Disclaimer: The characters from Buffy the Vampire Slayer are owned by Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and Fox studios. This story is not meant to infringe upon anyone's rights, only to entertain.

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CHAPTER 3


Buffy waited until she could no longer see Spike's shock of platinum blond hair against the dark night. How many times in the past was seeing him here such an annoyance? But how many times this past year was it a welcome sight? And then there was that time when she found out about her mother. She was so distraught that she didn’t even feel him approaching until he was just paces away. She saw the gun, but at that moment survival was the last thing on her mind. Then he sat beside her. He waited. He didn’t press her with questions as to why she was sad. He just sat there until she was ready to somehow put into words how she felt. She should have called Willow or Xander, but it was Spike that saw and heard her cry. In his eyes she didn’t see pity – just understanding. And strangely enough she felt safe.

She cried on his shoulder and he let her sob out her sadness. Maybe she was imagining that it was Angel holding her. But Angel never smelled of alcohol and beer. And if it was Angel it would feel like he was engulfing her to protect her from the world … from whatever pain she was feeling. That was how Angel held her. No, this was different. This was different even from Riley. Riley would have done something similar – hold her so tightly as if he could squeeze the pain away. But Spike was there, just there, stroking her hair and back so tenderly. He didn’t rush her into feeling better nor did he rationalize that things would get better. He was there and he listened and she felt safe.

An unexpected sigh escaped her lips as she turned and entered the house.

"Dawnie? I'm back." Buffy called by the stairwell.

"Yeah?" Dawn peeked out of her room.

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah ... well I guess considering everything going on, I should be asking you that question."

Buffy's face went stern. "Right. I guess I deserve that."

Dawn stepped out of her room and climbed down the stairs towards her sister. "Did you see Spike?"

"Uhm ... yeah. He just left."

"So did you guys talk?"

"Talk?" she said somewhat defensively. "Why would we talk?"

"To get whatever it is that's been bothering you out in the open. I'm assuming at the very least he would have apologized for hurting you."

"Oh that. Well he said that already." she replied somewhat absentmindedly.

"Good. He's been acting really weird lately. You know when we walked home, he wouldn't even walk beside me."

Buffy looked at her sister with shock in her eyes. She knew how much Spike cared for Dawn and that he would protect her at all costs. Sure it was sufficient that he watch her from afar but that never really was his style. Dismissing her shock quickly for Dawn’s benefit, Buffy gave her sister a reassuring smile. "Maybe he just had a bad day. Anyway, you should be getting to bed. You have school tomorrow and all."

Dawn tried to give her sister a comforting smile and a quick hug before climbing back up the stairs and into her room.

Buffy followed moments later, stepping into her familiar sanctuary and closing the door behind her. She stared at her bed, noticing Mr. Gordo looking up at her forlorn nestled near her pillows. She moved towards her closet and slowly slid off her coat. One by one she removed her clothing and changed to a pair of shorts and a black shirt. Feeling a little more comfy in her sleep clothes, she made her way to her dresser.

She picked up her brush as she undid her ponytail, letting her still not so long blond hair free. "Goldilocks" she heard him say in her mind. The memory seemed so real that she had to look around to make sure he wasn't there. But her reflection in the mirror was telling her the truth. She was alone. He was not here. Shaking her head to clear it, she ran the brush through her hair over and over again. Then, she continued with her nightly routine. When she was done, she saw Buffy staring back at her sans make-up.


"Beautiful ... always beautiful." Spike said in his low alluring voice.

"Yeah right, with a bruise on my forehead." Buffy said with a little pout.

Spike's eyes wandered to every one of Buffy's feature. "Don't believe me love? Don't sell yourself short. You're beautiful." he said reaching out with his fingers to caress her cheek. He then moved his hand towards her neck, pulling her in gently as he brushed his lips against her. "Always beautiful, my sweet angel." he mumbled before pressing his lips once more for another kiss. When he felt her moved against him, he deepened the kiss wanting to prove to her exactly how much she turned him on. His hand left a trail of shivers in its wake as he moved it down to rest on her waist. Buffy found herself wrapping her arms around his neck, matching him kiss for kiss as the need to move away from him that once occupied her mind, disappeared.


