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part seven - shame and the old cliché

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Time seemed to freeze. The cliché was a bit annoying to her, but it definitely seemed to fit the situation now. Memories began slamming into her left and right, starting nearly two seconds before she finally laid eyes on him. Images of soft, smooth skin and hard ivory muscles skating over her filtered through her mind. Strong but gentle hands caressing every curve and line of her body. Soft, full lips and an icy tongue making love to hers, before descending and marking every inch of her body as his own, laving her skin with a century plus worth of knowledge and experience. Sparkling, lively eyes of the bluest blue flecked with gray and silver, all knowing, penetrating, pleading, commanding; hunger, respect, lust, concern and love could all be conveyed in just a single glance.

Her heart convulsed and her shaking hand, clutching the ladder rung above her, splintered the wood.

Spike, for his part, did not flinch at the disbelief and budding anger warring for dominance on her lovely face, but he averted his own gaze all the same. His eyes were half-closed, and he seemed to be steeling himself for a warrior's cry, an attack, a stab, before death -- at the very least.

Buffy drew a deep breath, then looked down at the broken piece of wood in her hand in surprise before tossing it away. Unconsciously, she lowered herself down the ladder to the ground, then took several tentative steps forward.

Was this really happening to her? Was she really nervous in front of Spike?

She was starting to get a little brain-fried from all the Sigmund Freud-ing her mind was doing.

Speaking of, Freud's sixteen-year-old reincarnation was trying to edge her way around Spike's old dresser without attracting the Slayer's attention. Buffy cleared her throat loudly, then pointed to a lone chair in the corner of the room. Dawn stood up straight, armed but not particularly dangerous with Sullen Teenage Glare #503, and shuffled to the chair, her head down. Buffy's gaze cooled slightly. If the brat thought she was gonna get away with not even letting Buffy know that Spike was back...

Oh!

She looked cautiously back at the bleach-haired vampire, and drew another deep breath. Holy shit. Spike was back.

"When?" she asked, her voice soft. She saw his eyes flicker towards her before darting back to the floor.

"Two... three weeks. Not much more'n that."

A beat.

"I see."

She was piecing things together, or rather, the Automatic Buffy Guilt Trigger in the back of her mind was. Three weeks... that meant that she had seen him outside her window during that rainstorm. It also meant that he'd been hiding in the bushes that other time, and she likely had been following him at the store last night. Which was when Dawn had said that she'd thought she'd seen him as well. That meant...

"Dawn. I'm grounding you for two weeks. No arguments. You've been lying to me about where you've been going, day and night; about why you were coming here of all places. You're to do as you're told. No TV, but you can have your radio and CDs. Fair, or no?"

Dawn bit her lower lip and nodded slowly. No TV sucked -- she'd gotten sort of sucked into it over the summer -- but at least she still had other entertainment.

"I don't want you coming here by yourself anymore," Buffy continued. She was doing a real good job of avoiding dangerous Spike Eyes. "If you want to visit, tell me and I'll walk you, until you prove yourself trustworthy again. Or your two weeks are up, whatever comes first."

Dawn nodded again. Buffy looked down. Avoid Spike eyes, avoid Spike eyes!

"Go upstairs, Dawnie. We," she indicated herself and Spike, who gulped, "need to have a private talk."

Spike's eyes widened and, truth be told, he looked positively terrified, shaking his head pleadingly at Dawn. Dawn gave him a helpless glance, then mouthed 'I'm sorry' as she reluctantly left the lower level.

Dawn closed her eyes and crossed her fingers. She had gotten off extremely lightly. But Spike had been gone for four months -- he'd left after the worst possible thing that had ever happened within their modest little group. And returned with a soul. A soul he'd gotten for Buffy. Who didn't know about said soul.

She bit her lip. Dawn didn't know her sister's exact stand on the Spike issue, but she prayed that Violent!Repressive!Buffy wouldn't make an appearance, and, for once, would hear Spike out.

Yeah.

She thought it was wishful thinking, too.

---

He was nervous. Buffy was pacing, and Buffy only paced when she was extremely close to biting off a head. Never mind the fact that her eyes would flicker up and glance in his direction every few seconds before she went right back to the pacing. And God, the silence. Silence was a big Thing with her right now.

Had he said he was nervous? Nervous didn't even begin to cover how he felt right now.

Spike watched her cautiously, although his head was lowered. Honestly, he welcomed whatever punishment Buffy had in store for him. He had, after all, tried to rape her, and even worse, he'd left town. (In the Buffy Book of Logic, Spike had discovered that leaving her was at the top of the No-No List -- somehow even worse than rape.) Whatever it was that she was trying to make her mind up to do, hell, he deserved it.

