† beneath you † by AJ Hofacre

Summary: *BRAND NEW! NEVER BEFORE SEEN CHAPTER 13!!!!* AU Season 7; Spike has always had such a hard time trying to make things go his way. This past summer in Africa, though, seems to have found him in a better place. He's back in Sunnydale now, for better or worse -- but is he ready to handle it all? What will Dawn say to his face? How will Buffy react to the changed man that's returned to her? And what about that strange presence lurking in the shadows?
Categories: General Fics Characters: None
Genres: Romance, Action, Horror
Warnings: Violence, Adult Language, Sexual Situations
Challenges:
Series: None
Chapters: 13 Completed: No Word count: 87740 Read: 14826 Published: 01/15/2007 Updated: 04/16/2008

1. † unforseen † by AJ Hofacre

2. † what dreams may come † by AJ Hofacre

3. † reflections of abandonment † by AJ Hofacre

4. † breaking it down † by AJ Hofacre

5. † point of fact † by AJ Hofacre

6. † forgiven † by AJ Hofacre

7. † shame and the old cliché † by AJ Hofacre

8. † foot-in-mouth-syndrome † by AJ Hofacre

9. † the double-edged sword † by AJ Hofacre

10. † venom † by AJ Hofacre

11. † stalking seduction † by AJ Hofacre

12. † blood bares all † by AJ Hofacre

13. † progress † by AJ Hofacre

† unforseen † by AJ Hofacre

Author's Notes:

Yeah, I'm revamping this one, too. The only difference with this one is that it's still a WIP -- OoMH was finished long ago before I decided to revamp it. Anyway, this could take a while, seeing as I start the spring semester tomorrow, and I still have work. But I WILL get it done! I SWEAR IT! This thing is about three or four years old, and it needs to be finished!

part one - unforseen

Rain, rain, go away...

Actually, it could stay for quite a while. As long as it wanted to, in fact. The state that rarely received anything except sunshine certainly had a whopping number of the opposite right now. He flinched slightly as a roll of thunder growled through the air, before cocking a smile when the arch of lightning struck. The figure in the window that he was watching (read: spying on) let out a yelp at both.

Staring into the living room window of 1630 Revello Drive, he felt he could finally understand what his darling little bitch of an ex had convinced herself of: he wasn’t allowed to be a part of her life. He wouldn’t ever be a part of her life. It was unheard of. She’d had her fun with him, then tossed him away like a dishrag. Kind of like Cecily and her high-society whores had done with every man they’d seemed to fancy, except without the actual sex part -- thank bloody Satan for sexually repressed Victorian London.

Eugh. These thoughts were making him nostalgic for the time when he’d been his poofier half. And, also, they were reminding him too much of Angelus.

Huh. Now that was a disturbing thought. Buffy had, in the last year, become the female counterpart of Liam Drake.

That was all kinds of ew.

He figured he deserved it now, though. After all, he had nearly raped her. Despite the fact that in his mind, all he had been trying to do was convince the stupid wench to stop lying to herself and admit her feelings for him, his actions (as per usual) had made the message go tale-spinning in a completely different… worse… direction. For once, he had proven her right and shown himself to be the evil, heartless fiend that she reminded him that he was so many times.

It wasn’t fair, really. Yes, he had done terrible things in the past, but where in the hell had that justified Buffy beating him to a bloody pulp and leaving him in an alley, so injured that he almost hadn’t made it back to his crypt in time before the sun rose? All to save her lovely, self-absorbed ass from doing the most idiotic thing she had ever thought of doing. And she’d done worse things to him over the years. She’d dropped an organ -- not just a bloody organ, but an entire church balcony -- on his head. She had set Angelus free, and in turn, the stupid prick had stolen Drusilla from him, so in a roundabout way, he blamed her for that, too. When the bloody Initiative had first planted the chip inside his brain, he had swallowed his pride and had gone to the Scoobies for help. Not only had Buffy openly contemplated letting him starve and burn, but she had tied him to a chair and left him in the middle of that Indian attack -- and in direct path of that bear -- to get killed. And then the little bitch had convinced Giles to chain him up in the Watcher’s bathtub.

He was positive that she got off on making him miserable.

The stupid cunt had gone on to beat him up countless times for no reason at all. She had constantly made jibes and barbs at his expense, which truthfully had only fueled his hatred and anger for her. So he really couldn’t understand how in the hell he had managed to fall in love with her. Weird fluke, maybe. And when he’d finally admitted it to her, she had banned him from her home, when he’d been trusted inside for years before he’d even had the stupid chip.

Okay, so he hadn’t helped matters by chaining her up, but if the bloody chit had just listened to him for once, instead of condemning him as an evil (insert usual stupid repetitive insult here), and saying that he couldn’t love when she knew damn well better than anybody that he was capable of more love than any human being she had ever known, then he wouldn’t even have had to resort to using Dru as an example and taking things too far. Stupid obnoxious bint.

He wasn’t even going to revisit the lines she’d crossed over the past year with him after her resurrection. It hurt too much.

He was positive that she was keeping herself from loving him, even now when they hadn’t seen each other in four months. He supposed that this was the reason that things had taken a physical root, and he’d attempted to rape the woman he loved. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel guilty about it. He did -- all hell be damned, he did. He regretted it more than anything he had ever done in his existence. He had never even contemplated raping someone before, and because he was a big enormous git and lived by his emotions, he'd gotten in too deep. The sounds of her sobs and screams and the feel of her struggles were still haunting him at night.

Well, she certainly had a right to hate him now, he knew she did. And oddly, he was okay with that. Buffy’s relationship with him wouldn’t be the way it was if she didn’t hate him most of the time. And he knew that she cared about him, no matter what she told herself or anyone else.

The only reason he had come here tonight was to find his effing duster. He had left it on the banister of the stairs before he’d left, and he knew that the bitch had probably thrown it in a garbage heap or something -- he would really kill her if she had, that coat had sentimental value attached to it, after all -- but it was worth a try to see if he could spot it anyway.

And... okay, so he’d wanted to get a little glimpse of her, too. Could he really be blamed?

Memories of her filled his mind. He knew that one thing she had coveted when she’d come to get her fix was his coat. He’d allowed her to try it on one night, just for the hell of it, and the image of her dancing and whipping around in the too-big-too-heavy-all-around-huge duster still stuck with him. She had been acting like such a child that night, and it had been absolutely heartwarming -- and at the same time, heartbreaking -- to see. Because roundabout the time Angelus had been set free, Buffy had long ago lost that innocence about her that allowed her to be so carefree.

But how the hell could he be such a heartless monster if the joy on her face at letting her borrow his coat had warmed him from the inside out?

He was laying low, otherwise. Buffy had no doubt informed her friends about their little misadventures in the Summers’ bathroom, and Harris had probably winged it from there, threatening hellfire and brimstone with Evil Dead this and Captain Peroxide that. If he wasn’t careful then he’d probably meet his death at the pansy’s hands, and his death was something that he had reserved solely for Buffy. But for now, he wasn’t planning on letting her discover that he was back for a while yet. It was better to just stay out of the way and contemplate how to make her feel guilty for the things that she’d done to him.

Hey, he wasn’t going to be the only guilty one. Buffy wasn’t the innocent victim in all this. She wasn’t the evil bad guy either, but she had done her fair share of being the cruel one. For five years, he had allowed her to beat on him, being able to retaliate the first two years, but being a victim of her hostility for the last three. And it wasn’t just her physical blows to him that broke his heart. Her words were equally as cutting, as vicious, as bad as the worst thing he had ever done to her.

His mind called up a scene outside of the Bronze last year. It was the night she had asked him about how he’d defeated his first two Slayers. And a visible flinch, a roll of pain swept over him as he recalled the words she’d said to him after his ill-fated attempt at a kiss:

"Say it’s true. Say I do want to... It wouldn’t be you, Spike. It would never be you. You’re beneath me."

She had made him cry that night, he remembered. Words so angry, and hate-filled and cutting, words that he hadn’t heard since the night of his turning one hundred and twenty-two years ago, words that he’d thought he’d left behind him...

And that bitch had brought them right back up again with icy glee at his expense. Maybe she hadn’t known how badly she’d hurt him by saying those three words, but he definitely knew that she’d gotten a sense of victory and merriment at rejecting him so brutally, so openly, to his face.

She had always treated him with a sense of disregard. When he’d become chipped, she had dismissed him as a threat, instead choosing to think of him as a clipped puppy. Not a one of the bloody Scoobies believed he was still dangerous after that stupid piece of metal had been installed in his brain. A bit foolish of them on their part, as Spike could have easily burnt the town down for years now, had he chosen to do such a thing at all. Instead, he had decided to get his kicks in by helping them fight the ‘good fight,’ and they had never even realized how badly he'd suffered in the demon world because of his unnatural urge for loyalty to them.

He was just grateful now that the creepy green-eyed wish-granter had taken the chip out when he’d reinstalled William’s soul inside of him. Spike wouldn’t kill innocents -- he hadn’t done so for three years, and hadn’t wanted to until Buffy had rejected him all over again last year. He figured Demon Guy knew it wouldn’t be a fair fight between the others and himself if Spike wasn’t allowed to defend himself from harm. He’d only figured out that the chip was gone when he’d gotten flat-ass drunk one night, and struck up a bar fight with a native that had actually had the gall to openly make fun of his curling two-toned hair.

He hadn’t killed the guy. Rather, the little twit had jerked one curling lock right out of his head and Spike had struck him because of the pain. The worst he had done was break the poofter’s arm.

Anyway. His self-righteous little pet was meandering around the living room, puttering about, looking for something or another. By the look of it, she was alone. Sigh. Tonight wasn’t the night to find his precious coat. It was lost to him until he revealed himself to his ex-lover. Which he wasn’t planning to do... but it wouldn’t hurt to give her a little shock.

Buffy groaned out loud. "Dawn, where did you put my purse?!" she yelled upstairs.

Oh. Right. Dawn was spending the night at a friend’s tonight. She was alone in the house, and Xander had offered to take both Giles and Willow in, when they returned; Giles was to continue the Devon coven's work of helping Willow cope with Tara’s murder, the Flaying of Warren, and the control of Willow's seriously out of whack magic.

She spotted a splotch of leather behind the living room couch and her eyes brightened. She darted for it, kneeling on the couch and stretching her arm behind it until she grasped the black shoulder strap of her genuine leather purse. She checked it over, searching the insides and out for any missing contents. It was better being safe than sorry. She had a new job now, and what with the reopening of Sunnydale High School -- her Sunnydale High School, the one and only, not the cheap imitation copy that Dawn had gone to for her freshman year -- it was probably of the good that she was being so careful with her valuables. Hoodlums who were not Dawn could have ransacked the damn thing anytime they wished at the opening ceremonies.

Oh, God, she groaned mentally. Did I seriously just use the word ‘hoodlums’? I’m using Giles-Speech! And I'm getting old! So, so of the bad!

Ah, that was better. Back to Buffy-Speech it was.

She sighed as she yanked the purse over the back of the couch, satisfied that nothing had gone missing. Well, the only things in there were a pack of Tic-Tacs (citrus flavored, natch), a mini-notebook, a few pens, a stake and two vials of Holy Water -- she doubted any young whipper-snapper would find those of value unless there was a new vampire-slaying force out there that she had no knowledge of.

She used the ‘whipper-snapper’ punch purposely this time.

She screamed when she caught a glimpse of something attempting to crawl across her hand to get to the wall. Buffy dove into melees of vampires and demons head-first and usually came out unscathed, but when it came to spiders, she ran around like a chicken with it’s head cut off. Goddamn it, as if she wasn’t already mega-wigged by a bunch of other creepy-crawlies, of course there would be one sitting right there on the wall that was --

Well, okay, one that was no bigger than a pea, but it had eight legs, it crawled, and it was not a little bundle of cute, so it equaled gross!

She jumped back, equally startled when that stupid thunderstorm made its presence known again with a loud rumble that shook the house on its foundation. She had never liked thunderstorms, had always been extra scared of them since she was a little girl and had seen what one had done to a house in Texas on the television.

She moved to the window and pushed away the drapes slightly, worrying her lower lip. She hoped Dawn was okay. Then she shook her head for not having confidence in the sixteen-year-old. Dawn had been through a hell of a lot worse than a thunderstorm in the past two years.

She jumped back again slightly and gasped when the lightning accompaniment revealed a figure standing in her lawn. Another crack, and she saw that the figure... was Spike.

Her heart leaped up into her throat. She hadn’t seen him since that awful night in her bathroom. She’d gone to his crypt to enlist his help in protecting Dawn, and had discovered to her (characteristically ignored) heart-constricting disappoint that he had been the latest of a Buffy-Relationship Gone Bad to skip town.

She hadn’t allowed herself to think of him, and had forbidden anyone from even mentioning his name the entire summer, especially Xander (who had gotten way too into the self-righteous power trip that Spike’s mistake had infused in him).

Well, that was to say, she didn’t think of him until she was alone. It was kind of hard not to think of him when she dug his beloved duster out of the back of her closet and wrapped it around herself, breathing in the comforting, lingering scent of spice, tobacco, peppermint, and Drakkar Noir.

Although the first two were for obvious reasons, the last two she remembered specifically. On one particular night together, when she hadn't been quite as dismissive of the "relationship" they shared, she had confided that she adored hard candy peppermint swirls, since they reminded her of her grandmother and the years before her destiny had literally called. As a special treat, he’d surprised her with a bag full that he’d been keeping hidden in an inside pocket of the duster, a shrug and a simple statement that he "just knew."

And he’d managed to discover that she adored the scent of Drakkar on his very own, going out and nicking a bottle of it to wear specifically in her presence. She remembered countless times when she’d watched him spray it on himself every evening especially for her.

Dammit, and now she’d gone and done it. The tears were starting to well up, and the thought came unbidden to the forefront of her mind: I miss you.

And she did. She really, really did. He’d become a huge staple in her life, and it hurt her to realize how big the void he’d left actually was. Going over to the crypt with Dawn to check up on Clem, she always found herself wondering if that day would be the day that she’d see him again. She’d find him curled up in his ratty old chair, his legs splayed apart, one arm wrapped around his stomach, the other arm hugging the remote control that Dawn had given him to his bare chest, watching some funky movie on his little television set before he turned to see her, smiled broadly, and began complaining about the cruddy reception because the cable company was too damn cheap to wire the cemetery for the good stuff.

If she hadn’t had more self-control, she would have earnestly begun to cry.

The thunder rolled and the lightning struck again, but this time when she looked, the man she’d denied her love to was nowhere to be found.

Her heart constricted again. It had been an illusion. She hadn’t seen him at all.

It had just been nature’s way of making her face up to the lies she’d told herself.

Spike wasn’t going to come back. He would never be there anymore, to give her that tiny, knowing smile before holding a peppermint up to her face to make her grin and tell him what was wrong. He wasn’t going to be there to laugh in genuine mirth when she donned his duster and danced around like a little pixie on way too much caffeine. He wouldn’t be there to give her the hard, cutting truth, when he knew she didn’t want to listen, but also knew that it was something she needed to hear.

He wasn’t going to be there to tell her he loved her no matter what she said and did to him.

He wasn’t going to be there.

She wiped at her eyes and went up to bed.

After all that time of trying to get him to leave -- she'd finally succeeded.

He'd left her.

Spike looked up at the sky, his face being pelted with the drops of rain. He hadn’t known that she would be crawling around in front of the window at that exact moment. And it broke his heart to see the stunned look on her face when she’d seen his silhouette.

That singular look had swiped away any of the hostility that he’d been feeling for her since he’d come back from Africa, and it wasn’t fair. He wanted to be mad at her. He wanted to stop loving her, he wanted to hate her, he wanted things to go back to the way they were before all this horrible bull had happened.

He wanted to forget that he’d ever been in love with Buffy Anne Summers.

He wanted to forget how beautiful she was when she smiled, and how incredible she was when she took action, and how fierce and protective she was of her loved ones, and how amazing she was when she was fighting, her motions like devastating poetry. He wanted to forget how much being in love with his enemy had destroyed his life.

She looked more beautiful than he’d ever seen her tonight.

He’d forgotten how much he’d missed her.

He sighed and continued on down the road to his crypt, shoving his hands in the pockets of his soaked black jeans. In a last ditch effort to push away the heart-wrenching feelings digging into his heart, he called up the image behind the Bronze again, then shook his head.

"Am I still beneath you, Buffy?" he asked the sky.

It would really help if she could hear him, or if the sky could answer. Instead, the rain just kept coming down. And Spike kept walking.

He doubted he would ever get an answer.

Buffy had every reason to hate him, but he had more than enough reasons to hate her, too. And yet, as much as he tried -- he could try all fucking night, and it still wouldn’t get him anywhere. He couldn’t stop loving her. And loving her hurt him so, so much. Why couldn’t he stop?

He’d been convinced that the chip had been doing this to him, that his demonic nature had been suppressed for so long that it gave rise to other feelings, other emotions that, as a soulless demon, he should not have had access to. But it wasn’t the chip, and that much was obvious, because the chip was gone, and his feelings weren’t. He still felt short of breath (figuratively) whenever he caught a glimpse of her lovely eyes.

Buffy had believed so wholeheartedly, after the entire mess with Angelus, that a person had to have a soul to feel anything, and all her doubts and denials had led him to believe that way, too. But if that were so, then why had he felt so horribly guilty before he’d even received his restored soul? What did that say about him? What did it mean? Had he had his soul all along, and the visit to the wish-granter had just brought it back to the forefront? What was so different about him, that he could feel love, hate, sorrow, passion, tenderness, guilt and remorse above all other vampires, whereas they didn’t? Had his soul been carried over when Drusilla, the silly, damaged bint, had turned him?

What was wrong with him?

He had always felt he was an aberration in the vampire world. The only time Angelus had ever been proud of him during his vampire existence was the revenge tactic that had won him his moniker. Angelus had no longer seen him fit to be a vampire after that. He was different, because whereas Angelus and Darla simply held each other’s company as a form of convenience, Spike had truly loved Drusilla. Of course, Spike hadn't realized until years later that Drusilla hadn’t truly loved him, but after he knew, he’d felt that his love for her had been enough to sustain the both of them for the first hundred years.

The only thing that had ever gained him respect in the vampire world had been his slaughter of the two vampire Slayers. That had been done to both spite Angelus and to hopefully gain the smallest iota of pride from his sire. Spiting him had worked, but earning recognition from the Scourge of Europe was a thing that would never again occur. As much company, as vicious and nasty as it was that he carried, Spike was as alone as could be determined. He’d been much too different from the other, more sinister vampires.

The one and only time that he’d met his great-great grandsire, Joseph, the Master, the 600-year-old vampire had taken an instant disliking to him, and had denounced him to his face before his court, Darla and Angelus at his side. Drusilla had been the only one to take up for him, due to their affection for each other, but it had been clear to him -- and everyone else -- that she was amused by the proceedings.

To his own family, Spike had been a nothing, and had only shown promise because of the Chinese Slayer that he’d killed at the time.

And now... there was Buffy. He’d fallen in love with the well-known killer of his kind, when he knew full well that the only reason she let him live with the chip in his head was because he couldn’t defend himself. He’d tried everything he could think of to make her like him, he had even given up his all-black attire for one evening in hopes that she would possibly notice him and acknowledge him as something other than an annoyance, a hindrance, and a reluctant ally. She had rejected all of his efforts, and when she finally had accepted him into her body, it had only been because of the devastation that her resurrection had caused her. And her final rejection after that had hurt worse than before.

So in his human life, he had been rejected by Cecily because he was simply not enough of a man. Drusilla had eventually rejected him in favor of their Sire because Spike had not been enough of a vampire. The vampire world rejected him because he felt human emotions. And Buffy rejected him because he was neither man, nor monster -- he was a thing. An evil, disgusting, soulless thing.

He just wasn’t bloody good enough for anybody, was he?

He snorted to himself. Like to see her try an’ call me soulless now.

It wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t fair.

Angel’s soul was a curse. The brooding bastard hadn't wanted it in the first place -- it had been thrust on him, and he'd spent a century - what else? - brooding over it. Sure, now it made him work harder to achieve redemption, so he could keep his soul and maybe one day become human, but he'd let nearly a century go by before he'd even decided to want to do anything about it. And that was by the Powers' interference.

Maybe Spike’s soul -- which was without a doubt his -- was a good thing. Maybe his curse was becoming a vampire. Because if Drusilla hadn’t sought him out and turned him, then he wouldn’t have lived this long. And he wouldn’t have met Buffy.

But then, he wouldn’t be an outcast - because that was what he was. Nothing but an outcast. Too demon to be a human. Too human to be a demon. He just didn’t fit in anywhere.

Now he knew how Angel felt, and for possibly the first time in a century, he respected the trials that his grandsire had gone through. Spike was still different, though. Yeah, he had his soul and everything, but Angel had it easy. Angel had something to work for. And all Spike had was love for a woman who scorned him. A woman that he could never really, truly have. A love that would never be requited.

Yeah, Angel definitely had it easy. Compared to him, anyway.

Spike pulled open the door to his crypt and slipped inside. This year was going to be absolute hell.

No doubt about that.

To be continued...

Back to index

† what dreams may come † by AJ Hofacre

Author's Notes:

Almost four years -- and this is STILL my least favorite chapter. *sigh* Ah, well. I tried to make it decent for you guys :)

part two - what dreams may come

Music had to be the most eclectic thing on the planet. There was just so much to choose from. Angel -- He of the Giant Forehead -- for one reason or another, adored that classical stuff: Tchaikovsky, Mozart, Beethoven. Dawn, on the other hand, was the typical teenage girl, enjoying most of the music of the pop genre -- unfortunately, this idolization included the Backstreet Boys, he remembered, cringing. Except that Dawn's enjoyment of music wasn't limited to just pop and that was why he adored her. She shared Spike and Buffy's enjoyment of rock, alternative, and punk.

Okay, so Buffy hadn't been that keen on punk, but he'd been getting her there. The Buzzcocks, the Sex Pistols, the Ramones, and all the rest, they were the classics. And once, he'd even caught her humming along to one of their songs (to which, of course, she'd promptly denied doing so).

He was presently riffling through CDs at the local f.y.e. He was looking for three CDs, specifically. The Linkin Park CD that was red and had the odd little military man on the front -- it had belonged to Dawn. She'd allowed him to borrow it, but she'd never gotten it back because he'd left so abruptly. When he'd returned, he'd discovered that Clem had sat on it during his occupation of the crypt.

The other one was Buffy's Our Lady Peace CD, which had also had the misfortune of being crushed beneath Clem's big, floppy-skinned bum. He'd had to nick that one, because she'd put up such a raucous about letting him borrow it. He hadn't understood what the big deal had been, she hadn't even been listening to it that much. He doubted that she even realized that it was still missing now.

A man on a mission for Our Lady Peace, Linkin Park, and... something else that he wasn't certain about getting yet. He was skimming the new releases, hoping to God that he could find something worth listening to where the lead vocalist didn't just scream nonsensical words.

This was good. He was focusing on something that wasn't Buffy. Well, okay, it had something to do with Buffy, but the blonde little firebomb wasn't monopolizing his thoughts as he did it, like she usually did. He was just trying to find replacements for the CDs that he'd borrowed.

'Course, he wasn't exactly sure how he was going to get the CDs to them. He had contemplated leaving them in the mailbox with a small note saying 'Goodbye, forever', but that was too melodramatic and Peaches-like, even for him. Plus, he was pretty sure Buffy would maim him if she found out that he'd even taken her CD in the first place, and then had accidentally gotten it destroyed.

Stupid Clem.

Another good thing. He was focusing on Buffy beating the shit out of him for something other than his lapse in sanity regarding his attempted ra -- er... that 'R' word that he still couldn't quite bring himself to say.

He frowned. Wait a minute -- he shouldn't be thinking of Buffy beating the shit out of him, full stop. He'd had enough of being her personal punching bag, her faithful, heel-licking little puppy. She wasn't going to bring him down anymore, she wasn't going to make him feel useless, she wasn't going to use him as a walking, talking dildo anymore. He'd wanted a relationship from that bitch, he'd given her everything that he'd ever been, and he'd even given her everything that he'd ever hoped to be, because of her, and she had just rejected him.

He was going to do whatever it took to get over her. He knew it couldn't work. He'd known that when he'd fallen in love with her. Images of her smiles and sounds of her laughter had eaten him from the inside out, night after night, and at some points had almost succeeded in reducing him to agonized, heart-wrenching tears. He was in love with a woman he wasn't supposed to love who would never feel anything but hate and revulsion for him.

He supposed that it was finally sinking in.

He wouldn't stop loving her -- oh, no, he couldn't do that. He'd tried everything he could to stop loving her -- he'd thought it was the chip's fault, for Christ's sake -- but the end result was that he loved her all the more. No, he wouldn't stop loving her.

But he was going to stop trying to get her to love him. Because it wasn't going to happen. He knew that. Finally, he knew that.

Buffy was a diamond in the rough, there was no question there. He was certain that she had touched the lives of anyone and everyone that she had ever come in contact with. And he knew that she would find someone who would love her for who she was -- as much as the thought of someone else loving and touching his princess revolted him.

"Fuck," he snarled out loud. After a moment, he looked up and realized he was being stared at. Whoops. That was probably one obscenity that shouldn't have been uttered in such a public place. A few teenagers down the row from him began snickering, and Spike snarled ferally. They gaped at him, stunned, before taking off.

Spike chuckled to himself. Hey, he wasn't going to hurt them. But he'd never sworn to himself that he wouldn't scare them once in a while. He wasn't Angel, after all.

Funny thing mentioning the big lunkhead. He'd stopped by Los Angeles on his way back to Sunnydale, and he'd gone sniffing around the old Hyperion where his sire had taken up residence. He'd figured that maybe the original Soul Train could give him some advice, since he had absolutely no bloody idea what he was dealing with here.

Only problem was that nobody had been there. Nobody except some young black guy, who looked awfully familiar in one way or another, and a sweet-faced young brunette with a hint of a Southern twang. The two had told him that Angel, the cheerleader, and Angel's son (?!) Connor had all gone missing.

Of course, at the time, Spike had been eager to get back to Sunnydale to show off his spiffing new soul, so he had decided not to stay. And he'd actually been reluctant at the idea of leaving his grandsire MIA, but he'd helped the best he could, following the cold trail of Angel's familiar scent down to some place called Point Dume. However far they took it after that was up to them.

Over the speakers in the shop, a song by Michelle Branch suddenly came on, and Spike started. His eyes widened as he recognized the song and the lyrics. He hadn't been that in tune with the song in the first place -- he'd been more hopeful towards getting Buffy to give him a second glance after that whole mistaken identity thing that Red had pulled -- but he knew well enough that it had been the song playing live at the Bronze that very night.

