All Buffy really wanted was to make Spike admit the truth.

She knew he couldn’t possibly trust her – not really. And if he didn’t trust her – how could he love her?

The vampire was living in a dream world, she told herself as she led him quietly toward their destination, his cool, strong hand gently clasping hers as she guided him around the various headstones and other obstacles that lay in their path.

She was genuinely being careful not to walk him into anything, or cause him to hurt himself in any way – not to deliberately break his trust. What would *that* prove, anyway? Only that he *had* trusted her, enough to allow her to hurt him – until she had proven that she did not deserve that trust.

And no matter how badly she wanted to prove her point, Buffy did not think she could live with doing it that way.

No, she planned to push Spike just enough to make him admit that he did not really trust her – on his own, not because she had done something to break his trust. He *shouldn’t* trust her, she reminded herself. Not because of anything she had done specifically – though she knew, if she was honest with herself, she had done enough.

But she shouldn’t have to do anything to keep him from trusting her.

He was a vampire. She was the vampire *Slayer*.

Now, how could he possibly believe that trusting her could work out well for him in any way?

Their instincts, their very nature, dictated that there could never be anything real between them. Oh, she could not deny that she was attracted to him. She was a young, virile, completely heterosexual woman, wasn’t she? She could not help but feel a certain attraction to the well-built blonde vampire.

He was quite simply the most flawlessly gorgeous man -- *vampire* -- she had ever seen.

Sometimes, in the soft candlelight of his crypt, she would lose herself in the sight of him, her eyes slowly studying the smooth, hard lines of his perfectly sculpted body, taking in with a reluctant amazement every flawless inch of him, the confident easy grace with which he moved. She knew it was a cliché, but the smooth, pale flesh stretched over solid, corded muscle drew to mind images she had seen in school – statues of the ancient Greek and Roman gods.

But when her roving eyes finally met his -- *that* was when her breath would truly be stolen away.

She admitted only to herself that she had never seen such incredibly beautiful, crystal blue eyes as Spike’s. And without fail, by this point, he would have noticed the way she was looking at him, and those deep, expressive eyes would hold a worshipful sort of awe, a delighted hope – and Buffy would suddenly catch herself, realizing with alarm the dangerous direction her thoughts and emotions were taking.

And she would quickly close herself off to him.

It frightened her, the longing she felt in those moments, to return the worship she saw in his eyes – to be slow, and tender, and treat him as the incredible, amazing creature of beauty that he was.

If he got anything at all from her on those nights, it was a punishment rather than a pleasure. She was like a wild thing in those moments, passionate and intense. She would take him hard and fast and rough – and he might have actually enjoyed it…if not for the fierce anger in her eyes, the bitter triumph in her smile as her by now expert touch sought to make him sorry for making her feel these things that terrified her.

And her words – her words were what really hurt him.

She would whisper cruel things in a loving tone – thanking him bitterly, sarcastically telling him how grateful she was for the feelings he inspired in her – because even the utter disgust she felt at herself for lowering herself to touch him, was better than feeling nothing.

She gave his body pleasure, while punishing his heart, by making it painfully clear just how little he really meant to her – how absolutely she was using him. He always tried to hide his hurt – always failed – and it never brought her the satisfaction she expected.

Because really – this was not Spike’s fault.

*She* sought *him* out most times; *she* had initiated this – situation – to begin with. And she knew, if she admitted the truth to herself – he only ever tried to please her, to win her affections. He offered her everything in him, all he had to give, for a mere crumb – and she took what he offered and then shoved him away, leaving him empty and broken…

…but never as empty as she felt inside.

And she resented him for it.

She resented the fact that no one else seemed to be able to fill the emptiness, even for a little while, except for him. She resented the fact that as an “evil, soulless demon”, he seemed to be more full of emotion and vitality and life than she had felt in months. She resented the fact that she didn’t seem to be able to feel anything, except when she was with him.

She resented the fact that he was overjoyed and grateful and adoring at the very thing she had come to loathe over the past few months – her own life.

And for the love and comfort and reassurance that he offered her – she punished him by repeatedly crushing his heart, his feelings, in a merciless fist of iron.

