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Reflections In Blue by Limerickgirl
 
Part One
 
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Well, that was a picnic. Not. The thought was fleeting, and for reasons he couldn’t quite fathom, accompanied by a chuckle. But really, a good brawl always made Spike a little giddy.

He shoved the dead weight of the Gra’lhak demon he’d just dispatched off his chest, then dragged himself from the muddy pit with a pained grunt. He was sopping wet, bleeding from all sorts of places, and quite possibly filthier than he’d ever been in his entire existence.

Well, apart from that one time in Romania… he thought, shaking his head as he smirked.

After dragging the demon clear of the path that led to the Slayer’s back yard, he peered back through the brush to make sure the Summers women were still none the wiser as to the danger he’d averted, and that the birthday dinner was still in full swing. He supposed in the end it was best that way.

Throwing his torn, sodden shirt into a nearby ditch, he disappeared back into the trees and headed for the nearest tunnel entrance. He so desperately needed to tend to these wounds and get clean, and he knew just the place.

After a lingering look back, he shrugged his shoulders, then dropped down through a concealed entrance and into a narrow tunnel. It had been so long since he’d been this way, and such a crime really, considering the treat that lay just a few hundred feet up ahead.

There was no need for light, no need for the aide of his demon vision, for as he advanced through the tunnel the earthen walls shimmered soft blue beads of iridescence, marking his presence. He grinned as he paused and held out his hand, muddy fingers ghosting along the wall, a glow blooming up in the wake of their passing. The grin faded and he wore a thoughtful look then, because he remembered that one didn’t require heat and a pulse to be "real" in this place. One just had to be. If only everything else could be so simple.

He wondered if the Slayer would ever accept him, if she’d ever see the man in the monster. He ached to know if ever he'd be "real" in her eyes, just like this. A rush of memory made him pause, the cold words “You’re beneath me,” settling in his ear and heart, and he sniffed, dropped his hand, and put the thought out of his head.

Fifty paces on and the narrow tunnel opened up to a small cavern. Spike grinned at the sight of cascading water over at the farthest rocky wall, his eyes then following a blue iridescent vein in that wall as it trailed and cracked and forked at a ledge. Aching to get under that shower of water, he knew that the true prize within this rocky shelter was the healing spring tucked away in the corner, concealed by a pile of boulders. Broad enough to fit five men his size, deep enough to submerge oneself, and hot enough to work out the kinks of a trying battle, this was what Spike needed more than anything.

Anything, but her.

~*~*~*~

She stood at the site of what appeared to have been quite a battle, not ten feet from the gate of her backyard. A muddy pit (for it had rained all evening), broken branches everywhere and what was clearly a drag-path told her that whatever creature had met it’s end here was large and cumbersome.

Looking back at the house, Buffy flexed and clenched her hands a little awkwardly, a small part of her knowing she should stay with her mother and sister, while a much larger part urged her away to investigate this further. She’d find the players in whatever ruckus had taken place here, dead or preferably, alive. Maybe they had friends. Maybe they had a whole gang of friends. She was certainly up for a good brawl.

Stepping around the muddy pit, she noticed a small bouquet of wild flowers trampled and crushed beside the path. She picked it up and noted the delicate tie around the tender stems, and frowned. Placing them on the post at the back gate, she followed the smooth drag path until she came upon a hollowed out old tree trunk, and in the faint glow of moonlight, noticed the very obvious shape of a rather large boot. A quick inspection revealed the very smelly, very dead body of a…something-or-other demon, and she stepped back and covered her mouth and nose as she frowned. Maybe it was another one of Glory’s hench demons. It wouldn’t surprise her. It was so large, too large for any human to take on, too large for Riley. She noted that Riley would not have lasted a minute with a creature of this size. But he didn’t bare thinking about. He was long gone. So… who saved the day? Who kept this demon away from her family?

Puzzled, Buffy sought more clues, anything that would shed light. She moved aside the broken branches and searched the surrounding bushes until she discovered a near-by ditch. She spotted something and narrowed her eyes, grabbed a broken branch and fished what appeared to be a garment of some kind from the mound of soggy leaves and cluttered rubbish on the opposite bank. Walking to a brighter moonlit spot, she gave it a thorough inspection and her eyes widened when she recognised it.

