Spike was struck speechless with surprise – and that was saying a lot, for him. He was also tremendously relieved by the Slayer’s unexpected reaction to what he now realized was a very foolish sarcastic comment. The moment he had realized what he had said, he had fully expected her to light into him again, or at the very least, launch into another verbal assault.

Never had he imagined hearing the words that she had actually spoken.

She had *missed* him? They had never been friends, even before all of this, and after the intense confrontation they had just had, her reaction was to realize that she had *missed* him? It seemed that for once, his natural cockiness and smart mouth that had a tendency to get him into so much trouble had actually served to remind the Slayer of a better time in her life, a time when she was no doubt infinitely happier than she was now.

“I don’t know,” Buffy sniffled, smiling through her tears as she sighed. “I guess I’m just getting a little nostalgic.”

Suddenly, he began to understand just why she had brought him here in the first place.

“Thought so,” he nodded with a hint of a smirk. “From the very familiar feeling of your fist connecting with my face. Just like old times, eh, pet?” *Except for the part where I can’t hit you back anymore,* he added in his mind with more than a little resentment. He had the feeling that a bit more of his old humor and sarcasm might have a positive effect on the severely depressed Slayer, but felt that that last bit might be taking it too far.

As her smile immediately faded at his words, he wondered if maybe he had gone too far already – until she looked at him, and he saw the regret in her eyes. He could see her eyes moving over his battered face, his lip split and several dark bruises already forming. She opened her mouth to speak, and he had the odd, wondering feeling that she was actually about to apologize.

But then, she shut her mouth again as she made her decision, and just smiled at his joke instead of saying whatever it was she had been about to say. “Just like old times,” she repeated, her voice heavy with weariness and defeat. She looked back up at him with a smile that was both sad and amused at the same time. “The good old days, when all we had to worry about was which one of us was gonna win.”

He returned her smile, but it did not quite reach his eyes as he replied softly, “Think you’ve about got that little contest won, pet.”

Buffy looked troubled by his words. She walked back to the desk where she had set the picture she had been examining a little while ago, studying it with a morose expression. “It all feels like a lifetime ago…you know?”

He smiled, but his tone was soft and serious as he nodded. “I do.”

Buffy was silent, just staring at the picture, becoming lost in her thoughts again.

Spike took a cautious step toward her, opening his mouth to speak, but hesitating. The last time he had attempted to reach out to her – mere minutes earlier – had almost ended very badly, and had resulted in the rapidly darkening bruises on his face, and the blood he could taste as he nervously worried his lower lip.

*Just let it go, mate,* he warned himself, yet took a couple more steps toward her.

“Mistress,” he spoke quietly, careful to address her with the respect she had required a few minutes ago. “I know I’m only here to do as you say. I’m not trying to put anything over on you, I swear it. I only asked about them because…because…” His earnest voice broke off, as he realized what he had been about to say – and how very badly it could be taken.

As much as her mood seemed to have improved, he did not think that it would be helped by his admitting that he had feelings for her.

She looked up at him questioningly when he did not finish, and he was relieved that there was no anger in her eyes anymore. “You’re curious?” she suggested. She smiled teasingly, thinking she knew what he had been thinking. “You wonder about them? You know, it doesn’t make you look soft to wonder about what happened to them.” She shrugged and added, “It’s not like *I’m* gonna tell them that the Big Bad actually cared.” She was still smiling, but the mirth had left her voice.

“Right,” he replied with a nervous little laugh, relieved at her assumption of what he had been about to say. There was a moment’s silence before he cautiously ventured, “So… what *did* happen, love?”

He realized in the next moment what he had called her, cringing inwardly in expectation of her wrath, but she did not react at all – in fact, did not even seem to notice. She was quiet for such a long time that he thought she did not intend to answer at all – and he was certainly not going to push it again.

“I guess we just sort of…outgrew them,” she finally spoke, her voice soft and calm, quiet but clear in the stillness of the room – and she did not sound the least bit convinced of what she was saying. “As Riley and I got closer, and he began to get more and more involved with – with all of this,” she waved her hand in a vague sort of gesture, as she sat slowly down on the edge of her bed. “It just seemed like we had – less and less to talk about.”

She paused, and he wisely kept his silence, waiting for her to go on. Her eyes were on the floor, focused on some point not in that time, seeing not what she was looking at, but events of the past.

