she wanted him to stop. When he didn’t, she spoke up.

“Xander,” Buffy said with a level voice. “Enough. If you have something to ask, then ask it. If not then shut the hell up.”

His lips formed a tight line. “Yeah, I’ve got something to ask, Buffy. When exactly was it that you became a vampire groupie, huh? Are you completely insane? You do realise he’s just using you; you’re just a joke to him, right? And another thing; Spike? What the hell!”

She blinked. “You want me to answer all that chronologically?”

He gritted his jaw. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing?”

“Yes,” she answered simply.

“Really? Well, then maybe you’d care to let us, your friends, in on it?” Xander motioned with his arms to them all.

Buffy looked at them each in turn. “I needed something to…to make me feel alive again.”

“Something. You got that right, at least. He’s a thing, Buffy!” Xander spat. “And he’s dead! How can a dead thing make you feel alive?”

She shrugged with one shoulder. “Because he treated me like me. Like I was still Buffy Summers. He didn’t tiptoe around me, too afraid to say what he really thought. He didn’t pity me and he didn’t put up with my crap. He was just Spike and I was just…me.”

Her only reaction from him was a shake of the head and a grimace. He didn’t understand and by the looks everyone else was giving her neither did they. Buffy sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose gently. Joyce, who had been standing by Giles, turned and left. Moments later sounds of tea being made and dishes being washed could be heard.

Her Watcher took a step forward, eyes level with her. “Your unpleasant association with him aside, Spike is a killer. He is a murderer and you didn’t see fit to inform us that he was back in town. Instead you carry on with him behind our backs. You are the Slayer. It is your duty to kill vampires, nothing more.”

“He isn’t killing anymore,” Buffy asserted quietly.

It was at that point that the whole room exploded into a cacophony of noise – shouts and swearing and disbelief. The Slayer scrunched up her eyes against it all for a moment before opening them again. The only thing she really wanted to do right now was get out of there. She didn’t need to hear their protestations and insinuations.

Willow shook her head, face pinched. “Buffy, come on. He’s Spike. He wouldn’t give up killing for anything.”

“He said –”

“Oh, so he said? Well I guess it must be true then!” Xander yelled, hand waving about as though it had a life of its own. “He’s evil! Lying is pretty much a part of that! I can’t believe you’d be stupid enough to fall for that.”

“I believe him.” Buffy said firmly, her voice carrying across the room and bringing with it a heavy silence.

It was Giles who spoke next. His voice low and strong. “I don’t think of you as a foolish person, Buffy, but I do think your judgement has been impaired. Clearly, we need to re-evaluate some things…but when it comes down to it, you’re either with us or you’re with him. There can be no middle ground in this.”

A low ache started in Buffy’s stomach. She turned her back on them so they wouldn’t see how this was affecting her. When the room went deathly silent, she realised that her scars obviously did show. Her friends had never really seen the damage the flames had done to her skin, it wasn’t as though she was about to go around showing them. For a moment she wished for her longer hair to hide them away but that moment passed and instead she squared her shoulders and clenched her jaw.

Buffy turned back to them, noting Willow’s shock and Xander swallowing solemnly but her eyes were for Giles.

“If you make me choose between you or Spike, I’m going to choose neither. I choose me,” she said defiantly, chin raised. “And if I choose to continue seeing him, then that’s my decision. You’re all my friends and I respect your opinions but I have to have conviction in myself.”

“Well, yourself is obviously wacko!” Xander threw his arms up in the air. “I can’t listen to this anymore. I can’t do this.”

He turned on his heel and stormed out of the door, after a moment’s hesitation Willow ran after him. Maybe to comfort him, maybe to get out of there, or maybe both. That left Buffy facing Giles in the centre of her living room. Neither wavered from their intense eye contact.

Giles spoke first. “I’ve always encouraged you to believe in yourself, Buffy; but I can’t condone this. I won’t. And you won’t change your mind?”

“I won’t.”

