Author's Notes: Reminder: I'm posting chapters 11-13 today, so make sure you're caught up to where you need to be before reading this chapter.

Most of the dialogue in this chapter will be familiar. Sorry. There are a few scenes that I added, or extended, however, and a couple of small changes. There’s also some Mr. Gordo goodness in here that I hope you’ll enjoy as much as I enjoyed writing it. Next chapter will wrap up “Into the Woods” and we can be all done with the Buffy/Other warning.

Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all recognizable characters, locations, and dialogue belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and the various writers. Show writers and any other quoted authors have been credited in individual chapters. I'm making no money from this—it is purely in the name of fun.

Credits: This chapter contains dialogue from the episode "Into The Woods" written by Marti Noxon.

This chapter is, sadly, unbetaed. All mistakes are mine.

Banner by Phuriedae

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Chapter 12

Too Blind To See


In the morning, I let Riley sleep in. He looks tired.

By the time he gets up I've made toast and coffee, but he opts for orange juice instead.

"So what are we doing today?" he asks, putting his arms around me where I stand at the sink.

"Well," I say. "I thought I'd stop off at that hair supply place in town and find a wig for mom. Then spend the day with her."

"You want me to tag along?" he asks, looking... well, looking like he doesn't really want to go wig shopping.

"Nah. It's mostly going to be girl-bonding time. You don't have to do that," I say. "I figured you could have today off Buffy duty. Do Riley stuff." I dry the last of the dishes.

"Riley stuff?" he asks. I twist around to look at him and smile. He's so cute when his face does that thing; the one where I know he's thinking that I'm a doof.

"Yeah. You know... play basketball. Watch hockey. Drink beer. Be manly. All that stuff you don't do when you're hanging out with me."

He makes a face.

"I'm kidding," I say. "I just figured you've been working overtime, worrying about me and mom, and you deserved a break. Besides... wig shopping and doing each other's hair?"

"Right," he says with a small smile. "Not exactly manly."

***

I manage to find mom a wig that almost perfectly matches her real hair. She's still not convinced, but I feel like I'm six years old again, playing with my Beauty Shop Barbie. I see all sorts of possibilities with this wig thing.

Oooh! Theme days!

Mom must be feeling better, though, because she's already trying to talk to me about school. I'm ready to go back, I'm just enjoying the time I've got with her now that the surgery is over.

"What about slaying, and your friends? I want you to have your life back," she says.

Doesn't she get that she's a huge part of my life? "Right now, I'd rather be here, styling your beautiful new plastic dream hair," I tell her.

She laughs. "Fair enough, but you don't have to keep me company all night. Go out, have fun, get Riley to take you to a movie or something."

"I gave Riley the day off," I say with a shrug. I’m not quite ready for movies and things yet. I’m still too happy to have my mother back.

"I don't think he thinks of you as a chore, Buffy," she says. Yeah, she's back. She's got Mom Voice.

"I know that. Look, I told him to make plans with his friends because I wanted to have you all to myself, okay? Besides, I can see him anytime. And I'm sure he'll come over later looking for a little..."

Whoops.

Er...

"Bible study." I improvise. Badly.

Mom gives me a Look. "Well, good. I mean, just as long as the two of you are spending some quality time with... the Lord."

"We are. Absolutely," I promise, trying to look as innocent as I can.

***

Riley does come over later, and we spend plenty of time... er.. communing. Afterward, it's easy to just doze in his arms. I'll get up and slip into some pj's in just a minute...

When I feel the vamp tingles, weirdly close, I sit straight up in bed, clutching the sheets to me. Crap, I forgot to put clothes on again.

"Mr. Gordo?" I ask, then blink.

Hold on... there's light. I'm not in the dream room, I'm still in my room, but my vamp senses are going crazy.

"No," says a deep, horribly familiar voice. "It's me." Spike barely takes a step forward, but the shadows seem to part for him. Moonlight glints on his pale hair and skin, but the rest of him is just a blacker shadow among the rest. I pull the blankets closer, suddenly angry. What the hell is he doing in my room? Just because I haven't revoked his invite does not mean that he gets free run of my house. Creeping around in my basement, stealing stuff, is bad enough, but this is practically begging for me to dust him.

"Spike, every time you show up like this, you risk all your parts, you know that?" I say.

He frowns. "I wouldn't be here if I didn't have a good reason," he says, sounding weirdly serious. "As usual, I'm here to help you, and I —" Suddenly he blinks at me, and I can see the light come on upstairs. "Are you naked under there?"