Closing his eyes, the images came to him slowly, one by one -- her open rejection of him at the bar, simply by turning her head. His hurt pride, forcing him to stalk away from her and toward the Bronze doors. Sensing her presence behind him and turning to see her running for him, unshed tears glistening in her eyes. Pulling her protectively into his arms and whisking her into that corner, that bloody sacred corner that they'd marked as their own. His quaking fingers trailing down her soft, smooth, trembling cheek, and the desperation on both parts as their lips met --

He let out a soft cry and bowed his head.

It wasn't fair.

Ah. So they'd decided to visit again tonight. How lovely. More torment. More torture. He'd thought he'd faced the brunt of it at the music store earlier. Obviously he was wrong, because here they were now, once again, plaguing his dreams.

"Tell me you love me."

"You were amazing..."

"Tell me you want me."

"I love you."

"I can't love you."

"I'm using you."

"Let yourself love me!"

"I'll make you feel it!"

"Ask me again why I could never love you!"

Ask me again why I could never love you, she says as she holds her bathrobe up against her, almost as if it would protect her. Her eyes filled with tears, so uncaring, so hateful. And he without a clue as to what he's just done -- what he just tried to do -- until he sees her tear-streaked face. And his guilt and horror overwhelms him. He gulps out loud, stares at her in misery and terror, then runs out the door.

Spike woke up slowly, his eyes filled with tears. Oh, god, what had he done? What the hell was so wrong with him that he'd nearly raped the woman he was in love with?

Actually, he could answer that question easily. She'd led him on. She'd used him so many times, she'd taken and taken so much from him, taken everything that he'd freely given her, and he'd finally wanted something back. And what he'd wanted had been her heart. A heart that she refused to give to him.

He sat up and wiped his eyes, then rested his head in his hands. She cared about him, he knew she did. It hadn't been just wanton lust. She had to have cared about him. Just a little bit. She had to.

Ask me again why I could never love you. Why she could never love him? Or why she couldn't let herself? He'd shown her his passion for her, his love for her, how deeply she made him feel, how much she'd changed him.

And it frightened her.

She didn't want to love again, because loving meant losing, love meant pain, loving him meant that she'd have to throw out everything that she'd ever been taught. Not only that, but how would it have felt for her to explain to her friends that she'd fallen in love with another vampire? Xander already had him on his hate list as it was and Willow would probably have fainted after panicking that she'd produced yet another wonky spell.

Then, on top of that, was the fact that he'd been soul-less. Having a soul meant so much to the bloody bint. Why could she not understand that a soul wasn't what made you love someone? He had even explained it to her, back when he'd been pining after Dru, and Buffy had been nattering on and on and on about Angel. "Blood isn't brains, children. It's blood, screaming inside you to work it's will." Didn't really matter if the blood was borrowed or not. It was still inside of you, making you risk your bloody neck for something -- or someone -- you shouldn't risk it for in the first place.

A soul was there to chastise you for doing wrong things, to provide direction and guidance for... for things that he had done, for things that Angel had done. Angel had been far worse off, because he'd killed so many more people than Spike had even fought with, and Angelus had done it just for fun at times. He'd had his soul for slightly more than eighty years, having gotten it only a decade or two after Spike had been turned.

No -- dammit, no! He was not going to sit there and contemplate his shitty lot in life. He wasn't going to brood like Angel. His sire had done enough of that in the past one hundred some years for the entire continent of North America. Spike was going to deal with this in his own way.

He grunted and stood up, snatching his pants, sliding them up his narrow, lean hips, then yanked on a shirt before fastening the clasps on the jeans.

Sighing, he marched toward his door and slammed it shut. Clem would more than likely show up later to consume whatever food he had in there, so he wasn't worried.

He was going hunting.

Cool, smooth limbs shifted under her, unable to do more than rub against her ample body. Her head rolled back in ecstasy, her eyes closed in the most extreme representation of absolute bliss and pleasure. Her head moved forward again, and looking down at him, her stance and posture took on that of a predator's, riding him slow, but hard.

Because that was what she was. She was a predator. And he was her prey.

Well... for now.

He gazed up at her from beneath half-lidded eyes, jerking slightly and letting out a soft groan as she plunged down particularly hard. She raised her eyes to his arms, handcuffed above his head. How was it that he could exhibit total and complete trust in her, having no doubt in his mind that he would, one way or another, come out of this alive?

A desperation to be closer to him, to truly feel skin-on-skin, pleaded with her, and she leaned forward, sliding her hands up his arms, up the smooth alabaster of his skin. She noticed the way his eyes darted back and forth between her face and her heavy breasts, looming closer and closer to come in contact with his cold flesh just.... there.

He gasped and thrust under her once more, and she situated her body fully above his, her hands reaching his cuffed wrists and squeezing possessively, her body pressing tightly against his own. Beneath her, in only the most pleasurable sense of the words. Dead wrong that he was beneath her. In fact, they were definitely on the same level. She matched his ferocity, his passion, his strength. She would even go so far as to say that they were One and the same.

A tightening in her feminine muscles alerted her and suddenly, she arched, her head tilting back. And as if on cue, he began to growl, to rumble, his body arching in much the same way, though as she came down, his yellow-tinged eyes locked on hers at his orgasm.

They moaned in unison.

She lowered herself once more, her nipples still erect, brushing over his chest and against his own, before she moved her lips to his.

BAM!

Buffy shot up, eyes wide, looking around frantically.

"Buffy? Are you here?" Pause. "Buffy?"

Buffy's eyes brightened. Dawn!

"I'm upstairs, Dawnie!" she called.

Dawn had stayed at her friend Addy's house last night, she remembered. Obviously, the girls had gone to school together this morning, and Dawn hadn't bothered to call home to let her know. Ah, she'd let her get away with it this time.

Buffy had fallen asleep out of absolute exhaustion last night, combined with the Headache of All Headaches. That, and the apparition that she'd seen that had looked remarkably like her ex-lover... like Spike... had left her in a bit of a daze.

Also, she'd been enjoying that particular dream she'd been having. The one and only time she'd ever been daring enough with Spike to handcuff him during their Destructo-Sex sessions. She still couldn't get over the fact that he'd had total and complete faith in her, that he hadn't been worried that he'd end out the night with a stake through his heart or waiting outside for the sunrise. How could he have been so trusting, knowing and experiencing how hateful and selfish and caustic Buffy could be and had been in the past?

Maybe that was one of the things that she'd hated about him. She had thrown her all at him, unleashed verbal torment, physical hatred on him, denounced him more times than she could count, and yet he still came back to her. Even before she'd made the über-bad mistake of sleeping with him.

Not that he wasn't a good lover. Strike the good from the record and replace it with phenomenal. It was just that she shouldn't have turned to him for physical comfort to seek some sort of feeling. She'd warped his feelings, knowing that he loved her, and still, she had used him. She just hadn't been able to stop, and all it had taken was Riley's discovery of her in Spike's bed.

She'd been ashamed of him.

Of course, she'd had good reason to be at the time... so she thought. Her (married!) ex-boyfriend had just discovered her in bed, naked, with her so-called mortal enemy-turned-lover. She was supposed to hate his immortal guts and be the prime figure in his death, if it ever happened. And instead, she was sleeping with him. And because of that shame she had felt when Riley had found them out, she had blown up Spike's home, stomped on him, then broken his heart, breaking up with him the morning after. The verbal blow she'd dealt him -- calling him William when she apologized -- had been the final nail in the coffin. She had denounced him from her life as both human and vampire. Her actions, and his hurt and confusion were what had driven him to seek comfort in Anya's arms.

She supposed she'd deserved that retaliation blow most of all. She had dumped him, then told him to move on, when it was obvious that he could do anything but. And it hurt her when she thought back on it now, because she believed that he loved her, that he was utterly devoted to her. He couldn't move on, because to him, after her, there was nothing to move on to. He might as well have wished for his death to claim him.

Thinking back to that last night in each other's arms... that had been the first time they'd made love. The real first time. No trashing buildings in this scenario. All the other times, they were fucking each other sideways and up and down the walls and floors of his crypt. Spike had tried many different times to add his love and tenderness to the mix, but Buffy would become rigid and unresponsive.

It was her shock and hurt at the thought that Riley had managed to move on, and had found a wife only a year after he'd left her, and she was still right back where she started, fucking the evil, soulless thing. It was her fear of not being loved that had pulled her to Spike that night, when you knew damn fucking well that he loved you, you cold bitch, her inner thoughts accused. She had finally allowed him to shower her with his love and affection, and they had truly made love, much to Spike's delight.

And then the world -- or rather, Spike's crypt -- went boom.

At first, she'd been ashamed of him, and had thought herself justified when Riley had called Spike "The Doctor."

And now she was just ashamed of herself. She'd spent the better part of the year learning Spike's ins and outs, learning everything that made him tick -- she should've known better. Spike never would have had those demon eggs inside his crypt if he'd known they were volatile. And then Riley had started springing his accusations, and she'd jumped to believe him. The betrayal on Spike's face had stricken her heart.

She'd broken up with him the next morning, and he'd been clueless, unable to understand why. He'd almost looked like a puppy that couldn't understand why its owner was beating him. Why? Why had she given herself to him so lovingly, so passionately, so intimately, so... sincerely, in that way, the way he'd always longed for, and then jerked it away right out from under him?

Buffy pouted as she jogged down the steps, rushing desperately to see her sister. Dawn's presence was the best thing in her life right now. Buffy had worked so hard to maintain the level of trust and understanding that now stood as strong as a cemented wall between them, and she was not about to do one thing to collapse it.

She knew that Dawn thought about Spike probably as much as she did. Spike had been her guardian, the only one she'd really had left when Buffy had died. They had bonded over their grief, and it had brought them closer than they had been before. Dawn hadn't been able to clutch on to the other Scoobies -- because, well, facing it, Giles had become pretty much withdrawn and sullen, not talking to anyone unless it was absolutely necessary. Xander and Anya had been occupied in comforting each other, and so had Willow and Tara.

No one had even thought of Dawn. No one except the so-called soulless vampire.

Spike had adored Dawn like she was his very own flesh and blood. He had held her in a higher regard than any of the other Scoobies, save for Tara, not simply because she was his beloved's younger sister, but because the girl had treated him like a human, like he'd mattered, and hadn't simply tolerated him because of his love for Buffy.

She hopped down the staircase and threw her arms around Dawn, smiling. "Hey, Dawnie. How were classes today?"

Dawn's lower lip poked out about a foot. "Stupid. Mr. Carney is way too brutal on the math assignments. Pages 281 to 283, one through fifty, all? And it's Algebra Two, which makes it even worse! I barely remember Algebra One!"

Buffy mimicked her sister's pout. "Aww, poor baby. Not to fear, Dawnie. When is it due?"

Dawn gazed at her sister sullenly. "Well, with the block scheduling and Labor Day off, it won't be due till next Wednesday."

Buffy clapped her hands together, as if she'd accomplished something. "Great! Giles will be back by then, maybe we can figure out a way to get you through it all, okay?"

Dawn frowned. "But what about -- Oh, right. Willow's still all Quiet Girl, and you sucked at any subject that wasn't lunch or gym."

The Slayer glared at her sister, rapping her lightly on the arm. "Hey! I'll admit, I wasn't good in high school, but I still managed to graduate, didn't I? I, I blew everyone's SAT scores out of the water, and I graduated, and saved the world from a giant snake mayor and, ooh! Plus, I got to blow the school up while I was doing it."

Dawn grinned. "Does that mean I get to blow up Sunnydale High when I graduate? Sort of make it a Summers tradition. You know, just in case Sunnydale's new Mayor wants to take a bite out of the senior class again."

Buffy snorted. "I'm glad you wanna follow in my footsteps, but let's not get too hasty, right? Besides. Taxes wiped us out this year while they were rebuilding the new one. I don't really want a repeat in the next four years."

The teenager sighed. "Fine. No ka-boom for the school." She grinned devilishly. "Yet." She shrugged. "'Sides, I really don't feel like relocating again. 'S enough that I had to go to that other cruddy high school, an' anyway, it'd pretty much blow."

Buffy laughed. "You'll get your chance, Dawn, I promise. If some big ugly is threatening the school and the senior class, you have full permission to help me blow it up again, kay?"

Dawn grumbled under her breath. "That sounds like the kind of compromise you would make. Spike would have let me blow it up on my own!"

Silence.

Buffy glanced sideways at the sixteen-year-old. By the 'Oh, shit!' look on Dawn's face, the girl had realized what she'd just said, and was hoping to high Heaven and some form of God that Buffy hadn't noticed. Determined to not turn her sister anal-retentively paranoid, Buffy took a deep, calming breath and cleared her throat. Impromptu trip to Egypt, anyone?

"Dawn," she began brightly, "why don't you go put your things in your room, and we'll go get ice cream or something, okay?"

Dawn smiled, obviously relieved that Buffy hadn't called her on her slip-up. She nodded happily. "Okay! Great! That sounds great. I'll go do that now."

Stupid, stupid, stupid! Dawn berated herself later on that night. I just HAD to mention Spike, didn't I? How could I be so stupid? How could I not remember how bad Buffy wigs every time she hears his name?

Oh, boo. Now she felt worse.

Buffy had finally trusted her in the cemetery by herself, although she was still never allowed out after sunset, unless one of the Scoobs was with her.

Maybe Buffy figured that as long as she was checking on Clem, or going to visit Mom or Tara's grave, then it was all right. Buffy had put her trust in Dawn, and Dawn didn't want to do anything that would jeopardize that trust. No more sneaking out for her. Sneaking out equaled unhappy Buffy, and that in itself could turn out to be almost apocalyptic right there. Beware the pissed off Slayer.

Well, considering she'd already visited both Mom and Tara (with hunker-loads of flowers), she figured she might as well check up on Clem. They'd sort of lost track of him after Willow transported them to the Magic Box from Rack's old place, but later on they'd found him cowering in the alley next to The Magic Box by a dumpster. Poor guy; he'd been scared out of his wits. Buffy had needed to haul him up from behind the dumpster and propel him back to Spike's crypt.

Dawn didn't know how she felt about visiting the crypt anymore when it wasn't Spike she was intent on seeing. The vampire had a soft spot in her heart, true, but she'd been devastated when she'd found out that he'd left because of what he'd attempted to do to Buffy. Dawn didn't really know whether to feel angry at him, or sorry for him, or to just plain miss him. Well, yeah, she missed him. That was a given. She'd needed him the summer that Buffy had died. He'd filled in the void that losing her sister had left, mostly because he was feeling the exact same things. Unlike the rest of the group, she had fully believed him when he said he loved Buffy.

Anyway, Xander had taken full responsibility of harboring the anger field toward Spike. Willow wasn't in any condition to feel anything more than numbness, and if she even dared to act all self-righteous where Spike was concerned, then Dawn had the Warren card to throw in the red-head's face. Anya sympathized with Spike, since she had realized exactly why they'd ended up sleeping with each other. They had sort of been in the same boat, after all -- Xander had dumped her, and Buffy had just dumped Spike. And since Anya was a demon, she could sense Spike's pain and aggravation and hurt over the relationship.

Dawn guessed that she could feel Buffy's feelings about it, too, but chose not to tell. Because true to her nature, Buffy would promptly deny any of it.

Sighing, she moved up the steps to the crypt before pushing open the door. She made a decision -- she was mad at Spike, and she felt sorry for him as well because of what Buffy had put him through, but it didn't matter what else, because she missed him like hell. He had always been a part of her life in some way, ever since the very first time he'd ever come to Sunnydale, and being incredibly angry at him for attempting to rape Buffy didn't cancel out her Spike-missage. Besides, if Xander's story were to even be believed, he'd found Buffy on the floor of the bathroom with blood all over her body and teeth marks in her neck -- and that was just plain ludicrous.

Now, if Spike had only kept in contact with them to let him know how he was doing.

"Clem? Are you here?" she called out, stepping through the doorway and hopping over the step inside the mausoleum. The upper level of the crypt was empty, and so she frowned, pushing deeper into the candle-lit crypt.

Wait, candle-lit? Clem never lit the candles like this. He'd preferred the half-decent lantern that Spike had managed to rummage out of the dump two years ago to the candles that Spike had insisted remain lit. She shrugged it off. Oh, well. Maybe Clem had come to his senses. The candles placed strategically all over the crypt gave more light than that shoddy lantern anyway.

A sudden thought sparked her. Maybe he was downstairs, or rummaging through the tunnels past the blown-up bedroom? A small whimper from the lower level confirmed her thoughts and she smiled slightly, descending the ladder that served as a make-shift staircase.

"Clem?" she called out gently, in case the big blob was asleep in the ruins of Spike's bed.

And there was someone on the bed... but it was most certainly not Clem. She felt her heart jump into her throat, and she moved closer, standing at the foot of the bed.

It couldn't be.

It could just be a really good impersonator. But did anything ever really go like that? She knew it was him. The defining features gave it away. The pale, pale, almost translucent skin; the hard sculpted muscles that she shouldn't have known about but had seen more than once when she'd snuck out to visit him during the whole Glory spiel; the arched, sort of cross-shaped scar accenting his left eyebrow; the platinum-silver color of his curls, making it plainly obvious that he hadn't touched up in a while. His roots had nearly taken over his head.

God, it was really him. He was back.

And he looked like he was in immense pain. He whimpered again, his right side twitching slightly, and his body spasmed. A soft, agonized moan ripped out of his lips, and he jerked again, flipping onto his side. He wasn't covered by any blankets, but he was shirtless, and at least he was wearing his jeans.

"Spike?" she whispered, staring at him like he was a personal message from the gods. Hah. Hardly. But still, metaphor. It worked.

He moaned again, and his body shuddered as he burrowed his face under his pillows. God, it hurt. Why did it have to hurt so much?

She moved closer, reaching out her hand to touch his arm. "Spike?" she asked again, her warm fingers brushing against his unnaturally cold skin. At the moment of contact, Spike shot straight up in game face, snarling and growling in fear, his gaze shooting around the crypt. Dawn jumped back, her eyes wide. When Spike's gaze wavered and locked on her, his game face almost melted off, and his soft blue eyes gazed up at her hopefully.

"Nibblet?"

To be continued...

Back to index

† reflections of abandonment † by AJ Hofacre

Author's Notes:

Just wanted to say that you people -- all of you, every single on of you -- ROCK! (^_^) Also, this chapter is slightly angsty. Not like, "Kill me now" angsty, but "why didn't I think of this before, god I'm a moron" angsty. It'll pass :)

Look at this beautiful new image that vampkiss (hereafter referred to as Mandi) made for Beneath You! I extend my love, awe, and gratitude to Mandi, jackofspikes, Megan and Holly for all of their support.

part three - reflections of abandonment

Dawnie. His precious Little Bit was standing right in front of him. He wasn’t dreaming; his little darling was really there.

He tentatively reached for her. “Dawn-luv... oh, god,” he whispered. Something indiscernible flashed in her eyes, and suddenly he was met with a one-two jab to his jaw. He grabbed his face and cried out in surprise and—surprisingly—pain. That had really hurt! Apparently, Buffy had been teaching her sister a couple of things.

“Ow! What the hell did you do that for, Nibblet?” he yelped, shocked.

Her lower lip trembled, and the look in her eyes screamed betrayal. “Don’t call me that,” she said, her voice shaking.

He frowned, tilting his head in confusion. “Dawn?” he tried again.

She shook her head furiously. “You weren’t supposed to come back; that’s the rule. Whenever they leave, they're not supposed to return. You just can’t follow the rules, can you? Why did you come back? Everything was going right for once, and then you have to burst back on the scene! You can’t leave well enough alone, well, guess what, Spike! You screwed up this time, and I hate you!"

Spike flinched and he stared at her, his little Dawn, in hurt. Guilt overcame him and he reached for her again, shaking his head. “No, Dawn, please -- "

“NO!” she shrieked, squirming away from him. “Don’t touch me! I know what you did to Buffy! You’re a liar, you promised you would never hurt her, and you lied! I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!”

Spike sat up, allowing her words to permeate his senses. His heart was breaking as he stared at the tiny girl, and finally he looked down, unable to face her angry accusations and hate-filled litany.

Dawn’s eyes had been steadily filling with tears, from everything at once -- the shock of finding him back home, the relief that he was all right, and the anger at what he’d tried to do. But as she stopped screaming and looked at him -- really looked at him -- everything else faded except her relief.

She burst into the tears that she had so desperately tried to hold back, stumbling forward and dropping next to him. She threw her arms around his neck and buried her face into his shoulder, sobbing against his bare skin. “I missed you, Spike,” she wailed. “I missed you so much!"

Spike swallowed hard and sighed in relief, grasping her to him tightly. He hugged her hard and kissed her forehead and cheek. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, baby. I didn’t wanna hurt you, I didn’t,” he murmured gently, stroking her hair soothingly.

Dawn’s weeping only increased. “How could you leave us, Spike? We needed you! Warren shot Buffy and Tara, and Tara died! Willow went all Psycho-Wicca and killed Warren, then tried to kill everybody else, destroyed the Magic Box, and tried to end the world. We needed you -- I needed you, really needed you, and you weren’t there!"

Her little hands clutched him tighter, and he complied with her unspoken demand, holding her closer. “Shh, Dawn-luv, be still. Don’t cry, sweetheart, don’t cry,” he murmured, kissing the top of her mahogany head.

Christ... Tara was dead? And Willow had killed someone, and tried to end the world... He’d never have thought... Oh, damn, Glinda was dead. That sweet, quiet little witch was gone. Dawn had been immensely close to Tara, and her loss must’ve devastated the Nibblet. Dawn had been right -- she had needed him, and he hadn’t been there. Just pour on the guilt some more, I don’t mind, he thought grimly.

Eventually, Dawn’s tears died down, and she carefully pulled away, peering up at him shyly as she wiped her eyes. “Sorry,” she mumbled sheepishly. Suddenly, she smiled, and her gangly little arms were around him once again. “God, Spike, I missed you so much! I’m so glad you’re back!"

Spike favored her with a gentle, loving smile, hugging her back tightly. “Suddenly, so am I. I missed you, too, Pidge."

She pulled back again and scrambled onto the burnt mattress next to him, putting her hands over his. “Oh, god, so what happened? Where’d you go?" Her eyes lit up. "Did you bring me back something?”

Spike snorted. “All right, I know for a fact your mum taught you that asking for prezzies was impolite. But as a matter of fact...” He trailed off and Dawn squealed in delight. Spike chuckled and glanced around the lower level, standing up and striding toward the remnants of his dresser. Fiddling with the drawer, he slammed his fist down on the top, then jerked it open.

Reaching inside, he pulled something out in his clenched fist before turning to face her. Taking a deep breath, he began. "I was in Africa, Bit. After... After what happened here, I went looking... for something. Anything, really. It was bad. Figured it'd be best if I disappeared from here for a bit. Anyway, while I was there, I was staying with a tribe - shelter, you know. Didn't rightly understand the lot of them, but the chief spoke a bit of English, and the shaman was fluent. They didn't exactly have blood banks, so I had to make do with, uh, animal blood."

He sighed and continued. "I wasn't in a good place, pet. I was hatin' myself, an' I missed you, an' I missed yer sister..." He rolled his eyes. "Though I doubt she'd have given a toss if she knew. I guess, though, that the shaman could sense somethin' was wrong. He talked with me, an' told me that what he was going ta give me would be essential to protect the ones I love." Spike gave her a small smile. "So I'm giving it to you, sweetheart." He opened his palm and grasped the ends of a hematite necklace with an opal stone in the center.

Dawn’s eyes lit up and an awed smile blossomed. She reached for it, holding it up in the dim light. “Oh my god... Spike, it’s so pretty! Thank you so much!” she gasped.

Spike smiled gently. “It was nothing, Bit."

If anything, she beamed even more. “So when did you get back?"

He shrugged. “Dunno. ‘Bout three days ago, maybe."

“Have you seen Buffy?"

Dawn winced as soon as the words spilled from her lips. Her and her big mouth. A clouded look and an unmistakable presence of fear and guilt had settled on Spike’s face, and he’d instantly grown nervous, turning away from her. Swallowing, he shook his head ‘no’ quickly.

Silence reigned for a bit, until Spike squeezed his eyes shut and turned back to her. His eyes opened and Dawn’s heart bounced at the pain she saw in them. Don’t tell her I’m here, Dawn. I don’t... She doesn’t need me around to muck things up for her,” he replied. “It’s just best for me to stay out of her way."

Dawn made as if to protest, but sighed at the look of solid resolution in Spike’s eyes -- really, he could give Willow's Resolve Face™ a run for its money. “I don’t... want to lie to her... But I won’t tell her you’re back. I promise, Spike."

Spike offered her a tight smile, nodding. “Appreciate it, luv."

“Of course, Spike. Anything, you know it.” Dawn stayed quiet for a moment, then nodded. “So... you said you went to Africa to look for something... what were you looking for?"

He sighed, pointing a finger like a shotgun at his head. “The chip, pet. I went to look for a way to get the chip out."

Dawn’s eyes widened fractionally. “A-and did you? Get it out?"

Spike nodded slowly, frowning, looking slightly distracted. “Yeah... it’s out."

The teen instinctively shifted backwards. She regretted it the instant she looked up at Spike and saw the hurt look on his face. “You think I would hurt you?” he asked, his voice sounding wounded.

Dawn shook her head quickly. “No, Spike, no, of course not!"

Spike sighed and sat down on the floor in front of her. He glanced up at her, giving her a troubled, but sincere look. “Dawn, I’d never hurt you, chip or not, soul or not, vampire or not. You’re my Nibblet; you mean too much to me. An’ if I wanted to hurt you, I've had years to do it. You know I’m not a patient man."

Dawn slid down to the floor, crawling close to him and sitting at his side. “I’m sorry, Spike. I know you’d never hurt me. I guess it was just... basic reaction or something. Everybody was always going on about how you’d attack the first person you came across as soon as the chip was gone, and –“ She blinked, and stopped her sentence short. Then she glanced at him, elation, shock and awe all warring for prime position on her pretty face. “Wait... did you just say ‘soul?’"

Spike looked at his scuffed combat boots, and the corner of his mouth quirked up in a mischievous smile. He peered up at Dawn, his grin broadening. “Luv... can I tell you something real important?"

It was raining again. She was beginning to get used to it, since it hardly ever rained in SoCal. It was actually nice to walk outside and see that the sky was fairly sobbing.