“Well, then,” he stepped back and shrugged slowly. “I suppose there’s nothing more to say. Goodbye, Buffy.” Giles turned to leave.

She called after him. “Goodnight Giles.”

He paused for a moment; back to her, then shook his head and left closing the door quietly behind him. The Slayer stood rooted to the spot in the middle of the room feeling suddenly hollow. It could have been hunger but it was a deeper kind of hollow. One she doubted she would be able to fill up. Blinking, she finally took a step forward and then another one and without really knowing why she found herself walking out of the house, barefoot and distracted.

Spike was at a loss, standing on a street corner smoking a cigarette and wondering how it all got so royally fucked up. He would admit it hadn’t started out particularly healthy, either, but he was a vampire and that was par for the course. Getting so involved with Buffy was never part of the plan. It had hurt to see that look on Joyce’s face, and it really shouldn’t have. Not only that but he was actually concerned for Buffy. She’d bear the brunt of her mother’s, and no doubt her friend’s, reaction. He hoped she was strong enough to face it all but he also wished he didn’t give a flying fuck about how she was handling it.

Now would be an opportune time to leave town, duster swirling behind him, cackling evilly about how he’d pissed about the Slayer’s already shitty life. One to tell the boys about in the next town, over a nice pint of blood.

Taking a deep hit from his Marlboro Spike sighed and shook his head. Things were only about to get worse. He could feel it in the air. Something bad was going to happen and he was on a collision course with it. Nothing new there then, mate he thought disdainfully.

He supposed he should have stuck around to see if the Slayer needed back-up but he wasn’t that noble and, again, the way Joyce had looked at him had put him right off. They’d always got on alright, those two. Spike suspected seeing him naked on top of her daughter may have changed her perspective on him, somewhat – but, really, trying to kill Buffy was worse and Joyce had been okay with him over that. Maybe she just needed a day or two to simmer down.

Spike crushed the cigarette out under his boot and buried his hands in his pockets. He turned on his heel and walked slowly down the street. Where exactly he was going he wasn’t sure, but he’d know soon enough. He turned the corner.

A bottle rammed forcefully into the side of his face, toppling him sideways as the glass broke against his head. The liquid inside drenched his cheek as he fell onto the ground. Instantly it started to burn like hell and Spike screamed, morphing into vamp face as he hurriedly tried to wipe the holy water from his skin. He only really succeeded in burning his hands too. As his eyes watered and his skin popped and bubbled Spike looked up at his assailant.

Xander Harris stared down at him; stake in hand, an icy expression on his face. Spike jumped up and leapt at the boy but was knocked off course by the crossbow bolt that hit him square in the chest. He wheeled backwards into a wall, looking down at the bolt that protruded dangerously close to his heart.

“I don’t think so, Spike,” Giles said gravely as he reloaded the crossbow, coming up to the side of Xander.

The vampire’s eyes flicked between the two men as he grabbed the arrow still stuck in him and yanked it out. It tore up his insides even worse and he bit back a substantial scream, throwing the weapon to the ground with a loud clatter. Spike kept in vamp-face as he dusted off his shoulders and stood up straight, a familiar sneer settling itself on his face.

“Nice to see you too, Rupes,” he spat.

Xander balled his fists, clearly raring to have another go. Giles’ hand on his arm kept him back as the three men faced off against one another. Spike had no doubt what this was all about. Part of it was because they had learned he was back in town, probably from Joyce, and that he was a threat. Mostly, though, it was because of Buffy and him. It still surprised Spike that there even was a Buffy and him. Obviously, it surprised her friends too. Surprised them enough that they’d try and kill him to protect their precious Slayer’s reputation. Spike didn’t even consider for a moment that she had sent them after him, that wasn’t her style. If she wanted him dead she would damn well do it herself.

“You’re sick, you know that? Sick!” Xander seethed, “Touching her.”