*Oh yeah, Buffy. He *really* trusts you. Right.*

He would have to an absolute fool.

Really, if she thought about it – really, *really* thought about it, with the help of a healthy dose of imagination – she was actually doing him a favor…helping him to see the painful truth before he got hurt.

Worse than he already had.

“You’re quiet, love. You all right?”

The gentle concern in his voice touched a sensitive chord in her heart. Why was it that Spike always knew when she was upset, or confused, or hurting? She wore the “happy Buffy” mask nearly all of the time now, and her friends seemed satisfied to accept it as reality.

But Spike, unable to see her face or even hear her voice, *still* read her better than anyone else – when it came to anything *but* their troubled pseudo-relationship and his ridiculously romantic notions of her “true feelings” – not to mention his own.

*Right,* she reminded herself, drawing in a slow, deep breath, letting it out with a single Latin word that Spike did not hear. *Let’s get this show on the road. Time to shatter those illusions!* She steeled herself, insisting firmly, *You’ll both be better off without them.*

Spike was surprised and a bit alarmed when he felt the Slayer’s small, soft hand slide out of his, without so much as a word of response to his question.

“Buffy?”

His voice was uncertain, and he frowned in confusion and stopped walking when he still heard nothing. *Absolutely* nothing. It was not simply that Buffy had stopped talking; it appeared that she had also stopped moving, or even breathing for that matter. If he had trusted to his hearing alone, he would have thought that she had vanished into thin air.

“Right,” he said slowly, drawing out the word with dry humor in his voice. “Um – Buffy, love – you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to – just want you to know that I’m here if you need me.” He paused, before adding, “And it’d be bloody nice if you’d return the favor at a time like this.”

She smiled, suppressing a giggle and managing to stay quiet despite her amusement, as she watched him from a spot behind a headstone about thirty feet away. She thought with a sense of affection that she quickly tried to ignore, how his sarcasm had a way of making her laugh, even when she didn’t want to.

“Buffy?”

The sound of her name drew her attention again, spoken in a voice which had lost all trace of Spike’s dry humor, suddenly sounding small and a little nervous. A simple spell – one of several she had procured from Willow that afternoon, to help her in the various events she had planned for the evening – masked her scent, not allowing him to sense her presence in any way.

The smile faded from her lips, as the sound of his uncertain voice tugged at her heart, making her feel guilty against her will. She was suddenly sobered by the thought of what she was doing. This *was* what she wanted, wasn’t it? For Spike to realize that he couldn’t – shouldn’t -- *didn’t* trust her?

She was sure that it would only be a moment or two before Spike would assume that she had left him and take off the blindfold. He was much too intelligent to remain so vulnerable in a graveyard at night in Sunnydale, if he believed that Buffy was no longer there to watch his back – and front, at the moment, for that matter.

Yes, he would be taking off that blindfold any moment.

And when he did, he would be forced to admit that he did not trust her enough to believe that she would not leave him so vulnerable like this, helpless to any of the many demons in Sunnydale who were now out for his blood, thanks to his dealings with *her* -- and would relish such an opportunity to attack him by surprise.

*Yep,* she thought, a bit uneasily. *Any second now.*

The line of thought she had been following had been intended to reassure her of the fact that Spike would be giving in, failing her test, right away. But to her surprise and considerable annoyance, she found herself actually becoming concerned, rising up slightly from behind the headstone and looking around, her sharp eyes scanning the area around them for any sign of a threat.

Vampire or not – it would be awfully low to actually *allow* him to be hurt in the midst of this test.

By something besides her, anyway.

Satisfied that the area was safe as ever – for the moment, anyway, she returned her attention impatiently to Spike, still careful not to make a sound to give away her presence.

He was still standing where she had left him, very still, clearly trying to gain any clue as to where she was. Then, much to her amazement, a slow smile began to spread across his face, as he started to slowly walk forward, each step cautious and deliberate, his hands out in front of him to feel for any obstacles.

“Nice try, love,” he said softly, his voice calm and even. “But I know you’re here. I know you wouldn’t just leave me like that, Buffy – even if it *would* make things a bloody hell of a lot easier for you if some nasty found me like this and made an end of me for you.”

