After a few minutes alone in the garage, Spike was able to get his demon and his appetites mostly under control. It helped that Buffy had been kind enough to reheat his thermos of blood while she was gone, and now he sat sipping contentedly and watching her as she sat down. "So tell me," he said, "what that wanker Giles thought he was doing dictating your love life." Took another taste from the mug. If he couldn't satisfy one hunger at least he could take care of another. "He really told you to go out with the sodding Immortal?"

"Well, not quite," admitted Buffy. "He wanted me to 'move on' – basically get over you – and suggested that I go out. And when I say suggested, what I mean is guilt-tripped. My friends needed me at my best, Dawn was worried, blah blah blah. He tried the 'you would have wanted me to be happy' line exactly once, and I almost made him severely regret it." She sighed, dragged fingers through her hair. "Carlo was… charming. That's something he's definitely good at. And not a vamp, but in the know about vampires and demons and everything else. So I didn't have to hide what I was."

"He's not a vamp?" said Spike. Raised an eyebrow. Wanker had the instincts of one. "Always thought he was."

"You've never met him then," said Buffy, "or you could tell. Besides – do you really think I'd try to get over you by dating the first other vamp to come along with a pretty face?"

Spike bit his lip, looked away. "'M not pretty," he muttered.

"You did, didn't you!" Buffy's eyes were wide when he looked at her sideways, cautiously. "Okay, I should either be really pissed that you think I'm that much of a ho, or else really sorry that you think that badly of yourself. God, Spike. You got a soul for me. Did you think I'd just ignore that and find some other soulless vamp to – to take to bed or something?"

"Knew I didn't stand a chance with you," mumbled Spike. "By the time we left for Rome I was convinced, yeah? Seein' you with that git… figured he was just proof I was right."

"The only appeal Carlo had for me," said Buffy softly, "was that he was charming, and he didn't do anything to remind me of you." Looked away as she went on, "Because that would have hurt too much. He's… I don't know what he is exactly, but after so long alive he's gotten very bored and he's always looking for the next thing to come along and entertain him. And I think for him, dating a Slayer was – well, I'm sure he thought I would have been entertaining. But like I said, I wasn't interested in being the newest addition to his collection. It was kind of icky to think about."

Spike couldn't help smiling at her words. "Icky. Is that right?"

"Don't make fun," she said. "You're the one who uses words like shirty. Oh, and speaking of souls, I have a question for you." She fidgeted with her hair, said, "So when we did the fire part, just now, your demon was… kinda obvious. But when we did the part for water – where was your soul?"

Spike raised his eyebrow at her, sardonic. "It's not like I have a game face for my soul. Start glowing or whatever."

Buffy snickered. "No, I guess not."

"Soul's still here," he said. Reached out, traced a circle on her leg with one lazy fingertip. "Soul's the reason I can talk about the Immortal without trying to knock his memory right out of your head with my tongue." He looked up at her through his lashes, smile widening as he watched her blush. "Being a bit more serious, soul's the reason we can bring up Angel, or even Cecily. All that emotional stuff. Soul's good at it."

"You always were, too," said Buffy. "I mean, you were always honest, even when it got you in trouble."

"I'll give you that," Spike said. Smiled ruefully. "Just, without the soul I didn't always understand… oh, compassion and the like. Feeling what the other person felt. Like – and here's a fond memory – telling you the little soldier boy you were dating was visiting a suck house. I wanted you to know. Never occurred to me it would hurt you to find out." He gave a kind of shrug without moving his shoulders, twitching an eyebrow and tilting his head a little. "Just now, though, with the spell – getting hit by all my senses at once, overwhelming like that, sort of hid the soul part of it, that's all."

"Makes sense," she said. Dropped her hand over his, stopping his movements on her thigh. "So we have air and earth still to take care of, right?"

"Yeah," said Spike. "Nothing fancy with them, no demon or soul or anything else mixed in that I know of. Should go pretty straightforward."

"Okay," said Buffy. "Which one's first, what does it do, and what set of marks am I looking at?"

Spike chuckled a little, reached for his ribs. "What've I said about making me laugh?" he asked. "Air is first. Upper arms, upper legs, here – nothing past the elbows or knees, that's all earth."

"Okay," she said. Watched as she fingered her knife nervously.

"Air is about talking and communication, but also thought, memory, intellect, that sort of thing. As for what to expect," he said, "maybe I'll suddenly get smarter, that'd be nice."

Buffy rolled her eyes, smiling. "Or maybe you'll just start talking and I won't be able to get you to shut up."

"Nothing new there, then, yeah?" Spike scowled at her, even though he knew she'd be able to see his heart wasn't in it. He was just relieved to see that she wasn't still going off her nut about having to cut on him like this. Better, she wasn't still broken up with guilt and sorrow and all the rest of it.

They'd had quite the busy day together, between one thing and another.

Spike lay back down and with her help got his arms up over his head, revealing all the sigils up and down their length. Curled his fingers round the cot frame and braced himself.

Despite that, the choking sensation took him by surprise, once she began.