Spike frowned, eyebrow raised. “What’s sick about that? You lot wouldn’t touch her at all. Made her feel like she was a bloody leper. You’re the sick ones.”

Xander started forward but Giles grabbed his arm. “Screw you! I don’t need advice from a freaking vampire!”

“Clearly, you do,” he smirked, hand on belt. “’Cos Buffy sure wasn’t comin’ to you. And that’s the rub, isn’t it? You’ve always had a thing for her.”

As the boy’s anger began to rise even higher Spike found the pain in his face started to subside as he enjoyed taunting him. It wasn’t just that he was evil and taunting was always fun, it was that it was Xander sodding Harris and the boy had it coming. He was a dopey idiot who thought far too much of himself and he needed taking down a peg or two.

“Spike, you took advantage of Buffy when she was vulnerable. There’s no pride in that, no noble ‘being someone for her to talk to’. I can’t imagine this thing between the two of you was anything more than physical for you,” Giles looked into his eyes, unwavering. “And I’m sure that doesn’t bother you. You’re evil and Buffy is an innocent, barely more than a child.”

Spike gritted his teeth, pointing. “Listen here, mate, I’m the one Buffy chose to go to. Now, obviously I wasn’t going to say no when she threw herself at me. I’m a hot-blooded…well; no I’m not, but still. And as for innocent, she didn’t seem too innocent when she was moaning and groaning underneath me when –”

Giles shot the crossbow and Spike only just managed to turn enough so that arrow lodged in his side instead of his heart. He did a forward roll and jumped up, hissing. The two men rushed him, Giles striking him on the head with the weapon in his hands. It glanced just off his temple and Spike’s vision went black for a moment before the world came spinning back. Xander lunged at him, stake aimed for his heart.

The vampire kicked out easily and caught the boy in the stomach sending him flying back into the wall. He grabbed Giles by the front of his jumper and swung him around into the road. Spike let out a jubilant chuckle and motioned for them both to come at him again. Xander obliged, running at him whilst holding his stomach. Spike rolled his eyes and blocked the clumsy punch that was thrown in his general direction. He kept hold of Xander’s wrist as he kicked him doubly hard in the stomach again then swung him around and planted a firm foot on the boy’s bum. This sent Harris flying forward across the asphalt, gaining him a badly scraped up chin and nose. The blood in the air made Spike grin more, even as his stomach rumbled.

“That all you wankers got?” He asked.

Giles staggered to his feet, crossbow reloaded. “Not quite.”

“Take your best shot, Watcher.”

“I intend to,” he replied, circling the vampire. “But I have to say, you must be quite the actor.”

Spike kept his eyes on the man the whole time. “Oh yeah, why’s that?”

“Making Buffy believe you’ve stopped killing. Very well played, Spike.”

The vampire said nothing as he continued to follow the Watcher’s path. Buffy had told them everything, seemingly. He decided they must have all tried to stage an intervention. That was definitely their style. Ambush the girl, make her feel like shit, and then go out and try and exterminate the problem. Self-righteous twats.

Xander leapt on Spike from behind but he had anticipated that and flung him straight over his shoulder, onto Giles. The two Scoobies fell in a pile on the floor, Giles’ crossbow sailing across the road. Spike wandered over to it, touching the burns on his face gingerly and wincing when red hot pain shot across his skin. He scooped up the weapon and turned back to see the men getting to their feet.

“So, are you boys just about ready to sod off?” Spike asked casually.

“Not until you’re dead, asshole,” Xander spat at the vampire’s feet. “You just had to come and ruin everything, didn’t you? Just when Buffy was getting better.”

Spike chuckled. “God, you are an idiot, aren’t you? Why do you think she suddenly came out of her shell? Things like that need a catalyst. They don’t just happen.”

“You’re insinuating you’ve brought about the change in Buffy? You arrogant little shit,” Giles folded his arms. “You’re worth nothing and you’ll only hurt her in the long run. You’re so far beneath a girl like Buffy and you know it.”