It was Spike’s shirt.

The material was in bits, shredded in places by the claws of the creature now stuffed into that tree trunk no doubt, the shredded remnants soaked in blood.

And Buffy was taken aback by the sudden well of concern she felt, concern and confusion, and oh god, what if he’s dust?, and why was he here? and why would he do such a thing?

She suddenly remembered the night he’d arrived at her back porch with the gun, intent to kill her for the pain she’d inflicted with her words - to end his misery outright, no doubt. The night he’d offered her a quiet ear and gentle pat on the back in empathy instead.

Admittedly, she was still rather thrown by that simple, comforting act.

Buffy knew that Dawn had babbled to the vampire about the dinner they’d planned for tonight, and she’d fully expected Spike to crash it or ruin things somehow. She hadn’t for a second imagined he’d stand guard. It was… such a selfless act. He didn’t posture on her porch about the battle and saving the day and earning their overdue respect. He just, apparently, quietly dealt with the demon. Except that he either walked away or caught the first convenient breeze out of this world. The Slayer swallowed a rather large lump in her throat and frowned. She needed to know.

She tied his torn, bloody shirt around her waist. It was a gesture that seemed fitting somehow, like a mark of respect to he who was all at once her enemy and accidental ally. Giving quick inspection to the surrounding bushes and clearing, she soon found a short trail through the leaves. Without hesitation she followed it to what appeared to be a tunnel entrance. After a quick look around and a shallow, unsettled breath, Buffy took a step, and dropped into darkness.

~*~*~

The vampire stood at water’s edge and carefully removed his boots, then lined them up neatly at the wall. Working the silver buckle of his belt, he grimaced at the pain that action produced, but soldiered on resolutely in his goal to get bare. The pain in his hands was only partially responsible, he was sure, for his inability to sense (until seemingly much too late) another’s presence close by. Regardless, his need for healing was stronger than worrying over such a thing just then. And it wasn’t as if he was bashful.

His jeans dropped around his ankles with a soft thud of denim and clank of metal, and he stepped out of them and braced the wall, unaware of the soft gasp his actions provoked. Head down in a moment of concentration, the muscles of his back flexing painfully under torn skin - skin that displayed all the vicious marks of battle beneath a soft blue hue - he warned the unwelcome stranger:

“Whatever nasty thing you are, it’s best you turn about and leave. Party for one, I’m afraid. Won’t say it twice.”

Buffy stood transfixed, her wonder at the pale blue light that had lit her way to this cavern quickly forgotten. She couldn’t tear herself away. She couldn’t help but disobey and stand her ground, and feast her eyes on the site of her enemy/ally, standing there in all his glory, baring the marks of combat, marks that spoiled the smooth-as-marble perfection of his back.

No, she couldn’t obey his words no matter that she felt she was indeed one of the nasty things of which he’d mentioned. Because there she stood on that jagged line that separated hatred and desire, the line she so often traversed much to her own torment – stumbling repeatedly from side to side - and she found herself wishing the rest of the world away so that she could just… be.

While her mind swam with myriad things she might say in response to his warning, she didn’t make a sound, and she let her gaze trace the length of his spine and downward, over every ridge and hollow of taut muscle rippling under his skin, down to the most perfectly muscular ass she could ever imagine… And she couldn’t help but remember a certain spell they’d been under, how she’d slipped her hands down to grasp that perfectly muscular ass as he kissed her - kissed her breathless - and how she craved more, craved contact shed of all clothing… how she craved him.

Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue… She bit her lip hard as she remembered the husky sing-song way he’d murmured those words in her ear that night. That memory coupled with the site before her… sealed any answer to his warning in stone silence.

Spike straightened, still facing the rocky wall, and inspected his aching hands. He could sense that the stranger had paid no heed to his warning, and he regretted having to resort to violence in a place so sacred as this, but he was never really one to go back on his word. Very slowly he turned his head to size up his opponent, but as he caught the all-too familiar form of the Slayer out of the corner of his eye, stilled and murmured low, “You’re no nasty.” His gaze shifting unfocused in the direction of the churning spring, he ventured to the silhouetted figure behind him, “Are you for real?”
 
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