---

Buffy heard Spike's breath hitch, then stop, when she made the first mark on his skin.

"Spike?" she asked, but he just squeezed his eyes shut, opened them, shook his head. Closed his eyes again. He looked like he was in pain.

Well, of course he was, she'd been slicing him apart all afternoon.

She made the second cut on his other arm, and he exhaled sharply, his mouth gaping open as he inhaled. "You okay?" He didn't say anything, just nodded, eyes still shut.

Buffy moved down the cot toward Spike's legs, pushing the blanket back to reveal the inscriptions there, bracing his bad knee gently with her free hand. One deep breath in, and then a long, slow slice down the top of his thigh, listening to Spike's breath catch – she never understood why he did that when she knew he didn't have to – hearing him swallow and let out a tiny cough as she drew the blade along. Then it was done and she was ready for the next leg.

Not too cool with the fact that she was getting good at this, though.

She managed to fold the blanket so it wouldn't get too bloodied, yet still covered his groin enough that no one had to be too embarrassed. Okay, so that she wouldn't be too embarrassed. Buffy was pretty sure Spike was incapable of feeling anything like shame, at least where his body was concerned.

Then the last cut was complete, just one more element to go and they could stop… except that Spike was breathing again, his mouth moving, speaking without stopping, a steady murmur she could just barely hear, low and insistent. She leaned in, held her own breath to hear him better.

"…the way you came for me, never told you, never told you I missed you every day, never told you I was afraid for you, need to tell you, need to tell you about the dreams, nightmares, need to tell you about the messages, go to her, she needs you, don't know why, don't know yet, need to ask you why you need me, need to tell you about being alone, alone, I was the only one, no one left, need to tell you the hell, about the void, empty, no one there… your family, your friends, never told you the envy, never told you the way you belong, you belong, you have them, need to tell you not to walk away, not to close them out, need to tell you to talk to them, communicate, air is communicating, Buffy…" Spike opened his eyes partway, managed to focus on her, his hands still tightly gripping the cot frame.

"Buffy," he said, never stopping the flow of words," 'm sorry Buffy, can't make myself stop, the element, can't stop, 'm sorry, need to tell you I'm sorry, never told you how sorry, never told you thank you, never told you when I hated what you did to yourself, never told you that you deserved better friends, need to tell you, they love you, they don't understand, need to tell you they don't own you, need to tell you caring, caring, not the same, they're not entitled to you, need to tell you to talk to them, communicate, air is communication, talking, need to tell you to talk to them, don't, don't take, need to tell you not to take them for granted, need to tell you to keep yourself, don't give over to them, don't give away that power, caring, they don't have a claim, they don't have that right, need to tell you not to give that away, never told you, never told you… they don't… Buffy," he was struggling for breath now, "can't stop, the air, the air letting free… temporary, Christ I hope so, need to tell you that… need to tell you…"

So Buffy did the only thing she could think of to stop him, and leaned in and kissed him. Could have covered his mouth with her hand, but it wouldn't have halted the flow of words, only trapped them inside him. So she kissed him, and felt his lips still moving under hers and it made her toes curl and her eyes prick at the same time, worry and lust a strange combination in her belly. She kissed him harder and he tipped his head toward her, bared his throat, made this little pleading sound under her, and she slipped her tongue inside his mouth, just barely, teasing his upper lip, flicking the roof of his mouth just behind his teeth.

The cot creaked. Buffy glanced up to see Spike tightening his grip on the frame, the marks on his palms oozing dark blood, gauze wrapped around each wrist, his knuckles white with the strength of his hold. Glanced down to see his hips rocking, ever so slightly, held back by his injuries, tiny little thrusts against the blanket, his cock and belly up to his navel pretty much the only thing covered.

God, it had been a long time.

When he stopped making sounds and started kissing her back, she pulled away, trying not to shake too obviously. He was silent, staring at her through heavy-lidded eyes, lips swollen and wanton. Panting shallowly. Hands still up over his head.

Possibly the hottest thing she'd ever seen in her life, and she had to make herself stop kissing him. She smiled at him, couldn't help the way her mouth curled up in one corner.

"Better?" she asked him.

He swallowed, eyes widening. "That was… that was cruel," he said finally.

"Effective, though," she said. "Told you I'd have to make you shut up."

His look of disbelief shifted through annoyance to lust, and he leered at her for a second, eyes hot once again. "When I can get up off this cot," he said, still breathless, "you and I are going to have a discussion."

"Well," she said, "air is supposed to be about communication, right?" She stopped as he grinned, bit her lip for a second. "Speaking of. When we're finally done with these element things, I want to ask you about – some of what you said. Just now. The dreams – messages and stuff."

"Yeah," said Spike. Swallowed again, got himself calmed back down. Buffy bit her lip, a little embarrassed to have teased him like that, twice now.

"Yeah," he said again. "We'll do earth, and if I'm still up for it, we'll talk. Whatever you want, love."

"Oh goody," said Buffy. "More harrowing emotional conversation."

"Only because you asked, pet," said Spike.

---