Author's Notes:
I'm excited to be writing Soul Meets Body again. Big thanks to SanityFair for the beta-reading! She is awesome and any errors are completely my own. Oh, and since I haven't mentioned it in a while: No copyright infringement is intended. I am in no way connected to Joss-except in that weird six-degrees of separation kind of way-and do not own these characters. I wish that I did and could make money using them but I don't, can't and won't try. The story is mine though, so I do ask that I be contacted before it is reposted anywhere. Thanks for reading and for commenting. I love comments and all the people who give them.


“She looks like me.”

The voice broke into the rather pleasant dream Spike had been having, and he awoke with a frown. He blinked blearily at the person standing by the bed. “Wha…” He paled. It was his mother. It wasn’t her. He knew it was The First. He knew almost instantly, but it was also still his mother. He could smell the faint scent of mint that had always clung to her clothes after she’d drank her morning tea. He couldn’t quite hide the shudder that coursed through his body. He sat up slowly, and though he hated to turn away, cast a quick glance to the side to make sure that Buffy was alright. He could hear the slow, even breathing that signaled her sleep, but with The First around he couldn’t really be certain. She was asleep, but he wasn’t really sure if that should be a relief or a concern. Whatever else The First was planning, Spike was certain humiliation would play a part. The jagged remains of his pride pled silently that Buffy would remain asleep and not witness this latest humbling. His more rational side knew he might need her help.

“Surely you’ve noticed the resemblance, William. After all these years you chose a girl who looks like your mother. Should I be touched?”

“You’re not her.” Spike’s voice shook. “You are not…not my mother.” He had to look away. He knew The First did impressive impersonations, but even after being tortured by Dru’s clone and by Buffy’s, he couldn’t help but feel the pull of his mother. She was wearing her favorite dress; it reminded him of taking her out for ices at the park before she had become too ill. She’d always loved sweets.

She laughed. “But of course I am. Look closely sweet William; I still wear the mark of your fangs.”

“I…I’m sorry.” His words were barely more than a whisper.

“For sending me to Hell or for making my life so very torturous that Hell has oft seemed like a fair retreat from it?”

He didn’t respond. He couldn’t. Of course The First would know no matter what assurance he could find his mother, his real mother, had loved him Spike still had to wonder about the true horror of what he had done. She’d had only just risen. He had staked her before she had ever had a chance to feed. But it might not make a difference. She might be in Hell. He might have sent his own mother to Hell.

“I wanted—”

“To save me? To be the big hero?”

She laughed again, the hollow sound dug deep into Spike’s gut. The sound of her voice alone brought pain. Hearing her laugh without the warmth of her soul was heartbreaking. He took a deep breath and struggled to remember she wasn’t there. It didn’t matter. It was just an illusion, but it wasn’t without truth.

She took a step closer. “You will never be the hero, William. You will never be anything more than a pathetic, inept little fool.” She leaned close. “Tell me you can’t hear the pity in her voice when she claims to love you.” Her eyes widened. “Oh. But she doesn’t even pretend, does she?” She grinned triumphantly. “You’re nothing but her whore, a stick to scratch the itch. Oh, indeed, I am so very proud to have raised such a talented whore. Such a sick little boy, I should have put us both out of our misery.”

He yelled then and Buffy awoke to see him repeating the words to himself. “You are not my mother. You are not my mother.” His chin was tucked tightly against his chest, and he clasped his hands together behind his head.

“Spike?” His arms hid his face from her view.

He didn’t respond, so she sat up and put her hand on his arm.

He continued muttering softly.

“Spike, look at me.” Buffy moved slowly, kneeling across his lap. She leaned in, kissed the top of his head and gently pulled his arms down. “What happened?”

Spike shook his head but didn’t look up. “It was nothing—The First—the standard taunt and terror routine. Just caught me by surprise, I’m fine.”

Buffy nodded. “You know, you kinda suck at lying.”

His head came up then, slowly but surely, and he stared at her with a furrowed brow.

“I’m just saying.” She shrugged. “How about you tell me what happened?” She gave him an impish grin, but softened the affect by rubbing her palm along the side of his face and burying her fingers in his hair.

Spike took a deep and wholly unneeded breath. “The First decided it was time I had a visit from Mommie Dearest.”

Buffy cringed. “That must have been—”

“Yeah, about as pleasant as butting heads with a chaos demon.”

“Did she do the song? Try to turn you?”

He shook his head and sighed. “She stuck with the more basic memory lane kick.”

Frowning, Buffy shrugged. “I don’t know what that means, that she didn’t try. Maybe The First knows that it can’t control you anymore or maybe it just wants us to think it can’t. Attacking me in my sleep seems like it would work pretty well though, so…”

“I won’t hurt you.”

“I know, Spike.” She nodded.

“No.” He leaned closer. “I’m saying I don’t think that The First can make me hurt you. Most everyone else probably, but even if it can control me still, I won’t hurt you.”

Buffy looked thoughtful. “Because you love me.”

“That’s a right pretty thought, but I think there’s more to it. The First can take my soul out of the picture; can take me out of the picture, really. So, it’s just the demon left, and he is plenty willing to do The First’s bidding since he wants the same thing. Only…” He sighed. “The demon doesn’t want you dead.”

Buffy looked skeptical, and he knew it was a risk to really talk about anything that went against her black and white view on vampires. Still, it seemed important.

“The demon, my demon, he’s had to deal with the rest of me for over a hundred years. We’re not really separate, not like split personalities on a sit-com. He’s changed me some. I’ve changed him some.”