She was out on the back porch -- out of habit, really. Something had drawn her to it, though she’d tried to avoid it with every ounce of sheer will she had. The back porch was her and Spike’s place -- she’d first told him about her mother there. He’d originally come to shoot her, and she figured she might have deserved it now. Had she actually been that cruel to him in the alley? Had that really been her speaking?

Well... yeah.

She’d regretted it later, when he’d shown her compassion. He’d allowed her to cry, and hadn’t tried to tell her that it would all be all right, even though he had known that it had been what she’d wanted to hear. He'd just sat there next to her and listened to her as she poured her heart out to him. He’d offered her his shoulder to cry on, hadn’t insulted her or laughed at her, and had told her that though she was the Slayer, she was still human. She sighed quietly as she recalled his words.

“I know you can run ‘round, protectin' the world from all sorts of nasties, but your mum’s another matter. She’s human, dealing with a human problem; her problem. And I know you wanna do something about it, protect her from it, but you can’t. All you can do is just be there for her. Believe me, it’s the best thing you can do right now."

He'd sounded like he was speaking from experience. And maybe it was just for the fact that he’d been the only one there, and she’d felt the urge to blurt it all out. God only knew where the hell Riley had been at the time -- probably with his vampire sluts. Shocking how, now that she thought about it, she hadn’t really wondered where he’d been – or cared, for that matter. She hadn’t given an ounce of thought to where the man she supposedly loved had been when she’d been miserable. And even though she thought Spike had hated her guts, he'd actually sat there and did what she’d needed the most -- he’d been a friend, without judgment or pressure.

Now that she thought back on it, Spike had been there for her a lot. He hadn’t been entirely concerned about Riley, but he’d been anxious about how she’d feel if she never found out. He’d led her to that place out of some sort of duty to her. Now that she thought back on it, yeah, Spike had seemed especially smug at seeing her ex-boyfriend get caught red-handed, so to speak, and it was probably the underhanded knowledge she’d sensed from Spike that had caused her to lash out at him when they’d gotten outside.

Or maybe it was the feelings of betrayal that just loved to reside in her year ‘round -- or whenever she had a boyfriend, at least. Goddamn Riley.

How long had she been out here? She had absolutely no idea. It was around one in the afternoon and it looked like midnight. Which would be a bad thing, if the vamps in Sunnydale ever decided to come out of their hiding places.

Xander had discovered, upon capturing the only fledgling that had happened to be out two weeks ago, that all the underground creatures were freaked. Not just terrified of the Slayer-Who-Couldn't-Die—no matter how many times she tried— who was slaying with a vengeance, but Xander as well, since he had been the one to stop Darth Rosenberg.

Modesty was not a word in Xander’s vocabulary at the moment.

Dawn had come home acting odd that day. She’d been on her regular Mom/Tara/Clem tour, Buffy knew, but Dawn refused to say anything other than that she'd met a vamp while coming home, and she'd taken care of him, just like Buffy had shown her. Buffy shrugged it off, figuring Dawn must not have wanted any attention for it, and even though she was proud of her sister for taking care of herself so well in a vamp situation, she backed off and stopped asking questions. Dawn had looked extremely grateful for that.

Odd, Buffy thought. A year ago she would have been all over me to give her some attention and praise for doing what she did. Now she doesn't even want to talk about it? Modesty usually isn’t her thing. It’s like she and Xander swapped or something.

Ooh, freaky. Maybe Xander and Dawn had switched bodies, like that time three years ago when -- Stop thinking NOW.

That was not a place she should be going to right now. Although she couldn’t help wondering how her so-called ‘sister’ was doing these days. It had been at least two years since she’d last seen her, and at the time, it had been kind of hard to talk shop, what with Faith trying to steal her life and the Watcher’s Council's hitmen trying to kill Buffy.

But enough about that, she was off the subject. Dawn -- she was thinking about her blossoming little sister. Buffy was immensely proud of Dawnie. The teen was a quick learner and had managed to somehow inherit all of Buffy’s prowess and agility, though she was nowhere near being a Slayer. Which was a Good Thing in Buffy’s eyes. Her sister already had to deal with supernatural phenoms in everyday life. It would be much, much worse if Dawn was a Slayer and the Night-Bumpers caught wind of that. But she wasn’t, so Buffy really had no reason to wig.

Despite not wanting to talk about her vamp slay, Dawn had been incredibly excited to show Buffy the most beautiful necklace she had ever seen before. Smooth black stone with a large white gem in the center of it. Hematite and opal, Dawn had said. Her friend Michelle had apparently gone overseas recently and had brought it back as a present for Dawn. Strange, however, that when either one of the Summers girls touched the necklace, the opal stone began to glow: a bright, vivid green when Dawn’s long fingers stroked the rock, and a shimmering, blazing red when Buffy risked a coveting caress. Buffy hadn’t noticed before, because the changes had been so subtle, but she figured it out after she’d stared at the opal long enough. Michelle had brought back some sort of enchanted necklace without realizing it. They’d have to research this.

Silence. Nothing outside except that splattering of raindrops on her coat and the porch. No thoughts inside her head. Nothing but calm serenity.

It was okay to miss him, wasn’t it? She could admit that to herself. The jerk had managed to weasel his way into her life, and she’d ended up caring about him a little... okay, a lot. She’d cared about him a lot. And then he’d left. Just like the rest had. Only this time, it truly, truly was Buffy’s fault. She had finally succeeded in driving him away.

Attempted rape was nothing new to her -- she'd almost experienced it before with Possessed!Xander during the whole hyena spirit thing. But then, Buffy had known she was stronger than Xander in the first place -- he wouldn't have been able to do anything to her if he'd tried. The problem was that the strengths between her and Spike were on completely equal footing, and she'd been injured to boot. Spike himself had been losing it at that point. Neither had been in their right minds, and given that their strengths often flowed from their emotions, Buffy had been lucky she'd been able to kick Spike off of her at all.

The horror of it all was that Spike had told her he would never hurt her, and he'd meant it -- she truly believed him when he said it. To have something like that happen between them, especially when everything between them was still on eggshells, had well and truly messed them both up. She, in her shock and Spike in his horror -- neither had known how to deal with the new development. She'd freaked out and Spike had run before they could even speak coherent sentences to each other. Combined with her initial jealousy and hurt from his dalliance with Anya, she hadn’t even been able to bring herself to confront him. Those damn misfiring brain cells, though, didn’t think that it was worth the effort of alleviating her fears that he’d gone right back to Anya.

But he was still the first person she thought of when it came to protecting her sister. So when Clem had informed Buffy and Dawn that Spike had taken off, Buffy had felt her heart sink. The one who was supposed to stay—no matter how much she’d told herself that she’d wanted him out of town—had actually left. She had counted on him to be there... She’d taken advantage of his feelings for her and she’d still expected him to be there, even after she’d broken his heart and he'd tried, numerous times, to win hers back.

She sighed. She had the absolute shittiest luck with men. In some sense, Spike was right with what he’d said about her that night at the Bronze. She had been a Slayer too long, and she had begun to think she was immortal. And not only that, but she had begun to think that she was too good for the likes of anyone, except for whoever she blessed with her gaze.

She’d had her flings before she’d been Called—like Andrew Henson on her front porch, when Mom accidentally caught them necking and ended up grounding Buffy for a month. Then there had been Angel. And when she’d had to kill Angel, and she’d come back from L.A., she started up that tentative farce of a relationship with Scott Hope.

She’d ended up right back to where she’d started with Angel, despite Spike’s warning that they could never truly be together -- and how much did it suck when Spike could see what was happening clearer than she could? So when Angel left, she’d memorized his plea for her to live a normal life and find a normal boy that could take her into the sun.

And thanks to Angel's "I-am-God-I-know-all" attitude, she'd ended up sleeping with Parker Abrams. Stupid womanizing asshole.

She’d also found that normal boy on her very first day of college, when she’d accidentally dropped a stack of books on top of Riley Finn’s head. But Riley had turned out to be not-so-normal as well. And if she was honest with herself, she had treated him like Rebound Guy -- because he was Rebound Guy. Angel was the horrible relationship gone wrong, Parker was the mistake from Hell, and Riley was the steady, dependable Rebound Guy to build her confidence back up again.

She hadn’t really loved him, not like he’d loved her. And that relationship went down the crapshoot several times over -- like when he’d slept with Faith, without realizing that Buffy's body wasn't even being occupied by Buffy. Like when he hadn’t wanted to give up the chemically-enhancing powers that Doctor Freakshow had pumped into his system because he’d been so adamant that Buffy wouldn’t love him anymore without them. Like when he’d spent his nights letting vampire chicks suck blood from him, then had the absolute gall to give her an ultimatum to choose her feelings.

And then... and then she’d discovered that Spike was in love with her.

And she'd overreacted.

The overreaction was justified -- because he chained her up next to Drusilla! Really, he could have found a better way to discuss it with her—except that he'd been right in saying that she wouldn't have listened to him any other way. But it felt beyond shocking that someone who supposedly hated her was actually in love with her. She really had been thrown. Spike’s admission of attraction to her had brought her own feelings for him to the forefront and she’d had to fight like hell to push them back into the dark space of her mind, where they belonged -- never to be admitted, never to be acted upon, but always to be fantasized about.

Oh, she was a bitch, and she knew it. She’d been cruel to him, even though she’d seen the obvious pain and desperation in his eyes as he pleaded with her. He really didn’t want to love her, and it was eating him up inside. The truth was that she’d felt a jolt of shock when he’d said he would stake Drusilla for her. She'd played dumb and uncaring at the time, but she'd known in an instant the truth of what that act would mean. Drusilla had been his lover for the better part of a century, and even when Buffy had been hopelessly head over heels for Angel, she had seen the true love that the peroxide blonde had carried for Dru.

Drusilla had been horrible to him during those few months they'd spent in Sunnydale, after Angelus' re-emergence. But Spike had still loved her, even after she had made it quite clear that she hadn’t wanted to be with him anymore. And torn between his love for Dru, and his love for the Slayer, Buffy had come out on top. He had threatened to kill the woman he had loved for a hundred years, in favor of a woman that rejected him, as long as she gave him the small hope that there was a chance.

It had been kind of sweet. In a really sick way.

A shiver ran straight down her spine to the small of her back, and a warm tingle began to flood her stomach. She looked up, her eyes darting all around her. She knew that feeling. In fact, she knew it better than the sensation that she’d had when Angel had been around. This feeling was stronger, more familiar, more... intimate. This feeling was Spike.

This feeling was gone.

She frowned and stood up, and the rain began pounding down harder, drenching her. Her purposely curled hair, painstakingly prepared for the pure pleasure of wanting to be girly, was soaked through and clinging to her face and neck. The wind whipped the remaining strands around her head, and for a second she felt like she’d become a Gorgon -- Medusa without the actual snake-for-hair part.

Okay. She knew she’d felt him. She knew that she’d felt Spike somewhere near. But he was gone now, so there was no way she could prove it. Unless she was just going nuts. The other night, she thought she’d seen him, standing in her front yard during the thunderstorm. And now she was sensing him when he was very obviously not there.

She frowned. Maybe I need to go see a shrink.

Hah. Spike would’ve gotten a kick out of that. Why was it that he always seemed to go for the head cases? She shook her head and sighed, turning to go inside. She could’ve sworn he’d been there, watching her, like he used to.

Through the kitchen -- where Xander found us having a not-so-innocent moment; into the hallway -- where he told me I could ‘blow out his candles’ for my birthday. Which I might have done if it hadn’t of been for Tara interrupting; past the living room -- there’s the couch that ate his stupid lighter for a week; up the staircase -- he left his duster hanging right there on the banister; into her bedroom -- where he carried me the night that I got drunk, pressing a soft, barely-there kiss to my forehead before he left

This was the bedroom where nothing had happened between them, because she'd forbidden it. This was the bedroom where he’d told her to start facing the truth about herself and her friends the week that she’d been hit with that toxin that made her believe she was in a mental institution. The bedroom where he’d told her about Riley, both in concern for her well-being, and in hopes of getting rid of the Hulk. The room that he must have practically lived in the nights that he’d stayed to take care of Dawn when Buffy had been dead. When his pain had gotten to be too much.

She smiled slightly as she sat down on her bed. She still couldn’t believe that he had actually kept track of how many days she’d been gone. She could still hear his awestruck voice in her head: “Hundred and forty-seven days yesterday. Uh... hundred and forty-eight today. ‘Cept... today doesn’t count, does it?” She wondered if Angel would have kept track like that. Or Riley, if he had even known that she’d been dead. Her father... worthless. The idea was almost laughable with Parker.

She’d been standing at the window downstairs when Xander, Anya, and Spike had had the confrontation in her front yard the night she’d been resurrected. And she’d heard the fury, the hurt, and the betrayal that had laced Spike’s voice. And she’d heard the smug holier-than-thou tone that practically oozed over Xander’s proclamations when he'd confronted Spike about his love for her. She’d remembered the wavering in Spike’s voice... She'd seen the tears shining in his eyes, had seen him crying against the tree in the front yard even before Xander and Anya had come out there. She’d known that his tears were both of betrayal and heartache.

She’d known in an instant by looking into Spike’s eyes then that if he had known, if her friends had even had the decency to tell him about the spell, that he wouldn’t have allowed them to carry it out.

She let out a frustrated growl and threw herself backwards, her head thumping to a rest half on sweet, dependable—and in desperate need of a wash—Mr. Gordo, and half on her fluffy, Comfort pillow. She squirmed out of her jeans, and slipped under the covers for an impromptu nap, grabbing Mr. Gordo and cuddling him close with one arm, and snuggling against the Comfort pillow with the other.

Three guesses as to who she wished the pillow really was.

Shit. That had been way too close. He had just barely gotten away -- Buffy would have spotted him instantly if he’d just stayed in the hedges for two seconds longer.

Spike had just been coming by to check up on things. He’d been doing it since the night he’d come back, the night he’d first seen Buffy in the living room window. He hadn’t known that she'd be sitting right there on the blasted porch steps and damned if he hadn’t saved his flammable hide just in time.

What in the hell had she been doing, sitting outside in the rain?! That dozy, brain-dead little bint, she could end up with bloody pneumonia or something! If he hadn’t remembered that he was supposed to be staying out of her way, he would’ve gone inside and smacked some sense into the girl for endangering herself that way.

He made his way around to the front of the Summers’ yard, leaning against his old tree as he looked up toward Buffy’s bedroom. He could see her silhouette as she moved around in her room. Suddenly, she dropped completely out of view, and the lamp she’d turned on went out. He grunted, satisfied. She seemed to have decided that taking a nap was the way to go, given the darkness of the day from the storm. Dawn was right; Buffy was doing well. He was positive that he’d know if she was just putting on another act.

He’d sworn to himself that he wasn’t going to pursue the Slayer anymore, and he was trying to hold himself to that. It was easy right now, since he was hiding his presence from her. But he knew that the minute she discovered he was back -- and she would, he had no qualms about that, because either Dawn's big mouth was going to get in the way, or his own stupid ass was going to spill the beans -- he was going to fall all over himself like a bloody pansy to prove himself to her.

Hmm. She was going to be really pissed when she saw him again.

When was he going to stop being so damn pussy-whipped? Every single woman he’d ever been involved with had all exercised perfect control over him -- until Buffy came along, and he still had problems trying to establish himself in her eyes! Damn it.

He shook his head and wished to God that he’d gone out to buy—yes, actually buy—some cigarette packs before he’d come here. Hmph, it was pointless smoking right now, anyway. It was raining hard enough that any fag he’d been puffing on would’ve been put out in an instant. Looking up at her window again, he let out a deep breath. This was territory that was way too familiar to him. He had to get out of here.

“G’night, sweetling,” he murmured. Frowning to himself, his eyebrows furrowed, he turned and walked back to the crypt.

Bloody soul. Making him feel all lonely. He didn’t need anybody. He was fine with being by himself. Preferred it, in fact. Compared to being with psychotic Dru for a century-plus, being alone was a revelation, a blessing almost. He was happy being by himself, honest to God, he was.

Liar. You’re getting to be quite good at that, you know. Before, you couldn’t lie to save your own life. Or maybe that was just when you were lying to other people. You seem to be quite the expert at lying to yourself.

Maybe it was just him, but that had sounded uncomfortably like Angelus and Dru’s voices intertwined. Wait... Angelus and Dru intertwined. Oh. Oh!

Disgusting. His nausea would start up in a bit, he knew. Well, he was at the crypt now, so it didn’t matter. He was alone here, nobody would mind, nobody would see. Bob’s yer uncle.

He waited it out but his nausea never came, so he just shrugged it off and crawled onto the sarcophagus again. He really had to go searching for a new bed soon. After sleeping on a comfortable mattress for a full year, stone was just not a substitute.

He heaved his blanket collection onto the surface and spread them out, then grabbed his brand new pillows and tossed them over it. Stripping down to nothing, he hoisted himself onto the makeshift bed and pulled the comforter over top of himself, curling into a ball underneath it. Sighing, he closed his eyes, and instantly fell into a deep sleep.

Alone.

To be continued...

Back to index

† breaking it down † by AJ Hofacre

Author's Notes:

I'm such a slacker. I really tried to get this out as fast as possible, but I stalled when I was trying to revise this stupid chapter :( I couldn't figure out how to word anything anymore. The problem is, that a lot of what happens between here and where I left off is mostly filler, like Willow's singing in OMWF. Maybe I can fix that :) So, I'm sorry for the wait, for whoever was really hoping I'd update soon. Hope you enjoy what I'm posting now!

AN 2: Thanks so much to Megan for betaing this chapter! Despite many life complications on the side *grin*

part four - breaking it down

“Damn you, die, you overgrown wastebasket!"

He couldn't for the life of him remember if these demons were normally so hard to knock down! Spike had been brawling with this massive sack of stupid for about a half hour now, and not only was the fighting not going anywhere, but the smell was definitely getting worse.

D'Ajennay demons had never been particularly bright, which was why Spike had been almost elated when he’d found the moron making an attempt to create a teenager goodie-bag out of two little chits stupid enough to walk home alone that night. Spike had barreled down the street and attacked the bastard, shouting at the girls to run home before he’d dragged the D'Ajennay to Weatherly Park. The problem with D'Ajennays, though, was that they sort of had a caveman complex -- basically, although they were stupid and mostly mute, if they were threatened, they attacked and/or killed first, and asked -- or rather, shrieked -- questions later.

And despite their bulk, they fought extremely well, using their nauseating smell to their advantage. The D'Ajennay was around seven feet high, well taller than Spike by about two human heads, and its skin was a pale, sickly yellow. Pustules covered the arms, and shag-carpet hair covered the parts of the arms that weren’t covered with the pustules. The eyes, however, were the most disturbing, since they were the most beautiful feature on the ugly beast -- sparkling ruby with glints of sapphire and silver. The nose was long and hooked, drooping slightly over the mouth, which was filled with four rows of gnarled, stubby teeth. And if someone had been standing in the middle of a city dump, surrounded by all the nastiness of soiled diapers and month-old lunch meats, the D'Ajennay still would have smelled worse. Spike was convinced that the bloody bastard had purposely gotten in his path, just for the fun of nauseating him.

So far, this was not turning out to be a fun fight.

Fortunately, this guy really was descended from a long line of stupid demon cavemen. He let out a high-pitched squeal, which—due to his being mute was the only sound he could actually make—then swung a big, hairy fist at an exceedingly slow speed toward Spike’s head. Spike ducked down low, then darted behind the behemoth before running and vaulting over him. The blond vampire grasped the creature's head between his calves and flipped it over onto his back before landing nimbly on his feet.

Finally getting the dodgy wanker down for once, he stalked over and snatched up a battle axe that had been thrown about two feet away since the beginning of the encounter. Hoisting it over his head, he swung down and embedded the sharp, steel blade directly into the demon’s solar plexus. It let out another high-pitched squeal, flailing about frantically until all at once, it stiffened and flopped back onto the ground. The body began melting into a pile of green goo and Spike, with an alarmed grimace on his face, quickly began backing away from the toxic-like substance.

Shuddering, he turned around and stalked out of the park.

Turning off of Embly Road, he had barely gone two blocks when he saw the towering figure of the brand new Sunnydale High School. He gave a soft snort and shook his head. When the hell were these damn people going to learn that if bad things happened in the spot where the original building stood, then bad things would happen where the new one stood as well? At least now he knew what Dawn had been ranting about. All of her whinging and bitching -- he'd thought there had been something horrible going down. Of course, in Dawn's world view, everything horrible was usually related more to high school than anything else. He shouldn't have been surprised.

Nothing much had changed about Sunnydale High. It had a sleeker, more commanding, yet welcoming build. It also had a colossal campus outside of the main building where the students could mill around during their lunch hours or their breaks from class. All in all, though, it was only subtle changes. The contractors—Harris and his Manly-Man Brigade, no doubt—had clearly attempted to keep the design as close as they could to the original... before Buffy had blown it up.

He sighed and shook his head again. This town was completely asinine. How could they have rebuilt the high school right over the exact location of the Hellmouth all over again? Spike came to the conclusion that the lot of them were all dunderheads, and they were just asking for trouble. Sunnydale High School's land was like a cursed burial ground. Spike just couldn't shake the notion that Dawn was going to be involved in some deep stuff throughout her duration at this place.

Of course, Dawn was an extremely intelligent little girl. With her smarts and Buffy’s strength, plus the rest of the cavalry trotting along, maybe they would actually be able to keep the Hellmouth completely under control for once.

He grumbled under his breath and stalked back home. And him, as well. Dawn wouldn't easily be letting him off the hook, just because he was no longer of the evil persuasion.

Is it wrong for me to feel giddy? Cuz I am. Giddy, I mean, Dawn asked herself as she moved through the kitchen and over to the refrigerator, popping the door open to get herself an orange juice.

Spike was back! And she still couldn’t completely believe it. The night she’d dropped in to see Clem had been so surreal. And she was still reeling from Spike’s news.

And, God, he was souled now... He hadn't been able to tell her all of the details, claiming that some of them were a little too graphic for her still slightly innocent mind, but the question still galled her. Had he gone to get it purposely, or had someone tricked him into getting it? Either way, he had a soul now, and Buffy would never be able to use her regular, tired, stupid old ‘soulless demon’ excuse ever again. Because according to Spike, the soul was permanent, not a curse. He was stuck with it.

She still wasn’t entirely sure how to feel toward him. She had missed him -- there was no doubt about that, she wouldn’t have cried so hard for so long after he’d left if she hadn’t. But she was still angry at him for what he’d attempted to do to Buffy. If she had to choose sides, she was on Buffy’s, all the way. The Slayer was her sister -- her blood kin.

But Spike was... he was Spike. He was the closet nerd -- the one she’d discovered he was when she’d nicked one of his old journals (she wasn’t ever going to tell him that she knew about that because he would probably kill her for it, soul or no soul). This was the same Spike that had nearly gotten himself killed by a god to keep Dawn’s identity a secret, and had protected her time and time again when the teenager’s life had been threatened. The same Spike that had become nervous and embarrassed and bumbling whenever Dawn had mentioned any gooshy feelings that she had harbored for the vampire before she’d realized how head over heels he was for her sister.

He was the very same Spike that she’d had that never-to-be-requited crush on. Her extra fangy, ridgy-foreheaded, way too over-protective older brother. He'd been the one to stay up at night and watch The Simpsons with her, no matter how stupid he’d thought the show was.

Most importantly, he had been the one to comfort her when the pain of losing Buffy had become unbearable.

So naturally, she couldn’t be too mad at him.

Uh-oh. Buffy was giving her a Scruncher. It had jokingly become one of those capitalized things early on in the summer, when she and Buffy had started talking like normal sisters did, and Buffy couldn’t make heads or tails of half of what Dawn said. Dawn had giddily captured the word and used it often when Buffy made the face that accompanied her confusion -- a scrunched up nose and squinted eyes.

Although this time, Dawn hadn't said anything nonsensical, so the only reason Buffy would be giving her that look was if she was trying to read Dawn's mind and was getting turned around with what she saw.

“What?” Dawn asked.

Buffy wrinkled her nose. “Are you okay? You’ve got one of your loopy looks again. What did they serve you for lunch?"

Dawn scowled at the fridge. “I packed today."

Buffy’s eyes widened at the same time that her brows furrowed, and the result was one very alarmed-looking Slayer. “What the hell do we have in the fridge?” she asked, jumping out of her chair at the kitchen island to check.

Dawn rolled her eyes -- honestly, if it weren’t for the fact that Buffy’s roots were showing, Dawn would think that her sister was a natural blonde. Either that, or the bleach had seeped into her brain.

“Buffy, there was nothing wrong with my lunch! Jeez, I’m just feeling extra... tired today. I guess."

Buffy tilted her head, pawing through the fridge for anything that could pass as actual food. “Extra tired?” she asked, grabbing the sliced bread, a jar of strawberry jelly and the peanut butter before she kicked the fridge door closed with her foot. She faced Dawn as she set the things down on the counter. “Tired from what? Is it your Chem teacher? If it is, I could have a talk with him. Your Algebra-two teacher’s been pretty lenient after our talk, hasn’t he?"

Dawn grinned, standing up and moving toward the island, snatching a banana from the basket. “Well, Buff, it’s kinda hard not to be lenient when you’re threatened with bodily harm before watching an abnormally strong yet oddly tiny fellow staff member squish your favorite paperweight in her tiny bare hands."

Buffy, her head still lowered, peeked up at Dawn from under her lashes. “He told you about that, huh?" she asked sheepishly.

“I saw the blatant terror in his eyes as he looked at me when I walked into class. It was like a newlywed housewife running smack into Martha Stewart during Über!Mode."

Buffy shuddered. “Ew, Martha Stewart.” She twisted open the peanut butter jar and grabbed two slices of bread, generously slathering them with the paste. “Anya says that she’s evil."

Dawn reached over and grabbed a knife, cutting her banana into slices before getting more bread, and snatching the peanut butter jar away from her sister. “Martha Stewart? Somehow... I'm really not surprised. I always knew there was something creepy about her. She seems way too... peppy during her Halloween shows."

Buffy nodded, grimacing as she spread on the jelly, then slapped the two pieces together, taking out a bite. “Yup. Ahn says she’s all one with the Blackness or something. She lives for the wicked evilness and stuff."

Dawn grinned. “It figures."

After Dawn finished creating her banana-peanut butter-and-strawberry-jelly masterpiece and demolishing it all in one go, she and Buffy moved on to the living room and crashed down in front of the TV. In an unconscious movement, Dawn tossed her feet onto the table, grabbed the remote, and flicked the TV on, changing it quickly to the History Channel, and settling resignedly for History's Mysteries. Buffy nearly choked on her PB&J. The episode was on unholy and mystical beings -- witches, goblins, unicorns, Courtney Love... and vampires.