"Get out," I say, not caring why he's here. A dream vampire is one thing, but Spike... no way am I comfortable being naked in bed, with Spike less than ten feet away.

He shakes his head, as if to clear it. "No, I'm serious. I mean, not about the naked part, I mean..." He's craning his neck to see around the blanket. Ewwww.

"Get out, or I will drop you out head first," I tell him, trying to calculate whether or not I can get to my sleep shirt and into it before he sees anything. Then, I'm totally dusting him.

Except suddenly his face is deadly serious, and I'm getting shivers of a completely different kind.

"I wanna show you something," he says, and there's nothing playful or suggestive in his tone. Whatever is up, it's serious enough to make Spike risk being dusted by waking me and refusing to leave.

"What?" I ask.

"You need to see this," he says and the low, dangerous rumble of his voice sends a shiver skittering down my spine. "But we need to move, if we wanna get there in time."

Okay. This doesn't sound good. Not at all. Which means I probably ought to at least check it out. He waits, his expression a little impatient, but intent.

Right, like I'm just going to hop out of bed with Spike standing less than ten feet away, when I'm totally naked. Stupid vampire. Do I have to stake him for him to get the point? Finally he rolls his eyes. "Oh, please!" he scoffs. "Like I give a bloody damn." He turns around and hunches his shoulders, exhaling with irritation.

I dress faster than I ever have in my entire life. I don't really care that nothing I'm wearing matches. It's as I'm pulling my shoes on I realize what's missing...

Riley.

Where the hell is Riley?

He must not be in the house, or else I doubt Spike would have been as confident about coming in. He knows I can dust him if I want, but Riley would probably stake him on sight if he caught him in my bedroom while we were still naked.

But... where would he go? Patrolling? Oh, God. Please tell me he didn't leave in the middle of the night to go patrolling alone. He knows how much that worries me. Maybe that's what Spike wants to show me? Only that doesn't seem like it's serious enough to warrant an after midnight field trip.

I'm getting more and more nervous. "Okay, what's going on?" I ask, and Spike glances back at me, his eyes flickering over my mismatched outfit with more than a little amusement. Jerk. He's the one who insisted we hurry.

"C'mon," he says, leading the way out. "It's across town."

Okay... across town means the bad part of Sunnydale. If it's going down out there...

"Do I need weapons?" I ask, wondering if I should call Giles and let him know that I'm going with Spike into the ghetto with nothing more than a st —

"Stake you've got shoved down the back of your sweats should do in a pinch," he says, reaching the front door first.

Huh? "How do you...?" I know he wasn't watching me dress. Was he?

He gives a little shrug as he opens the door and rolls his eyes. "Always do, don't you?"

Well.. yes. And I guess Spike would have better cause than just about anybody to know where I keep my stakes. Still... creepy.

***

The walk across town we spend in silence. My mind is racing, wondering what the hell is going on, where Riley could have gone, and why I'm out in the middle of the night being all buddy buddy with my mortal enemy who's being weirdly... helpful.

Huh. Spike's never helpful for free, not unless he's up to something.

"Am I going to have to pay you for this later?" I ask. God, that'd be so like him. Lure me out here to show me something, then demand a ton of money in exchange. He gives me a disgusted look.

"This isn’t about that," he says. "I just... I'm trying to help here, Slayer."

"Cause you're usually so helpful," I say. Right. If I believe that, I believe that Spike's got a freaking pulse.

He mutters something low, and I just barely catch it. "Could be."

Spike wants to be helpful? Since when? Is killing his own kind getting so boring, now he's got to add helping the Slayer to his resume? I decide I really don't want the answer to that particular question. Only one thing should be interesting me right now, and weirdly helpful mortal enemies shouldn't be it.

"Where are we going, Spike?" I ask.

"Here," he says, nodding at a run down building surrounded by a chain link fence. The minute we step inside that fence, I realize Spike isn't the only thing causing my Slayer sense to go wild.

There are vampires here.

A lot of vampires.

"So help me, Spike," I say, "if this is a trap —"

"It's not," he says, and it sounds like a promise. "Can dust me if I'm lying."

He's actually serious. Okay, so... if it's not a trap, why is Spike taking me into a really massive vampire nest?

He opens the door, then follows me in. The light inside is dim and grungy and smells of wood smoke in an enclosed space. Paint and wallpaper peel from walls that are marred further by graffiti and rust stains. What little furniture there is is so beat up and ragged I can't tell if it came from the junkyard or if it's original to this place.

But it's the humans inside that really shock me. The first one looks like he's already dead, but he blinks at me dazedly... high on something, I think. In the next room, a human passes money to a vampire, who tucks it into his pocket, then pulls the human into his lap. Across from them, another human and vampire pair are already wrapped around each other, the vampire feeding from the human's throat while he groans in bliss.

