a/n – My apologies for the lag in posting on this chapter.  Summer school has thrown my schedule way out of whack.  And still another week of it.  **sigh**

Thanks to my wonderful betas – Megan , Gail, and Spikez_tart who keep me on the straight and narrow...okay, try to keep me on the straight and narrow.  **snicker**

Any mistakes are my own, which is great ‘cause they’re really all I own with this piece.  Joss and a bunch of suits own everything else. ;-)

**hugs** sfg

Who am I?
 
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Chapter 7 – The Duality that was Buffy

The night air was cool against Buffy’s abused flesh, quickly drying the thin sheen of perspiration that misted her skin as her once mortal enemy helped her limp her way to Giles’.

It wasn’t that Buffy was ungrateful for Spike’s help. 

Okay, so she hated the fact that she had to be helped along the streets of Sunnydale that she usually kept safe.  Add to that the fact that it was Spike helping her...well, it chaffed a little. 

But, to be honest, she was a total wreck.  She could admit it, cause really, it was a waste of time to deny it.  The whole nearly falling flat on her face within reach of a soulless vampire, chipped or not, was kinda hard to ignore, even for Buffy.

So, yeah, she was grateful.  Even if Spike was only helping for the money.  Or...for her mom?   Buffy wasn’t really clear on the exact reason he was helping, but the fact remained, she was grateful.

Up to a point.

The whole trip from The Bronze had turned into an exercise in split personality disorder and it would have worked up a whopper of a headache, even if she hadn’t had a concussion. 

One minute Spike was all with the helping, being careful not to hold her too tight or press against her broken or bruised areas.  The next, he was growling about how his night was ruined and accidentally letting his hands brush across parts that were sensitive in totally different ways then the pain-filled kind.

Buffy only knew of two ways to deal with Spike, and since breaking his nose didn’t seem to be an option, she took her second, way less successful option and tried to ignore him.  Concentrating hard, she mentally pushed away the annoying pain of her body – and peroxided pain in her butt – and focused on the night around them.

Buffy loved the night.  Good thing, too, since she spent most of her time running around it in.  It wasn’t like she didn’t like the sun, cause, hello, a nice trip to the beach?  Definitely of the good.  And also, the fact that the ooglie booglies didn’t traipse around in it was a major plus, too.

But when the sun slid below the horizon and the moon rose - when the cool air of the night settled on her skin - Buffy was reborn.  A kind of power would flood her and she would itch to hunt.

That was the Slayer.

But even before.  Before her ‘calling’.  When she was still just ‘Buffy’...

God, it felt like a hundred years ago.  A lifetime ago...  

When she lived the dream in L.A.   When her parents were still together.  When her life consisted of one social engagement after another and the things that went bump in the night were still shadows of fairytales and not nightmares become real. 

Even then, she had loved the feel of the night against her skin. 

Buffy had.

Dancing at the local clubs.   Taking a trip to Mulholland Drive to look down at the lights of the L.A. basin that stretched out as far as the eye could see.  Heck, even a walk, hand in hand with Tyler, around her neighborhood would have been okay with her. 

Well, if Tyler hadn’t been such a jerk.

Buffy.  The Slayer.  Buffy.  The Slayer.

She was aware of the duality that was Buffy . 

Duality - how was that for a two dollar word?

Ironically, it had been Faith that had forced her to acknowledge it.  Faith, with her ‘we’re better than everyone’ attitude.  Faith had lived for the power, had wallowed in it, like some god above all the mortals, making them their playground.  And she had wanted to drag Buffy onto her level.

For a time, she actually did.

The thing that saved Buffy from Faith’s fate was her ties.  Her friends and family.  Hard to be a god when your friends had seen you butcher Othello at the school’s talent show.  Heck, they’d helped .  Poor Shakespeare was probably still rolling over in his grave.

The power was a lure to Buffy, that rush that came right after she had beaten back the darkness again.  The feeling that she had done something right , something good.  

And, well, okay, the lustiness that it brought about after.

She never shared that thought with anyone, even when Faith pushed her, but there was a kind of sexual response when she slayed.  It scared her sometimes, the thoughts and feelings she had after a good hunt.

She was revved.

She was hot.

Every nerve tingled.

Her blood sang. 

It was no wonder vamps showed up when she was fighting.  Even she could hear it.   A kind of siren song that thrummed through her, rushing and filling her every vessel with strength and power and life.

After a good slay, she wanted to flex her muscles and push her body to the absolute limits of its heightened capabilities.  And she wanted to do it in the most life-affirming way – in bed.

But she couldn’t.

Because even though she fought for humanity, she wasn’t quite human. She would crush anyone she unleashed that kind of power on and Buffy was vaguely surprised that Faith hadn’t killed anyone in just that manner since she wasn’t exactly known as Restraint-Girl.