He looked at the Slayer’s friends and didn’t reply. He had nothing to say.

Giles took Xander’s arm. “We’re leaving.”

“What? Giles, no –” Xander started to protest.

“Yes. We’ll wait for Buffy to come to her senses,” he said, looking directly at Spike. “It’s right that she be the one to stake him.”

Spike watched, finger still poised on the trigger of the crossbow, as the two men turned their backs on him and walked away. Xander still argued all the way up the street. He knew it would so easy for him to just kill them where they stood but something stopped him. Spike deeply hoped he wasn’t developing a conscience as that would do him no good at all.

When they were out of sight he walked over and sat on the curb, touching his face. It still hurt like a bitch, so he decided to leave it alone as he lit up another cigarette and tried to come to terms with how much trouble he was going to be in soon.

+ + +

As it turned out, trouble was a girl in a yellow dress. He caught movement in the corner of his eye and looked up. The Slayer was walking down the street, looking at the sky as she placed one barefoot before the other, totally absorbed in whatever it was she was thinking about. Spike crushed the cigarette under his boot and jumped up, sloping half into the shadows to hide his burns. He found it a little odd that she was all dressed up like it was a hot summer day, sans shoes, and walking down the street apparently without even a stake to her name. It was surreally beautiful too and he could imagine the scene being captured in a painting, minus his presence.

Buffy looked up suddenly, eyes finding his location at once, and stopped.“Hello.”

“Hello,” he replied, shifting from foot to foot.

They stood there without words for far too long. And it was ridiculous. If they had ever had anything to say to one another it was now. They should have been arguing or plotting or just talking everything through but when it came down to it Spike couldn’t think of a thing to say. Or, no, that wasn’t strictly true. He knew exactly what he had to say. He just didn’t have the courage. She had to know. Giles had been right about one thing – he would hurt her, and he would do it tonight. Spike was going to betray her with a simple truth.

Taking in a deep breath he didn’t need, Spike stepped out from the shadows fully to face her. He opened his mouth to speak but the look of concern that crossed her face stopped him in his tracks. Buffy walked over to him quickly and took his face in her hands, tilting it towards her.

“Who did this to you?” she asked.

For a moment he didn’t know what she was referring to. Spike looked into her eyes and saw Buffy looking back at him. A few weeks ago and she had been buried so far back behind her walls he could barely see her, but now she was here and in some small way it was because of him. He just hoped it wouldn’t be him who sent her back to that place.

“Xander and Giles,” Spike answered quietly. “Guess the secret is well and truly out.”

Buffy didn’t agree with him but then she didn’t need to. She didn’t apologise for her friend’s behaviour, maybe because she knew there would be little point in it, maybe because she knew it wasn’t her fault or maybe because it simply didn’t occur to her. She said only one thing as she traced a finger delicately over the already healing wounds.

“Just like me.”

Something in Spike broke when she murmured that. He took her wrists and lowered the hands from his face before dropping them. Looking straight in those big eyes he said the one thing he should have said a long time ago.

“I’m still killing.”

Buffy blinked. As Spike opened his mouth to explain further the Slayer slapped him hard across the face.

It wasn’t even a Slayer strength hit, just one of a girl, a woman, and that made it far worse. The burns on his face stung like hell and tears formed in his eyes but he blinked them back to maintain his gaze on her.

He would have been ready for a confrontation, a fight, swearing and screaming and all that. But when she turned on her heel and ran away he was left standing in the empty street, at a loss once again.



A/N: Next chapter will probably be the last!

A/N: Warning - Extreme Angst in this chapter!!!


The sidewalk was cold beneath her feet, cooler than it had been only minutes before. Grit and dirt was getting caught between her toes, sticking to her skin. She wished she could say everything became a blur to her then. But it didn’t. If anything, it all seemed that much more vivid. She had stopped running a while ago and now she walked down the street slowly and carefully, the colours of the night looked too sharp, as if she could actually reach out and touch the black night sky. The pavement beneath her feet was a shade of grey that looked stark against her bare white feet. Even that; even her own skin was suddenly too white. She had flashbacks of tanning on the beach, the smell of sea and sun cream, memories of bikinis and ice creams, Xander and Willow firing water pistols at her.