The way he spoke those words – matter-of-factly with a sad, ironic smile – sent a pang of guilt through her heart to hear it, to realize that he really believed she felt that way. She frowned, irritated at her own emotions, at the fact that she felt guilty for it.

*Didn’t* she feel that way?

She had said as much to herself, just a couple of short months ago. She remembered her own thoughts, again with an inexplicable sense of guilt.

*Things would be so much less complicated if I would just stop saving his life…*

“But I know you better than that, love,” Spike went on, drawing her attention back to him. “I know you wouldn’t be able to do that to me – even if you think that you could…”

Buffy frowned, irritated and indignant that he thought he knew her so much better than she knew herself. If she thought that she could do it, then she *could* do it! She didn’t need Spike and his know-it-all attitude to tell *her* that she…

Suddenly, Buffy’s eyes widened with dismay as she saw where Spike’s cautious, tentative footsteps were leading him, as he blinding tried to seek her out – to a danger that his outstretched hands would not warn him of. A wide, open grave lay just a few short feet ahead of him.

For a moment, a smirk crossed her face. That would teach him. Let him try to say that she cared enough not to place him in danger after he fell flat on his face six feet deep, with her standing just a few short yards away. She knew that it was not an actual threat to his safety; he would not be hurt by such a short drop, and he would easily be able to get out again.

But his pride – and the trust he was trying to hold in her – would be damaged by the fall.

“You might not see it right now, love. All you can see in yourself right now is the darkness – but I know what you’re capable of, and I know the kind of person you are,” Spike went on, slowly nearing the gaping hole in front of him. “And I know that you’re not the kind of person who would…”

His words were cut off as he was suddenly yanked backward several feet, a strong arm wrapped gently but firmly around his waist – directly against a soft, warm body that he knew very, *very* well. He heard a soft whisper of breath behind him – and suddenly the scent of her was overpowering, so very near – overwhelming, and strangely reassuring.

“You don’t have any *idea* what I’m capable of,” she whispered suggestively in his ear, and he could hear the smile in her voice as her arm rose slowly, her hand coming to rest on his chest for a moment before releasing him completely, though her hand remained on his arm.

She didn’t want him moving forward suddenly and falling headlong into the grave she had just pulled him back from.

And *why* didn’t she want that again?

He understood suddenly what she had done, how she had disguised her presence from him, and a slow, knowing smile came over his face as he pressed back against her just slightly, taking a deep breath, inhaling the sweet scent that surrounded him as one hand slipped back between them to brush across the front of her jeans.

The sharp little intake of breath he heard was all the response he needed, and his smile widened slightly as he murmured softly, “Think I’ve got a bit of an idea after all, pet…” He pulled away from her slowly, turning around to face her, his hands blindly finding her waist and pulling her in close to him.

“Magic, though,” he laughed, a low, musical sound that sent a shudder down her spine despite her best efforts *not* to let him affect her. “Didn’t realize that was a talent of yours.”

“I’ve got a lot of talents, Spike,” she shot back with a smile, deciding that it would not hurt to give in to her desires a *little* bit. After all, she was still in complete control. And it wasn’t like any of it was going to matter anymore, after tonight.

After tonight – he would never speak to her again, let alone touch her.

She moved in closer to him, pulling him down into a deep, tender kiss, her hand playing softly through his hair in a rare display of affection.

Spike thought he was in heaven. A small part of him felt a measure of trepidation at her uncharacteristic behavior. Why was she suddenly so gentle, so affectionate with him? Shouldn’t she be trying her best to scare him? To convince him that she was a danger to him?

Unless that wasn’t really what she wanted at all.

Unless…

“So you’re convinced then, love?” he wondered softly when she finally drew out of the kiss to breathe. “You believe me now? This little test of yours is over?”

“Oh, Spike,” the words came out on a breath, very soft and full of some unnamed emotion, as her hand rose to gently caress his cheek. He automatically leaned into the touch, seeking every shred of affection she offered; and she felt the odd little ache building in her chest deepen a bit.

“No, Spike – the test is only beginning.”