Chapter Two

Spike waited anxiously as Buffy stared at her feet.

That was his Slayer, he thought with affectionate irritation, never one for the casual chit-chat. Or for giving a fellow a bloody clue what was going on in her head. She hadn't, apparently, come to stake him, although the thought had crossed his mind once or twice since the fiasco of Dru's visit, maybe with hindsight he could have handled that a little better. After about a minute Spike's extremely finite patience ran out and he took his hand off the door. "Fine. You think about it some more. I'll be over here brushing up on my mind reading. And putting on some clothes, cause God forbid the apocalypse should start while I'm not wearing any trousers."

Buffy shrugged and wandered into the crypt after him, eyes on the floor the whole time. Spike picked up some jeans and turned away to pull them on. "Is Dawn okay?" he asked as he zipped up his fly.

Behind him he heard Buffy flop onto the end of the bed with a sigh. "She's fine," she answered shortly.

"And no world endage on the horizon?"

Buffy examined her fingernails carefully. "No."

Spike threw up his hands, exasperated, and headed towards the cabinet. "I'm groping in the dark here Love. You wanna tell me what's wrong?"

"And you care because?" asked Buffy acidly.

Spike rolled his eyes and handed her an empty shot glass. "You're a real piece of work, you are. You want me out of your life, then you want my help but if I ask what it is you want me to do then you bitch at me." He filled her glass from a Oban bottle and took a swig himself. "Have a drop of whisky, Slayer, it's good for loosening tongues I'm told."

She held the glass up suspiciously. "Yes, alcohol, that'll help."

"Might shift that rod up your backside," he muttered. Buffy made to get up but Spike caught her sleeve.

"Stop it, Slayer. You know I'll help. But the suspense is killing me and you're really not looking so good, so drink up your whisky and tell me about it."

Buffy downed the shot with a grimace and watched disinterestedly as he refilled the glass. "I got bit by a Grekkon," she said eventually.

There was a long silence as Buffy stared straight ahead, elbows on her knees.

"Oh," said Spike with significance, sitting down beside her. "I see."

"You've heard of them, then?" asked Buffy neutrally.

"Kinda legendary in the vampire world, Love. Never met one, though."

"Sunnydale's just brimming with rare attractions."

Spike looked at her sideways, eyes narrowed, but she continued to stare at the wall. Tentatively he reached out a hand to pat her shoulder. "Your luck really blows, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, well," spat Buffy bitterly. "It's an ill wind, and all that."

Spike bristled and pulled his hand away. "That's not fair, Buffy. I'm in love-"

"Don't!" Buffy jumped to her feet and took a couple of swift steps away. "Don't do that."

He sighed and stood up. "Okay, okay, I wasn't gonna. I just meant I wouldn't wish this on you, no matter how much I'd like to get in your knickers."

"My what now?" she asked with an unconscious Spike-ism.

"Frilly little panties," he clarified. Spike put out his hand to touch her again, when she didn't bolt he slid his arm round her waist but she wouldn't turn to face him.

"I do care, and I'm sorry. Now have another drink."

She shook her head mutely, Spike pulled her back against his bare chest and put his hand over hers round the glass.

"Trust me Love, the more you drink the better looking I get."

He didn't get the hoped for laugh but Buffy allowed him to raise her glass to her lips and she downed it, shuddering, then hugged herself, staring at the floor. "More?"

She didn't answer so Spike put down the glass and started to rub the back of her neck. "Talk to me, Buffy," he coaxed, edging his fingers under her hair and massaging her scalp. Buffy just stood, arms wound tightly round her body. Spike leaned in until his lips were touching her neck. "Buffy?"

She started trembling again and he held her tighter, feeling just a little helpless. "Don't know what to say, Love. Wish I could help but I'm guessing that's what's got you upset."

And she was really sobbing now, shaking silently, every muscle tensed against him. "Hey now," he murmured softly, "It'll be okay, let it out now. You'll be okay."

Gently he unwrapped her arms from her body and pulled her round to face him. She moved unresisting as he cuddled her to him but resolutely refused to meet his eye, instead sniffling against his bare chest.

It had been years since Spike had tried to comfort anyone but his insane princess, 'les you counted that peculiar night on Buffy's porch steps and he'd decided then that Slayers crying was against all natural order of things. So he just held her, whispering soothing nonsense as the tears subsided and she stiffered with the return of self awareness.

"You gonna let me help, Love? I don't know what to do."

"You want me to draw you a diagram?" snapped Buffy, voice muffled.

"This isn't my fault, you know," chided Spike gently. Buffy tried to push him away but he tightened his arms. "Tell you what," he teased, "You tell me who you do fancy and I'll turn 'em for you."

She laughed, a little hysterically. "John Cusack."

"What's that, Love?" Spike pulled back a little to look at her and Buffy met his eye for the first time. "I said I fancy John Cusack," she said in a tiny voice. "Can you vamp him?"

Spike didn't answer for a second. Those big tearful eyes looking up at him seemed to have reminded his dick just how close she was standing. He shifted a little so she wouldn't notice, then had to try and remember what the question was. "Uh, sure thing, pet. But would you really want to live without any more thoughtful chick flicks?"

His hands rested on the small of her back and Spike had to fight back the urge to pull her against him, grind his aching cock against her body. She sniffed and he quelled his lust, looked at her seriously. "Are you okay?"

She looked down again, made uneasy by the pity in his expression. "I'm fine," she said shortly. Then after a pause; "Thanks."

She stepped back, this time succeeding in freeing herself. "I just really don't want to be here." She looked up again and shrugged diffidently. "I'm sorry-"

"Understandable," he cut in, filling her whisky glass again. "You're obviously immune to my evilly seductive charm."