The memories all seemed much more vivid now, too, as if to remind her of what she had once been and would never be again.

The dress she wore flapped around her legs moved by the same cool breeze that caused her hair to billow softly out behind her. Buffy felt the flesh on her arms and legs grow colder and rise up in goose bumps but she didn’t wrap her arms around herself, they remained by her sides.

She was hearing much clearer now also; a car alarm shrieked in the distance, a dog barked, canned laughter from inside the houses she walked by. She was hearing and seeing things much more clearly and Buffy guessed there was more than a little significance in that.

Her hand still stung. It was still red from where she had slapped him and that was unusual. She was normally stronger than that.

Buffy bypassed a pile of dog shit and continued down the street back to her house. With every step she took things became more and more real. Things got a little colder, a little sharper, a little more despairing. It was like she had been wrapped in cotton wool and had finally broken free. She wished she hadn’t.

It was harder going back to seeing the world like this when she had been living in relatively happy denial for some time now. She knew that’s what it had been – self denial. Buffy wasn’t a complete idiot, she wasn’t some naïve child. In the back of her mind she had always suspected, maybe even outright known, that Spike was killing. After all, that’s what a killer did. Being a killer herself, she knew that very well.

She would sometimes lie awake at night and wonder if given the chance she could give up the kill. Buffy had always protested she wanted a normal life, didn’t want to be the Slayer, but she had felt the bones in a neck crack beneath her fingers, had gouged eyes out with her thumbs, had kicked hard enough to splinter ribs. What if she missed it? What if she started to crave it? They were thoughts she tried to pretend to herself she didn’t have but were always there in the back of her mind, clawing at her consciousness.

She had been made a killer by her destiny and it couldn’t be undone. She would never be normal again.

Normal people didn’t seize up others on the street analysing their weaknesses and deciding how they would end their lives, if they had been demons, with a roundhouse kick aimed precisely at the point in which their skull joined their neck.

And Spike wasn’t normal either. He had become a killer by circumstances of death and violence and he could never take that back. She had been fooling herself when she had asked him to give it up. Wanting to play at being normal because when she was in his arms that’s how she had felt.

But he was a vampire and she was the Slayer, and it was never meant to be like that for them.
Buffy made it to her house and found the front door open. She stepped inside and nearly collided with her mother. Joyce was putting her coat on and let out a yelp of surprise when she came face to face with her daughter. The surprise was almost instantly replaced with a neutral facial expression and Buffy knew she was trying not to be angry with her, not to look disappointed.

“Oh, Buffy,” she almost sighed. “There’s been a break in at the gallery and I have to go down there and turn the alarms off. Talk to the police. I shouldn’t be gone long.”

She watched her mother hurriedly explain then move around her to go for the door. It was clear she wanted out of the house, to put some distance between her and that night’s revelations. Buffy didn’t blame her and was actually grateful for it. Things would be easier.

“Mom,” Buffy said softly, catching Joyce’s attention. “…be careful.”

It was all she could think of. It certainly wasn’t dramatic or powerful but it was sincere.

Joyce looked at her a moment. “I will be. And Buffy? I’m…I’m sorry about before. I should have thought things through better but it was just a shock and…forgive me?”

Buffy nearly smiled, nodded. “You better go.”

“Right. We’ll sort this all out when I get back.”

And then she was gone. Buffy closed the door with a loud click. The house settled noisily, floorboards creaking and pipes groaning behind the walls. There really is no such thing as silence Buffy thought as she ascended the stairs carefully.

