A/N: Huge thanks go to slaymesoftly for her beta work on this chapter.

Additional thanks go to those who have reviewed so far: jane, bloodshedbaby, redwulf, Nikkole, Uncaged Muse, sue, Elizabeth Anne Summers, Karyn, Ariel Dawn and Tasha.

Prodigal – Chapter 10

Spike slowly regained his feet, picking himself up from the pavement where he’d fallen after Bethmara’s punch. This was getting to be a habit with the girl – one well-placed blow flooring him so that she could have the last word and stalk off. Well, he was determined to change that nasty tendency, right now. He looked up at the building, noting which lights flicked on after Bethmara had closed the door behind her, his jaw clenched. Her barbed insult echoed in his ears, ironically sounding remarkably like his own demon,

”Because you’re all about virtue and honour, aren’t you?”

While they were both spot on when it came to virtue, it stung that Bethmara thought he had no sense of honour. Hadn’t he stuck to their bargain on the Hellmouth? Hadn’t he prevented Angelus from torturing the Watcher any more than he already had? And wasn’t he honest with the Slayer from the start, with his declaration of hostility? Angelus had gloated royally over Spike’s inability to kill Buffy, suggesting that the only way to destroy her was to play those pissy little headgames,to cause as much collateral damage as possible so that the girl would be half-dead inside when it came to the final fight. Every time Spike watched his grandsire fixate on yet another victim it had turned his stomach. It was no way to fight, especially not a Slayer – killing them from the inside out, poisoning their lives so that all they really wanted was for the pain to stop. Spike might revel in the mayhem and the kill, but he always wanted to know he’d beaten his enemies outright, not worn them down to the extent that they welcomed his fangs in their neck.

And now here he was, put in this situation by Joyce and that creepy little Whistler, getting himself fitted up for that shiny suit of armour after all, and the ungrateful cow he was here for had the nerve to throw their previous bargain in his face.

Not that she was necessarily wrong to do so, he reflected. In demon terms, he’d done the unconscionable – siding with the Slayer against others of his kind. Not even Angelus had gone so far when he’d been stricken with a soul, retreating instead to scrape an existence on the fringes of both societies, not enough of a nuisance to be worth dusting. The only time Angel had slaughtered other demons for any reason besides power was when he had finally realised being with Buffy required more than watching from the shadows. Spike, on the other hand, had willingly gone to her for help to save the world. Well, mainly to get Dru back and Angelus out of the picture, but keeping the world the way it was suited him just fine. He’d not acted out of any noble intentions, motivated as he was by pure self-interest, and Buffy had despised him even then, the end only justified by the means in her little black and white view. Now she was a demon, she despised him all the more because he’d turned on his own blood lineage. Catch bloody twenty-two.

The vampire ground his teeth, lighting a hard-earned cigarette as he lost himself in contemplation. Just who did she think she was? Chit knew nothing about him, had no understanding of what he’d been through, not just stuck in the factory but throughout his long stay on this earth. He’d prided himself on his strength and cunning, on the fact that year after year had seen his elders and contemporaries fall by the wayside while he endured, surviving, thriving, living in the moment and enjoying everything this world had to offer for as long as it lasted. One night, he’d likely find himself in the wrong place at the wrong time, but until then, he was making the most of it. And speaking of which, he wasn’t about to be cheated of his prize quite so easily. Flattening the butt of his cigarette beneath one booted foot, he doubled round to the back of the building and began climbing the fire escape.

*~*~*~*~*~

Bethmara slammed the door to her apartment, grim satisfaction warring with disappointment in the aftermath of her confrontation with the vampiric nuisance. He just couldn’t let things go, pushing and prodding with his little jibes that he no doubt found so amusing. Spike’s sudden appearance outside the building had startled her – she’d had no sense of his proximity whatsoever, a distinct lapse that could have cost her everything. She was under no illusions that the Watchers’ Council would discover her defection eventually, and when they did, no doubt there’d be all hell to pay.

“Dammit!” She cursed softly, once more filling the tub in her bathroom. She had to be smarter than that. Immortality was all very well, but she knew better than most that there was always a way to destroy anything. No matter what, everything could be killed somehow, including such ephemeral things like trust, faith, hope. Love didn’t conquer all – love was just as likely to end up broken, bleeding and dying as unnoticed as a hit and run victim.

The desolation that arose with that thought was immediately squashed by a flare of anger, a practice Bethmara was fast making a habit. Never again would she fall for the lies humanity told itself in a bid to deny the futility of daily life. She had no need of false reassurance – she knew firsthand that all you had was now, an endless succession of moments that weren’t held together by reason or justice. There was only the motive of the present and what you did with it, how hard you could squeeze it for every last drop of pleasure and sensation.