Dawn couldn’t say what had told her to turn to that particular station. She never watched the History Channel -- she was 16, it was just something that a teenager in California did not do. But something had spoken to her, and while she was aware of Buffy’s reaction to the show, she couldn’t bring herself to change it. Besides, it was funny as hell watching an episode on things that people didn’t think were real, talking like they were experts. Pfft.

Buffy sputtered incoherently as she reached across Dawn for the remote, but the teenager’s hand shot out and grabbed Buffy’s wrist before she could. “Hey!” Dawn protested. “Leave it alone, Buffy! Come on, it’s funny! These people think they actually know all about what goes bump in the night!"

“No!” Buffy whined. “It’s enough that they get in my face all the time whenever I’m patrolling, I don’t wanna watch them on TV!"

“Oh, get a sense of humor, Buffy! Xander would think this was hilarious, and Spike would probably be rolling around on the floor laughing!” Dawn's head jerked up, as she stopped and snapped her mouth shut.

Oops. She did it again.

Buffy was quiet, her jaw hanging slightly open, as she tried to take in yet another one of Dawn's slip-ups.

Her shoulder jerked slightly, as though she were having a muscle spasm, and the Slayer looked down. She took a deep calming breath, then looked at Dawn again. “Dawn, go to your room, please."

Dawn looked at her sister in disbelief. “What?! But all I did was say his name! You’re making me go to my room for that?"

Buffy stood up. “Dawn, you know I’d appreciate not hearing that name anymore, and --"

“Buffy, that’s not fair! All I did was say his name, it’s not like I cursed or something!"

“Dawn!” Buffy spun around and glared at her younger sister. “In this house, that name is a curse! Do not ever say it again, in front of me, to yourself, don’t even write it in your diary!"

Dawn stood up, almost livid. “You’re the one who said we had to open up to each other, Buffy! Like it or not, he’s still a part of our lives, whether he’s here or whether he isn’t! I can practically see your brain oozing with him, you think about him all the time; what, did you think I didn’t notice? I know you’re mad at him, and I know he hurt you, but I also know how much you miss him! I miss him, too, Buffy, no matter how mad I am at him for what he did; he’s still our Spike, and I still miss him and love him!"

The younger Summers broke off, gazing at her sister pleadingly. “Buffy, please. Tell me what I’m missing. Fill me in. Let me know what on earth is going on because at the moment, I am completely clueless! You promised me that we would actually start talking to each other now, and we have been -- but whenever it comes to Spike, you want to run away and hide! Talk to me, please, Buffy!"

Buffy looked away, then sank back down onto the couch. Putting her face in her hands, she leaned forward on her elbows and took a deep breath, then sat back. Dawn sat down next to the Slayer, noticing that Buffy’s eyes were filled with unshed tears.

“I don’t know what you’re going to think of me, Dawn. You know the place I was in last year. I felt like I was trapped, and I couldn’t get past what Willow and Xander did, bringing me back and everything.” Buffy shook her head. “I felt like I couldn’t feel, like part of me, the part that knew how to be happy, and loving, and cheerful, was left behind when they pulled me back. And because I couldn’t feel...” She permitted herself to give Dawn a shamed, sideways glance. “I let myself sleep with Spike. So that maybe I could."

Dawn stared at Buffy blankly. “You... used him,” she stated quietly, lowering her eyes.

Buffy cleared her throat. “Yes,” she whispered. “I used him."

The teenager sat up slightly and let out a deep sigh. “Oh,” she murmured. “Is... that why he did... what he did?"

Buffy bit her lower lip, gazing at the coffee table. “That was... part of it. It was also because I told him that I didn’t love him. He sort of got a little... desperate after that.” Her hand lowered and began unconsciously massaging her own thigh, where Spike's beseeching, pleading hands had bruised her four months ago.

The teenager glanced back up at her. “So this was both your faults. He’s the one who got all pushy, but you’re the one who pushed him to it. And you were trying to pass the whole thing off on him."

The Slayer didn’t look at her sister. “Yeah, I... did."

Dawn stayed silent for another moment, then shook her head, looking up at her sister irately. "Spike didn't rape you like Xander said he did, did he, Buffy?"

Buffy's shoulders slumped and she shook her head. "No. He didn't."

“And you let me think that Xander had the right of it." The teenager stared at her sister like she had never seen the woman before, before scoffing with disgust. "Nice, Buff. Real nice. You’re supposed to be the grown-up, and instead, when you screw around with the man who loves you, and make him go all apeshit on you, you play the evil vampire wild card. Yeah, it was Spike, but he didn’t have a soul. He couldn’t control himself the way you can. So it had to have been something you did that made him do it. You pushed him to the edge like that -- you made him go insane with wanting you to love him."

The Slayer looked up at her sister, her expression manifesting disbelief. “Dawn, wait a minute. I know I screwed up, but Spike is in the wrong here, too. Why are you defending him like this?"

Dawn glared at her. “Because he was there for me when you died. He took care of me, protected me, and he loved me. He didn’t treat me like I had no real knowledge of the world, like I was nothing but Buffy Summers' annoying baby sister. He gave me the facts straight, and he treated me like an adult, which, by the way, I’m becoming, if you would ever take notice."

Buffy opened her mouth to protest at Dawn's scolding, but the younger girl held her hand up to stop her. "I'm not done yet," Dawn snapped. She softened when she saw the flinch her older sister tried to hide, then sighed and shook her head. “Did he ever ask you anything in exchange, Buffy? I mean, I know your relationship was based, like, solely on sex, but was there ever anything else he asked of you? Besides that? I bet that every single time you went to him, he was hoping that you might give him a chance. That you would finally see him, and notice him, and, and maybe, just... love him, like he loved you. Am I right?"

The blonde remained silent for a while. Closing her eyes, she knew that Dawn was right. Huh. Her sister was going to grow up to be Sigmund Freud. The world was a scary place. “He... He never asked for anything. Except for me to give him a chance.” It hurt, admitting it out loud. It meant that she really was the cold-hearted bitch that Spike had seen her for. She had used someone that loved her, chip and soul be damned, and then she’d broken his heart.

Spike had called her on it -- several times, in fact -- but he’d never pushed it when she’d refused to answer. He must’ve realized early on that he wouldn’t get much out of her except for sex, so he forced himself to enjoy her company -- any small bit of her company at all -- instead. Taking what he could get, just for the chance to be near her, even if she did use him as an animated dildo.

It was completely her fault that Spike had attempted to rape her. She’d ruined him, destroyed his heart and mind, until all that she’d left within him was his desperation to be with her and an animal’s need for a mate. They might have actually been able to have something, if it wasn't for her. She’d ruined it all. The thought forced the tears out of her eyes and down her cheeks.

Dawn had remained quiet since Buffy had spoken, staring down at her hands, folded placidly in her lap. After a second, the teenager leaned back against the couch and sighed. Looking over at Buffy, she tilted her head. “What would you do if he came back?"

Her voice sounded longing and pleading. Buffy hated having to dash the girl’s hopes. She stood up and licked her lips, swallowing hard. “He’s not coming back, Dawn. He’s been gone for four months already. And you know the routine. Once they leave, they never want to find their way back."

Dawn insisted on maintaining her Pollyanna attitude. “Spike’s different. What if he does?"

Buffy managed a small little smile. “I know he’s different. And I think I’d be over the moon if he did. But...” She looked down as she headed toward the steps. She stopped at the bottom, looking towards Dawn again, the misery and self-loathing clearly reflected in her eyes. “He’s not coming back, Dawn. They never do."

Dawn watched silently as Buffy made her way up the stairs.

And then she smiled.

“I still don’t get it."

Spike rolled his eyes. “What’s not to get?"

Dawn shrugged weakly, giving him a tiny, sheepish grin. “Everything?"

Spike sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Bloody hell, Dawn...” He lifted his head to continue berating her but he stopped short when he saw her big wide eyes and her pouting lower lip.

God damn it all, the girl knew one-too-many of his weaknesses.

"Such as?" he asked instead, resigned to helping the girl with her History homework, whether he wanted to or not.

Dawn sat up, kneeling above her book, her right hand rising to accompany her words. “Okay... like the Puritans. They wanted to separate from the Church of England, 'cos they were all, like, oppressed and stuff, but then they came to America, and started believing all sorts of dumb things. Like... like the whole witch trials spiel? If someone disagreed about someone else being a witch, then the person that disagreed was suddenly accused, because they didn't think the same way the rest did. The Puritans tried to force their own beliefs on everyone else, so really, they weren't any better than the Church! They were doing the same thing - oppressing everyone else!"

Spike stared at her. "And... why is it exactly that you don't understand that? Seems to me you've got a pretty good grasp on it there, Bit."

Dawn shook her head. "If the whole point was to get away from the Church of England, just to turn around and do the exact same thing as them, then what the heck was the whole point of breaking away in the first place?"

Spike chuckled. "The point, pidge, was so they could have their say. They wanted to be in charge. They wanted their own shot at power, yeah? They started thinkin' it was their divine right. Most anybody these days think the same way -- that it's their God-given right to be in charge. Doesn't matter if you believe in God or Buddha or Vishnu. Christians, Muslims, Jews, America, China, England, Russia... Hell, even the soddin' Wankers' Council, demons, vampire's... The damned and the pompous always think they have the right of it, and everyone else is wrong."

He paused for a moment, frowning, then glared down at Dawn. "Stop letting me off on tangents, Platelet."

Dawn giggled. "But you're so entertaining when you do!" She laughed again as Spike shook his head in amusement.

"Sweet'eart, you know I can't help you with all this. You need to know it yourself, so you can have the knowledge. Sayin' you got the info from a vamp who bloody lived it, while being mildly entertainin', wouldn't exactly get you anywhere. Now I want you to keep your grades up, Bit. You don’t have the excuse of a Hellgod being after you anymore, or a just-resurrected sister to help take care of; no more excuses, no more dilly-dallying with your schoolwork."

Dawn nodded dutifully. “You betcha. I’m Study Girl this year."

Spike snorted again, yawning slightly as he looked at her. “Speaking of, Study Girl, where are you actually s’posed to be? Not here, I know that."

He had to give her props. At least she had the decency to look sheepish. “Uh... Janice’s?"

Spike shook his head. “Wrong answer, pet. Try again."

“My room?"

“Do not pass ‘Go,’ do not collect any pity points from me, 'cos you ain’t getting them. Let's give it one more go, shall we?"

“Xander’s?"

Spike looked horrified. “Is that what you’re torturing yourself with these days?!"

Dawn giggled a bit. “Okay... I’m supposed to be at the library. At least, that’s what Buffy thinks."

Spike tilted his head. “An’ what is Buffy going to say when she doesn’t see your pretty little nose buried in the middle of a History book in some dank, rustic-smelling library?"

Dawn frowned. “I don’t know... I’ve gotten away with it before..."

The door of the crypt slammed open from upstairs, and footsteps -- very familiar footsteps to Spike’s ears -- clacked above their heads. “DAWN!” a slightly panicked voice called.

Dawn’s eyes widened. “But not this time,” she whispered.

Spike swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down maniacally with the action.

“Bugger,” he muttered.

Dawn’s sentiments exactly.

To Be Continued...

Back to index

† point of fact † by AJ Hofacre

Author's Notes:

Ack! I know, I know, I'm a slacker. I took too long. I'd put the blame on somebody, but I wouldn't know who :D I DEMAND that everybody bow down and worship Megan with me, because she is the best beta in the world. Her comments make me giggle ^_^ Also, just a side note for the obsessed -- has anybody else gotten the 2nd issue of Buffy Season 8 comic? If so, who else is utterly disgusted and squicked by the "romantic" connotations that Joss dropped? *shivers* Yick. Okay, that's enough, no go! Read! Review, please!~_^

Oh, and Megan -- I liked one of your comments so much, I used it as a Spike-line. Guess which one!

part five - point of fact

Oh, god, that girl had better be here. Was it any wonder Buffy was freaked? She'd run all over damned Sunnydale trying to find Dawn -- first, the library, where that little liar had said she would be; second, Janice's, in case her sister was trying to pull another trick like she had last Halloween; third, and certainly the long shot, Xander's. In fact, she'd been so desperate by the time she'd hit Xander’s place that when she'd barreled down his door, she'd woken him up from his late afternoon nap and sent him tumbling to the ground right off of the couch.

Needless to say, Dawn hadn't been there.

So she'd run to the only other place she could think of. The one place that Buffy had avoided as much as possible unless she'd been checking up on Clem. And upon entering Spike's crypt, she'd screamed loud and clear, "DAWN!" in hopes that the lying little shit would be there.

Sure enough, after a few minutes, Dawn climbed up the ladder tentatively, giving Buffy her most apologetic look. Buffy ignored it and instead pulled the girl to her, hugging her as hard as she could without risking damage to the girl. "Why are you here, Dawn? Why did you do that to me? You scared the hell out of me!"

Dawn pulled back slightly and sighed, looking down. "I'm sorry, Buffy. I... I shouldn't have lied to you, and I'm sorry. But..." She looked around the upper level, pausing on Spike's old chair and TV set. Glancing back at Buffy, she shrugged. "I miss him."

Buffy’s face softened, and she sighed, touching Dawn's face and gently weaving the teen’s shoulder-length hair through her fingers. "I know, Dawn. I know you do. And I'm sorry, but I really don't think he's coming back. Believe me, if I could, I would find him and drag him back here, just for you." She frowned. "I'd have to find out where to look, first." Her face softened again. "But I would try. Just so you could see him again, just so you wouldn't have to miss him so much."

Dawn took a deep breath, then exhaled again, staring at her sister. "I'm not gonna give up on him. He'll come back, I know he will. He loves us too much to just stay away."

Buffy's shoulders tensed and she closed her eyes for a second. Various scenes flashed behind her eyelids of the many times that Spike had declared his feelings for her. Downstairs in this very crypt; inside the dilapidated old building, before she'd thrown herself at him and fucked him into oblivion in order to hide from her feelings; searching for Dawn after Willow had gone on that magic rampage and had nearly gotten the teen killed; countless times after they'd made love and numerous times in her dreams after he'd left town, making his special appearances and declaring his eternal love for her.

And there was no doubt in Buffy's mind that Dawn knew exactly how much Spike cared about them both.

She sighed, and resigned herself to nodding. Once Dawn fixated herself on something, it was just that much harder trying to get her to let go of it. If Dawn said Spike was coming back, then maybe, just maybe... he would.

And if-or-when he did, Buffy would kick his ass for leaving them in the first place.

Buffy sighed again. "Maybe he will, maybe he won't. Don't get your hopes up, Dawn." The Slayer glanced around the crypt cautiously, clearly desperate to get off of the subject. "So, where's Clem? He's not here?"

Dawn shrugged, herself relieved at the change. Two more minutes—or rather, two more of Buffy's denials—and she would have been this close to blabbing all about the blond vampire hiding in the tunnels under the crypt. "I don't know. Come to think of it, we haven't seen him in a while. Where do you think he is?"

Buffy frowned. "I have no idea. He could have just taken off. He still didn't seem too happy with us since we blacked out the TV last month, so I wouldn't be too surprised if he left without telling us. And anyway, it's not like he's obligated."

"That's true," the teenager said, pouting. "It's too bad. I liked him."

Buffy smiled slightly. "Me, too. You know, he insulted me when we first met?" She frowned. "I’m pretty sure it was an insult. I was drunk at the time; I wasn't really aware of anything except the demons and the lovely distracting alcohol bottle."

Dawn gave the older Summers an odd look, trying as hard as she could not to laugh. "You were drunk? I thought you learned your lesson after the whole Cave!Buffy thing at UC-Sunnydale?"

The Slayer glared at her. "I had reason then, and I had it that time, too, so shut up. I think it was after I went to see Angel last year. I came home, depressed and all, and I ended up drinking with Spike --" She cut herself off, freezing. Then she let out a deep breath and nodded, relaxing. It was okay to say his name. And it was okay to remember him. For a soulless vampire that she had pushed to the edge, he'd done a lot of memorable things for her, and it was okay to remember that. She pointed to a corner in the crypt. "Right there, as a matter of fact. And he took me to get some information about the nerds -- except we didn't know it was the nerds at the time -- at a bar where they were playing kitten poker."

Dawn's eyebrows went up. "They were playing poker for cute little kitties?"

Buffy laughed. "Yeah, it was so stupid. I think I got him in trouble for cheating first, and then I set the kittens free, which probably didn't make his poker buddies like me much more. Poor things, I think at least half of them got away. But Spike brought me in and sat me down in the corner with a bottle of... whiskey, I think. He introduced me around, and Clem just stared at me for a second before saying that my skin was so tight it was disgusting. Big laugh coming from a demon whose excess skin is practically falling off, right?”

Dawn giggled. "Right. Clem isn't exactly the best person to talk about that. I see where he was coming from, since you weren't of the normal to him, but still."

The Slayer sighed and looked around again before moving toward the sarcophagus and sliding onto it. Her vision went blank for a moment.

"Tell me you love me."

He stares at her with barely concealed hope. "I love you. You know I do."

She moves closer, almost imperceptibly. "Tell me you want me."

Spike's feelings for her skyrocket and surface instantly. "I always want you. In point of fact --"

She grabs him and leads him to the sarcophagus. "Shut up."

Turning them around, she slides her hands up his arms, gazing up into his sparkling blue eyes, and leans in as he lifts her up onto the sheet-covered stone. He climbs up after her, holding her close, sensing that something is different, hoping that it is, realizing that she is giving herself to him fully this night.

Her little hands slide down and grasp at his jean clasps, undoing them as Spike’s own hands work on hers. Lifting her up gently, he tugs down her pants and pulls away her panties as their lips hover against each other. Finally, he sheathes himself inside of her as Buffy pulls him close, kissing him, devouring him, overwhelming them both with their emotions -- him, with his love, lust, and desire for her and her, with her need to be loved and lusted after, to be desired.

The flash ended and Buffy came back to herself. Dawn, who had been clambering up next to her sister, barely noticed Buffy’s flushed skin as the Slayer shook her head to rid herself of the images that refused to leave. The teen finally plopped down firmly next to Buffy when she finally settled on the tall stone tomb, then looked at Buffy expectantly.

“So?” she asked, pretty blue eyes bright. Eyes that were way too identical to another pair of beautiful blue eyes, eyes that expressed anything and everything in a single blink. “How’d you know where to look?"

Buffy blinked again and shook her head, looking at the younger Summers. “Oh... um, well, I had to go to a bunch of places to find you, and after that, the crypt just seemed the most logical. I mean... I’m pretty sure you spent a lot of your time here with Spike when I was... you know. Dead. So... here I am, and here you are.” Buffy folded her arms, tilting her head. “What are you doing here anyway?"

Dawn smiled slightly. “Spike left behind a lot of history books when he left. I figured looking through some of them might help me out with my homework.” She frowned then, wrinkling her nose. “That’s probably when I found out that a lot of the books here deal with a demon's view of history."

The Slayer began laughing. “Aww, Dawn, you should have realized that from the start. Pretty gruesome stuff there."

Dawn shrugged. “Actually, it’s nothing worse than what I’ve seen you and Spike do with a battle axe, so I was okay. Anyway, the books were one thing, but then it was the crypt too, you know? It’s... homey, in a weird, icky... dead... type way."

Buffy smiled and wrapped an arm around her sister’s shoulders. Her breath escaped her through pursed lips. “I know what you mean. I’ve been here so often that this place does feel like... home.” She glanced at Dawn. “I really need a break."

The shorter girl slid down off of the sarcophagus and headed toward the crypt doors. “Let’s go home, ‘kay, Dawnie?"

The younger Summers nodded. “Sure, just let me go get my things from downstairs."

Buffy nodded, watching quietly as the teen slipped down the ladder. A cool rush swept over her and her Spidey sense began to act up again. Cursing, she looked over her shoulder into the graveyard.

Nothing.

She frowned, then moved slowly around the crypt. Definitely a presence here... an almost comforting aura. And it felt like...

Buffy shook her head and shrugged the feeling off. She could have sworn that Spike was there, again. God, she was sick of this... She obviously missed him so much that she was beginning to sense him everywhere. Even here, in this empty crypt, where no one, apparently, had taken residence for over two weeks.

Although it would make sense. Spike had lived here, after all.

A creeping sensation, an almost sickly, twisted version of her Slayer tinglies crawled across her back. She slowly turned and peered over her shoulder into the graveyard. She's never felt something so old, or... volatile before. A frown crossed Buffy's face as she peered around the outside of the crypt.

Again... nothing.

“She misses you."

Spike grunted, shaking his head. “Yeah, I can see how much she misses me. Bit, just leave off. Big sis doesn’t want me around, an’ I don’t want ta bug her. I’ve already done enough to her.” His gaze lowered and he sighed. “I attacked her, something I swore to you that I'd never do, and then I left her like the rest. It’s best that I just stay out of her way, ‘cos if she finds out I’m back before I'm even ready to let her know, she’ll be handing me my head before I dust."

Dawn frowned. “Wow. You’ve really changed."

Spike’s head sank lower and his feet began to kick at the remains of his bed. “Look, Bit, I’ll let you call me a poofter if it’ll help you make sense of this bloody soul. But please, just please, let me be. Don’t tell me to talk to your sister, because number one, she’s not goin' ta wanna talk. She'd rather chop off all of my limbs, I think. Number two, I’ve put her through enough. I love her more than anything, an’ all I’ve ever been able to do is hurt her. I don’t want that anymore. I just want her to start being happy, an’ with me in her face all the time, that’s never gonna happen.”

Dawn moved forward, towards him, tilting her head down slightly in order to peer into his face. When she reached him, she stopped, then leaned in, giving him the tightest hug she was capable of.

“I think she’d be happy to know that you’re back. Yeah, she’d throw a hissy fit or two at first, but then, it would hit her... you’re back. And then maybe you two could work through your problems, and at least be friends, if nothing more. I know you won’t believe me, but when you left, the look on Buffy’s face was like she’d just been socked in the stomach. It was kind of like her graduation all over again, only this time, it was you walking away. And you were the one that was supposed to stay for good. No matter what she did to you."

I did stay no matter what she did to me, he thought bitterly, shivering slightly. ‘S what I did to her that’s the clincher. The vampire sighed out loud. Still, though, it was rather sweet of the Bit to try and reason with him. But he’d been on the receiving end of Buffy’s fury more than Dawn ever had. Spike had been someone that Buffy had hated, and he knew -- more than knew -- that she hated the idea of having feelings for him. He’d be dust the second he tried to look at her.

Looking up, he gave her a pain-filled, pleading gaze. “Nibblet,” he whispered. “Go on home, now. Please? Slayer’s waiting for you upstairs; prolly thinks you’ve fallen down a hole or something by now. I appreciate the talk.” Dawn started to interrupt and Spike held his hand up. “No, Dawn. Buffy will find out I’m here sooner or later, probably sooner, but she’ll be the one to come to me. I’m not gonna charge into her life again with a soul an’ act like I’m the next bloody coming of Christ the way Peaches does. She doesn’t deserve that, not from me or anyone else. She’ll find out on her own, an’ I’ll just... be here when she does."

The girl’s hand moved up to touch Spike’s cheek, and the vampire nuzzled into it gratefully, sighing in relief when Dawn nodded her reluctant agreement. “Okay, Spike. Buffy will find out on her own. But still... come find me if you need to talk. Okay? Promise me, Spike."

He purred gently, took her hand and kissed the back of it. “I promise you, baby."

Dawn smiled and hugged him again. “I love you, Spike,” she whispered.

The blonde vampire’s face brightened, and he smiled, hugging her back. “Love you, too, sweet bit.” Pulling away, he tugged lightly on a strand of her hair, then gently swatted her. “Go on then, luv. Get your goods, an’ catch up to the Slayer."

The teenager grinned once more and squeezed Spike’s hand before shouldering her pack and heading up the ladder.

Spike’s smile dropped off of his face the minute she was gone and, letting out a deep sigh, his shoulders slumped, and his head fell.

Buffy was going to find him very, very soon. He could feel it.

And when she did... he prayed that Heaven help him.

Xander let out a disgusted grunt, throwing the Cosmo he had been perusing back onto the magazine stand. “This? Sucks," he said pointedly.

Buffy raised her eyebrows. “But according to this, it’s the most widely read and the most celebrated all over North America,” she said innocently.

Brown eyes glared up at her, obviously not amused. “I’m serious, Buff. How the hell am I supposed to figure out how I can get Anya to be civil to me again if I can’t even understand these stupid things?"

Buffy sighed. “Xander... that’s why these magazines are geared toward women. Men aren’t supposed to understand them. They’re supposed to make fun of them and dance their stupid sexy dances, like they don’t know any better. Which they don’t, since they don’t make these magazines for men."

Xander glared down at the magazine in question, then glared harder at Buffy - to no avail - when she cheerfully snatched it back and put it in the cart. His lips formed into a sullen pout. “Stupid chauvinistic women."

Buffy snorted and grabbed his arm, veering him away from the magazine aisles. “Xander, we have a job to do. We need to divide and conquer if we’re gonna make it back to your place in time, then to the airport to welcome Willow and Giles back. Can I please trust you not to dive headfirst into things that you never have, and never will know anything about?"

Xander sighed, then puffed up his chest at Buffy’s glare, saluting her. “Yes, Ma’am, right away, Ma’am!"

Buffy's glare deepened. “Stop it. Whenever you talk like that, you remind me of that... person. The one that's actually involved with the army that I used to date that is now married? The one that's a big fat liar who said he loved me but moved on quick enough to get married within one year away from me? The one I never want to think about ever again?”

Xander grinned weakly, shrugging. “Sorry." He glanced behind them at two figures walking along the aisle at a snail's pace. "What the hell are they talking about that makes them walk so slow?"

Buffy shook her head, shrugging, before looking back over her shoulder at the girls with a grin on her face. Xander would just never get it, would he?
"So, wait -- you're saying that Spike's back? And he was in Africa? How is that even possible? And that's where you got that cool necklace from?" Janice asked, rapid fire.

Since most people in Sunnydale turned a blind eye to the strange goings-on in their town, but still didn't really have a clue of what exactly the goings-on were, Dawn rarely had someone her own age to talk to. Since she and Janice had been fooled by those two vampire boys last Halloween before Buffy and Spike had saved them, Buffy had deemed it all right to inform Janice of the whole bump-in-the-night dealie, in order to keep the girl safer.