“Riley said they – they could never understand. We were going places, and they – they were happy to just stay where they were.” The sad, wistful note in her voice told him that *she* would have been more than happy to stay where they were, too. “He’d get annoyed with them so easy,” she remembered, her eyes widening with a troubled expression, as she shook her head slowly at the memory. “They came over here a lot for a while, when we first got married. But Riley – well – my friends weren’t stupid.”

There was a slightly bitter note in her voice as she went on. “He made a point of looking polite, but they knew how he felt. Like he was -- *better* than them. Like they were nobodies and he was *somebody*. You know?”

Spike knew. Oh, boy, did he know! He nodded without a word, his wide, serious gaze still focused on her haunted emerald eyes.

“Gradually they just – stopped coming. Riley was relieved. He was glad to be rid of them,” Buffy went on, her voice lowering in a vain effort to conceal the tears that had begun again in her voice. One escaped, sliding slowly down her cheek unheeded as she went on with her story. “They never agreed with what he does. They’re against…all of this,” she said vaguely, but he knew what she was talking about. “Riley said they never understood it.”

He fought not to ask the dangerous question that her uncertain tone raised in him. *Do *you* understand it? Do you agree with it?*

“It’s been – two years. Since I’ve talked to Willow or Xander,” she admitted, in a voice that was two even, a desperate attempt at not allowing her pain to take over. “When I stopped calling, they kept on. For a little while. But eventually, they gave up, I guess.” She paused, with a listless little shrug. “Riley’s happy. It’s what he wanted.”

Buffy had nothing else to say. She just stared at the floor, feeling drained, taking a strange, sad comfort in the stillness around them.

That stillness was finally broken by the soft, certain voice of her slave. “If you miss them so much,” he suggested quietly. “You should call them. Who cares what Riley wants? He’s all about whatever pleases *him*, isn’t he? What about what *you* want? Don’t – don’t *you* deserve to be happy?”

She looked up at him suddenly, surprised by his honesty, as well as by the concern – and anger -- in his voice. She studied his expression for a long moment, and suddenly found her breath stolen away by his wide, impossibly blue eyes, blazing with indignation on *her* behalf. In that moment, she could clearly see that this was no act; Spike was genuinely sorrowful for her, and her pain – and furious with Riley whom he blamed for causing it.

A small, puzzled frown on her face, she looked up at him from where she sat on the bed. She was quiet for a moment before she asked softly, without spite, in total sincerity, “Why do you care?”

She watched in bemusement as Spike suddenly looked down at the floor, self-consciously shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he opened his mouth to reply, then stopped, a sardonic smirk on his downcast face, some private self-mockery. He took in a deep breath as if to reply, then let it out slowly before looking back up at her, with a self-deprecating little smile.

“Sort of my job description…in’nit?” he pointed out softly, meeting her eyes with an openness and vulnerability in his that once again took her breath. “Give you what you want? Make you happy?” His voice was low and questioning as he searched her eyes for…what?

If she didn’t know any better, Buffy would almost think that he…

*No!* she told herself firmly, dismissing the thought as too preposterous – and troubling – to even consider. *He doesn’t – he couldn’t…*

And then the thought was stolen away as he stepped nearer to her, those fathomless blue eyes focused on her intently – and suddenly, the question of what *Spike* was feeling was suddenly powerfully eclipsed by the confusion of her *own* emotions.

“What *can* I do, Buffy?” he said, his voice soft, earnest and inviting. “What can I do to make you happy?”

The gentle entreaty in his voice sent a warm little shudder through her, and she was stunned by her physical reaction to his nearness, his voice, his eyes… Why had she never noticed before what gorgeous eyes he had? she wondered suddenly – then immediately dismissed that question as silly.

When a guy was making it his life’s ambition to kill you, his incredibly pretty eyes would be the last thing on a girl’s mind.

But at the moment, he was *not* trying to kill her. He was standing here before her, those deep, expressive eyes gazing into hers, asking in unison with his rich, warm-honey voice, what he could do to please her – offering himself to her – in what way, exactly? she suddenly wondered, fighting off an odd sense of panic as her emotions began to spin out of control, and she lost track of exactly what it was she was feeling.