‘And really, isn’t that what you’re all wound up about?’ A small inner voice taunted her. ‘Didn’t you really want to have an all out, knock-down drag out fight with Spike before picking up where you left off?’

Was it? Was she really feeling morose and frustrated because she’d failed to scratch an itch?

‘Fucking lousy vampire!’ It had all been simple before he turned up – go to the club, work, have fun, try to put Sunnydale behind her and get on with her new life. Then Spike had waltzed right in and raised the same old ugly issues she’d been trying so hard to forget, not to mention stoking the slow burning need that refused to disappear.

‘Stop it, just get a grip,’ she told herself firmly, stripping down, stepping into the bath and allowing the water to soothe her whirling mind.

*~*~*~*~*

Spike hovered uncertainly outside the window to Bethmara’s apartment, listening to the sounds from within. When he was sure she’d be occupied for a while, he forced the wooden frame, the lock giving easily under his strength. Hoping he was right in thinking that the change in Buffy meant he wouldn’t need an invitation – because that was so unlikely to be forthcoming – he gingerly extended one hand.

‘Jackpot!’ He grinned as his fingers encountered no resistance. Wasting no further time, he crawled through, careful to make no sound which would alert Bethmara to his presence.

‘Not doing too bad for herself,’ he commented, looking around the spacious, rather bare place. It didn’t surprise him – demons rarely had problems in amassing more than enough wealth to live as comfortably as they wished, especially those whose human guises allowed them to blend in with minimal effort.

He prowled through the rooms, noting the lack of personal effects.

‘Doesn’t want any reminders,’ he surmised. He couldn’t blame her, although he himself still kept a few photographs of his human family in a safe place. For the first few decades, he couldn’t bring himself to look at them, didn’t want to look into their faces and imagine the dismay and accusations he’d see there, but as time passed, he found it wasn’t as painful as he’d thought it would be, and even proved to be strangely comforting.

He gradually became aware of a slow, rhythmic thudding, not unlike a heartbeat, although it didn’t so much sound as… feel. Freezing, he concentrated, trying to pin down exactly what he was sensing, his eyes opening in alarm when he realised that the blood which had pulsed with Bethmara’s appearance earlier was now vibrating within him, in sympathetic resonance to her body. What the fuck was going on?

‘Something to ask the Watcher later.’

Adjusting to the sensation, he began to find it quite pleasant – unusual, certainly, but he could actually feel her blood deep inside. The soothing hiss and roar of life in his dead frame was having another predictable effect besides relaxing him, however, and he stifled a moan.

‘Bloody hell!’ This was taxing his self-control to its limit. Fear suddenly streaked through him – what if she knew she had the ability to create this effect? Was it deliberate? Had she just been toying with him? His erection pressed firmly against his clothes and he made a decision – if she was playing a game, he was going to play too. And he was going to win.

He heard the unmistakeable sound of Buffy/Bethmara leaving the bath, and he retreated into the shadows, watching her emerge wrapped in a short robe, blotting her long dark hair in a towel. She was a sight to make his mouth water and his knees buckle, her shapely legs leading his gaze ever higher to take in the flimsy fabric barely concealing her body. He’d yet to see her nude, and by all that was in him when he did he was going to show her how beautiful, how desirable and above all how sexy she was. Incredibly, she still hadn’t noticed –

“How did you get in, Spike?” The challenge disrupted his rapture, and he saw a small loaded crossbow in her free hand. How had he missed her going for that?

“Same way you used to sneak in and out of your house,” he answered as nonchalantly as he could, tipping his head towards his method of entry.

Bethmara made a mental note to ward her place at the first opportunity when she took in the broken lock. Open house to vampires or whatever else was not going to improve her chances.

“And the next question should be obvious,” she drawled, placing the towel on the counter and taking a step forward. The blonde vampire raised one eyebrow.

“If the question’s that obvious, answer should be as well, pet,” tongue firmly in his cheek, he bantered with her.

“Hmm. Not sure why you’d want to sneak into my apartment just for another ass-kicking, but hey, I’m all over that,” she smiled brightly, the crossbow set aside along with the towel. Spike glided closer confidently, locking eyes with Bethmara’s and letting her see the humour leave his expression to be replaced with darker emotions.

“How about we get you all over something else?” he countered, before his arms shot out to enfold her, one hand cupping the back of her head and pulling her lips and body against his own.