Of course, Dawn took that permission and ran with it. She ended up telling Janice all of the ins and outs of her own relatively short corporeal existence, as well as Sunnydale's nightlife... not to mention everything under the sun about Buffy and Spike's relationship.

Dawn smiled, holding her chin high as she showed off the necklace that she'd refused to remove since the night Spike had given it to her. "Right, right, don't know, and yes. He brought it back and gave it to me because the shaman guy said it would need to be here to keep the people Spike loved safe."

Janice frowned. "Isn't Africa all sunny? I may not get geography all that much, but I do know that there are some parts of Africa that definitely aren't safe for vampires. How did he even get there? Without, like, burning into cinders, I mean?"

Dawn frowned, stopping. “Well, to be honest, you've only met Spike once, and not even officially. If you think a little sun is going to stop him from getting where he wants to go, then you're dead wrong. But as far as how he even got to Africa, I don’t know.” She shook her head and started walking again. “Note to self: Ask Spike more about Africa.”

Janice peered toward Buffy and Xander, eying them cautiously. “Buffy doesn’t know that he’s back, does she?"

Dawn shook her head. “Spike doesn’t want her to know. He says that she’ll find him sooner or later and he’d rather not look like a big cardboard vampire cutout with a target painted over his heart. Nobody knows he’s back except me -- and, well, now you.” The teenager grimaced as she looked in Xander’s direction. “Besides... Xander’s not fond of Spike at all."

Janice gave her a skeptical look. “After all you’ve told me about their bad blood, Xander’s not fond of Spike?"

Dawn grinned. “Okay, okay, Xander hates Spike. He really likes to believe that he’s better than Spike, which, no, not really. Well, okay, aside from the, uh, bathroom incident that I never told you about --” Dawn glared pointedly at Janice. The other teen nodded, smiling. “He exaggerated everything that really happened, even though he didn't see any of it, just to supposedly prove his point about Spike. But now, Xander’s just gotten really full of himself. At least till you mention Anya to him. Then he gets all flustered and pouty and all with the sob-stories and pity-me syndrome.”

Janice shook her head. “I totally don't get that. I mean, he’s the one that screwed up. I know he was, like, scared or whatever, but he left her at the altar! We girls dream about that sort of thing from the time we're in Gymborees, and Anya's, like, older than old, so she was probably dreaming about this forever! Why didn't he just talk to Anya and tell her how he felt, instead of embarrassing her in front of everybody?”

Dawn shook her head. “I don’t know. What kills me is that Xander tried to rape Buffy, too. I guess he doesn't remember, or whatever, and he was possessed when he did it, but he still tried, and those urges had to come from somewhere, you know? He’s not the most perfect guy to walk the face of the earth, and Spike screwing up doesn’t give him the right to act like he is. I mean, Spike was soulless at the time, and he loved Buffy! But she dumped him, and it was eating him alive, you know?” The teenager quieted, staring at the ground. “I mean... all he wanted was for Buffy to love him back. That wasn’t so much to ask, was it?”

Janice sighed and ran her fingers through her hair before shouldering Dawn gently. “Let’s get off the gloomy topics, ‘kay? Maybe we can get back to the magazine aisle and find out if there’s anything on Seth Green, or Matthew Lillard... or James Marsters.” A wicked grin appeared on her lips. “You know, if you think about it, James kinda looks like Spike. Except, you know, he’s American, and not a vampire."

Dawn looked at Janice in horror. “Ewww! Oh, god, Janice, come on! Spike’s like my brother, I don’t wanna compare him to James! Ugh, I’m never gonna be able to look at him ever again!”

Janice simply giggled and led her further into the store. “Come on."

“Hey.” Nudge. “Hey.” Nudge. “Buffy. Yoo-hoo. Earth to Buffy?” Double nudge.

“Xander, if you don’t stop that, I’m going to flip you into the mayonnaise jars.”

Xander tilted his head. “Okay, mayo, good for the hair, but -- “ He caught Buffy’s glare. “Right. Anyway. Missing teenagers. Dawn and Janice went AWOL again."

Buffy rolled her eyes. “They’re probably just in the magazine aisle drooling over Justin Timberlake or something."

Xander grunted. “How come they can go waste time, but I can’t?"

The Slayer gave him a sideways glance. “Um, because they’re teenage girls, and you're a twenty-two year old guy, Xander."

“Awww, fine."

He couldn’t quite pull off the pouty lips. Not the way Spike could -- Train derailing! Avoid that thought, Buff! “Right. Get the cheesy chips, Xand."

A quick nod and grin. “Right away, M’lady.” He scuttled off.

Sigh. Buffy’s brain go boom.

As soon as Xander ran to the snack aisle, more than likely to come back with about fifteen varieties of chips, pretzels, and teeth-rotting, hyper-inducing, sugar-coma foods, Buffy pushed off, shoving the cart in the direction of the milk and dairy. She was just deciding between the Swiss cheese and the All-American white, when she stopped dead in her tracks -- not literally.

Shock of white-blonde hair. Extremely familiar. Moving toward the hair care section. Her heart thumped, and without a second thought, she took off after the head of hair.

Rounding the corner and nearly bouncing the cart off of a rather heavy-set woman that was trying to decide whether to go Platinum Champagne or Strawberry Wine – why where these shades named after alcohol? –Buffy chased down The Guy... wearing black jeans. He was wearing black jeans, she was short enough to see, and she could see his legs, and he was wearing black jeans!

He was just ahead of her, now, back turned, broad, muscular shoulders taut as he stretched up to capture the gel at the top of the shelf. Buffy bit her lower lip as she closed in. Oh, god. What was she going to say to him? What could she say to him? “Hi, Spike... Thanks for coming back and giving me a chance to kick your ass for leaving!” Or, oh, even better, “So... how's about a roll in the hay, for old times sake?"

Was she that desperate to make a complete and utter ass out of herself? God, if she knew him well at all, he would never let her live that down.

Oh, gods, he was right in front of her. She took a deep breath, then tentatively reached out a shaky hand to touch his shoulder. Buffy smiled weakly as he spun around...

Before it dropped completely. Not Spike. Random Guy with a bad bleach job. Now that she really looked, the hair was more yellowy-orange than platinum-white. And his body wasn’t as lean and sinewy as Spike’s. In fact, he looked like someone training to be on the cover of a bodice ripper.

Hmph. Random Guy was now giving her a weird Look. “Can I help you?” he asked in annoyance.

Buffy frowned and shook her head. Eyes were brown, not blue. No British accent. Not-Spike was a really shitty version of Her Spike. “No... Sorry,” she mumbled, veering away. “Thought you were someone else."

Random Guy’s weird Look softened apologetically, though it was obvious he was still confused. “Uh... sorry?” he called after her as she steered away.

Buffy sighed and turned the cart toward the snack aisles. “No... I am,” she whispered. She’d been so stupid. Desperation to hear Spike’s voice again, after all those months, coupled with her recent hallucinations, had made her completely ignore a dormant Slayer tingly that now seemed to be reacting for the sole purpose of driving her out of her mind.

Wait... no. It really was going off this time!

Buffy stopped and looked around, frowning. The presence was warm, comforting... enveloping her from every side. The presence was Spike’s. But the vampire was nowhere in sight. His presence was there... but he wasn’t.

Dammit, if he’d been killed and turned into a ghost for some reason, it only figured he’d come back and haunt her.

She inwardly cringed at the thought of Spike being dead -- permanently -- then shouldered it off. Her senses wouldn’t be going off so strongly if Spike was a former vampire turned ghostie. The only time the tinglies got so strong was when there was a vampire somewhere. And there was definitely a vampire in this building.

She sighed and shrugged off her thoughts again. It was just her hallucinations getting the best of her. Spending so much time with a man who in turn had spent over a century taking care of a crazy woman had finally rubbed off on her. He wasn’t back. And he wasn’t going to come back. And she really had to learn to stop imagining him in her head. And it would help if she stopped talking to herself as well.

Boy, that therapist was looking better and better by the day.

As predicted, Xander came back to the cart, bogged down with unnatural snacks. Dawn and Janice came down the aisle, laughing and giggling with a magazine apiece. A pleading glance at Buffy from the both of them, and the Slayer relented, rolling her eyes and signaling to them to toss the teenie-bops into the cart. Xander jogged over to the soda section and hauled down a few cheap, generic 2-liter pop bottles, placing them in the cart before he and his three female escorts made their way to the check-out.

Back in the hair-care aisle, Spike peered out at them, panting. Dammit; he’d really had to run that time to avoid Buffy catching him. As it was, he’d risked his demon being seen by shifting faces so as to double up his speed. If he didn’t know any better, he would swear the bint was following him!

He shook his head. Maybe, if he was dense enough, he’d allow himself to believe that she missed him. But when he’d seen her face as she’d confronted his look-a-like, she'd looked caught between wanting to hug him and wanting to hurt him.

Needless to say, Spike wasn’t going to let himself become disillusioned.

Sighing, he reached for a box of bleaching formula (his hair was sticking out at about an inch now, and he was certain that the roots looked repulsive) and slipped it into the pocket of the heavy brown leather jacket he still owned, despite the bad memory of her blatant rejection when he wore it last.

Shooting a glance at the check-out line near him—and more specifically, at Buffy—he shoved through the mob of people desperate to make it out before the store closed and they got screwed over, until he reached the exit. Then he plowed out as fast as his vampiric speed would allow him so he wouldn’t trip the alarm.

Heading for the side of the building, he flipped out the box of cigarettes he’d, er, liberated, from the 7-Eleven earlier, took one out and lit the fag with his Zippo before putting the box away. He leaned back and rested the back of his head against the wall, closing his eyes.

He wasn’t sure how long he remained in that position, but the sound of an angry female voice jolted him back to awareness instantly. Fearing that the Slayer had discovered him, he cowered further in the shadows and listened as silently as possible.

“Stop it! LET GO!” There was a frustrated, angry growl and a noise made by several things clattering to the ground. “I mean it! Let go of me, now!"

Now the sounds of a scuffle were making its way to his ears. Spike’s eyes widened when the scent of the screaming female’s blood hit him, and he snarled in fury.

That wasn't Buffy. Not at all. Buffy could take care of herself, and nobody could really hold her down.

The one screaming... that was Dawn. And may the Goddess help the bloody idiot who dared to attack one of his girls.

To be continued...

Back to index

† forgiven † by AJ Hofacre

Author's Notes:

I will be in Boston in 17 days! (I hope; I have to buy tickets, first). I'll try to get more stuff ready for updating while I'm gone, but until then, I'm at home until May 30th. Reach me whenever you want :)

ETN: Okay, long story short, I'm an idiot and accidentally uploaded Chapter 6 as Chapter 5, and then uploaded Chapter 6 last night without realizing it. That's fixed now, I swear :) Thanks to k for pointing that out to me!

chapter six - forgiven

"Are you okay?"

Dawn lowered her eyes, clutching an ice pack to her forearm. "Yeah, yeah... I'm fine."

Buffy was pacing in front of her, her arms crossed. A look of barely contained worry, fury and fear was on her face, and her eyes darted around the room before settling on her sister. "Are you? Huh, Dawn? Are you really fine? You don’t look like it to me. You look like you just got your ass knocked to the ground and the hell nearly beaten out of you, by a vampire!"

The teenager refused to look at the blonde woman, turning her head to the side to stare at her muddy jeans. "At least I’m not dead," she muttered.

Buffy stormed over to her and grasped her chin, tilting it up and revealing the two pinpricks on the crook of her neck. "No, but you came pretty damn close, Dawn!" She let go and turned away, running her fingers through her blonde locks in frustration. "What the hell were you thinking? Tell me, Dawn, because I’m lost, I don’t understand! You know better than to go out at night by yourself, so why the hell did you? I mean... Christ, Dawn, you crept off when we were in line at the damn grocery store! What in the hell was so damn important that you just took off like that?!"

Dawn shut her eyes tightly and sniffed, then looked directly at her sister. In a strained, tearful voice and between clenched teeth, she forced out, "I thought I saw Spike."

That was a lie. A really big lie. Because she had seen Spike. She’d gotten pretty damn good at detecting blurry black forms with lightning white hair moving at top speed from how often she'd watched him break for the sewer entrance from their front porch in the daylight. And she’d seen said form as it sped past the shoppers and shot through the doors, not even leaving a single blip on the shoplifting mechanism. Which, of course, would be the only reason Spike would be here – after all, he didn’t really have any money.

Dawn had slipped past the others and run out the door after him, but stopped when it became apparent that he was doing the avoidy thing. Annoying as that was, she instantly left her common sense behind her and began looking for him. Which was when that stupid fledgling had shown up, hoping to get a free meal off of an unwary passerby.

She had fought back well, just like Buffy had taught her, but then she’d made a tiny slip; she'd thrown a left when she should have thrown a right. The vamp had caught her arm and twisted it back hard, leaving her with a severely pulled muscle. Knocking her down, the fledge had thrown himself on top of her and had just barely nicked her neck when suddenly he’d exploded, revolting, greasy dust raining down on her body. Spike’s face had appeared through her grimace, and she’d grabbed his extended hand, pulling herself up.

After checking her over, and rather extensively (she wasn't sure if he was doing it because of his obligation to her, or just to indulge her with special one-on-one Spike attention), Spike had stood straight up, wide blue eyes focused on the store. As Dawn watched him, he began to back up fearfully, looking for all the world like a small, frightened little boy at the imminent approach of his former lover. He'd just backed out of sight completely when Buffy had stormed toward Dawn.

Buffy's entire demeanor softened at Dawn's choked voice... and at the mention of Spike. So Dawn thought that she'd seen him, too? Maybe Buffy wasn't going crazy...

She moved toward her sister and knelt in front of her. Giving Dawn her best apologetic look, she smiled weakly and said, "Dawnie... sweetie, I'm sorry. I know I'm coming down hard on you, but honest to God, you scared the bejeezus out of me." She cupped Dawn's cheek gently and her smile strengthened. "I know you can take care of yourself now. But I'm the Slayer. I'm still your big sister. So I'm still the Head Cheese. I worry about you." She gave the teen a pointed look. "And it would be really nice if you indulged big sis, once in a while. All I ask is that the next time you think you see something," especially Spike, "please, PLEASE, tell me first. Before you decide to go off and nearly get yourself killed."

Dawn gave her that look -- the one where she thought Buffy was being especially over-protective of her for Buffy's own benefit, and that she was seriously contemplating saying no, just to see what her sister would do. Then her eyes cleared, which meant that she was reconsidering it and relenting. Dawn rolled her eyes and shifted her hurt arm. The bright blue irises peered up at her and softened, reading the hopeful, pleading look on Buffy's face. She nodded slowly, sighing. "Okay. I promise. And I'm fine. Really, it's just a bruise and a scratch, I'll be good to go in no time."

Buffy smiled, giving Dawn a quick, relieved hug. "I hope so." Sighing, she stood up and flopped into seat next to Dawn. "So," she started, hoping to God that her voice sounded all nonchalant, "What exactly did you see that convinced you to piston off after a Spike Look-A-Like?"

Dawn gave her sister a disbelieving Look. "Duh. The usual signs." At Buffy's blank look she sighed, waving her free arm. "Hello? You know? White-blond hair, all black, really pale skin, tall, skinny, lean-looking?" The teenager paused and frowned. "It's kind of unnerving how many people in Sunnydale resemble him from behind.”

There was a loud snort from the Slayer, and Buffy leaned back. "I'll say. I thought I was hallucinating for a second when I saw a clone in the hair-care aisle." Best not to mention how *much* I've been seeing clones. It could get Dawn's hopes up.

Dawn smiled weakly. Of course, that was only on the outside. Inwardly, she was doing an Irish jig. Hell, she was doing the freaking River Dance. Buffy's been having Spike-visions? Busted! she thought delightedly. "You've been seeing Spike, too, huh?" She looked down, sighing. "Glad it's not just me."

She hazarded a glance at her sister when Buffy remained silent. The Slayer looked sullen; unhappy. Finally, she answered, in a broken tone. "No. Not just you."

Stupid movie. Oh, the irony: a vampire watching vampires. He grunted to himself. People still putting too much of a fix on Dracula, he thought, scowling. Unbelievable.

The stupid chit on the screen was screaming about blood. Look at the blood. Nice blood. All red, and shiny, and... pulsing with... life and... and...

Oh, hell, now he was hungry.

Damned if he wasn't having a bit of dèjá vu. Oh, well. He sighed and scowled down at his stomach as it growled before hauling himself out of his chair.

He closed his eyes and drew a deep, useless breath, then reached into his little refrigerator, pulling out a jar of blood. Unscrewed the lid. Lifted it to his lips.

The door was being pushed open.

Horror settled on Spike's face as he realized why exactly it was that he was having dèjá vu. This had been the premise of he and Buffy's invisible tryst the year before. He squeezed his eyes shut, hot tears that hadn't been called upon leaking out from under his eyelids and glittering streams down his pale, sunken cheeks. "Please, no," he whispered, sinking to his knees. "God, please, not this again... Don't torture me like this, please..."

Soft, feminine footsteps crept inside, and then... her soft voice... reaching into his dead, lonely, aching heart: "Spike? Are you here?"

He sniffed and wrapped his arms around his legs, drawing his knees to his chest, sniffling as he cowered next to the sarcophagus. He couldn't let her see him, couldn't let her know he was there. His nightmares had been getting worse, and he wasn't in any condition to be in her vicinity right then, right there. Besides, bad things would happen the second she found him. Glorious, earth-shaking things, things that he'd wanted from her for years... but things bad enough that they would leave his agonized heart whirling 'round in a garbage disposal if they happened again.

She spoke up again: "Spike? Please... if you're here -- and I know you are, so stop hiding... could you please come out? I need to talk to you."

Spike sniffed again, choosing to remain in the shadows. "How'd you know I was here?" he asked quietly, his voice rough and low.
The footsteps neared then stopped at the edge of the sarcophagus. "Dawn told me," she murmured gently.

Oh, he was gonna kill that bint. "Big mouth," he muttered.

He heard the sound of a half-amused laugh. "That's Dawnie for ya." The footsteps came closer to him. He dared to raise his eyes -- at least a little, to see her feet. Oh. Cute little silver-painted Slayer toes. There was a little silver toe ring on the second toe of her left foot. Little wicker-like platform sandals that criss-crossed over the top, and -- damn it!

"So..." she started softly, shuffling her feet before shifting onto her right foot. "You came back."

Spike grunted. "Yeah, an' I'm kickin' myself for it, believe me."

Buffy leaned against the wall, sliding down to the ground next to him. Distinctly hurt voice. "Why?"

Spike chanced another glance at her, then instantly regretted it. Gods, she was exquisite. Feathered, sun bleached blonde hair. She had bangs -- he hadn't seen her wear bangs since the first time he'd met her. Puffy-sleeved shirt -- boat-necked -- hanging on her tiny, skinny, muscular form. Her pale gold skin was positively glowing, though it was pitch black in his little House of Death save for the precious few candles. And... well, hell.

He growled softly. I'm not s'posed to want her anymore, he reminded himself. Stupid bloody wish demon. Why couldn't things go his way for once?

He looked down again. "Because you don't need me here. Gummin' up the works, makin' your head all topsy-turvy, ruinin' your patrollin' an' what-not. I never should've come back... I don't even know why I did."

An awkward silence. Then, a tiny Slayer hand closed over his clenched fist, gently stroking the hard line of muscles and bones. "I'm glad you did."

Spike started, jerking his hand away. He stared at her, wide-eyed and fearful. "Don't... don't touch me. You don't need to, shouldn't have to. I'm evil, remember? I..." he trailed off, looking down. "I tried to rape you," he whispered.

They both winced at the guttural sound of the word. Harsh, hurtful, painful... just like their relationship. What a perfect end to such a twisted connection. It could have been better -- it should have been better, for the both of them. Their relationship could've ended better than it had. Their relationship itself should have been better than that. And Buffy couldn't pass it off onto someone else -- most of the downward spiral had been her fault anyway.

Too late. Always too late.

Buffy reached for him again, this time cupping his chin, stroking his smooth, angled cheek with the back of her hand. "You tried," she agreed. "You didn't--"

"Because you stopped me!" he cried. "The only reason I stopped was because you kicked me into the bloody wall! Buffy, what if you hadn't? What if you'd been too hurt to... to do anything, what if you couldn't have stopped me, and what if I couldn't have stopped? Hell, I couldn't stop! Buffy, I would have raped you, and I wouldn't have even been aware! You were damned lucky you managed to kick me away!"

Buffy stood up again, staring down at him. "Well, Spike, what the hell do you want me to say? That you fucked up? Yeah, you did, there's no way to smooth that over. But I fucked up, too. I used you, I twisted you, I stuffed you into a fucking closet and pulled you out when I needed you for a good release like a dildo! So don't bullshit me and say that it was all your fault! What the hell kind of person would I be if I let you take all the blame?" She dropped back down to her knees and cupped his chin, lifting his head so his gaze was level with hers.

"Spike... all you did was love me, and all you wanted was for me to love you back. And I ignored your feelings. I used you, selfishly, and I'll never forgive myself for that. I know you love me, you've shown me more than once, and I tried to pass it off as obsession and lust.” She shook her head regretfully, biting her bottom lip. “You tried your best to protect me... like when the Trio made me think I'd killed Katrina. You just wanted to stop me from turning myself in so I'd still be there for Dawn. In the end, I found out I hadn't even killed her at all.
“And you wanted to take care of me,” she continued, gazing at him in pure awe. “No one’s ever taken care of me – or wanted to – the way you have before. The only one close enough was Mom, and I hope to God that I didn’t give her as much a hard time as I did you. You tried to get me to quit the burger stand job, remember? You said you could get money, and you told me that I was too good to work there. You were just trying to take care of me then. And I'm sorry I didn't stop and listen to you, hear what you had to say."

Sighing softly, she pulled him toward her, resting her head against his shoulder. "I can't forgive myself now, for the things I did to you. But maybe I can start if you forgive me. I know I don't deserve it, and you don't have to mean it, but I just need to hear it to get on the right foot, Spike." She tilted her head up, sparkling green eyes scanning his face hopefully. "I'm so sorry, Spike. Will you please forgive me?"

Spike was quivering. These words, these kind, apologetic words that were pouring out of his beloved Slayer's mouth, were for him. He, Spike, who had caused her more pain than... well, than anything, or anyone. Well, maybe not more than Angelus, but Spike still ranked up there, he thought. There had been a point in time when he'd hated her so much that he'd lived for nothing but her pain, both physical and emotional. Now he could barely stand it if she so much as stubbed her toe. He'd tried to rape her, he'd betrayed her trust in the worst possible way, and she was asking him to forgive her. How the hell did that work? How could he bestow forgiveness on her, when he'd gotten everything he'd deserved from her? How could he even have the right to forgive her when he'd tortured her so much?

How could he forgive her when he couldn't even forgive himself for a single thing in his century-plus-twenty-two years?

But that look she was giving him... that look was hopeful, and desperate, and begging and pleading... She wanted him to forgive her, even though he'd been the one to eternally fuck things up between them.

Well... he'd never been able to deny her anything before. Even though he didn't feel he had the right to bestow forgiveness on her... it was what she wanted. And he'd always do whatever she wanted.

His lips cracked open, and his cool, moist tongue darted out to refresh them, before he whispered, sincerely, "I forgive you, Buffy." But can you forgive me? he thought dismally.

The smooth, golden hand touched his face again, and his attention jerked toward her. Her tiny hand clasped his large one, and Buffy brought it slowly to her lips, kissing the back of it gently. Her eyes were sparkling again as she looked up at him. And almost like she'd read his mind, she whispered, "I forgive you, Spike."

His chest convulsed. Had she... she had just... Holy hell... she really had.

Either he'd died for the second time, and was mixed up in the afterlife, or Buffy had finally gone insane.

He chanced another glance at her, her wide, loving eyes, her soft, smooth lips curving up into a gentle smile...

She was serious.

Oh, damn, he was dead. There was no way on earth the real Buffy would forgive him for the things he'd done to her. For the things he'd plotted doing to her before he'd even met her, when she'd simply been known to him as 'Slayer' instead of 'Buffy,' his love, his life.

Well, if he was dead, this was better than being on earth.

He let out a soft sob of relief and dropped his head to her shoulder, snuggling into the crook of her neck. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he whispered, grabbing her tightly.

He felt her smile and she reached up to gently stroke his hair, her smile growing wider when he butted his head against her hand like a cat. "It's all right, Spike," she murmured soothingly, pulling him close. "It's all right now... you're safe, you're forgiven." He felt her lips press a kiss to his forehead, and he purred, snuggling closer.

After a moment, he peered up at her, biting his lower lip hopefully. It was such a childish thing to do, and the sight of it made him look so sweet that Buffy had to smile. "I still love you," he whispered. "I really do... I mean, I know you'll not feel anything for me... you don't love me... but just so you know... I still do. Love you.”

Buffy's smile grew. "I know, Spike. I know you do. And I realized it a while ago... right after you left." The corner of her mouth drooped, and she gave him a half-smile. "You know me. Queen of Denial. Of course I wouldn't figure it out until you were gone. But I know, Spike. I know you love me." Her hand reached up to stroke his hair again. "And I love you, too."

Spike's eyes shot wide open, and he stared up in disbelief where Buffy was... wait. Where Buffy had been. She was gone now. He looked down around himself and frowned. Crumpled bed sheets. He wasn't anywhere near the sarcophagus. Buffy hadn't found him, courtesy of the Big Mouth he called 'Dawn.' Buffy had never been there.

Bloody hell. Of course it would be a dream.

He sighed and leaned back, his spirits dampened. But then a tiny smile lifted the corners of his mouth. What a dream it had been though. Buffy had said she'd loved him.

It was more than he ever could have wanted.

Sighing, he snuggled back into the sheets, grabbing his pillow 'round the middle and hugging it close. His head fell down into the little crook he'd made—a substitute for Buffy's neck, he supposed—and smiled slightly.

His dreams lately were filled with terror and pain and guilt from his past actions, but on the off-chance that the soul wasn't being a self-righteous bitch about his sins, it tended to give him a rare, precious few good dreams. When it did, they usually meant something important. And he couldn't think of anything more important than what his Dream-Buffy had just told him.

Even if he never saw her face-to-face again, the reassurance and love he felt from those final five words she'd spoken in his dream would be enough to sustain him for the next century and a half.

He rather liked the dreams now.

She was never going to set foot in an airport ever again.