But just because he felt like an awful, dirty, bottom-sucking bastard that deserved to die didn't mean he wanted to. He kept his eyes on Buffy in case of an ambush.

After a while, in which Buffy's pacing had nearly worn a trough through the dirt floor of the crypt, the Slayer stopped, turned to Spike, and opened her mouth for an exact count of five seconds before snapping it shut again, apparently not trusting the words that had attempted to slingshot past her lips. She shook her head, sighed and then, to Spike's utmost annoyance, began pacing again.

He watched nervously until Buffy finally stopped. Taking a deep breath, she stalked toward him boldly. Spike flinched and sank down onto his charred bed, completely missing Buffy's wince as she noted his reaction.

This was it. The Slayer was finally gonna do her duty and put an end to his miserable existence, like she should have done the night he'd --

"Where were you?"

Spike's head shot up, dark eyebrows knit together in confusion. Why wasn't she killing him? She shouldn't be wasting time asking him stupid questions, like where he'd been on his ruddy summer vacation. But the look in her eyes brooked no debate, so instead of asking his stupid question -- the one that would make her kill him faster -- he swallowed hard and bit his bottom lip. "Africa," he murmured.

Before he'd even realized what had happened, he'd let out a startled, injured-puppy yelp and had his hands to his nose. Then the searing pain began to spread, and in disbelief he looked up at the Slayer, whose eyes were wide and horrified and profusely apologetic.

"Ohmigod, I'm sorry! I am so, SO sorry, Spike, I totally didn't mean to do that, it was reflex!" she gasped, grasping at the repentant straws. She reached up and gingerly attempted to pull his hand away from his nose, flinching when she saw the bright, red rawness glaring back at her. "Ohhh, bad..." she whimpered. "I am SO sorry..."

Spike whined a little bit, touching the tip of his nose tentatively, before trying to scrub off the blood he now felt pouring from his nostrils. Buffy had always gone for the nose. Good to see some things hadn't changed much. He shot her a little glare before licking off the blood that had dribbled onto his palm.

Buffy bit her lower lip, frowning slightly at the less-than-pleasant 'welcome-back' she'd just given him. Damn. Old Slayer habits really did die hard. What the hell was wrong with her? She was going to have to learn to control that damn temper of hers. Taking note of the awkward silence between them, she smiled weakly and said, "So... Africa, huh?"

He gave a soft grunt and nod in answer, but refused to look at her.

"That's where Dawn got her necklace, then? From you?"

Another stiff nod.

Buffy chuckled a little, hoping to entice the same gentle rumble she'd always enjoyed hearing from him. "Good. For a second I thought she'd gone Teen Klepto again."

She waited for a response.

And absolutely nothing. Not even a freaking blink.

"Spike?"

His body shifted and a slight tilt of his head in her direction was the extent of his acknowledgment.

"Talk? Please?"

Hesitant head shake. Ooh! That had been an Almost Nod. She was wearing him down.

She got to her knees in front of him, tentatively placing her smaller hands over his, not caring in the slightest that they were covered with his blood. Peering up into his uncharacteristically stoic face, so lacking in the expressiveness she was used to, she gave his hands a gentle, soothing squeeze. "Spike? For me? Please? I need to know what happened to you."

Another hesitant head shake.

She continued. "And if not for me... then for Dawn? She loves you... I think she has a right to know everything that happened."

One hand left his and reached up to cup his chin, lifting his head until his beautiful cerulean eyes were level with hers. "Don't you?" she whispered.

Nothing.

Then slowly... ever so slowly... he nodded.

Buffy smiled.

---

To say that Dawn was freaking out was a severe understatement.

She sat fidgeting on the stone sarcophagus, having spied neither hide nor hair of Buffy or Spike. Buffy had kicked her out of the lower level over an hour ago, and Dawn hadn't heard a single thing, aside from that yelp that had more than likely come from Spike. He was the only vampire she knew that could reach that decibel of Shocked Puppy-ness.

Never mind the fact that he was the only vampire she actually knew. She scrunched her nose up, thinking of Angel, and amended her previous thought. Spike was the only vampire she cared to know.

What if they weren't even talking down there? What if Buffy had heard Spike out, and now they were having quiet Snuggle Time without the teenager interrupting them? Dawn knew for certain that they couldn't be having sex -- she had the feeling that she would've been scared out of the crypt by the sounds if they were. As helpful as it was to believe that they had made up, Dawn had to face Reality.

Stupid, evil, damning Reality.

Reality forced her thoughts to turn to dark and foreboding. What if Buffy had only told Dawn to go upstairs in order to keep her from seeing the sinister beating that Spike was receiving? Worse still, what if Buffy had foregone the beating and had just killed Spike? What if she was just sitting down there, trying to make Dawn think they were talking, and when Buffy came back upstairs, she'd say that Spike had decided it was "best to leave" just to throw Dawn off of what had really happened?

