A/N: Beta'd by amyxaphania

***

“Ye ever hear of the Slayer?”

Spike rolled his eyes. Angelus and Darla had yet to leave and Buffy seemed to be Angelus’s new favourite toy. He’d told her nearly every tired story he had in him just to see her poorly disguised revulsion. Spike had been worried that the vampire might catch on to the humanity Buffy still had within and torture it out of her, but he seemed to have chalked it up to her being a relatively new vampire.

“What’s a slayer?” She sounded wary, afraid this would be another tale of blood and torment.

“The Slayer. There’s only one in each generation. She who is chosen to fight alone against the vampires, the demons, and the forces of darkness,” he drawled dramatically.

“She?”

He nodded. “As legend goes, it was a girl imbued with the powers of a demon and when she died another one rose and so on.”

“Bollocks! Don’t listen to him, Buffy. He knows that tale’s a bunch of rubbish. Just something cooked up to scare the weaker demons.”

Angelus scowled at Spike for ruining his narrative performance, but continued on. “’Tis true no one’s ever seen the Slayer, but it’s possible they just haven’t lived to tell the tale. She could be out there, waiting, just poised to kill.”

“And there could also be a giant green dinosaur, ready to crawl out of the sea and thrash up Tokyo, but that doesn’t mean Godzilla’s real either, mate.”

“Ye make light of it, William, but should ye cross paths with the Slayer I doubt ye’d be so flip.”

Spike scoffed. “Right, should I.”

Angelus looked like he might retort, probably with a bit more force this time, but Darla called for him from outside and he grudgingly went to go see what she wanted.

***

It turned out that Darla had been summoned by her own sire, some nasty that went by The Master, and would be leaving shortly to return to his side. To Spike this was a case of good riddance to bad rubbish, but Angelus was less than pleased to hear about it. Any of his attempts at good humour and civility vanished and all that was left was outright cruelty.

Of course, Spike got the worst of it and really he preferred it that way—better him taking the abuse than Drusilla or even Buffy. A lot of it was verbal anyway and he could ignore most of that. And physical abuse? Well, injuries always healed and he was getting to the point where he could best Angelus if he wanted, so it didn’t bother him.

That’s when Angelus started fucking Drusilla again.

He didn’t blame Dru... well, not much anyway. There was a powerful bond between a sire and childe and Drusilla was weak where Angelus was strong, so it wasn’t hard to imagine why she gave in so easily. He just wished she didn’t enjoy it so much—always going on about her Daddy and the wonderful hurt he gave her. If she didn’t like it then he’d be able to stop it, but now that would be against her wishes and there was that sire catch again; she didn’t want him to break it up and thus he couldn’t—or at least not without a great deal of willpower—and even if he did, Dru wouldn’t thank him for it.

He huffed in the cool air and lit his eighth cigarette of the night. At least the sun was down now, so he could escape the sounds of them together and it seemed that Buffy had had the same idea as she walked over to join him.

She didn’t say anything for awhile, but reached up to trace the faded burn mark on his cheek. It was almost gone, though it had taken a while even with accelerated vamp healing– injuries from blessed items always did.

“Does it hurt?”

He smirked. “I’ve had worse, pet.”

“That wasn’t what I meant.” She jerked her head back in the direction of the warehouse and repeated, “Does it hurt?”

He exhaled a puff of smoke and shut his eyes. “Yeah, it does.”

Buffy nodded. “It hurts for me too,” she whispered and after a moment asked, “Is it always this... painful?”

He tilted his head back to look at the stars, considering her question. “Not as far as I can tell. It always seems like it should get easier, like I’d get used to it, but it doesn’t and I can’t.”

“Oh.” Her tone was flat, broken, and he thought he heard a sniffle, but Spike made no move to comfort her. He wanted to, yeah, but the last time he’d indulged his baser urges around Buffy it had resulted in something neither of them wanted to talk about. Instead, they continued to stand silently side by side, until she blurted out, “I’m not a lesbian, you know. Or—or even kinda gay. It’s just that with Drusilla, I...” She trailed off unsure how to describe the relationship.

“You don’t have to explain, love. It’s a sire-fledge sort of deal—some sort of attachment that comes from the change. She gave us strength and immortality—a whole new life, really—and in return we give her our trust, devotion, and all that rot.” He flicked the ash from his cig, annoyed. Spike didn’t really like to think of his relationship with Dru being one of obligation, nor did he like the feeling of having no control over his actions. He’d always seen himself as a rebel—he lived by his own law—but here he was, bound by something he didn’t even fully understand.

“What about fledges?” Buffy wanted to know. “Is there another type of connection between fledges who share a sire?”

“No. At least I don’t think so. You’re the first I ...” his voice faded out. “Dru’s made a lot of vamps before you, yeah? I’ve never felt any sort of connection with them.”

“Until me,” she concluded.

“Yeah,” Spike agreed. “Not ‘till you.”

***