Dawn had sulked the whole way there, refusing to understand exactly why she had to go at all. Buffy had been livid with emotion, like she was being attacked and torn apart from every direction inside. There was the anger at Dawn because of her blatant refusal tonight to be mature about why Willow would be staying with them for the time being, not to mention her vamp attack the night before, as well as sympathy because she knew why Dawn was acting this way. There was her colossal relief at seeing Giles again. Her apprehension towards Willow, because she wasn't sure which Willow she was going to get -- monosyllabic, moody Willow, or (mind the pun) Weeping Willow. Then there was her annoyance and irritation with Xander, who was understandably nervous and heading full-steam into his 'I'm gonna tell bad jokes to lighten up the room' stage. Last of all, just before they'd left Revello Drive, Buffy had accidentally knocked Spike's duster from the shelf in her closet. The coat produced the still-lingering scent of its owner upon impact with Buffy's face, and as a result Buffy was currently suffering from a random attack of depression induced by the newest bout of Spike guilt and missage.

Oh, no, she thought sarcastically, I’m definitely putting the past behind me!

Dawn had welcomed Willow back with a scowl and a stiff posture; Giles had received a weary smile and a hug, and after Xander had welcomed the two back, Dawn had dragged him off toward a kiosk to extort numerous amounts of candy and magazines out of him. The rest of the way home after that, any nicety Willow had attempted toward the girl had either been ignored or met with a cold glare.

Well, Buffy thought, by last count, Willow's nearly killed her twice, so I guess it's justified.

It was nearly one in the morning now, and she and Giles were the only ones up. It was a good thing, seeing her Watcher again. She'd been scared as hell the first time he'd left her, forcing her to fend for herself when he and her mother had always been there for her before. She'd been exuberant and relieved when he'd returned in May, despite it having been under such dire circumstances.

Now, as she sat there watching him sip his tea and glower at some inept reporter on the television, she puzzled worriedly over whether to tell him about her Spike-plagued thoughts. Giles had made it no secret that he wasn't fond of Spike though at one point it seemed he'd had infinitely more respect for the blond than he'd had for Angel. Of course, most of that had stemmed from the fact that Angelus had killed Giles' girlfriend and had taken great pleasure in torturing the Englishman both mentally and physically, until Spike had finally put a stop to it.

But Giles' approval of Spike had gone downhill, especially after hearing of Buffy's affair with the vamp last year. She still wasn't sure if Giles realized that most of it had been her own doing. That sleeping with him had been her own conscious decision, and that she'd used him, not the other way around. At first Buffy had figured that sleeping with Spike might shut him up and put a stop to all his nonsense of loving her. But when fucking him into the ground had only proved to make his admissions even more pronounced, she hadn't been able to do anything but break things off. And now with him gone, it seemed safe to admit that she was going absolutely crazy without him.

"Giles?"

The Watcher barely peered up from his glowering. He looked like he was ready to reach through the television set and throttle the news announcer. 'Gang on PCP,' indeed. Someone had apparently been taking lessons from the late but not lamented Principal Snyder and Mayor Wilkins. "Hmm?"

Buffy bit her lower lip nervously. "I... well, um... the past couple of weeks... the whole summer, really. I've been feeling... things. I don't know how to pinpoint what exactly it is I'm feeling, but I know there's... sadness. Anger. Guilt." She glanced up at Giles, who was now watching her attentively. "I mean, it's about a bunch of stuff. The way I acted when I came back... God, I feel like I failed Willow by letting her drown in magick the way she did. I know I failed Dawn last year -- too many instances, way too many to count. And Spike. What I did to… with Spike all last year. I ruined him, Giles. Two years ago, all I wanted was for him to leave town, and..." She sniffed and looked down at her hands, twisting them around each other. "And now that he's really g-gone, I-I can't help but... b-but be miserable. Giles." She glanced back up at her Watcher, tears shining but unshed in her eyes. "I miss him."

Giles stopped with the teacup halfway to his lips, then shot the apprehensive girl a sideways glance. He sighed internally. Oh, dear. He should've remembered. He should have anticipated this.

He shifted in his seat, turning kind, nonjudgmental eyes upon her. What Buffy needed right now was someone to listen to her, not to give the verdict and ruler her insane before she ever even finished talking -- which was probably why she'd waited to ask him until after Xander had gone and Willow and Dawn were asleep. "And?" he prompted gently.

Buffy squirmed around a little, sitting on top of her hands in an effort to not grab a pillow and rip it to shreds in frustration. "And... um... well, I'm not the only one. Dawn misses him, too." She looked up suddenly with desperate eyes. "But why should I miss him? After what he did to me? I feel like he's around all the time, watching me, waiting for me to slip up again, so he can laugh and point and say, 'I warned you,' or something else irritatingly profound to show that... that somehow, someway, he was right, and I was wrong about something." She whimpered. "Make it stop!"

Giles couldn't control the tiny smile that wormed its way onto his lips. When it came to her romances—as of late, anyway—Buffy had a habit of trying to pass the consequences off on other people for advice. He sighed softly, tilting his head slightly to the right. "What would you like me to stop, Buffy?”

She grabbed her head, clutching at her hair. "This! All of it! The pain, the guilt, the nostalgia... for God's sake, Giles, I miss Spike! Evil, soulless, tried to kill me bunches of times, fell in love with me, pain-in-my-ass Spike! Why would I miss him? After everything he's done to me, after everything he's put me through? He's still up here." She pointed at her head. "Still taunting me, and teasing me, and telling me that he loves me, and that I'm never gonna find anyone else after him, because anyone else would never love me as much as he does!”

She took a deep breath. "The night after the first... time." She looked at Giles wearily and, finding him resolutely quiet, continued on. "He told me that after what we'd done, I'd never be able to get him out of my skin. And it feels like he's right, and I don't want that! I want him out, I want him to leave me alone! He's been gone for four months, and he still won't leave me alone, Giles! Why can't I get him out? Why won't he let me be?”

Giles faced her, turning fully in his seat to watch as her big hazel eyes filled with tears. He gestured to her, and in an instant, Buffy had thrown herself at him, burying her face in his chest and crying. He sighed. His poor, brave little girl. Unable to deal with her guilt, unable to deal with her love, unable to give the ones she loved their due.

She was absolutely, positively scared to death of letting another in.

It frightened him, this fact. Somehow, he'd always known it would have come down to this. Buffy had always had too much passion when dealing with Spike, and vice versa. He'd noticed this the first time Spike had come to Sunnydale. When Spike had crashed into the old high school on Parent-Teacher Night Giles had only heard from other sources – particularly Joyce, who had bludgeoned Spike upside the head – about the way the vampire had looked at the young Slayer.

But Giles had finally caught glimpses of the roiling, unrealized passion between the two of them when Buffy had gone to save Angel from Drusilla’s restoration ritual. When Spike had fought Buffy, his eyes had been almost... overwhelmed with desire, and unnervingly connected with hunger. Buffy was what he hoped would be his third recorded Slayer, and he'd been anxious for the thrill of the fight more than anything.

He'd noticed that Buffy and Spike had always been strangely possessive of one another. When it came right down to fighting each other, Spike always went for Buffy, and Buffy never overlooked Spike.

Buffy had even said it herself once: when she'd met Spike, she'd met her match. Spike was every bit her opposite, and at the same time, the only one she truly felt equal to. He matched her strength and skill blow for blow, right down to their battle of wits and smarts. They were cut from the same cloth; the only problem was that Buffy tended to overlook that. Over the years, she seemed to have begun thinking that vampires and demons, and all other supernatural beings without souls, were beneath her. She tended to get carried away when it came down to Spike, her resident chipped-up vampire punching bag.

Giles should've been wiser, should have seen it earlier. Buffy had overcompensated in her disgust toward Spike ever since the 'will be done' spell Willow had cast to make them believe they were engaged.

Buffy had been sobbing in his arms for almost ten minutes, and her tears had only now begun to dry. "Make him go away... make me stop thinking about him, please..." she whimpered quietly, and Giles frowned. He had no idea what to say to her that wouldn't set her off -- another thing that the Slayer and Spike had in common. Both had fiery, uncontrollably short-tempers, and were both as stubborn as asses. The only difference between their characters was that while Buffy denied everything and anything under the sun that didn't fit comfortably into her worldview, Spike was honest -- brutally honest. A day could truly not have gone by without one of his sarcastic words, harsh opinions and blunt speculations.

"Buffy," he murmured gently, nudging her up and off his chest. Giles gazed down at her, warmth and love in his eyes. "What is it, precisely, that you want me to make go away? What... what is it that you feel for him?”

Buffy stared at him, her expression stating her belief that the final apocalypse would very well come with the words she said. "Love?" she questioned more than stated, her voice breaking at the end. "I think... I don't know... do I love him? Do I even want to?" She looked down. "I shouldn't. It's wrong. I mean, God, you've told me how wrong it is so many times. I shouldn't still want him after all that's happened. I shouldn't feel like my heart is being ripped in half every time I look at his duster, or when I hear his name. I shouldn't feel this way. But I can't stop... I can't help it, Giles." She stared at him, defeated.

Giles' head bowed, weighed down with his guilt. It was his fault that Buffy was having such a difficult time understanding and accepting her current feelings. He felt his own demon deep inside his breast - one that had been there since the night Buffy had admitted to him her part in Angelus's reemergence. The beast blamed Buffy for loving the pillock, for setting him free, and for his beloved Jenny's murder at the vampire's hands. Their mismatched little group had welcomed the bastard in -- Giles had let down his guard on the off chance that they could really trust him and then just like that, the prick had betrayed them.

Though Giles had long since forgiven Buffy for her role, it appeared that the beast within him had not. It had manifested itself in the way Giles had taught her. And sadly, she'd been so eager and desperate to never disappoint him again that she had listened to every prejudiced opinion that had passed his lips with open ears.

Unfortunately for Spike, Giles' own personal Angel-inspired discriminations had found their way into the children's minds, so that when Spike had truly begun changing he had been shot down and discouraged at every turn. And now that Buffy had finally realized her true feelings for the vampire, she feared that as her pseudo-father, Giles would denounce her, or worse.

As her pseudo-father, Giles could no longer bear the thought of hurting his little girl anymore.

Her flood of tears had broken open the door labeled 'Spike Emotions' that she'd kept so well hidden over the last few years. And for once, not only was she thinking clearly when it came to Spike... but also she was being honest. With Giles, and with herself. It was because of this that Giles only reacted with a loving hug when she announced, "I... think I'm in love with him.”

She sniffled, pulling away and putting her face in her hands. "Only I realized it too late. Again. And he's gone. He's just..."

Her head shot up as she heard the floorboards creak upstairs. Giles followed her gaze, and after a moment, he heard it too. A thump sounded on the roof above the porch, and Buffy frowned. The only people who had ever been foolish enough to ever climb onto the porch roof were Angel, herself, and...

Her eyes widened and she dashed up the stairs. Rounding the corner, she burst into her old room, then winced and crept slowly to the window when she remembered that Willow was sleeping in there now. Spike didn't know that she had changed rooms; he probably thought she still resided in her old one, and would probably be beyond confused if he found Willow there instead.

Opening the window, she leaned on the tips of her toes and peered out hopefully. "Spike?" she whispered. She glanced around for a full minute, but her vamp detection didn't go off. Not once. Her lower lip trembled and she called his name again. And again. Until she was practically begging.

"Spike, come back... please come back," she whimpered.

Ten minutes later, she sighed and lowered her head. If she stayed here any longer she was going to wake up Willow. And it looked like her begging was a bust. If it had been Spike, he'd probably high-tailed it the second he'd heard her feet pound up the steps. And if it hadn't been... well, she'd just been imagining things again.

Shaking her head, she left her old room, then moved down the hall to poke open Dawn's door. Her eye scanned the purple-drenched bedroom all over until it glanced toward the bed and --

Her insides froze. Dawn wasn't in bed. And the window was open. Buffy's teeth clenched. Oooh, she was gonna kill the little brat. That was what the thump on the roof had been. Dawn had snuck out the window and down the tree. Buffy groaned to herself. "Dammit, I knew I shouldn't have let her catch me all those times. She's turning into me!”

She jogged down the stairs, nearly jumping out of her skin when Giles stopped her. "What is it, Buffy?"

The Slayer sighed. "We have an escapee on our hands. Dawn snuck out. And I think I have a vague idea of where she might be. Stay here so Willow won't be alone." She walked to the hall and grabbed her coat. "I'll go and see if I can find her before some Big Bad tries to make her into Snack Sizes.”

"Gin!"

Spike scowled. "Damn it, Nibblet, that's not fair!" He leaned over her, attempting to see her cards. His eyebrows shot up in surprise. "How the hell d’you figure you managed that?"

Dawn grinned and whapped him on the nose with the cards. "Luck?"

Spike snorted. "Sheer dumb luck. Wicca Girl hasn't been teachin' you magic or nothin', has she?"

Dawn glared at him, her features turning stone cold. "No. I told you. I refuse to have anything to do with her. Every time she gets near me, she seems to want to kill me. And I'm getting really sick of every evil baddy trying to use me as a pawn in their game against Buffy!"

Spike held up his hands in surrender, backing away. "Okay, okay. Sorry. Just askin', 'Bit."

She grinned sheepishly. "Sorry. I know."

Spike smirked, then his eyes lit up and he jumped up. "I got somethin' for you."

The teenager's patented 'ooh, prezzies' Look took over her face. "Really? What? Anything cool? Dragon fang or something?"

The vampire turned and stared at her strangely. "No... CDs."

Dawn grinned. "Ooh! Even better!"

Spike shook his head. It wasn't very often that a sixteen-year-old girl could scare the crap out of him.

He went over to his dresser, pulling out the two discs he had scoured the music store for. Walking over, he handed them to Dawn, watching as her face lit up, before the frown appeared.

"Wait... I already have this CD. And Buffy's got this one, I can borrow it anytime. Why're you giving these to me?"

Spike grinned. "You let me borrow yours, 'member? An' Buffy... in a way... kind of let me borrow the other."

Dawn raised her eyebrows. "In what way did she 'kind of' let you borrow it?"

"In the way that she doesn't know I nicked it."

"Figures."

Spike growled at her. "Sod off.”

Dawn let loose a peal of laughter, then took a closer look at the CD before looking up at Spike in confusion. "But these are new. I've had Linkin Park for about two years already."

Spike's upper lip quirked. "Uh, yeah. That's 'cos, uh, well... Clem sat on 'em."

Dawn's eyes widened. "Clem sat on them so you went and bought us new ones?"

Spike shrugged. "Uh, yeh. I did."

A grateful smile came onto her face, before being replaced once again with a frown. "Clem sat on them?!"

Spike chuckled. "Jus' before I left. Plopped down right on top of 'em, the big behemoth, heard 'em crack. Stood up and CD pieces were stuck to his ass."

Dawn snorted. "Eww... I'm glad you didn't try to piece them together for me."

Spike nodded. "So'm I. Had to help Clem get the damn things out, an' that was fun enough."

Giggling, she continued. "Never mind the fact that Buffy would never forgive you if she found out that you 'borrowed' her CD, Clem sat on it, and you had to dig it out of his butt."

Spike glared at her. "Thanks for the support, luv." Not to mention the fact that she's never gonna forgive me anyway.

Comfortable silence for a moment as they restacked the cards. Then, from Spike: "So, ah... how... is Buffy?"

A-ha! Hint time! Maybe she could get him to actually listen to her this time. "Depressed, mostly. She can't sleep too well. And, like I told you before, she's been really mopey since you've been gone --"

Spike sighed. "Bit..."

Innocence all around. "What? You asked me how she was, and I'm telling you!"

Spike frowned at her. "Pidge, I can't come out in the open an' face her, you know that. She needs me to leave her alone, an' comin' after her to try an' make her feel better doesn't exactly qualify as leavin' her alone.”

Upstairs, the crypt door opened and shut, but Spike didn't hear, because Dawn was suddenly wailing.

"Spike, please! She needs to see you, I know she does! She's doing so well, but every time someone mentions your name she resorts to Mute!Girl. And it really, really sucks, because in a way you're holding her back. She needs to see you, she needs to know you're back, so she can get over her poor me-ness, and then maybe you two can, like, forgive each other and get on with it!"

Spike frowned, standing up and moving around her. "Dawn, I can't! She made it bloody obvious that she doesn't want me around, so why should I ruin her perfect little illusions by poppin' right back up an' pissin' her off all over again? What the hell's the point? Why should I do that to her?"

Dawn pouted. "Spike, she misses you. You know she does, you know you miss her too! So stop with the missing and get with the loving already! Just. Go. See her!"

Spike spun and looked at her, his back to the steps. "NO, Dawn! She doesn't need me around, doesn't want me around, an' I'm not about to fuck up her life again! She's gonna find me soon anyway, an' when she does, I'm as good as dust. Just leave it be. At least now I might stand a chance, fight back a little bit, but when it's over Buffy's gonna finish me off. I'm done for, and it's better that way. I love her too much to stand in her way, and I'm not about to -- " He stopped, seeing that she'd lost her focus on him. She didn't look remotely interested anymore. In fact, she looked downright terrified. "Bit? Sweet? What is it?"

Dawn swallowed hard and pointed behind him. And suddenly, Spike was rushed with an onslaught of emotion. Dread filled him as the familiar tingling ran up his spine. He turned around slowly and stared at the steps in absolute fear.

The young, blonde woman standing on the steps gaped at him with something akin to awe and heartbreak.

"Spike?”

To be continued.....

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† shame and the old cliché † by AJ Hofacre

Author's Notes:

As always, I want to thank my betas, Megan and Sue for everything they do for me -- and this includes putting my head on straight ^_^ You guys rock, I would completely suck without you! I'll be going on vacation Wednesday May 30th (State-side) and I'll be gone until June 10th -- hell, maybe I'll see a couple of my favorite Bostonites while I'm living it up in Massachusetts! I would appreciate it so much if, when I come back, I find my mailbox overflowing with reviews and stuff ~_^ What I'm basically saying is -- please love me, please review! You guys rock! Thanks for reading!

part seven - shame and the old cliché

Time seemed to freeze. The cliché was a bit annoying to her, but it definitely seemed to fit the situation now. Memories began slamming into her left and right, starting nearly two seconds before she finally laid eyes on him. Images of soft, smooth skin and hard ivory muscles skating over her filtered through her mind. Strong but gentle hands caressing every curve and line of her body. Soft, full lips and an icy tongue making love to hers, before descending and marking every inch of her body as his own, laving her skin with a century plus worth of knowledge and experience. Sparkling, lively eyes of the bluest blue flecked with gray and silver, all knowing, penetrating, pleading, commanding; hunger, respect, lust, concern and love could all be conveyed in just a single glance.

Her heart convulsed and her shaking hand, clutching the ladder rung above her, splintered the wood.

Spike, for his part, did not flinch at the disbelief and budding anger warring for dominance on her lovely face, but he averted his own gaze all the same. His eyes were half-closed, and he seemed to be steeling himself for a warrior's cry, an attack, a stab, before death -- at the very least.

Buffy drew a deep breath, then looked down at the broken piece of wood in her hand in surprise before tossing it away. Unconsciously, she lowered herself down the ladder to the ground, then took several tentative steps forward.

Was this really happening to her? Was she really nervous in front of Spike?

She was starting to get a little brain-fried from all the Sigmund Freud-ing her mind was doing.

Speaking of, Freud's sixteen-year-old reincarnation was trying to edge her way around Spike's old dresser without attracting the Slayer's attention. Buffy cleared her throat loudly, then pointed to a lone chair in the corner of the room. Dawn stood up straight, armed but not particularly dangerous with Sullen Teenage Glare #503, and shuffled to the chair, her head down. Buffy's gaze cooled slightly. If the brat thought she was gonna get away with not even letting Buffy know that Spike was back...

Oh!

She looked cautiously back at the bleach-haired vampire, and drew another deep breath. Holy shit. Spike was back.

"When?" she asked, her voice soft. She saw his eyes flicker towards her before darting back to the floor.

"Two... three weeks. Not much more'n that."

A beat.

"I see."

She was piecing things together, or rather, the Automatic Buffy Guilt Trigger in the back of her mind was. Three weeks... that meant that she had seen him outside her window during that rainstorm. It also meant that he'd been hiding in the bushes that other time, and she likely had been following him at the store last night. Which was when Dawn had said that she'd thought she'd seen him as well. That meant...

"Dawn. I'm grounding you for two weeks. No arguments. You've been lying to me about where you've been going, day and night; about why you were coming here of all places. You're to do as you're told. No TV, but you can have your radio and CDs. Fair, or no?"

Dawn bit her lower lip and nodded slowly. No TV sucked -- she'd gotten sort of sucked into it over the summer -- but at least she still had other entertainment.

"I don't want you coming here by yourself anymore," Buffy continued. She was doing a real good job of avoiding dangerous Spike Eyes. "If you want to visit, tell me and I'll walk you, until you prove yourself trustworthy again. Or your two weeks are up, whatever comes first."

Dawn nodded again. Buffy looked down. Avoid Spike eyes, avoid Spike eyes!

"Go upstairs, Dawnie. We," she indicated herself and Spike, who gulped, "need to have a private talk."

Spike's eyes widened and, truth be told, he looked positively terrified, shaking his head pleadingly at Dawn. Dawn gave him a helpless glance, then mouthed 'I'm sorry' as she reluctantly left the lower level.

Dawn closed her eyes and crossed her fingers. She had gotten off extremely lightly. But Spike had been gone for four months -- he'd left after the worst possible thing that had ever happened within their modest little group. And returned with a soul. A soul he'd gotten for Buffy. Who didn't know about said soul.

She bit her lip. Dawn didn't know her sister's exact stand on the Spike issue, but she prayed that Violent!Repressive!Buffy wouldn't make an appearance, and, for once, would hear Spike out.

Yeah.

She thought it was wishful thinking, too.

He was nervous. Buffy was pacing, and Buffy only paced when she was extremely close to biting off a head. Never mind the fact that her eyes would flicker up and glance in his direction every few seconds before she went right back to the pacing. And God, the silence. Silence was a big Thing with her right now.

Had he said he was nervous? Nervous didn't even begin to cover how he felt right now.

Spike watched her cautiously, although his head was lowered. Honestly, he welcomed whatever punishment Buffy had in store for him. He had, after all, tried to rape her, and even worse, he'd left town. (In the Buffy Book of Logic, Spike had discovered that leaving her was at the top of the No-No List -- somehow even worse than rape.) Whatever it was that she was trying to make her mind up to do, hell, he deserved it.

But just because he felt like an awful, dirty, bottom-sucking bastard that deserved to die didn't mean he wanted to. He kept his eyes on Buffy in case of an ambush.

After a while, in which Buffy's pacing had nearly worn a trough through the dirt floor of the crypt, the Slayer stopped, turned to Spike, and opened her mouth for an exact count of five seconds before snapping it shut again, apparently not trusting the words that had attempted to slingshot past her lips. She shook her head, sighed and then, to Spike's utmost annoyance, began pacing again.

He watched nervously until Buffy finally stopped. Taking a deep breath, she stalked toward him boldly. Spike flinched and sank down onto his charred bed, completely missing Buffy's wince as she noted his reaction.

This was it. The Slayer was finally gonna do her duty and put an end to his miserable existence, like she should have done the night he'd --

"Where were you?"

Spike's head shot up, dark eyebrows knit together in confusion. Why wasn't she killing him? She shouldn't be wasting time asking him stupid questions, like where he'd been on his ruddy summer vacation. But the look in her eyes brooked no debate, so instead of asking his stupid question -- the one that would make her kill him faster -- he swallowed hard and bit his bottom lip. "Africa," he murmured.

Before he'd even realized what had happened, he'd let out a startled, injured-puppy yelp and had his hands to his nose. Then the searing pain began to spread, and in disbelief he looked up at the Slayer, whose eyes were wide and horrified and profusely apologetic.

"Ohmigod, I'm sorry! I am so, SO sorry, Spike, I totally didn't mean to do that, it was reflex!" she gasped, grasping at the repentant straws. She reached up and gingerly attempted to pull his hand away from his nose, flinching when she saw the bright, red rawness glaring back at her. "Ohhh, bad..." she whimpered. "I am SO sorry..."

Spike whined a little bit, touching the tip of his nose tentatively, before trying to scrub off the blood he now felt pouring from his nostrils. Buffy had always gone for the nose. Good to see some things hadn't changed much. He shot her a little glare before licking off the blood that had dribbled onto his palm.

Buffy bit her lower lip, frowning slightly at the less-than-pleasant 'welcome-back' she'd just given him. Damn. Old Slayer habits really did die hard. What the hell was wrong with her? She was going to have to learn to control that damn temper of hers. Taking note of the awkward silence between them, she smiled weakly and said, "So... Africa, huh?"

He gave a soft grunt and nod in answer, but refused to look at her.

"That's where Dawn got her necklace, then? From you?"

Another stiff nod.

Buffy chuckled a little, hoping to entice the same gentle rumble she'd always enjoyed hearing from him. "Good. For a second I thought she'd gone Teen Klepto again."

She waited for a response.

And absolutely nothing. Not even a freaking blink.

"Spike?"

His body shifted and a slight tilt of his head in her direction was the extent of his acknowledgment.

"Talk? Please?"

Hesitant head shake. Ooh! That had been an Almost Nod. She was wearing him down.

She got to her knees in front of him, tentatively placing her smaller hands over his, not caring in the slightest that they were covered with his blood. Peering up into his uncharacteristically stoic face, so lacking in the expressiveness she was used to, she gave his hands a gentle, soothing squeeze. "Spike? For me? Please? I need to know what happened to you."

Another hesitant head shake.

She continued. "And if not for me... then for Dawn? She loves you... I think she has a right to know everything that happened."

One hand left his and reached up to cup his chin, lifting his head until his beautiful cerulean eyes were level with hers. "Don't you?" she whispered.

Nothing.

Then slowly... ever so slowly... he nodded.

Buffy smiled.

To say that Dawn was freaking out was a severe understatement.

She sat fidgeting on the stone sarcophagus, having spied neither hide nor hair of Buffy or Spike. Buffy had kicked her out of the lower level over an hour ago, and Dawn hadn't heard a single thing, aside from that yelp that had more than likely come from Spike. He was the only vampire she knew that could reach that decibel of Shocked Puppy-ness.

Never mind the fact that he was the only vampire she actually knew. She scrunched her nose up, thinking of Angel, and amended her previous thought. Spike was the only vampire she cared to know.

What if they weren't even talking down there? What if Buffy had heard Spike out, and now they were having quiet Snuggle Time without the teenager interrupting them? Dawn knew for certain that they couldn't be having sex -- she had the feeling that she would've been scared out of the crypt by the sounds if they were. As helpful as it was to believe that they had made up, Dawn had to face Reality.