Oh, god, upgrade freaking out to manic spazzfest!

She was just starting to stand up in an attempt to head over to the hole in the ground in a frantic desperation to see if Spike was all right, when she heard both their voices at the bottom of the ladder and stopped.

"'s... hard... Can barely sleep without one of a million of them comin' to haunt me." A soft sigh. "Bloody... it serves me right. But still... 's hard."

"I know. But I think that by telling me, you've lifted a lot of weight off your shoulders. And it'll get easier." Long pause. "It has to."

A long silence punctuated by a another sigh. "Hope so."

Dawn shifted. These silences were starting to get annoying. She heard one of them turn, and decided it had to be Buffy. She may have been the Slayer, but sometimes Buffy had the grace of a mountain goat.

Sure enough. "I'd better get going. Dawnie's been up there for a long time now... knowing her, she's having conniption fits or thinks we've fallen into a bottomless pit."

There was a really weak attempt at a laugh on both parts, before yet another nerve-grating awkward Silence.

Dawn was inwardly getting very annoyed at how well Buffy and Spike actually knew her when she heard Spike's soft reply. "Right." His voice sounded tight as if he were trying to hold off tears. "Up you go, then. Bit'll be frantic. Can't have that, can we?"

"No... no, definitely not."

A lengthy pause -- worse than the Silence, really, since the Pauses meant that there were things they really wanted to say to each other -- and Buffy turned to start up the ladder.

She was halfway up when Spike cleared his throat, thereby breaking the Pause. "Buffy?" he asked softly, tentatively.

"Yes, Spike?" No irritation in the tone; gentle concern and curiosity laced it instead.

Slight hesitation. Then, embarrassed, shyly, hopefully, he muttered, "I, uh... I missed you."

The response was almost instantaneous. Dawn heard Buffy's sudden, relieved inhalation of air, and a sharp crack as Buffy's hand busted another ladder rung. There was the sound of scrabbling feet, and then a soft 'oof' from Spike, to which Dawn gleefully determined that Buffy had thrown herself at him. When her sister spoke, Dawn could hear the smile and the tears in her voice: "I missed you, too, Spike."

Dawn's cheeks nearly cracked; her smile had taken over her whole face. She was nothing but a Dawn-Smile. The single disbelieving, but increasingly happy voice inside of her was squealing over and over again, Buffy forgave Spike! with a miniature jig in accompaniment.

They both moved up the stairs, Spike at a respectful distance from her, and he stood with his head down as Buffy gathered anything she might have brought with her. Dawn folded her arms and glared at them. "Well? What in the damn hell took so long?"

In complete unison, both looked up at her and said, "Dawn, language!"

Dawn blinked. "Whoa. Creepy."

The side of Spike's lips curved into a half-smile, and he moved toward her. "I mean it, Bit. You're sixteen. Don't need to start swearing now."

Dawn grinned at him winningly. "But if some big Evil is coming after me and I have to fight it?"

Buffy stared at her, a smirk to match Spike's on her face. "Only if we're not there."

Dawn's arms folded, and Sullen Teenage Glare was back, this time in the form of #100 (You Never Let Me Do Anything Fun!). Buffy rolled her eyes and pointed at her. "Don't you give me that look, Dawn. I invented that Look. Wipe it off your face."

Dawn straightened and gave Buffy a sheepish smile. "Sorry."

Buffy laughed and wrapped her arm around her sister's shoulders. "Come on. Giles is probably wide awake and worried sick. I told him I'd be right back, and that was an hour and a half ago."

Spike followed slowly as Dawn and Buffy made their way to the door. "Got your prezzies?" Spike asked softly, cocking his head at Dawn. The teenager nodded, tapping the pocket of her jacket. Spike smiled and reached out to gently tug on a strand of her hair. "Good girl. Have a good night then. Listen to Buffy. Get to school on time. All that other poncy, poofy shite."

Dawn moved toward him, wrapping her arms tightly about his waist. "I will. And if it's all right with Buffy, will you come visit us sometime? Please?"

Spike peered over Dawn's head at her sister, who had suddenly decided that the floor was looking rather lovely in its cigarette dusti-ness, a rather charming rose blush covering her cheeks. He sighed inwardly, a tiny smile twitching at his lips. "We'll see, luv." He placed a kiss on her forehead, gave her another gentle squeeze, then patted her back. "Off you go."

Dawn smiled and waved at him. "G'night, Spike. Love you," she called.