She went to the bathroom first and sat on the edge of the bath to wash her feet. She used her mother’s soap and made the water mostly warm. As she worked on getting all the dirt off her soles she thought about Xander. He was so angry with her and she was only about to make him angrier. Willow was upset and would probably stay that way. She couldn’t anticipate Giles’ reaction. He might be disappointed, she decided after a while.

When finally sure that her feet were clean she dried them off with a towel and used a small pair of scissors to trim her toenails. Then she walked into her room to brush her windswept hair. Buffy avoided looking in the mirror and went back to the bathroom to wash her face. She was aware her movements might be considered erratic but there was no one but her, so it didn’t matter. Lastly she brushed her teeth, flossing too, and then she picked up the scissors and flicked them across her wrists.

It hurt a lot more than she expected. A lot more than they made it seem in films and books. She may have actually screamed, the sound echoing on the tiled bathroom walls.

Taking a moment to calm herself Buffy sat down on the edge of the bath again, so as not to spill any blood on the floor. It tended to stain and she didn’t like to think of her mother having to clean it up on her hands and knees.

Buffy hadn’t really thought about how much time it would take, just that she would do it and that would be that. Now she was left with a sharp stinging pain worming its way up her arms, and staring at the white tiled walls with an immeasurable amount of time to think.

The scars on her back felt hot and she didn’t know why. Perhaps it was just her psyche’s way of reminding her what had brought her to this point in her life. Not that she could entirely blame the tangle of zigs and zags that made up the flesh of her back. She couldn’t blame Spike either, though she desperately wanted to.

It was all her.

She had made shitty choices in life and this was the fitting conclusion. A lot of ‘what if’ scenarios ran through her head. What if she had heard the demon behind her and jumped out of the way? What if she had made more of an effort not to push her friends away? What if she had killed Spike in that first year they had met? What if, what if. It was all useless anyway. It wasn’t fate that had brought her here, it was just Buffy.

Her vision blurred and she squinted to focus it. She could hear dripping and worried for a moment that she had left a tap on, but it wasn’t a tap she realised. To take her mind off of things she started to count the tiles on the bathroom wall. It was a mundane thing to do, but it seemed to her the longer she did it the harder it became to remember what number she was on.

A loud sound from downstairs made her jump and blink, nearly toppling her into the bath. Buffy stood up, annoyed, and padded out of the bathroom onto the landing. She saw spots before her eyes for a moment and fell against the wall when she tripped herself up. After she righted herself she walked to the top of the stairs. Her footfalls seemed very loud to her own ears and she had to really concentrate not to overbalance.

Not long now.

Then things got really confusing. Spike was standing at the door, eyes wide as he gazed up at her. For a moment she thought she was hallucinating until he flung himself forward and then seemed to hit something invisible in mid-air, falling to the step on his ass. Then she just laughed. It seemed like the funniest thing ever for about ten seconds; then she just felt like being sick.

He was shouting at her but her ears were only catching bits and pieces of it, so it came out as a garbled string of curses.

Buffy decided since she’d already ruined her mother’s carpet now she might as well sit down. She descended the stairs rather wobbly, Spike cussing like a sailor the whole time. Once or twice her head swum and she thought she might fall down and break her neck. Instead she made it to about the fifth or sixth step from the bottom and plunked down on it unceremoniously. Buffy sighed and leant the side of her head against the railings. There was something wet on her cheek but she didn’t have the effort to look.

“Buffy!” Spike was shouting, slamming the palms of his hands against the threshold. “Let me in!”

Guess Willow came back Buffy thought, her eyes switching between focusing and going blurry.

“Buffy!” he screamed.

She turned her eyes to look at him. He looked worried and sad. She thought he looked beautiful when he was sad. Buffy’s mind conjured up an image she must have seen in one of Giles’ books, of a valiant knight sobbing over the body of his beloved. She thought Spike might make bereavement look good. It was a strange thing to think, but she didn’t have control over it.

He was punching his fists against the barrier now, kicking it violently, and clawing at his hair. “Invite me in, now!”