Stupid, evil, damning Reality.

Reality forced her thoughts to turn to dark and foreboding. What if Buffy had only told Dawn to go upstairs in order to keep her from seeing the sinister beating that Spike was receiving? Worse still, what if Buffy had foregone the beating and had just killed Spike? What if she was just sitting down there, trying to make Dawn think they were talking, and when Buffy came back upstairs, she'd say that Spike had decided it was "best to leave" just to throw Dawn off of what had really happened?

Oh, god, upgrade freaking out to manic spazzfest!

She was just starting to stand up in an attempt to head over to the hole in the ground in a frantic desperation to see if Spike was all right, when she heard both their voices at the bottom of the ladder and stopped.

"'s... hard... Can barely sleep without one of a million of them comin' to haunt me." A soft sigh. "Bloody... it serves me right. But still... 's hard."

"I know. But I think that by telling me, you've lifted a lot of weight off your shoulders. And it'll get easier." Long pause. "It has to."

A long silence punctuated by a another sigh. "Hope so."

Dawn shifted. These silences were starting to get annoying. She heard one of them turn, and decided it had to be Buffy. She may have been the Slayer, but sometimes Buffy had the grace of a mountain goat.

Sure enough. "I'd better get going. Dawnie's been up there for a long time now... knowing her, she's having conniption fits or thinks we've fallen into a bottomless pit."

There was a really weak attempt at a laugh on both parts, before yet another nerve-grating awkward Silence.

Dawn was inwardly getting very annoyed at how well Buffy and Spike actually knew her when she heard Spike's soft reply. "Right." His voice sounded tight as if he were trying to hold off tears. "Up you go, then. Bit'll be frantic. Can't have that, can we?"

"No... no, definitely not."

A lengthy pause -- worse than the Silence, really, since the Pauses meant that there were things they really wanted to say to each other -- and Buffy turned to start up the ladder.

She was halfway up when Spike cleared his throat, thereby breaking the Pause. "Buffy?" he asked softly, tentatively.

"Yes, Spike?" No irritation in the tone; gentle concern and curiosity laced it instead.

Slight hesitation. Then, embarrassed, shyly, hopefully, he muttered, "I, uh... I missed you."

The response was almost instantaneous. Dawn heard Buffy's sudden, relieved inhalation of air, and a sharp crack as Buffy's hand busted another ladder rung. There was the sound of scrabbling feet, and then a soft 'oof' from Spike, to which Dawn gleefully determined that Buffy had thrown herself at him. When her sister spoke, Dawn could hear the smile and the tears in her voice: "I missed you, too, Spike."

Dawn's cheeks nearly cracked; her smile had taken over her whole face. She was nothing but a Dawn-Smile. The single disbelieving, but increasingly happy voice inside of her was squealing over and over again, Buffy forgave Spike! with a miniature jig in accompaniment.

They both moved up the stairs, Spike at a respectful distance from her, and he stood with his head down as Buffy gathered anything she might have brought with her. Dawn folded her arms and glared at them. "Well? What in the damn hell took so long?"

In complete unison, both looked up at her and said, "Dawn, language!"

Dawn blinked. "Whoa. Creepy."

The side of Spike's lips curved into a half-smile, and he moved toward her. "I mean it, Bit. You're sixteen. Don't need to start swearing now."

Dawn grinned at him winningly. "But if some big Evil is coming after me and I have to fight it?"

Buffy stared at her, a smirk to match Spike's on her face. "Only if we're not there."

Dawn's arms folded, and Sullen Teenage Glare was back, this time in the form of #100 (You Never Let Me Do Anything Fun!). Buffy rolled her eyes and pointed at her. "Don't you give me that look, Dawn. I invented that Look. Wipe it off your face."

Dawn straightened and gave Buffy a sheepish smile. "Sorry."

Buffy laughed and wrapped her arm around her sister's shoulders. "Come on. Giles is probably wide awake and worried sick. I told him I'd be right back, and that was an hour and a half ago."

Spike followed slowly as Dawn and Buffy made their way to the door. "Got your prezzies?" Spike asked softly, cocking his head at Dawn. The teenager nodded, tapping the pocket of her jacket. Spike smiled and reached out to gently tug on a strand of her hair. "Good girl. Have a good night then. Listen to Buffy. Get to school on time. All that other poncy, poofy shite."

Dawn moved toward him, wrapping her arms tightly about his waist. "I will. And if it's all right with Buffy, will you come visit us sometime? Please?"

Spike peered over Dawn's head at her sister, who had suddenly decided that the floor was looking rather lovely in its cigarette dusti-ness, a rather charming rose blush covering her cheeks. He sighed inwardly, a tiny smile twitching at his lips. "We'll see, luv." He placed a kiss on her forehead, gave her another gentle squeeze, then patted her back. "Off you go."

Dawn smiled and waved at him. "G'night, Spike. Love you," she called.

Spike watched with a gentle smile as they walked away. It widened just a fraction of an inch when he saw Buffy turn slightly and peer back at him, giving him a tentative smile and wave, before spinning back around and hurrying after Dawn. "Love you, too, Bit," he murmured, his hand clutching the wall next to his door. "Love you both."

He shut the door.

Buffy made the worst attempt in humanity to conceal a yawn. Unfortunately for her, Giles didn't get the hint. In fact, Giles didn't even notice. Giles was swimming in his own little Giles-World at the moment, completely lost in thought.

And pacing. Did she mention the pacing? It's Giles, new from Mattel! Comes with six different functions: glasses-cleaning, worrying, nose-rubbing, pacing, lecturing and thinking, all sure to bore the pants off of you! See package for details.

He was starting to make her dizzy. And she was really starting to hate herself for not waiting to mention Spike to Giles until the next morning, when she'd have gotten some well-deserved shut-eye after all the emotional crap she'd been through tonight. To Giles, rest, sleep, and dead-on-your-feet tired did not seem to be understandable concepts. At least, they didn't when formerly-evil ex-boyfriends came back to town sans pain-chip and with their original soul, fully intact and acquired willingly, in tow.

Truly, Spike was a first in vampire history, and Giles wasn't about to waste any time before delving into research.

"He went after his soul willingly? Knowing what it would do to him, knowing what he would be in store for when he received it? And he still accepted it back?"

Buffy yawned again. Giles had asked this question about five times, all in the same, disbelieving tone. "Well, he didn't exactly flat out ask for it. He wanted the chip out. But I think, deep down inside, he wanted the soul, otherwise the Wish-Giver guy wouldn't have given it to him. He said that he asked him to, quote unquote, 'make him what he was, so he could...'" She trailed off slightly, then looked down at her feet and finished. "So he could give me what I deserved."

Giles' eyebrows creased together. "And the demon returned him his soul... Most interesting."

Buffy yawned for the third time. "Real interesting. Can I go to sleep now? Please?"

Her former Watcher looked at her, startled. "What? Oh, yes. Of course, dear. Go get some rest."

Buffy smiled drowsily. "Thanks, Giles. G'night."

"Goodnight, Buffy."

As soon as she was upstairs, in her mother's old room, Buffy sank down heavily on the bed and buried her face in her hands.

A soul. He'd gotten his soul back for her. In spite of all she'd done to him, in spite of how she'd treated him, in spite of everything she'd ever said to him, he'd gone to get his soul back for her. And at a terrible price. He'd nearly been destroyed by the tasks he'd been required to pass.

And still. He'd done it all for her. To feel worthy of her.

Any other woman on earth would have seen his devotion before he'd even stepped a foot past the city lines. It had taken Buffy four months without him, cold hard Reality, and a couple of verbal punches to the face to realize that she even missed him. Four months to realize that she loved him.

As Angelus, Angel never would have gone to get his soul back of his own free will. Angelus thrived on the miserable lives he could induce without a conscience following him around, wracking him with guilt every step of the way. And Spike had loved her enough without his soul to seek it out for her anyway. Because he thought it was what she deserved.

Well, she didn't. She didn't deserve a damn thing from him. After everything she'd done to him, she didn't deserve him. She, the Slayer, the icon for all things good, and pure, and right, was worse than a soulless vampire. A soulless vampire who had felt love, pain, guilt, remorse, though by the standards she'd been taught, he shouldn't have.

She should have known better.

Spike had always been the exception. And as the exception, Spike was better than her. And being better than her, he shouldn't even desire her. He should hate her for everything she'd said and done.

But he didn't. In fact, by the lingering glances he'd kept giving her this evening, it was all too clear that he was still as taken and infatuated with her as he ever was. Only more so.

When in the hell was she going to learn to listen to her gut instincts, instead of listening to everyone else? Listening to everyone else had ruined her, and had forced her to destroy any semblance of a normal relationship she could have had with Spike, simply because he didn't fit the normal standards that her friends favored for her. And she had been so scared to take him in, and accept him, and show everyone that yes, she was with the vampire of her own free will, the vampire who had changed himself in spite of what everyone else had done to discourage him, because they loved each other, and because she trusted him. She'd rejected him simply because she was scared of their disapproval. Never mind the fact that facing a relationship with another vampire terrified her -- especially after what He Who Shall not Be Named had put her through for so long.

All of the repressed fear and anger that she felt for them could have burned her as it came to the forefront for the first time.

Giles was her father figure, yet in his youth he'd conjured up the dark spirit Eyghon, immersed himself in Black Magick, and had virtually been Spike's counterpart. When she'd turned eighteen he had betrayed her trust, and had left her without her strength to do battle with an insane vampire during her Cruciamentum. And he'd had the gall to chastise her for betraying him when she'd hid Angel after his return from Hell. More recently, he'd tried to convince her that killing her innocent little sister was the right thing to do; and when she needed him the most after her resurrection, he'd abandoned her. For her "own good."

Xander was her big brother figure. But he'd... he'd tried to assault her under the influence of that Hyena spirit during her first year in Sunnydale. He had conjured a spell that had made all the women in Sunnydale desperate for him, and which caused them to be deadly when rejected. And just last year, he'd conjured up that singing demon, Sweet. Buffy would have danced to her death had it not been for Spike. She wasn't stupid. She knew that a small part of Xander kept hoping that his still unrequited crush on her would one day be returned. It was never going to happen and the sooner she forced him to get that, the faster she could turn her focus back to Spike.

And Willow. Oh, god, Willow. She had been so innocent when she had been thrust into the Slayer's world. Her magick had just been a pastime, something that she'd been eager to study, as a tribute to Jenny Calendar after the technopagan's death. That had seemed innocent enough until she'd immersed herself into the Black Arts; thrown herself in so deep that she'd literally depended on magick to help her through every day. But it had gotten so bad, and her emotions had run so rampant, that she'd nearly become the Uber!Evil; she'd killed a man, attempted to kill her friends, and had tried to destroy the world.

Not that Buffy could count herself totally innocent of fault. After all, she'd fallen so hard for a vampire that all common sense faded when it came time to kill him. He'd killed Giles' girlfriend, tried to kill half of her friends, and nearly killed her. Then the following year, she'd tried to kill her former sister-in-arms for his sake, and he'd turned around and almost killed her again!

At that thought, her anger cooled and her shoulders slumped heavily as her appreciation and devotion to them returned. They may have pulled a few wacky stunts on her, but she'd put them through quite a lot as well.

She knew that they meant well. She did. She may pretend on various occasions to be the quintessential California blonde, but she wasn't stupid -- Buffy saw more than everyone thought she did. Just as she was human and should be allowed to mess up, her friends were human and made mistakes. Holding on to her grudges when all of the good they'd done for her over the years outweighed the bad by a milestone would only show everyone how selfish and self-involved she could really be.

How many times had they saved her after all? How often had they come through in the clinch, when all hope seemed lost? As hateful and judgmental as Xander could be, he was also one of the most loving and caring people that she had ever met. He had saved her life when she was sixteen and left by the Master to drown. He'd come up with the idea of the rocket launcher that allowed her to destroy the Judge—and consequently, Angelus and Dru's first strike against them became little more than an amusing joke. He'd attacked Glory with a wrecking ball, he'd inadvertently come up with the idea of how to defeat Adam, he'd protected Dawn like she was his own sister, and he'd even saved the world, apocalypse after apocalypse. Despite his numerous faults, Xander had always stood by her side. As much as his mouth often found itself stuffed to the brim with his foot, the things he'd done over the years had been because he cared. Perhaps a little too much, Buffy thought, smiling ruefully and shaking her head.

Willow had only ever wanted to be accepted. Her best friend -- her first ever best female friend -- was a superhuman and once she had been thrust into the supernatural world, Willow had only wanted to help. Yes, of course she'd made mistakes with magic, but she'd still been learning and it wasn't like Giles had procured a mage to teach her the art. She'd been learning on her own for so long -- but she was a natural, and as a novice, some of the things Willow had come up with could simply boggle the mind. How many times had Willow's spells captured the baddie? And if Willow hadn't entered Buffy's mind when Glory had captured Dawn, Buffy might still be catatonic, and Dawn... Her darling little sister might be dead.

Once upon a time, Buffy had called Willow her Big Gun. Two years had passed now, and Buffy was only beginning to realize what sort of strain she must have put on the petite redhead with those trusting words. Buffy wondered what Willow must have felt to hear it – she might have swelled with pride, with honour, knowing that she was so important to the Slayer. She must have been a little nervous, particularly since Buffy had called on her as they were facing Glory. Buffy thought that perhaps pushing that position of power onto Willow might have been the Slayer’s fault, just a little. It might have been too soon, it may have been what initially ended up damaging her best friend in the first place.

Buffy wouldn’t beat around the bush anymore. When Willow had gone after Glory to take revenge for Tara, the witch had gone on a massive power trip, one that was unwisely and frighteningly repeated the next year. Willow must have felt that Buffy needed her skills in magic to keep them all alive—and in many instances, that was proven true. But she’d taken it too far when she'd pressed her magick to not only keep them alive, but to exact vengeance -- and to bring them back from death itself. There must have also been a feeling of inadequacy without that power, which confused Buffy to no end. After all, Xander had no feasible powers, and he offered himself up time and time again to help them all.

In the Slayer's mind though, Willow's most important power was her ability to be there for Buffy every time she needed it. When Angel had broken her heart -- both times -- Buffy couldn't have gone to Xander or Giles. Willow had been right there for her, comforting her. When Parker had used her, Willow had done her best to cheer Buffy up and be her saving grace. Of course, Willow also managed to assist in convincing her that dating Riley Finn was a good idea, but Buffy placed no blame on Willow's head where that fiasco was concerned. The girl had just been trying to help Buffy move on during her own relationship crisis, after all.

God, what could she even say about Giles? As many times as he'd wronged her in the past, he'd also only done it because he cared for her -- because he loved her like she was his own child. Buffy worried herself into believing that she might have had a heart attack had her real father ever cared for her that much. The Cruciamentum may have been a colossal betrayal between them, but Giles had still suffered a price for it -- he'd been fired because he couldn't go all the way through with it and had basically been shunted to the side for someone who supposedly had more Council knowledge. It should have been the point where Giles really started questioning the Council and their ethics, but bad memories from his youth forced him to believe that his former employers were all-knowing.

She rubbed her eyes at the thought, remembering. Giles had been fired because Quentin Travers, the heartless jerk, had detected familial feelings between them and instead of letting Buffy run the trial blindly, Giles had done what any caring parental figure would have done -- he'd gone to help her, to save her from it. Giles, apart from Joyce Summers, was the only one in a good many years that had ever cared for her that much, and while many of his good intentions had been misguided, as Buffy noted before, he still meant well. Giles was for all intents her father - maybe not in blood, but certainly in her heart - and no matter what he did, she could never deny him the love of the only child he would likely ever have.

As much as she loved all of them, though, they had to know their places in her life -- particularly Xander. Buffy had her own life to live -- and she could barely afford to live it comfortably as it was. There was no need for them to take it upon themselves to live her life for her. If she made mistakes, then she would make them -- it wasn't fair for them to expect so much from her but then allow her heart so little where Spike was concerned. He may not be perfect, either, but he had tried to heal the wounds in her heart. For the short time that they'd been together he had made her -- perhaps not riotously happy, exactly... but she'd been at peace with him beside her. After everything she'd been through -- shouldn't that be the only thing that mattered?

Somehow, Buffy didn't think that any of them had the right to disapprove of her choices anymore. She'd sacrificed enough of her life for the Greater Good and her Calling. They could sit and spin if they wigged at the idea of her with Spike.

Er... not that she was going to be with him anytime in the immediate future or anything. Not that he would even want to be with her. There was no wanting between them. Absolutely no wanting. Yeah.

She sighed. Her anxiety seemed to be reacting in spades to Spike's return. It was making her feel more and more nervous -- and apparently denial and stupidity were side-effects.

But still... he had tried so hard to be good, to be good for her, and she had turned him down at every possible crossroad, tried to discourage him in every possible way. Really, it was no wonder that he'd finally had enough. If it had been anyone else, they'd be sitting in a mental hospital, and Buffy would be visiting them at weekends.

She groaned softly, feeling tears begin to trickle down her cheeks, which was just irritating as hell -- since when had she become so damn moody? She wasn't even like this when she had PMS! She impatiently wiped her hands over her cheeks. Seeing Spike again, when she thought she'd lost him forever, should not merit an all-night sobbing session.

Well, maybe it did; if you weren't the Slayer, anyway.

Still, it wasn't like he'd just come back from the dead—of the permanent kind. She'd known he was alive and out there somewhere... wanting nothing to do with her...

Oh, fantastic... she was throwing herself a pity-party now. Maybe she should just go to sleep and forget all the incredibly far-fetched events from tonight, and the even more astonishing things Spike had told her about during his Quest for a Soul. It was just too much for her poor mind to process. Anyway, that was what Giles was here for.

Gotta admit, though, she thought, yawning as she stretched out on the bed, rolling onto her back. I'm so proud of him... god, the things he does for me...

She settled comfortably against her pillow and closed her eyes.

That had officially been the world's record for shortest nap taken by a slayer that had to juggle Mom-and-Save-The-World duties.

Honestly, if it wasn't for the fact that she was so ecstatic to have him back, aside from the whole "I'm in love with him" thing, she would've killed him.

"Spike, it's --" She looked at her alarm clock, and groaned -- "3:15 in the morning. I have a job I have to be ready for in four more hours." Buffy sat up and glared at him. "What the hell do you want?"

He smiled apologetically and rocked back on his heels a little from his perch outside the window. "Sorry. Can I, uh... come in?"

Buffy yawned, rubbing her eyes. "Your invitation was never revoked," she told him sleepily. "You have free access."

She tried hard to feel like she hadn't swallowed the sun when she saw his awed, delighted face.

"Well, uh... I have the feeling you might kill me more violently if I ask questions, so 'm just gonna come in," he said sheepishly, climbing through the window. Buffy raised her eyebrows and sat up a little more.

"Damn straight," she grumbled. Spike merely grinned, plopping onto her bedside table. Buffy shook her head. "You're insane, you know that?"

"Ta. Slightly aware of it."

Buffy groaned as she stretched, then sighed. "Why are you here, Spike?" she asked softly, trying to conceal a yawn.

Spike chewed on his lower lip, fiddling with the end of his shirt before answering her. "It's just... you seemed a little too calm tonight... after all I told you. Just... wanted to know if you were all right. You know. From one, er... friend... to another."

She was hard-pressed not to ignore the distaste that crossed his face as he said those words. Buffy took a deep breath. "Well, you have to admit, what happened to you kind of... blew me away, ya know? It's kind of... difficult knowledge to swallow whole. So... I think it's fair for me to be a little shocked. Right?"

Spike nodded, a little eagerly. "Oh, sure, yeah, I mean... I knew that. 'S just... Well, maybe I'm more off my nut than I thought, but... you looked like you were goin' to cry. Was I?" He looked at her, penetrating blue eyes quickly working their magick. "Imaginin' things, I mean?"

Buffy drew her legs to her chest, looking up at him. She hesitated a moment, then shook her head. "No... you weren't. I... I was... I did cry." She threw him a weak grin. "I've just been Emotion Girl all over the place lately, huh?"

Spike smiled back gently, reaching out tentatively to touch her cheek. "It does you good. You look healthier... relaxed... happier an' the like." He looked down. "Not like when you were with me."

Buffy's heart dropped into her stomach at the despondent look on his face. I was happy with you! her heart cried out. I was happier than I've ever been! I just took out my anger out on the wrong person!

Before she could form an answer he looked up again and said, "I dunno if I have the right to ask or not, but... Why?" At Buffy's questioning look, he elaborated. "Why me? I mean... y-you know I love you. You knew... how I felt when I saw you back. You know I'd do anythin' for you, and that if I could have, I'd've killed to keep you happy. So... why'd you do it? Use me?" He looked down again. "I just... I wanted to know. 'S all."

Buffy closed her eyes and reached up to clasp the hand that remained on her cheek. "Spike... I am so sorry. I just... I was beyond messed up. And... I thought I'd done something terrible to be brought back here. I-I thought... that Heaven didn't want me anymore, and I felt like someone wanted me to suffer. To stay hate-filled and angry, and that just goes to show how screwed up I was, because no matter how you good you were to me, I still took out all my hatred and anger on you."

Her other hand moved to touch his cheek, caressing it gently. "I'm so sorry, Spike. You didn't deserve that. Not a single thing that I did, or a single word I said." She snorted mirthlessly. "I'm just the shining example of all that's right in the world, huh? I treated the guy that loved me like a piece of trash, like I had the right to do it." She pulled her hands away from him and clasped them in her lap. "God, I need help."

His soft, cool lips were on hers and leaving the gentle whisper of a kiss against her mouth before she'd even realized he'd moved. "I could," he whispered when he pulled back.

Buffy felt a delicious shiver run down her spine before she raised her eyes to his. "Could what?" she asked softly.

Spike's hand shifted and ran down her arm. "Help you." His lips parted and traced the pulse point on her neck, launching a titillating sensation throughout her body. "The bloke you treated like garbage... he came back. He still loves you, now more than ever... he's most definitely a changed man. And he'd like to show you how changed he is."

Buffy gasped blissfully, not understanding why he was saying these things but not arguing against them all the same. She raised her arms and wrapped them around his body, tilting her head up accordingly when his lips came back to hers. "But... what about the soul?" she whispered. "Won't it..."

Spike pulled back, resting his forehead against hers and staring her dead in the eyes. "Luv, the soul is more than permanent. If, however, you feel the need to test it out..." Taking one of her hands, he moved it down to the hem of his shirt, sliding it below the material. Instincts took over, and Buffy's other hand joined the first, willingly pushing the T-shirt up and over Spike's head. It took less than a second for her to reacquaint herself with the delicious firmness of his muscles, and the sharp, lean build of his body -- though, truth be told, she had never really forgotten since he haunted her memories anyway.

His lips came down on hers once again, and in the barest blink of an eye, he had managed to divest her of her pajamas. He paused for a moment, studying the top and bottoms, then smiled at the design. "I like the blue monkeys," he murmured, pressing his mouth to the swell of her breast.

Buffy blushed. "Dawn bought them for me. I don't know what she was thinking, but she -- ah... ohhh, god..." Her eyes fell closed and her head lolled back on the pillow. His lips nipped and sucked every inch of her breast, teasing her nipple relentlessly. Buffy whimpered softly, reaching up and tugging gently on his hair. "No foreplay," she whispered. "I've missed you so much, Spike... I need you, all of you. Now."

Apparently, that had been just what Spike had wanted to hear. In under a second, he had his jeans undone and pulled down his legs, and her panties had been whipped off and thrown across the room. "You've got me, Buffy."

Her head was thrown back, her muscles twitching against his intrusion as she gave a choked sigh, holding him close to her. Not once did it cross her mind that it was the middle of the night, that Giles was probably still awake downstairs, that her sister and Willow were sound asleep in the other rooms... All that mattered was the beautiful man, above her, inside her, surrounding her. All that mattered was that he was back, and she was where she belonged again.

As gently as possible, he began to rock, taking care to kiss every surface inch of her body that wasn't covered by the rest of him as his hips pistoned into her depths. This had been in his future from the moment he'd met her, from the second he'd laid his eyes on her beautiful body. Being together was the natural conclusion of their relationship.

Gradually, he built up a rhythm until he rocked faster. Below him the Slayer's voice came out in soft, breathless gasps, kittenish mewls of pleasure, needy moans of desperation. She had never sounded more lovely to him. He acquiesced when her small hand grasped the back of his head, drawing his face down to hers. "Spike," she whispered as their lips met. Tongue clashed with tongue, dueling, caressing, mating. It was no wonder that they'd spent the better part of the last five years annoying the hell out of each other. Their passion had spurred them on.

If they'd only caught on sooner. If only Buffy hadn't been so adamant in listening to what everyone else had told her.

Closer; she was almost there. During their few months together, Spike had discovered every touch that would propel her into climax, and he'd used them all to his advantage. Now it seemed he barely had to touch her and she was at the precipice.

Harder. Sweat poured down her skin, coating both their bodies. The bed was moving audibly now, the headboard just barely thumping against the wall. Thank God Buffy's room wasn't right next to Dawn's anymore. Because that would be beyond the realm of embarrassment.

Faster. She was about to fall, and her hands, moving restlessly around Spike's body, grabbed a good handful of his supremely nice ass, pulling him deeper inside of her. Spike grunted, pushing harder, ignoring the sounds the headboard was making and concentrating solely on making this woman explode with pleasure. "God, Buffy," he murmured, lips exploring her neck, "I love you so much."

She convulsed. Her body tightened, and her muscles clenched around him. She renewed her desperate hold on him, her legs wrapping around his waist and hooking at the small of his back. Her back arched and her hips thrust forward, frantically attempting to keep him in her, to surround him and ensure that he would never leave her again. Her nails dug into his skin, tearing at the magnificent expanse of alabaster, and she gave a garbled cry as her insides began to melt.

Spike growled at the feeling of the warmth flowing around him, then gasped in surprise when Buffy's hands grasped his head, lowering his face to her neck. He trembled at the unmistakable invitation before shifting into game face and --

Buffy shot up, gasping, eyes wide and head thrown back as her legs trembled in the final shock of her orgasm. She moaned softly and fell back again, her eyes blinking blearily at the ceiling above her as her thoughts raced to the ruined -- She looked down.

Sheets. Ruined sheets. She was sleeping on her ruined sheets. And where the hell was -- No. Oh no. This wasn't fair. This wasn't even right! Oh, god, this isn't happening! she mentally groaned.

She looked down at herself again.

Ruined panties, ruined bed sheets, ruined bed. Damn it all to hell.