Spike watched with a gentle smile as they walked away. It widened just a fraction of an inch when he saw Buffy turn slightly and peer back at him, giving him a tentative smile and wave, before spinning back around and hurrying after Dawn. "Love you, too, Bit," he murmured, his hand clutching the wall next to his door. "Love you both."

He shut the door.

---

Buffy made the worst attempt in humanity to conceal a yawn. Unfortunately for her, Giles didn't get the hint. In fact, Giles didn't even notice. Giles was swimming in his own little Giles-World at the moment, completely lost in thought.

And pacing. Did she mention the pacing? It's Giles, new from Mattel! Comes with six different functions: glasses-cleaning, worrying, nose-rubbing, pacing, lecturing and thinking, all sure to bore the pants off of you! See package for details.

He was starting to make her dizzy. And she was really starting to hate herself for not waiting to mention Spike to Giles until the next morning, when she'd have gotten some well-deserved shut-eye after all the emotional crap she'd been through tonight. To Giles, rest, sleep, and dead-on-your-feet tired did not seem to be understandable concepts. At least, they didn't when formerly-evil ex-boyfriends came back to town sans pain-chip and with their original soul, fully intact and acquired willingly, in tow.

Truly, Spike was a first in vampire history, and Giles wasn't about to waste any time before delving into research.

"He went after his soul willingly? Knowing what it would do to him, knowing what he would be in store for when he received it? And he still accepted it back?"

Buffy yawned again. Giles had asked this question about five times, all in the same, disbelieving tone. "Well, he didn't exactly flat out ask for it. He wanted the chip out. But I think, deep down inside, he wanted the soul, otherwise the Wish-Giver guy wouldn't have given it to him. He said that he asked him to, quote unquote, 'make him what he was, so he could...'" She trailed off slightly, then looked down at her feet and finished. "So he could give me what I deserved."

Giles' eyebrows creased together. "And the demon returned him his soul... Most interesting."

Buffy yawned for the third time. "Real interesting. Can I go to sleep now? Please?"

Her former Watcher looked at her, startled. "What? Oh, yes. Of course, dear. Go get some rest."

Buffy smiled drowsily. "Thanks, Giles. G'night."

"Goodnight, Buffy."

As soon as she was upstairs, in her mother's old room, Buffy sank down heavily on the bed and buried her face in her hands.

A soul. He'd gotten his soul back for her. In spite of all she'd done to him, in spite of how she'd treated him, in spite of everything she'd ever said to him, he'd gone to get his soul back for her. And at a terrible price. He'd nearly been destroyed by the tasks he'd been required to pass.

And still. He'd done it all for her. To feel worthy of her.

Any other woman on earth would have seen his devotion before he'd even stepped a foot past the city lines. It had taken Buffy four months without him, cold hard Reality, and a couple of verbal punches to the face to realize that she even missed him. Four months to realize that she loved him.

As Angelus, Angel never would have gone to get his soul back of his own free will. Angelus thrived on the miserable lives he could induce without a conscience following him around, wracking him with guilt every step of the way. And Spike had loved her enough without his soul to seek it out for her anyway. Because he thought it was what she deserved.

Well, she didn't. She didn't deserve a damn thing from him. After everything she'd done to him, she didn't deserve him. She, the Slayer, the icon for all things good, and pure, and right, was worse than a soulless vampire. A soulless vampire who had felt love, pain, guilt, remorse, though by the standards she'd been taught, he shouldn't have.

She should have known better.

Spike had always been the exception. And as the exception, Spike was better than her. And being better than her, he shouldn't even desire her. He should hate her for everything she'd said and done.

But he didn't. In fact, by the lingering glances he'd kept giving her this evening, it was all too clear that he was still as taken and infatuated with her as he ever was. Only more so.

When in the hell was she going to learn to listen to her gut instincts, instead of listening to everyone else? Listening to everyone else had ruined her, and had forced her to destroy any semblance of a normal relationship she could have had with Spike, simply because he didn't fit the normal standards that her friends favored for her. And she had been so scared to take him in, and accept him, and show everyone that yes, she was with the vampire of her own free will, the vampire who had changed himself in spite of what everyone else had done to discourage him, because they loved each other, and because she trusted him. She'd rejected him simply because she was scared of their disapproval. Never mind the fact that facing a relationship with another vampire terrified her -- especially after what He Who Shall not Be Named had put her through for so long.

All of the repressed fear and anger that she felt for them could have burned her as it came to the forefront for the first time.

Giles was her father figure, yet in his youth he'd conjured up the dark spirit Eyghon, immersed himself in Black Magick, and had virtually been Spike's counterpart. When she'd turned eighteen he had betrayed her trust, and had left her without her strength to do battle with an insane vampire during her Cruciamentum. And he'd had the gall to chastise her for betraying him when she'd hid Angel after his return from Hell. More recently, he'd tried to convince her that killing her innocent little sister was the right thing to do; and when she needed him the most after her resurrection, he'd abandoned her. For her "own good."