With a gasp, Buffy closed her eyes tightly and shook her head, trying to rid herself of that memory. With another deep breath and quiet resolve she tried to give herself a reassuring smile in the mirror. She flung her hair back as she stood but something on her neck made her stop. It was a bite mark -- Spike's bite mark. The swelling had gone down but the two red wounds stood proudly against her smooth fair neck. Instinctively she touched them, curious to see if they were still tender. But that move was a mistake as another memory came crashing inside her head.


"Well Slayer? It's up to you now. Send me off right. Just one kiss and then I'll be gone." she heard him say with desperation.

"I'm sorry!” he blurted out. "I didn't mean to bite down so hard, but I needed your blood for the spell. ... I love you and I'm sorry." And then there was the kiss -- the last kiss he gave her. It was urgent, full of need and maybe hope. It sent shivers through her body like all his kisses did but when it ended she didn't see the lust that usually accompanied a joining of that kind.


"Argh!" Buffy cried out in frustration. "I just need to go to bed." She affirmed to no one in particular. She was alone. No one was with her tonight because that's how she liked it. Right?


**


Spike heard something else break and shatter in his crypt but it didn't matter. Nothing really mattered at the moment not when his hands were full of Slayer flesh. She was everywhere. He could fill hot lips on his cold chest as her hands explored the rest of his body. Her hair bounced gently against his muscles and his body responded to that and all the other things she was doing to him.

He moved in time with her, her gasps and moans music to his hears. He wanted to taste her and he arched his body to capture her soft lips with his own. He was lost in her.

Each time either of them moved seemed better than the last and he held on to the moment, knowing that once she was done the pleasure would be replaced by pain and a cold bed. Have to be in the moment. Live the moment. How long have they been at it? Hours? It was never enough. He wanted more. He concentrated on each kiss, each touch, each surge of pleasure knowing full well it wouldn’t last. He had to commit each second to memory while it lasted. He heard her hitched breathing and smiled, determined to hear more of her.



Spike woke up with a start only to realize that there was another part of his anatomy that was quite awake. "Bollocks! Damn fucking Slayer!" He tried to ignore it, turning on his side to find comfort in pillows and sheets. Sleep. He needed sleep, but his body recalled the dreams to clearly.

He twisted his body to reach out for the bottle of whiskey he remembered placing by the bed before he went to sleep. Grasping the neck tightly he poured the liquid down his throat hoping alcohol would take care of his problem. She was around him. Always. She was everywhere. Why did she have to be bloody everywhere? Why did everything have to bloody remind him of her? "It's because you fell good and proper for the bint you fool." his thought answered for him. The only comfort he had in that was the operative word -- "fell". Past tense. Memories were a distraction. Maybe he should have asked to seal those as well. At that moment he felt an itch on the left side of his chest and absently his left hand started scratching it. Then he felt it stinging -- the damn x-marked wound was stinging again. "Oh god! Won't you just bloody heal?!" he cried out. "Heal and leave me in peace."

Knowing that the wound would prevent him for finding sleep anytime soon, he got out of bed and walked over to his little hill of books that were shoved into one corner. He bent down and picked up a book one by one to see if something felt like an interesting read to pass the time. But something else caught his eye. Half buried beneath pages and book covers, a small little spiral wire peeked out. He pulled it from its grave and came face to face with the visage of his former torment. It was Buffy; her eyes closed and face so serene. Her hair framed her face like the clouds around the sun. He had that once -- that smile. He knew that as much as she would deny it, that smile was for him and him alone. He thought that most of his sketches of her were burned when Captain Cardboard came by for a visit. But it seemed like something of hers always escapes. He had half a mind to throw this one to the flames as well. But for some reason he talked himself out of it. In disgust he just threw it back on the pile of discarded books. He could think of only one thing that could make him feel better at the moment. Violence solved everything. The sun was still up but in a few hours he could go on the prowl and he knew exactly the prey he wanted to corner.