God... what is this place? It looks like... it looks like some kind of vampire whorehouse, only instead of sex these people are... what? Paying for the privilege of getting bitten? Or maybe they're paying for the chance to live when it's over. I can't really tell, and I'm not sure I want to. My stomach churns with disgust, and my fingers itch to reach for my stake.

This place is horrible; no wonder Spike wanted me to see it.

"Don't start slaying," he warns me, his voice pitched low enough that I don't think the other vamps can hear it. "That's not why we're here."

We're not? But... He jerks his head toward the stairs.

Oh, god. It gets worse than this? What could possibly be worse than this?

As I start for the stairs, a huge vampire grabs Spike and whirls him around. "What do you think you're doing?" he asks.

When Spike speaks, it's friendly, non-threatening, but there's something authoritative about it. "Just having a little look, mate. Keep it down."

"You can't go up there," says the vampire, stopping him again. Spike moves so fast he's a blur, and the next thing I know I'm no longer looking at my dumbass, chip-headed, weirdo former enemy. Spike is a pissed off master vampire pinning a fledgling twice his size by the throat, then tossing him easily to the floor.

"I said, keep it down," he growls, dominant and dangerous. It's...weirdly impressive to see him like this. A much-needed reminder that he's more dangerous than he looks even chipped. The other vampires seem to get the picture, because they back off pretty quick, shooting Spike wary glances.

Okay, so Spike isn't a usual around here, I take it. They didn't know who he was. Which means it's probably not a trap. Spike straightens with a disdainful sniff and settles his duster on his shoulders, then nods up at me. We climb the stairs in silence.

The upstairs is even more disgusting than downstairs. Doors line an ancient hallway, plastic tarps hang from the ceiling, and debris litters the floor. If Martha Stewart was a zombie, even she'd turn her nose up at this place. I'm surprised it isn't coming down around us. I can feel vampires in the rooms up and down the hall, hear groans of pleasure —some male, some female, and I know what I'm hearing are humans being fed on.

I can't understand why anyone would do this. How stupid are they? Don't they realize that there's no guarantee that the vampire that's biting them will stop with just a quick snack? Don't they know they could die? Or worse, become one of the walking undead? Also, since when are vampire bites orgasmic? Every time I've been bitten, it hurt. There wasn't anything pleasant about it, and definitely not enough to make me make noises like.... ew... that.

Spike's clearly hunting something, he's got his head tilted in that way that usually means he's either listening intently, or smelling —and again with the ew. Even my nose doesn't like the smell of this place. It stinks worse than Xander's pile of dirty socks before laundry day. I almost feel bad for Spike, because if what I smell is bad, I know whatever he's smelling is ten times worse.

Another hallway runs off the first, and Spike turns down it. He pauses in front of a door, then nods his head at it, his expression grim. I slowly push the door open, and peer in.

In the room, a man is sitting on a dirty mattress that's laying flat on the floor. His back is to the wall, and most of his features are hidden in shadows. A too thin, skanky vampire girl sits between the guy's sprawled legs, sucking at his arm.

This is what Spike brought me to see? It's no worse than the people downstairs, I think, until the girl's head shifts just a little bit.

The guy has a scar on his chest. It's about four or five inches long and ragged, as if it had been cut deeply with a shard of glass, and it's terribly, horribly familiar.

But it can't be.

It can't.

As if to prove me wrong, the guy speaks. "Harder," he grunts at the girl, and she pulls at his wrist greedily.

Oh. My. God.

I must make a noise, because his head comes up, the light catching his features and filling them in just enough so that I can be sure.

It's Riley.

This... this is where he went.

He left my bed, after making... after making love to me, and came here to... to... what? To pay vampires to feed on him?

Oh god.

There's a roaring sound in my ears as I turn and bolt for the stairs, and my stomach is doing a gymnastics routine. I feel like I'm going to throw up.

When the vampire steps in front of me downstairs, I barely blink before picking him up and flinging him across the room.

I can't do this right now. I'm too freaked out. Too angry. I can't... if I start this fight... I can't do this.

The air outside isn't much fresher than it was inside, but I'm still inhaling huge lungfuls of it. Spike darts past me, then comes to a skidding to a halt, turning to look at me.

"I thought you should know —"

Whatever he's about to say, I can't listen to it right now. I give him a look, silently telling him to shut up. I can't think about —

I have to go.

I run.

***

I don't remember coming home.

I don't remember how I got here, or ...