Spike, as big a pig as he was when he had gotten the Gem of Amara, had pointed it out in his crude taunts.

“Were you too strong?  Did you bruise the boy?”

And she had.  A little.  Until she had noticed Parker wince, and backed off.

Even Riley, who had been suped up by the Initiative, couldn’t take all of her. 
He couldn’t even take most of you.

Gack! Not a nice thing to think!

Riley was nice.  And good.  And almost normal – as normal as she was likely to get, anyway.  Yet, it wasn’t so long ago that she was telling Willow that he lacked the ‘danger’ element she seemed to find so attractive. 

Their relationship was still pretty new and it was...nice.

Nice.  

Buffy narrowed her eyes against the internal snort that came with that thought.

Nice was good, so shut up.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, where she shoved all the things she didn’t want to deal with, she heard a little voice whisper, ‘bor-ing’ , sing-songing it to make it two separate words.

Nice, nice, nice, the inner voice mocked.  You have ‘cool, pale, and dangerous’ pressed up against you, in the middle of the night, dragging your sorry carcass all across Sunnydale -  did I mention how divine he smells? – and you’re  thinking about Mr. Bland from the Land of Potatoes ???  You are so hopeless!

Oh, Buffy knew that whispering voice.  It was the one that had convinced her that her relationship with Angel was a ‘great idea’, though, to be fair, it didn’t have to try too hard back then. 

Now, however, Buffy was older and wiser.  And she didn’t take any crap from that voice.

Shut. Up.

She could practically see her inner self sniff at her.  Yeah, yeah.  I’m getting pretty used to this little closet you’ve shoved me in, but I’m not the one that pried open the door tonight, sister.  You opened it all by yourself.

What?

Oh, sure, deny it all you want, but you flung the door wide open the minute you saw Faith touching Spike.  Observe the chattiness of... me.

Buffy stiffened against the thought, grumbling at the voice and shoving it back into the recesses of her brain.  Before she squashed it, she heard it chuckle and say, By the way, Miss-I-want-normal-boring-potato man, just how many times are you going to let Spike run those talented hands over you before you speak up, huh?   Then it went completely silent.

Buffy gritted her teeth as she crashed back to reality.  Back to the pain of broken bones, the ache of bruised muscles and the wooziness from concussion and blood loss.  Back to the endless, staggering steps on hard pavement that brought her closer to Giles’ place.

And back to a bleached blond vampire that had taken advantage of her preoccupation and pressed intimately against her.  Buffy gritted her teeth.   There was only so much she could ignore.

“Spike, if you don’t want to go through your unlife hand-less, as well as fang-less, you’ll keep your mitts off my butt. ”

“Just trying to help, here, Slayer.”  Buffy was watching her feet, carefully placing them on the pavement to minimize the jarring of her body and letting Spike steer, so she didn’t see the smirk.  But she heard the smirk.  “’Sides, don’t know what your all on about.  Not like it’s really your bum, anyway, right?” 

That is SO not the point. 

The fact that Spike was copping a feel when she was battered and bruised really wasn’t so surprising to Buffy.  What bothered her, though she would never admit it out loud, was that Spike didn’t seem to have a problem with touching Faith’s body.

If the hardness that occasionally brushed against her hip when she stumbled was anything to go by, Spike was enjoying the illicit Faith-touchage.  A lot.

Jerk.

Buffy swallowed the feeling that was most certainly not jealousy, no matter what that stupid inner-Buffy yammered on about, and made her voice as chirpy as she could being as it was actually Faith’s voice. 

At least, she tried for chirpy. 

To her ears, it kinda sounded sarcastic and snide.  Just like Faith.   “You know what?  I’m feeling much better now.  I think I can make it all on my own, so why don’t you just get off?”

Spike snorted.

When she lifted her head to look at him, he ran his tongue over his teeth suggestively and leered.  “Later, pet.”

“What?  Oh, gross, Spike!  You are such a pig.”

He grinned and said, “Oink, oink.”

God, that grin was lethal, softening his angular features and lending him a boyish look that was utterly disarming.  When he grinned like that Buffy often forgot that they were mortal enemies and found her own lips twitching to match his.  Which usually led to her punching his nose or some other bit of violence, to cover her lapse in judgment.

She’d learned her lesson well, thank you very much.

Vampires and soft, gooshy Buffy feelings – unmixy, in the worst way.

Instead of giving in to her amusement, she gave him a half-hearted shove.  He just laughed, letting go of her and leaving her to stumble the last few steps to Giles’ door unsupported.

“Hey!”

“Ladies first, Slayer,” he said.  He cocked a hip and smirked, waving at the door.  “That way, any sharp, pointy, stake-shaped objects will have to go through you first.”

Buffy puffed out a breath, rolled her eyes, and pushed open her Watcher’s door.

Time to go to work.

tbc