Xander was her big brother figure. But he'd... he'd tried to assault her under the influence of that Hyena spirit during her first year in Sunnydale. He had conjured a spell that had made all the women in Sunnydale desperate for him, and which caused them to be deadly when rejected. And just last year, he'd conjured up that singing demon, Sweet. Buffy would have danced to her death had it not been for Spike. She wasn't stupid. She knew that a small part of Xander kept hoping that his still unrequited crush on her would one day be returned. It was never going to happen and the sooner she forced him to get that, the faster she could turn her focus back to Spike.

And Willow. Oh, god, Willow. She had been so innocent when she had been thrust into the Slayer's world. Her magick had just been a pastime, something that she'd been eager to study, as a tribute to Jenny Calendar after the technopagan's death. That had seemed innocent enough until she'd immersed herself into the Black Arts; thrown herself in so deep that she'd literally depended on magick to help her through every day. But it had gotten so bad, and her emotions had run so rampant, that she'd nearly become the Uber!Evil; she'd killed a man, attempted to kill her friends, and had tried to destroy the world.

Not that Buffy could count herself totally innocent of fault. After all, she'd fallen so hard for a vampire that all common sense faded when it came time to kill him. He'd killed Giles' girlfriend, tried to kill half of her friends, and nearly killed her. Then the following year, she'd tried to kill her former sister-in-arms for his sake, and he'd turned around and almost killed her again!

At that thought, her anger cooled and her shoulders slumped heavily as her appreciation and devotion to them returned. They may have pulled a few wacky stunts on her, but she'd put them through quite a lot as well.

She knew that they meant well. She did. She may pretend on various occasions to be the quintessential California blonde, but she wasn't stupid -- Buffy saw more than everyone thought she did. Just as she was human and should be allowed to mess up, her friends were human and made mistakes. Holding on to her grudges when all of the good they'd done for her over the years outweighed the bad by a milestone would only show everyone how selfish and self-involved she could really be.

How many times had they saved her after all? How often had they come through in the clinch, when all hope seemed lost? As hateful and judgmental as Xander could be, he was also one of the most loving and caring people that she had ever met. He had saved her life when she was sixteen and left by the Master to drown. He'd come up with the idea of the rocket launcher that allowed her to destroy the Judge—and consequently, Angelus and Dru's first strike against them became little more than an amusing joke. He'd attacked Glory with a wrecking ball, he'd inadvertently come up with the idea of how to defeat Adam, he'd protected Dawn like she was his own sister, and he'd even saved the world, apocalypse after apocalypse. Despite his numerous faults, Xander had always stood by her side. As much as his mouth often found itself stuffed to the brim with his foot, the things he'd done over the years had been because he cared. Perhaps a little too much, Buffy thought, smiling ruefully and shaking her head.

Willow had only ever wanted to be accepted. Her best friend -- her first ever best female friend -- was a superhuman and once she had been thrust into the supernatural world, Willow had only wanted to help. Yes, of course she'd made mistakes with magic, but she'd still been learning and it wasn't like Giles had procured a mage to teach her the art. She'd been learning on her own for so long -- but she was a natural, and as a novice, some of the things Willow had come up with could simply boggle the mind. How many times had Willow's spells captured the baddie? And if Willow hadn't entered Buffy's mind when Glory had captured Dawn, Buffy might still be catatonic, and Dawn... Her darling little sister might be dead.

Once upon a time, Buffy had called Willow her Big Gun. Two years had passed now, and Buffy was only beginning to realize what sort of strain she must have put on the petite redhead with those trusting words. Buffy wondered what Willow must have felt to hear it – she might have swelled with pride, with honour, knowing that she was so important to the Slayer. She must have been a little nervous, particularly since Buffy had called on her as they were facing Glory. Buffy thought that perhaps pushing that position of power onto Willow might have been the Slayer’s fault, just a little. It might have been too soon, it may have been what initially ended up damaging her best friend in the first place.

Buffy wouldn’t beat around the bush anymore. When Willow had gone after Glory to take revenge for Tara, the witch had gone on a massive power trip, one that was unwisely and frighteningly repeated the next year. Willow must have felt that Buffy needed her skills in magic to keep them all alive—and in many instances, that was proven true. But she’d taken it too far when she'd pressed her magick to not only keep them alive, but to exact vengeance -- and to bring them back from death itself. There must have also been a feeling of inadequacy without that power, which confused Buffy to no end. After all, Xander had no feasible powers, and he offered himself up time and time again to help them all.