Buffy watched him with interest. It was at least more interesting than the bathroom tiles. She hadn’t thought for a moment he would follow her home and taking into account the time he had spent to get there he had obviously considered not coming. Had probably thought about leaving town instead. ‘Sodding off’ as he might say. He had some weird sayings. She visibly frowned just thinking about it. Spike must have thought it a sign of pain as he began to scream into the night sky for ambulances.

“The cavalry aren’t coming,” Buffy said, surprisingly clearly.

He turned back to her then, fear in his eyes. “Buffy, let me in. Please, let me in. I’m sorry.”

She tilted her head, confused. “For what?”

“For everything,” his was still pushing against nothingness, desperation in his voice. “For lying, for killing, for coming back here in the first place.”

Buffy shook her head slowly, her eyes opening and closing. “No. That’s….just you. I know it is and I know you. This is how it is, Spike.”

He shook his head, not understanding and really she couldn’t blame him. It was hard to piece the sentences together when her brain kept telling her to just close her eyes and let go. And she would once he understood.

“Buffy, you don’t need to do this. I’ll tell them it was all me, okay?” He pleaded.

“What?” She crumpled against the railing again. “Who?”

“Your mates. I’ll tell them I took advantage, I did anyway. I’ll tell them. Just let me in,” Spike said in a rush of words before turning back to look out into the night and scream for an ambulance again.

Buffy laughed but it was sluggish and sounded odd even to her. “Not true. I knew it. I…knew what I was doing. Just like I know…no...now.”

“No, Buffy,” Spike shook his head. “You don’t need to do this. There’s an ambulance coming, just stay awake, all right?”

She pointed at him, finger shaking. “You want to save me.”

“Yes!” he screeched.

“Silly Spike,” she yawned, eyes half-closed. “Don’t need saving. This is me saving…me.”

Spike slid to the floor, slumped over the step, his forehead leaning against the invisible barrier. “Buffy, this is not the way. Let me in.”

“Why?”

“So I can help you.”

“How? You must smell it, is that why you’re here?”

Spike frowned. “What?”

“The blood,” she whispered conspiratorially “My blood. You want it, don’t you?”

“No!”

Buffy chuckled. “Liar. You wanted it before.”

She lifted up the hem of her dress to show him the bite mark upon her thigh. He looked strangely ashamed, and she didn’t think she had ever seen that expression on his face before. Having proved her point she smoothed her dress down and sighed, seeing the blackness at the edge of her vision.

Spike seemed to perk up with an idea. “I’ll turn you.”

“You would,” Buffy said accusingly. “You want to make me live like this for forever. Scarred and ugly. How could you do that?”

Spike smashed his fist into the doorframe, splintering it, as he yelled. “You’re not ugly! You’re not!”

“Do you think there’s a heaven, Spike?” She asked, suddenly afraid.

He sobbed then and she was glad for it. It was nice to know he cared enough to be afraid for her and when he placed his hand on the barrier Buffy felt the urge to place hers on the other side of it but couldn’t move, so only imagined that she did.

Her feet and legs felt cold and her dress was stuck to her now, stained and ruined. She felt her head loll back and then she must have passed out for a moment because Spike woke her up screaming her name and her head fell forward with a jerk, disorientating her.

“Buffy,” he said looking her right in the eyes and she could hear sirens in the distance. “I’m sorry.”

Buffy smiled for him. “Don’t be.”

She closed her eyes.

+ + +

Spike put his hand to his face, feeling the scar tissue beneath his fingertips.


Come back to heal me when my feckless course is run,
Peace, that I sought in life; crown me among the dead;
Stoop to me like a lover when the fight is done;
Fold me in sleep; and let the stars be overhead.


The End.


I know some people are probably going to hate or be disappointed by this ending, that it's not a happy one but...I think it kind of is. And this is where I've been going with the story the whole time and I had to stay true to that. Sorry about not warning over the character death thing but I didn't want to give it away.

Regardless, thank you for reading.