“You’re losing me. You just said that when The First was in control it was only the demon part, now you’re saying that, what, that’s not possible because you’re all connected?”

Spike shook his head. “No. The First can break the connection, it’s just the demon is used to me, to making…allowances for me.”

“Allowances like me.”

“Right, Yeah. Falling for a slayer went against my nature, or that part of my nature, right, but once it happened—even without the rest of me in the mix the demon will still see you as mine.”

“So you think I might be safe because I’m like…property.”

“No, more like a mate or family probably, maybe just territory.”

He could see that the thought wasn’t thrilling her. He’d brought up the whole thing because it had comforted him. He was relieved. He realized now that she might have preferred not knowing, that the risk of being attacked was possibly less disturbing for her than being seen as a vamp’s territory. He shrugged. “The Niblet might be safe too, though I’d rather not test that.”

Buffy chuckled. “Me either.” She sighed. “I still think it’s you.”

Frowning, he tilted his head questioningly.

“I think you broke The First’s hold yourself, that you’re stronger than—”

Spike scoffed.

“You’re stronger than you think. If you weren’t then The First wouldn’t be so determined to break you.” She leaned in to kiss his lips gently.

“If you say…” He was mostly just changing the subject, but he knew the words were true; if she said he would be strong, then he would be. The First was right; he had a long history of being a screw-up. But he’d never had her trust before. He’d never had so much to lose.

Spike reached out and tugged her closer. “Don’t suppose you want to help take my mind off of the horrible ordeal?” He glanced suggestively at her breasts.

She fought her immediate urge to cover herself and laughed. “We are both awake…and with the no clothes…” She reached down and ran her hand up his stomach. “How are your ribs?”

“Almost as good as new.” He rubbed his nose up the side of her neck, inhaling her scent and stopped to drop a kiss on her pulse point. Even in the dark he could see the faint blue line of racing blood. His mouth watered, but he didn’t think food. He just thought Buffy. When she leaned her head back, he allowed himself the pleasure of a single leisurely lick. He felt the small raised scars that Angel had left there and the accompanying pang of jealousy in his stomach. He wondered if she had ever fed Angel from her tongue like she had done for him earlier, but knew that he would never ask her. He kissed her neck again and pulled away.

“It was only once.”

Spike looked at her with wide eyes and she smiled, wondering if he really thought that she didn’t know what he was thinking while he had been staring at her scar.

“It was more like an emergency thing than…”

His smile was almost shy. “You don’t have to tell me. It’s none of my business.”

Buffy laughed softly and kissed his cheek. “You’re right. It’s not, but I can’t help it when you get all pouty.”

“Oi! I was not pouting.”

She nodded. “Yeah, you were. You were pouting and thinking I played kinky blood games with Angel but, didn’t play them with you.”

“Was not,” He scoffed. “Can tell that bite was no fun, he must have torn you up to leave a mark like that. “He reached up and laid two fingers over the scar. “I wouldn’t have left a scar at all.”

“Spike, I’m not letting you feed from my neck.”

He pushed her away abruptly. “I wasn’t asking to.” He pushed off the bed and walked across the room. “I’ve never asked for that.”

Buffy sat on the edge of the bed and studied his back. He was so pale; he looked almost blue against the inky black of the basement. Her heart hurt. She wrapped the sheet around herself and followed him across the room. Still considering her words, she wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her cheek against his back. He didn’t pull away and the knot in her stomach loosened.

“I trust you. It’s not that.”

He exhaled softly and laid his hand over hers. “I’ve never asked for your blood, Buffy. I’ve messed up plenty of ways, but not that.”

She sighed. “I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry.”

She kissed the ridge of his spine and tried to figure out how she’d gotten here. She had really meant to reassure him when she’d mentioned Angel. She knew Spike was jealous of the other vampire and she had only wanted to ease that some. She still couldn’t tell him what he wanted to hear, what she knew he deserved to hear, and so she couldn’t really level things for him. She couldn’t say that she loved him and not Angel so she thought telling him the rules had been the same for Angel would help. But he was right. He’d never asked for her blood, telling him Angel couldn’t have it either wasn’t meaningful. That she’d never felt like Angel wanted it only made her stance less powerful, because she knew that Spike did. He never asked for it, but he wanted it. She wasn’t sure whether it was just that he was more accepting of his own nature than Angel was or if Spike simply wanted her more than Angel ever had, but she was sure he wanted her blood. He wanted it, but he wanted her too much to risk asking for it.

Spike’s mind raced. She had told him to taste her earlier. He had tried to stay away but she had told him it was okay. She had even reopened the wound to give him more. He’d been so sure she was opening up to him, but now…now she seemed just as closed off and suspicious as ever. He sighed.

Buffy rubbed her cheek against him. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I’m the one thinking about blood.”

He didn’t turn, but he answered. “Why?”

“It didn’t bother me.”

“Feeding Angel?”

She scoffed. “No, that hurt like hell. I meant earlier tonight, with you. I know it’s not the same, but what we did, it didn’t bother me. I thought it would, but it didn’t. I…I liked it.”

He turned slowly. “And that bothers you.” It wasn’t a question.

She shrugged and gave him a sheepish look. “Kinda.”

“So maybe you put that particular little trick away for a bit?” She frowned and he laughed at her clearly mixed feelings about his suggestion. “You’re gonna be the death of me, pet.”

Buffy shook her head. “Nope, that was your last girlfriend.”

The smirk he made at her joke grew into a full smile as he considered it. “Trying to say you’re my girlfriend now?”