In the Slayer's mind though, Willow's most important power was her ability to be there for Buffy every time she needed it. When Angel had broken her heart -- both times -- Buffy couldn't have gone to Xander or Giles. Willow had been right there for her, comforting her. When Parker had used her, Willow had done her best to cheer Buffy up and be her saving grace. Of course, Willow also managed to assist in convincing her that dating Riley Finn was a good idea, but Buffy placed no blame on Willow's head where that fiasco was concerned. The girl had just been trying to help Buffy move on during her own relationship crisis, after all.

God, what could she even say about Giles? As many times as he'd wronged her in the past, he'd also only done it because he cared for her -- because he loved her like she was his own child. Buffy worried herself into believing that she might have had a heart attack had her real father ever cared for her that much. The Cruciamentum may have been a colossal betrayal between them, but Giles had still suffered a price for it -- he'd been fired because he couldn't go all the way through with it and had basically been shunted to the side for someone who supposedly had more Council knowledge. It should have been the point where Giles really started questioning the Council and their ethics, but bad memories from his youth forced him to believe that his former employers were all-knowing.

She rubbed her eyes at the thought, remembering. Giles had been fired because Quentin Travers, the heartless jerk, had detected familial feelings between them and instead of letting Buffy run the trial blindly, Giles had done what any caring parental figure would have done -- he'd gone to help her, to save her from it. Giles, apart from Joyce Summers, was the only one in a good many years that had ever cared for her that much, and while many of his good intentions had been misguided, as Buffy noted before, he still meant well. Giles was for all intents her father - maybe not in blood, but certainly in her heart - and no matter what he did, she could never deny him the love of the only child he would likely ever have.

As much as she loved all of them, though, they had to know their places in her life -- particularly Xander. Buffy had her own life to live -- and she could barely afford to live it comfortably as it was. There was no need for them to take it upon themselves to live her life for her. If she made mistakes, then she would make them -- it wasn't fair for them to expect so much from her but then allow her heart so little where Spike was concerned. He may not be perfect, either, but he had tried to heal the wounds in her heart. For the short time that they'd been together he had made her -- perhaps not riotously happy, exactly... but she'd been at peace with him beside her. After everything she'd been through -- shouldn't that be the only thing that mattered?

Somehow, Buffy didn't think that any of them had the right to disapprove of her choices anymore. She'd sacrificed enough of her life for the Greater Good and her Calling. They could sit and spin if they wigged at the idea of her with Spike.

Er... not that she was going to be with him anytime in the immediate future or anything. Not that he would even want to be with her. There was no wanting between them. Absolutely no wanting. Yeah.

She sighed. Her anxiety seemed to be reacting in spades to Spike's return. It was making her feel more and more nervous -- and apparently denial and stupidity were side-effects.

But still... he had tried so hard to be good, to be good for her, and she had turned him down at every possible crossroad, tried to discourage him in every possible way. Really, it was no wonder that he'd finally had enough. If it had been anyone else, they'd be sitting in a mental hospital, and Buffy would be visiting them at weekends.

She groaned softly, feeling tears begin to trickle down her cheeks, which was just irritating as hell -- since when had she become so damn moody? She wasn't even like this when she had PMS! She impatiently wiped her hands over her cheeks. Seeing Spike again, when she thought she'd lost him forever, should not merit an all-night sobbing session.

Well, maybe it did; if you weren't the Slayer, anyway.

Still, it wasn't like he'd just come back from the dead—of the permanent kind. She'd known he was alive and out there somewhere... wanting nothing to do with her...

Oh, fantastic... she was throwing herself a pity-party now. Maybe she should just go to sleep and forget all the incredibly far-fetched events from tonight, and the even more astonishing things Spike had told her about during his Quest for a Soul. It was just too much for her poor mind to process. Anyway, that was what Giles was here for.

Gotta admit, though, she thought, yawning as she stretched out on the bed, rolling onto her back. I'm so proud of him... god, the things he does for me...

She settled comfortably against her pillow and closed her eyes.

---

That had officially been the world's record for shortest nap taken by a slayer that had to juggle Mom-and-Save-The-World duties.

Honestly, if it wasn't for the fact that she was so ecstatic to have him back, aside from the whole "I'm in love with him" thing, she would've killed him.

"Spike, it's --" She looked at her alarm clock, and groaned -- "3:15 in the morning. I have a job I have to be ready for in four more hours." Buffy sat up and glared at him. "What the hell do you want?"

He smiled apologetically and rocked back on his heels a little from his perch outside the window. "Sorry. Can I, uh... come in?"

Buffy yawned, rubbing her eyes. "Your invitation was never revoked," she told him sleepily. "You have free access."

She tried hard to feel like she hadn't swallowed the sun when she saw his awed, delighted face.