*In any way you want,* a seductive voice in her head reminded her, and her eyes widened a little with the realization – and at the sudden rush of desire she felt at the thought.

It was true, she realized. Regardless of what his intentions might be as he stood here before her, asking her will and seeming so anxious to please her…Spike belonged to her. In whatever way she wanted him, he was hers to do with as she pleased.

*It’s about what *you* want, Buffy,* Riley’s words suddenly echoed in her head.

The thought both excited and sickened her.

*No, Buffy,* she told herself firmly, and the voice of reason in her head sounded strangely panicked. *No! You’re only thinking this way because you’re hurt over Riley! Spike is a vampire, and he’s your slave, and it’s just – just *wrong*! You’re just vulnerable and emotional right now and wanting someone -- *anyone* -- to be close to, and…*

Her thoughts cut off when she noticed Spike’s eyes widen just slightly, almost imperceptibly, as he suddenly became aware of something that surprised him. She wondered with that same sense of panic again if he could possibly have guessed at her thoughts.

*Time to stop this before it goes any farther,* she sternly ordered herself, trying not to think about the gorgeous vampire who was gazing at her so intently, searching her eyes again for the answer to some unspoken question, so clear in his impossibly expressive eyes.

She stood up, and winced a little when he instinctively stepped back with a brief flash of fear in his eyes.

*I put that there,* she realized with a sense of shame, and again had the impulse to apologize. But she was not quite ready to do that yet. To apologize would be to imply that she had not had the right to do what she had done – and she did…didn’t she?

*What would Riley think?* she reminded herself, putting the idea of apology out of her head.

Recalling his question of what he could do for her, she gave him a smile that she hoped was reassuring in spite of her own nervousness. “You’ve already done it, Spike,” she told him gently. “You’re right. I – I need to call them.” She had only been meaning to shift the focus of the rapidly intensifying encounter, but realized as she spoke the words that she really, *really* wanted to.

*If Riley doesn’t care about how *I* feel, why should I give up my friends for him?* she thought defiantly, momentarily distracted from the rising attraction she was feeling to her slave. And that was of the good, she thought, and decided to stay on that topic for a bit.

She gave Spike an anxious look as a thought occurred to her. “What if they don’t wanna talk to me?”

Spike thought back over the devotion Willow and Xander had always displayed for Buffy -- *always* -- and knew without a doubt that any distance they had placed between her and them was because they thought she wanted it.

“They’ll wanna talk to you,” he assured her gently, and Buffy thought she saw a look of relief pass over his face at the change of subject. “I’m sure they’ve been missing you as badly as you’ve been missing them, love.”

“What will Riley say?” she wondered, her eyes widening in dismay as she gave a little grimace at the thought, in spite of her determination moments earlier that her husband’s opinion did not matter.

“Sod Riley,” Spike muttered in disgust – then suddenly looked sharply up at her, his eyes wide with apprehension.

Buffy’s own eyes widened in surprise, once again, at the nerve of this slave who would never truly be one at heart. Then she laughed, shaking her head and looking down. Suddenly, her expression grew serious and she drew a couple of steps closer to him.

“Don’t ever say that again,” she ordered quietly, and he was surprised that there was no anger, no demand in her voice – but rather a concern that he had never heard there before.

“Yes, Mistress,” he replied in a humble tone of submission, grateful and relieved that she was not any more upset.

“Spike,” she said in a low, urgent voice, and he looked up at her. Her green eyes met his, dark and solemn as she explained in a slow, clear voice, “He would *hurt* you. Bad. Don’t ever…*ever*…let him hear you say something like that. Okay?”

He nodded, swallowing hard, a little frightened in spite of himself and his utter despisal of all things pertaining to Riley Finn. “Okay,” he agreed, and felt a sudden rush of warmth at the realization that this particular command was out of a concern for his safety.

Buffy nodded, satisfied that he understood the gravity of her order, and walked past him toward the door, gesturing with her hand for him to follow. It was time for her personal attendant to begin his training.

She paused in the doorway – one step away from leaving this private moment that they had somehow managed to find, and turned partly back toward him, her mouth opened, hesitant over the words she wanted to say. Then, she decided, and almost hurriedly turned to face him fully, a warm, if slightly shy, smile coming over her face as she met his eyes.

“Thank you.”

And without another word, she turned and led the way out of her bedroom.