Buffy took the glass and gave him a reluctant smile. "I should probably warn you I'm a violent drunk."

"Well I think we both know I'm a masochist, so that works out nicely, then."

"Eeew."

Not sure if she was referring to the whisky or his masochistic tendencies Spike held his peace. The former was obviously starting to have some affect 'cause she pouted at him, spoke a little petulantly. "It's just not fair."

"You know the platitudes, Love. Life isn't fair." He reached out to brush away a lock of her hair and she looked away nervously. "Although gotta say, yours is more unfair than most."

"Yeah. Life sucks. Can we get this over with?"

"Don't think it works quite that way."

"Oh," said Buffy through gritted teeth, suddenly giving him her undivided attention and tilting her chin dangerously. "Why don't you tell me how it works, then?"

"Hey there," he wheedled. "Don't be getting all defensive on me."

"So tell me how it works. What do you want?"

"Stop that! I don't want anything, I'm just trying to explain..."

Even Spike was staring to feel embarrassed now, hung his head to avoid her accusing glare. Buffy was like a coiled spring, earlier tears still streaking her face but she'd walled in her emotions. Spike suspected whatever he said next would earn him a broken nose.

"I can't just fix you."

"You mean you won't," said Buffy flatly. But the expected blow didn't come, she was backing away.

"I don't know what I was thinking. Of course you'd rather watch me die slowly than fuck me."

Spike opened and closed his mouth like a fish, thought about punching her, laughed instead.

"Did you even hear a single word I said?"

"I'm sure this is all real amusing for you."

Buffy was nearly at the door again, in frustration Spike tackled her, and in the resultant struggle it was the Slayer that ended up pinned against the wall. She tried to twist away but Spike pressed closer until his erection was grinding into her hip.

"Can you feel it, Buffy?" he hissed into her ear. "Feel how much I want you? There's nothing I'd rather be doing than fucking you, you little ninny. Could nail you to the mattress for hours, but it wouldn't help."

The Slayer turned her head away in haughty disdain, gave the wall of the crypt an angry glare. Spike could smell the fear coming off her in waves, though he didn't know why she was afraid it was inflaming his lust and he forced himself to take a step back before he lost control. "Wouldn't help you, that is," he added in a lighter tone. "Do me the world of good. Just don't think you did your reading, is all. It's not the sex that'll fix you."

She still looked ready to bolt and for once Spike stopped and thought about his next sentence carefully. Was obvious she hadn't done all the research, or she wouldn't be here with him.

"You need that elusive moment of female sexual gratification."

Spike never even saw the blow that sent him crashing into the sarcophagus, was still shaking the stars out of his eyes as the Slayer stalked after him.

"What the hell was that for?"

"You've done your reading alright, you summoned this thing."

Her voice was like ice and Spike took a couple of steps back, just in case. "You're just determined to blame me for something, aren't you Slayer?" Spike rubbed his jaw gingerly. "I'd hate to see the state of the Grekkon."

Buffy glowered. "The Grekkon is still running round Sunnydale. And if I find out you had anything to do with that-"

"I didn't."

Buffy continued to glower, clearly not convinced by a simple denial.

Fuck it, thought Spike. She was going to bugger off, just in case this was one of his evil plots. Stubborn little chit would rather be dead than manipulated. And he wanted to get angry in his own defence, because it was virtually rape she was accusing him of, but even Spike knew he had little claim to righteous indignation

"When'd you get bit?" he asked suddenly.

"This evening," Buffy answered before remembering she was mad. "Don't tell me, you have an alibi?"

"Just wondering. You've got a day or so. Look, Slayer, I want you, never made any secret of it but not like this and I wouldn't sic one of those things on you. Don't even know if they're sic-able."

She raised one sceptical eyebrow that made Spike wonder if it was even worth continuing. But he couldn't left the daft cow die just cause she didn't like him.

"And you're right, I've read up on these things and I know there'd be no point summoning one. You don't need to be here, Love."

Buffy just continued to stare stupidly and Spike squirmed, didn't want to have to spell it out. But he would.

"Angel," he snapped impatiently. "Moment of happiness doesn't have to be shared, as it were. Get the Grand Poof to lick you out, no dying, no Angelus, problem solved."

That had to be a new low for soulless vampires everywhere, and still Buffy didn't look any happier. He'd passed up probably his only chance at a bit of Slayer nookie, sent her off to her abomination of an ex and she was still frowning at him.

"I knew that," she said eventually. "I called L.A., Angel's... not there."

If he was honest a large part of Spike cheered at that statement. He knew he shouldn't be glad she was stuck with him when the mere thought was so obviously distressing her, but that couldn't stop him feeling it. Anything was better than imagining her writhing under that moronic, Byronic pillock. Well almost anything.

He didn't want to hurt her, if she would give him the chance Spike was certain he could please her. His confidence may have taken a bit of a knock in the last twenty minutes and he might be starting with a huge handicap but a century's worth of practise had to count for something. Wasn't like either of them had a choice, not really, he'd just have to make sure Buffy took the 'not dying' option.

Spike wasn't completely stupid, whatever dismal picture of his intelligence his impulsive actions sometimes painted. Chains hadn't been the way to go, he'd mucked up his chance with her if he'd ever had one and maybe a vampire even less stupid might have realised that in advance. Not like he'd planned it, just one bad spur-of-the-moment decision after another, but Spike realised it all must have made it that much harder for Buffy to come to him now. But she'd not staked him. She'd said she was disgusted by him, locked him out of her house, but not staked him and she'd asked for his help now so he'd just have to calm her down and make her forget her disgust.

There was no way Spike was allowing himself to consider the possibility that he couldn't please her. That she could be so revolted by him he couldn't save her even if she let him try.

He'd just have to be good enough.