"Well, uh... I have the feeling you might kill me more violently if I ask questions, so 'm just gonna come in," he said sheepishly, climbing through the window. Buffy raised her eyebrows and sat up a little more.

"Damn straight," she grumbled. Spike merely grinned, plopping onto her bedside table. Buffy shook her head. "You're insane, you know that?"

"Ta. Slightly aware of it."

Buffy groaned as she stretched, then sighed. "Why are you here, Spike?" she asked softly, trying to conceal a yawn.

Spike chewed on his lower lip, fiddling with the end of his shirt before answering her. "It's just... you seemed a little too calm tonight... after all I told you. Just... wanted to know if you were all right. You know. From one, er... friend... to another."

She was hard-pressed not to ignore the distaste that crossed his face as he said those words. Buffy took a deep breath. "Well, you have to admit, what happened to you kind of... blew me away, ya know? It's kind of... difficult knowledge to swallow whole. So... I think it's fair for me to be a little shocked. Right?"

Spike nodded, a little eagerly. "Oh, sure, yeah, I mean... I knew that. 'S just... Well, maybe I'm more off my nut than I thought, but... you looked like you were goin' to cry. Was I?" He looked at her, penetrating blue eyes quickly working their magick. "Imaginin' things, I mean?"

Buffy drew her legs to her chest, looking up at him. She hesitated a moment, then shook her head. "No... you weren't. I... I was... I did cry." She threw him a weak grin. "I've just been Emotion Girl all over the place lately, huh?"

Spike smiled back gently, reaching out tentatively to touch her cheek. "It does you good. You look healthier... relaxed... happier an' the like." He looked down. "Not like when you were with me."

Buffy's heart dropped into her stomach at the despondent look on his face. I was happy with you! her heart cried out. I was happier than I've ever been! I just took out my anger out on the wrong person!

Before she could form an answer he looked up again and said, "I dunno if I have the right to ask or not, but... Why?" At Buffy's questioning look, he elaborated. "Why me? I mean... y-you know I love you. You knew... how I felt when I saw you back. You know I'd do anythin' for you, and that if I could have, I'd've killed to keep you happy. So... why'd you do it? Use me?" He looked down again. "I just... I wanted to know. 'S all."

Buffy closed her eyes and reached up to clasp the hand that remained on her cheek. "Spike... I am so sorry. I just... I was beyond messed up. And... I thought I'd done something terrible to be brought back here. I-I thought... that Heaven didn't want me anymore, and I felt like someone wanted me to suffer. To stay hate-filled and angry, and that just goes to show how screwed up I was, because no matter how you good you were to me, I still took out all my hatred and anger on you."

Her other hand moved to touch his cheek, caressing it gently. "I'm so sorry, Spike. You didn't deserve that. Not a single thing that I did, or a single word I said." She snorted mirthlessly. "I'm just the shining example of all that's right in the world, huh? I treated the guy that loved me like a piece of trash, like I had the right to do it." She pulled her hands away from him and clasped them in her lap. "God, I need help."

His soft, cool lips were on hers and leaving the gentle whisper of a kiss against her mouth before she'd even realized he'd moved. "I could," he whispered when he pulled back.

Buffy felt a delicious shiver run down her spine before she raised her eyes to his. "Could what?" she asked softly.

Spike's hand shifted and ran down her arm. "Help you." His lips parted and traced the pulse point on her neck, launching a titillating sensation throughout her body. "The bloke you treated like garbage... he came back. He still loves you, now more than ever... he's most definitely a changed man. And he'd like to show you how changed he is."

Buffy gasped blissfully, not understanding why he was saying these things but not arguing against them all the same. She raised her arms and wrapped them around his body, tilting her head up accordingly when his lips came back to hers. "But... what about the soul?" she whispered. "Won't it..."

Spike pulled back, resting his forehead against hers and staring her dead in the eyes. "Luv, the soul is more than permanent. If, however, you feel the need to test it out..." Taking one of her hands, he moved it down to the hem of his shirt, sliding it below the material. Instincts took over, and Buffy's other hand joined the first, willingly pushing the T-shirt up and over Spike's head. It took less than a second for her to reacquaint herself with the delicious firmness of his muscles, and the sharp, lean build of his body -- though, truth be told, she had never really forgotten since he haunted her memories anyway.

His lips came down on hers once again, and in the barest blink of an eye, he had managed to divest her of her pajamas. He paused for a moment, studying the top and bottoms, then smiled at the design. "I like the blue monkeys," he murmured, pressing his mouth to the swell of her breast.