I shut myself in my room, and glance at the bed only to realize that the sheets are still thrown back, and it still smells like Riley.

Instead I sink back against the door, then slide to the floor.

Riley.

There's this mess of images flickering through my head.

Riley smiling. Riley training with me. Riley patrolling. Riley's goofy grin. Riley hunting down demons. Riley dancing with me at the Bronze. Riley taking me driving. Riley setting up a picnic on the green. Riley smashing the Gentlemen's voice box. Riley sweating and shaking as he goes through withdrawl. Riley fighting Harmony. Riley holding me while we wait to hear about my mom...

And in between each image is another one. The same one.

"Harder."

I don't get it.

I don't understand. I can't understand.

Why would he do something like that? He knows...god he knows what vampires are. He knows better than most what they're capable of. Why would he...? Why would he betray me that way? This is somehow almost worse than... Riley is human. He's not supposed to...

What... god, what is so wrong with me that I turn good guys into... ?

Was he always like this? Was I just... too blind to see it?

God, how long has this been going on?

I don't know how long I sit there, turning the same questions over and over in my head.

I don't know when the tears started.

I don't know how to make them stop.

***

When I feel the familiar tingles at the base of my neck, I slowly raise my head from my folded arms. I must have fallen asleep.

My body is asleep on the floor of my bedroom, while my mind is wide-awake.

In the dark.

With a vampire.

He must know something is wrong. Maybe it's the tear tracks down my face. Maybe it's the coldness seeping into my body. Maybe it's just my mismatched clothes and the way I'm sitting on the cold stone floor, with my back against the bed.

It doesn't really matter how he knows, but I can tell I'm making him very nervous.

There's only one way this can go right now.

Only one way I can survive this night.

"We're sparring," I tell him, as I get to my feet. "No holding back tonight."

I don't wait for a response. I stride away from the bed blindly, and when I feel like I'm far enough away, I settle into position. Waiting.

He circles me, staying on the outer edge of my range at first, then making feints in and out, testing my reflexes. My body is relaxed, my mind settling into a cold emptiness that observes, detached. When the first attack comes, I'm ready for him.

From somewhere outside of myself, blind, relying purely on instinct, on the sound of his feet on the stone —barefoot —, of his clothes as they whisper with movement, of the soft grunts and unneeded breaths he takes every now and then; from here I can finally understand what Spike meant.

It's a brutal dance.

It's all about timing. About listening to your partner on a level deeper than words. About connecting with them, even as you step away. The rhythm is there in the meaty drumbeat of fists against flesh, the slap of feet on the cold floor, the gasp of sudden pain, mine or his... it doesn't matter. We move together, then apart, step into one another, then whirl away. Blind, we're nothing but arms and legs, torsos and hips, fists and feet.

We're predator and prey, slayer and vampire, male and female, darkness and light, sun and moon, fire and ice.

We dance for hours.

My mind is empty. There is nothing but this.

Nothing but the hard punch of my empty fist against his heart.

Nothing but the cold brush of his lips against my throat.

We kill each other, over and over, him, then me, then him again. Each time we dance away, only to come together harder than before.

It goes on forever.

Finally I sweep his feet out from under him and we come down together in a tangle of arms and legs. I'm drenched in sweat and exhausted. He's breathing harshly through his nose, and his limbs are shaking, as tired as mine. My fist is planted firmly against his unbeating heart. His mouth is pressed in a cool, closed mouth kiss to the throbbing pulse at my throat.

I don't know which of us made the killing blow first; either way... we're both dead.

Somehow we come to a silent, mutual agreement: we're done for tonight. He presses his forehead against my shoulder for a moment, then rolls off of me and lays sprawled somewhere to my left.

Neither of us acknowledges what just happened. I don't mention that, for a moment there, when we were pressed together, length to length, I felt his erection hard against my hips. He doesn't touch me, even though I know he can probably smell that I'm aroused. It’s just…just a result of the fighting. It happens.

We're both too tired to move.

Finally I hear him shift, and the next thing I know, he's tossing a pillow on top of me, and flinging a blanket over me. Tired, I manage to stuff the pillow under my head. I don't bother with the blanket. I'm sweating too much to care.

It's not ‘til I wake up the next morning, laying flat on my floor, my head pillowed awkwardly on a pile of discarded clothes, and something hard and painful against the small of my back that I realize:

Last night, when we were fighting... I never reached for my stake. Never even checked to see if it was there, even though I'd arrived, as always, in the same clothes I'd fallen asleep in.

And he'd been at my throat, over and over throughout the night, and never once opened his mouth.

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