Buffy blushed. "Dawn bought them for me. I don't know what she was thinking, but she -- ah... ohhh, god..." Her eyes fell closed and her head lolled back on the pillow. His lips nipped and sucked every inch of her breast, teasing her nipple relentlessly. Buffy whimpered softly, reaching up and tugging gently on his hair. "No foreplay," she whispered. "I've missed you so much, Spike... I need you, all of you. Now."

Apparently, that had been just what Spike had wanted to hear. In under a second, he had his jeans undone and pulled down his legs, and her panties had been whipped off and thrown across the room. "You've got me, Buffy."

Her head was thrown back, her muscles twitching against his intrusion as she gave a choked sigh, holding him close to her. Not once did it cross her mind that it was the middle of the night, that Giles was probably still awake downstairs, that her sister and Willow were sound asleep in the other rooms... All that mattered was the beautiful man, above her, inside her, surrounding her. All that mattered was that he was back, and she was where she belonged again.

As gently as possible, he began to rock, taking care to kiss every surface inch of her body that wasn't covered by the rest of him as his hips pistoned into her depths. This had been in his future from the moment he'd met her, from the second he'd laid his eyes on her beautiful body. Being together was the natural conclusion of their relationship.

Gradually, he built up a rhythm until he rocked faster. Below him the Slayer's voice came out in soft, breathless gasps, kittenish mewls of pleasure, needy moans of desperation. She had never sounded more lovely to him. He acquiesced when her small hand grasped the back of his head, drawing his face down to hers. "Spike," she whispered as their lips met. Tongue clashed with tongue, dueling, caressing, mating. It was no wonder that they'd spent the better part of the last five years annoying the hell out of each other. Their passion had spurred them on.

If they'd only caught on sooner. If only Buffy hadn't been so adamant in listening to what everyone else had told her.

Closer; she was almost there. During their few months together, Spike had discovered every touch that would propel her into climax, and he'd used them all to his advantage. Now it seemed he barely had to touch her and she was at the precipice.

Harder. Sweat poured down her skin, coating both their bodies. The bed was moving audibly now, the headboard just barely thumping against the wall. Thank God Buffy's room wasn't right next to Dawn's anymore. Because that would be beyond the realm of embarrassment.

Faster. She was about to fall, and her hands, moving restlessly around Spike's body, grabbed a good handful of his supremely nice ass, pulling him deeper inside of her. Spike grunted, pushing harder, ignoring the sounds the headboard was making and concentrating solely on making this woman explode with pleasure. "God, Buffy," he murmured, lips exploring her neck, "I love you so much."

She convulsed. Her body tightened, and her muscles clenched around him. She renewed her desperate hold on him, her legs wrapping around his waist and hooking at the small of his back. Her back arched and her hips thrust forward, frantically attempting to keep him in her, to surround him and ensure that he would never leave her again. Her nails dug into his skin, tearing at the magnificent expanse of alabaster, and she gave a garbled cry as her insides began to melt.

Spike growled at the feeling of the warmth flowing around him, then gasped in surprise when Buffy's hands grasped his head, lowering his face to her neck. He trembled at the unmistakable invitation before shifting into game face and --

Buffy shot up, gasping, eyes wide and head thrown back as her legs trembled in the final shock of her orgasm. She moaned softly and fell back again, her eyes blinking blearily at the ceiling above her as her thoughts raced to the ruined -- She looked down.

Sheets. Ruined sheets. She was sleeping on her ruined sheets. And where the hell was -- No. Oh no. This wasn't fair. This wasn't even right! Oh, god, this isn't happening! she mentally groaned.

She looked down at herself again.

Ruined panties, ruined bed sheets, ruined bed. Damn it all to hell.

Scowling, she stripped off her night things, then violently threw them into the laundry basket before grabbing a pair of boy shorts and a long gray T-shirt. Redressing quickly, she got back into the bed, folded her arms crossly over her chest and scowled. "I am never going back to sleep again," she muttered.

She was asleep the second her head hit the pillow.

---

Outside, Spike gazed up at the window of Buffy's bedroom, slightly slack-jawed. She'd been dreaming about him. And not just any regular dream. She'd been dreaming about shagging him into the ground. Even if she hadn't been talking and moaning in her sleep, the scent of her arousal alone would have been enough to make him collapse. God knew that the beast below his belt would have let him know all too gladly otherwise.

But that wasn't the point. Buffy was dreaming about him. Buffy still wanted him. In every possible way.

A slow smile curled his lips and he pushed off from the tree, digging into his jeans and pulling out a cigarette and his beloved Zippo. Lighting up, he glanced up at the window again, ears perked to hear her soft snores. Then, turning to leave, his hand curved down to adjust himself; a cocky grin, reminiscent of his old self Pre-Soul, stretched across his face.

Well. He was set for the rest of the night.


To Be Continued...