Scowling, she stripped off her night things, then violently threw them into the laundry basket before grabbing a pair of boy shorts and a long gray T-shirt. Redressing quickly, she got back into the bed, folded her arms crossly over her chest and scowled. "I am never going back to sleep again," she muttered.

She was asleep the second her head hit the pillow.

Outside, Spike gazed up at the window of Buffy's bedroom, slightly slack-jawed. She'd been dreaming about him. And not just any regular dream. She'd been dreaming about shagging him into the ground. Even if she hadn't been talking and moaning in her sleep, the scent of her arousal alone would have been enough to make him collapse. God knew that the beast below his belt would have let him know all too gladly otherwise.

But that wasn't the point. Buffy was dreaming about him. Buffy still wanted him. In every possible way.

A slow smile curled his lips and he pushed off from the tree, digging into his jeans and pulling out a cigarette and his beloved Zippo. Lighting up, he glanced up at the window again, ears perked to hear her soft snores. Then, turning to leave, his hand curved down to adjust himself; a cocky grin, reminiscent of his old self Pre-Soul, stretched across his face.

Well. He was set for the rest of the night.

To Be Continued...

Back to index

† foot-in-mouth-syndrome † by AJ Hofacre

Author's Notes:
I'm baaa-ack! I finally have the Internet again! Yay! So, this chapter ended up being about 17 Microsoft Word 2003 pages long. Except the last page was really only just the To Be Continued and my second note (read it, BTW!) I'm thinking I may have gotten a bit carried away when revising this chapter. Then again, it's an important chapter ~_^

part eight - foot-in-mouth syndrome

It was way too early in the morning to have to deal with her Calling.

It was very... eugh-looking. Pale, ashen-looking skin. Long, stringy, sort-of-greasy blonde hair. Sunken cheeks, black bags under the eyes, a little drool at the corner of the mouth and -- Holy shit, that was her!

Buffy stumbled back, her eyes wide. Somebody was playing a trick on her -- they had to be. The Powers were having fun at her expense, and had actually turned her into Zombie-Buffy, only for a day, of course, and they would change her back eventually, but... Jesus, that was her?

Ewww...

Her ghastly appearance was the result of one of two things: either she had died overnight and her bad luck with not being allowed to rest in peace had continued, or more likely she had failed at getting a good night's rest. Again.

Personally, she wondered who she would be murdering for bringing her back from the dead this time, because no way in HELL was she broaching the lack-of-sleep issues of last night. Not after that cruelly realistic dream-like dream... thing.

Nobody could ever say that Buffy was a clear-thinker. Because she wasn't. Especially not at -- groan -- half-past six in the morning.

She wasn't even positive she remembered what day it was today. Weekday or weekend, the mornings and evenings just seemed to speed past her these days, and it was becoming really irksome.

Date... date... what the hell was the day today? There was a calendar somewhere, she was positive. Dawn had some sort of obsession with time, and she'd bought about fifteen calendars to hang around the house this past summer, so Buffy knew they were there. But where exactly seemed to be the question of the moment. Oh! Ha! There! She eagerly grabbed it up, pressing her nose to it in the dark.

And frowned.

Buffy wracked her brain, staring uncomprehendingly at the numbers. It would be incredibly easy to know what day it was today if she could just remember what day yesterday was.

She blinked and flipped the page. The correct month would also be helpful.

It was a few minutes before it came to her, and she sighed, partly in relief and partly in irritation. Relief, because hey, she wasn't as much of a space case as she thought she was, and irritation because -- grr -- it was a work day. And work was so... boring. Not that she wasn't grateful for it, because she was really grateful. Her job as a guidance/peer counselor-type person didn't pay all that much, but it definitely got her through. And, big perk, she didn't come home drenched in grease anymore.

Buffy stumbled into the bathroom, moved toward the tub and turned the showerhead on full-throttle with scalding hot water. Hot water good. Hot water would wash away those thoughts and daydreams that she should most definitely not be thinking about. At least not right now.

Disrobing, she stepped in and promptly let out a soft, grateful moan. It was very quick in loosening the tension in her muscles right now. She grunted softly, letting her head fall forward with a soft, wet thwack onto the wall, before straightening and grabbing her pretty green mesh sponge.

Lathering it up with her favorite vanilla scented soap, she sighed happily as she brought the sponge down to work over her taut muscles. Just washing... Not thinking of blue quicksilver eyes that penetrated you at every step. Ooh... penetration... er, not thinking of it. Just washing now. No reason for her to be imagining long, slightly calloused fingers wrapping around her from behind, stroking her belly. No reason at all for her to think about smooth and full pink lips, tracing down the back of her neck to her shoulder, a cool tongue darting out to catch the warm drops of water trailing down her skin.

No reason for her to be thinking about the previously mentioned, very talented fingers of each hand, moving slowly in opposite directions: the right fingers moving up to caress and squeeze each heavy breast, the left fingers creeping slowly down her belly and slyly stroking the coarse brown hairs of her mound. No reason for her to imagine those naughty left fingers slipping through the warming folds and pushing gently inside of her, curling inwards instantly to make her cry out in pleasure.

It was just a happy accident that she began moving against those fingers, allowing them to slip in and out of her, while the others fingers moved from her breast to gently tweak the little knot of pleasure between her thighs. And the quaking of her legs when her insides tightened, spasming and catapulting her into an orgasm at the thought of him... well, that was an accident as well.

Buffy slumped against the wall, her fingers buried between her legs and coated in her fluids as she gasped gently for air, a goofy grin crossing her lips. Heh. That was one hell of a happy accident!

Straightening, she managed to get her hair washed and cleaned the sleep from her eyes (nothing like a climax in the shower to wake you up) before she wrapped herself in a thick velvety blue robe. Wrapping her hair in a towel, she exited her bathroom, left her bedroom, and walked out the hallway toward Dawn's room. No sound was coming from inside so Buffy yawned, rapping sharply on the door. "Dawnie. Up. Come on, school today."

A muffled moan came from inside and Buffy pushed open the door. Tilting her head, she gazed at the bed where she supposed her younger sister was buried, hidden beneath mounds of blankets, comforters, clothes and stuffed animals. A bare foot was sticking out of the side, but other than that, there was no trace of the human lump under the covers.

Sighing and rolling her eyes, Buffy walked to the bed, approaching the foot carefully before grabbing it and yanking the teenager out from under the sheets. Dawn gave a loud yelp as she hit the floor, her head shooting straight up as she jolted awake. Eyes wide, she turned to look at Buffy accusingly.

Buffy tried hard not to laugh at the sight of her sister's knotted brown hair and droopy eyelids. If Buffy had looked like a zombie when she'd woken up, it was nothing compared to how her sister looked now. And that was beyond hilarious.

Quietly, Dawn shifted onto her hands and knees before rocking back onto her heels and attempting to stand up. When she found her balance and had an extremely tight hold on the headboard of her bed, she turned and faced her sister. Walking up to her, she muttered, "That was the fifth time this week. Next time you do it, I'll tie your arms and legs together, and give you a haircut."

That would in fact be a threatening thing to happen to anyone since Dawn's haircuts didn't exactly put you on the Hollywood A-list. Malibu Barbie had been involved in an unfortunate incident when Dawn had wielded the scissors for the first 'professional' time, and Xander was still wary of allowing any sharp objects in Dawn's vicinity when he was around.

Buffy smiled, leaning in. "That might be scary if, number one, I was scared of you, and number two, you weren't grounded." Dawn's face melted into a pout and Buffy quirked her lips, patting her sister's back. "Go on, scoot. Get ready. Xander'll be here to pick us up regular time and I want to know what it's like to actually be on time for once.”

Protesting all the way, Dawn shuffled off toward the main bathroom.

After a minute, the sound of the shower spray turning on, and the smell of Dawn's lavender shampoo permeating the air effectively roused Buffy—though not as effectively as her own shower-romp had—and she yawned one last time before moving to her dresser drawers. She cringed as she thought of going downstairs. Though she didn't exactly have super-hearing like a vampire, she could still hear pretty damn well, and she'd been pretty certain that Giles had been muttering on and on about Spike's soul until about three A.M.

She was praying to the Powers that he was too knackered to jump out at her and ask more questions before she left.

She stopped and frowned for a moment. Knackered? Okay, she'd been around way too many British people in the last seven years if she was starting to use their slang now.

Luckily for her, when she and Dawn raced down the steps to Xander's impatient honking, Giles had been completely conked out on the couch. Problem was, she had a feeling she wouldn't be as lucky when she came home.

The day passed without too much anxiety on her part. Sure, she was fidgety. And sure, Susan (the other counselor), the secretary, and even Principal Wood kept giving her strange looks when at one point she attempted to balance a pencil, tip down, on the end of her nose. But she wasn't edgy or anything. She was dreading going home and hearing Giles say, "Now, Buffy, if you could..." one more time, but she was just fine otherwise.

"Principal Wood? I was wondering if you could get me an extra key to the school, so I can stay here late to do a little work? Not too long, just from closing till tomorrow morning. See, I have this strange old British guy living at my house, who can't seem to get over the fact that my British ex-boyfriend is a vampire who went to Africa and got himself a soul because of a bunch of tests from a weird freaky demon, and now he won't stop asking me about it."

Buffy covered her eyes and giggled. She could just imagine the completely dumbfounded look on the poor man's face as he tried to answer her.

Unfortunately for her, she was now on her way home. She REALLY had to learn how to drive. Getting hauled around by Xander was slightly annoying. Especially since Giles had let slip about a certain --

"-- VAMPIRE!"

Buffy cringed and grabbed Xander's arm, pulling him back into the second lane on the proper side of the road. "I know, Xander. Slayer, remember? Spidey sense and all that? Plus, all the times I've seen the 'grr' face?"

Xander glared at her, shoving her hand off of him, an ugly scowl gracing his normally adorable features. "Don't be sarcastic, Buffy! He's a vampire, the very same vampire that tried to kill you, that tried to kill me and Will, that raped you, that --"

"Took off for four months to Africa to get a soul because of how guilty he felt for it, Xander!"

Buffy sank back. Oh and here was Dawn's defense. She shook her head and glanced out the window, suddenly feeling very cold and very alienated.

"Dawn, stay out of this! That disgusting thing doesn't need you defending him!"

"Yes, he does, when he isn't even here to do it for himself! Xander, back off! I don't care how you feel about him, but Spike has a soul now, and it's because he felt guilty! How many soulless vampires do you know that can feel guilt, Xander? Guilt so bad that they'd run off and get their soul back, willingly, just so they could make sure that they wouldn't do something so bad ever again?"

As much as he wanted to, Xander couldn't find a response to that. At least not yet. He would, but for now, he sat there at the stop light, stewing.

It really didn't help that Dawn had a point. Even Angelus hadn't wanted his soul back after he'd lost it.

After another moment's silence, in which the traffic light had been green for half a minute before the cars behind him had started honking and the drivers had begun flipping him off, Xander drove off, stealing a quick glance at Buffy again. "Where is he now?"

Buffy glanced down at her hands. "His old crypt.”

"Is he all right? Feeling any after effects from the re-souling?"

Buffy looked at him, a bit taken aback by his odd line of questioning. "N-No... Not that I know of anyway."

"Good," Xander muttered.

Buffy turned to raise a questioning eyebrow at Dawn, who shrugged in response. The Slayer glanced back at her best friend. "Good? What do you mean, 'good'? Since when do you care for Spike's well-being?"

He glowered at her. "I don't. But so long as he's doing all right, then you won't do something supremely stupid, like feel some sort of misguided sympathy for the evil psychotic beastie and invite him to live with you!"

Something snapped inside her mind, and suddenly she went from zero to Mega-Bitch in .001 seconds. "Pull the car over, right the fuck now."

Xander glanced at her again, startled at the sudden venom in those eight little words – never mind the random expletive - but he complied with her wishes, pulling to the side of the road about three blocks away from the Sunnydale Elementary playground. As soon as he parked, Buffy shoved open the door. "Xander, out, now. Dawn, stay in here." She glanced meaningfully at her sister. "I don't want you to hear any of this."

Dawn's eyes widened slightly at the malice she heard and nodded quickly.

Xander gulped and followed Buffy out of the car. This was it. He'd managed to open his mouth one too many times.

The teenager watched as Buffy led Xander about a hundred feet away behind the car. Turning in her seat, she got onto her knees, peering intently at them as Buffy let all hell break loose, ranting, screaming her head off, pacing like a caged lion and flailing her arms all over the place, while Xander backed away slowly, looking beyond terrified.

After about a minute and a half of this, Buffy finally stood still, her hands resting on her hips, her head cocked to one side as she gazed intently at the ground before she began to speak again. Xander was swallowing repeatedly, and from what Dawn could see, he seemed to be twitching; the muscle in his jaw was jerking spasmodically, and his eyes were doing some sort of weird blinky thing.

Dawn grinned to herself. Whatever Buffy was telling him had certainly rid Xander of any of his foot-in-mouth syndrome. And to top it all off... she was defending Spike. This was a freaking milestone.

"I'm sick of having to defend myself to you, Xander. No matter what I do, it isn't good enough for you. When I make mistakes, you come down on me like you have a right to, like you're my father. You can't do that. You insinuate yourself into my life and try to make my decisions for me, and, hey, know what? That's exactly what Riley tried, and look at how he and I ended up, Xander! Are you hearing me?"

The man nodded slowly, as if frightened she would lash out at him in another fit of rage. Her earlier fit -- not to mention her command to 'shut up, stay put, and listen!' -- had shocked him into utter terror. He'd never heard Buffy use half of the words that she'd said just then. But what terrified him the most was the fact that while she'd literally been screaming her lungs off at him before, the calm, collected voice she used now was nearly devoid of any emotion. It was the anger implied behind the cold words that scared him.

"For years I've been utterly terrified of disappointing you all. I've had to live up to your expectations of Perfect Buffy since I was fifteen years old, and I'm almost twenty-two. Seven years. Seven years and I've been afraid to be anything less than what you expected of me, scared to make mistakes, scared to take chances and trust my instincts.

"Well guess what, Xand? I'm not perfect. I'm the Slayer, so yeah, I've got super powers, but above all else, I'm human. Why is it okay for you to be human and make mistakes, but I can't? You believe so much in me, you believe that I can do anything, and you have no idea how much that means to me, but when you put me on a pedestal the way you do, you're basically treating me like a Porcelain doll." She glanced at him sadly, her eyes nearly watering, and Xander swallowed hard, his insides twisting painfully in unannounced sympathy at the sight of her. "Spike didn't rape me, Xander. You came in at the tail end of things and saw something that looked bad, and you assumed that you knew what happened. And to make things worse, you took it upon yourself to tell my fifteen-year-old sister your version of things, like you had the right. Everything that happened between Spike and me – We pushed each other to do!”

Buffy blinked, looking away from him, then glancing back, her voice suddenly desperate in her effort to make him understand. “Xander, I hated myself, I hated you guys, and I hated Spike most of all, because I couldn’t stand that fact that I could count on him more than I could on you. Spike was there for me when every one else went on with their lives – it felt like you’d only resurrected me just to feel the comfort of knowing that I was still alive on earth. Then once it was done, you sorta went, ‘Well, our job here is done,’ and you walked off to live your lives. I was in pain, agony – you guys hurt me, and it felt like you didn’t even care. And –“ She shot him a sharp glance when he looked like he would interrupt. “What did I say? Didn’t I tell you to shut up and listen to me? I have things to say to you that have been waiting too long to be said, Xander, and you will listen to them.”

She sighed and covered her face. “I expected too much of Spike – the guy hasn’t had an active conscience for over a hundred years, so why would I think that it would kick in now, after all this time? We both lost control of the situation, so it’s not like he’s entirely to blame – a lot of it lies at my feet, too. My point is, you can’t go all gung-ho wild-abandon on Spike for this. He never actually did anything to me, and even when he thought he did, he hauled himself across two continents to fix it.” She rolled her eyes. “I stayed with Dawn and pretended to agree with every bigoted thing you spewed out in hate. So tell me, Xand, which one of us is better? Spike who takes action for his wrongs? Or is it me? I tend to live in Egypt along a long, pretty blue river as much as I can while the shit hits the fans around me.”

She straightened and stared him directly in the eyes. "I can't do it anymore. I can't be the person you think I should be. I broke a man's heart because I was terrified of what you all would think of me, and I nearly drove him insane from that heartbreak. I don't care what evil things he's done to me -- it's nothing that I didn't do to him. We were mortal enemies, we were supposed to do that; it was in the job description!"

She turned her head away, scrunching up her eyebrows and biting her lower lip. Buffy wrapped her arms around herself, shaking her head. Her voice shook with the weight of her guilt and regret for everything she'd put Spike through that last year. "How many times has he beaten me up? If you're stuck on that, then you don't pay as much attention as you should. Remember my birthday? The raccoon look he was sporting?" Xander nodded. "I did that to him. I beat him to a bloody pulp and I left him in front of the police station so I could turn myself in for a murder that I never even committed. He was trying to protect me and I did that to him. He's never once laid his hands on me that badly, Xander."

Xander looked down and swallowed. He'd known before what Buffy was capable of -- there wasn't a lot that she wasn't capable of, her being the Slayer and all. But he'd never thought that even Spike could do something to anger her or scare her so badly that she would turn his face into a mottled punching bag.

Her voice changed then, inflected with something that resembled awe and humility. "And he still came back to me. After all I did to him, he still came back, and he was still there if I ever needed to talk. He was still there to protect me, to give me an out if I ever chose to accept it. And I never did, because I wanted to be the good girl." She turned back to him then, her eyes burning feverishly. "Know what? I'm sick of being the good girl. He made a mistake, and he took off to Africa to fix it. So Xander -- hey, look at me!" Xander's eyes shot right back up to her face. She continued.

"Don't you dare even think of treating him like the scum of the earth. Because that's all he already thinks of himself as. No matter how many times he's tried to change, we've all done something to push him back down to that level, you especially. You more than anybody. And now, he doesn't think he's good enough. That he doesn't deserve anything. You, and me, and Willow, and Giles -- " She laughed bitterly at the absurdity of it, her ire rising once again. "Giles, who's supposed to be the patriarch and teach us NOT to ridicule people who try. We all did that to him. So I don't care what you do, Xander. But I'm going to do everything in my power to fix it. I owe him that. And in all honesty, if you don't like it? Forget you. Because I don't care anymore, Xander, I really don't."

The Slayer receded again, and Buffy turned to storm back to the car, tears finally overflowing and streaming from her eyes as she opened the door and slid inside, before slamming it shut. Xander sidled along for a bit before he looked after her and sighed, following her. She was right. She was always right.

God he hated it when she was right. He always felt like such a dick afterwards.

The ride back to Revello Drive was made in silence. Buffy had abdicated the front passenger seat, opting instead to sit in the back. Since it was a rarity that Dawn ever got to ride in the front seat of Xander's car when Buffy was there, she'd snatched up the vacancy, reasoning that if Buffy was in her 'kill' mood right now it would be altogether pointless to leave Xander alone to stew in his own fear. At least he'd gotten the message and kept his mouth shut the rest of the way home.

Anya was waiting on the front porch when they arrived. She took one look at Xander's despondent face, Buffy's radiating anger and Dawn's smug smirk, then crossed her arms and sighed. "Giles shut the door in my face. You live here, so... you know. Open it. Please.”

Dawn raised her eyebrows, reaching for her house key. "What did he do that for?"

Anya shrugged. "I don't know. He's the one who called and asked me to come over. So I hauled ass over here, thinking there was some big apocalypse-y thing going down—as if the last one wasn't enough—and Giles answered the door. By the way, did you know Willow's back? I mentioned that to him, because she was standing at the door, so I asked if she was still evil. He said no, so I asked her how it felt to flay some annoying little horn dog like Warren, and she winced, and Giles got grumpy and shut the door in my face. I've been knocking for almost half an hour, and he still hasn't let me in since.”

Buffy raised her eyes to Anya's, giving her a small half-smile as Dawn opened the door and she followed her younger sister into the house. It was weird when Anya's antics became a breath of fresh air. "It's the tact. You weren't tactful about it; that's why Giles got grumpy. Remember, Willow's still suffering from this whole debacle. She can't exactly cope with the things she did, but she's getting better. Try to ignore the Evil Willow part of her for a while. Just until she's ready to talk to all of us about it."

Anya tilted her head, then shrugged again, nodding. "Sure, whatever." She waited until Xander had gone in before poking him in the back. "So what did you do now?"

Xander turned back and scowled at her. "If you must know, I opened my big mouth again, okay? I am the freaking King of the Big Mouths. Are you satisfied?”

Anya smirked and shoved past him into the living room. "Much more than you think I am."

Buffy sighed as she set her things down on the dining room table. They had only just gotten inside and Anya and Xander had already started bickering. Funny how the sex aspect of their relationship had covered that up in the past. She turned to Dawn. "You want pizza, Chinese, or chicken tonight?"

Dawn glanced at her, then wracked her brain. "Uh... Chinese? I don't think we've had it for a while. Giles keeps cooking for us. Can we get snow peas, and chow mein?"

Buffy nodded. "Go grab the phone. Order sweet and sour chicken and pork, uh, snow crab, and, uh, egg rolls, too." Dawn nodded and headed for the phone, but stopped when Buffy called out, "And don't forget the crab rangoon and sesame chicken! Oh, and the batter-dipped shrimp, I'm in the mood to binge tonight. And Dawn, could you also get me a bottle of water and an Advil?" The arguing between Anya and Xander suddenly reached rock concert decibels, and Buffy winced. "I've got the feeling I'm gonna need it."

Dawn nodded, grinning. "Will do. You gonna go get Giles?"

Buffy sighed. "If he hasn't managed to hear that racket, I'm gonna have to."

In a minute, one hand dangling a water bottle at her side and the Advil she'd taken slowly taking affect in her bloodstream, the Slayer trudged up the steps toward Willow's bedroom. Knocking gently, she opened the door.

Willow was sitting on the bed, staring up at Giles, who was pacing around her, lecturing. Willow's green eyes caught sight of Buffy's, and the relief was so unmistakable that Buffy had to bite her lip to keep from giggling. Her former Watcher hadn't even heard her knock.

"Um, Giles?" Willow spoke, grabbing hold of his sweater and tugging gently. Giles stopped mid-tirade and turned around.

"What – oh, Buffy. Yes, of course. How was your day?" he asked, running a hand wearily over his eyes.

The young woman shrugged. "It went. I got there, I did the work, I talked to the kids, I did more work, and I came home. That's about it. Now my question is, why is it that you told Xander about Spike's soulfullness?" she questioned, raising her eyebrows.

Giles didn't disappoint and gave her an appropriately abashed look. "I apologize. I was excited, and you know that things tend to... slip out when that happens. Xander called earlier while I was pouring over my older books, trying to find mention of anyone afflicted like Spike."

Buffy shook her head. "Whatever. I gave him a good talking to for trying to make me feel bad and guilty. He won't be protesting anymore. At least, he better not be." She crouched down beside the bed and smiled. "Hey, Will. How's it going?"

Willow gave her friend a tentative smile in return and let out a deep sigh. "It goes. And it goes. Sometimes it feels like it goes forever, but at least that's getting better, you know?"

Buffy nodded. "Good to hear. Dawn's ordering Chinese downstairs, you feeling up to it? Unless you don't want to hear Anya and Xander screaming at each other, and then it's understandable.”

Willow shrugged. "I think I can manage." The redhead got up from her seat and moved toward the door with a grace unknown. To Buffy, it looked as if she were floating. That had to be a good thing, right? Bad, evil things skulked, nice, good things floated. Or glided. Whatever.

Buffy started to follow her friend when Giles held her back for a moment. "Er, Buffy, could I ask you a favor?"

Buffy groaned and began moving quickly to the stairs. "No, Giles. I've already told you everything I know!"

Giles followed her as fast as he could. "It's just a small favor, Buffy, really, nothing at all like you're thinking!"

"No, Giles!"

"I just want you to bring Spike here, that's all!"

Buffy turned, her eyes wide. Bring Spike here? After everything that had happened? After the horrible cruelty of the dream she'd had last night? Giles wanted her to bring him back to the house?

"Nuh-uh!"

"Buffy, please, if you would just --"

"NO!"

At this point, the rest of the group had surrounded them at the bottom of the stairs and were looking on in mild confusion and bemusement. "Buffy," Giles continued. "I just want to talk to him, find out how he feels, what he remembers, that sort of thing. It's just a simple request! Bring him here!"

"Absolutely not, Giles! Don't you think he'd be overwhelmed with you badgering him from every which way? You'd drive the poor guy insane!"

Giles frowned at her. "You told me he was feeling fine. Perfectly normal. In fact, he hadn't changed a bit, but for the regret and other small things."

Buffy paused. "I... I did. And he... is. But that doesn't mean he'll enjoy having questions thrown at him. The old Spike didn't like that much, either!"

"Well perhaps if you were to stay in here with him, or Dawn, someone he feels comfortable with, just go and get him!"

Buffy pouted. "I don't wanna."

Dawn perked up. "I'll do it!"

At once, Buffy and Giles turned to her and said, in unison, "No, you won't!"

Dawn scowled. "But Buffy won't go get him, and Spike trusts me, so why won't you let me do it?"

Buffy glared at her. "Uh, because you're grounded for sneaking off and lying to me about where you've been going, and not even telling me that Spike was back in the first place?"

Dawn stopped, then sheepishly admitted, "Oh, yeah." Then she frowned. "But he asked me not to tell and I promised! I couldn't break a promise, especially not to him!" Buffy remained steely. Dawn tried again. "If I can't go get him on my own, can I at least come with you? He'll be much more calm at least."

Buffy stopped and looked around. Every face was gazing at her, save for Xander's, but that was expected. Groaning and stomping her foot wasn't going to work, she knew that much. Sighing, she rolled her eyes and pointed at Dawn. "You -- stay here. I'll go and get him."

Giles smiled. He knew she'd see it his way.

"If you pry into anything private, Giles, I am locking you in the basement."

Giles' smile turned into a frown. Well that was uncalled for.

Buffy sighed again, turned, and headed out the door. "Pay the delivery guy, and if you eat all the rangoons and shrimp, I'm hanging you all by the toenails from the telephone wires!"

It was quite possibly the shortest search she'd ever had for him in her life, save for the time he'd escaped Giles' apartment and ended up on the Sunnydale campus grounds within two seconds, thanks to a little prodding from a certain 'will be done' spell. Nearly five minutes after leaving the house, she'd spotted him walking on the opposite side of the street, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his faded black jeans. He'd heard her coming toward him, and she'd ducked into a hedge to avoid being seen.

She wasn't ready for him to see her. Not yet. Not after that dream. What on earth had possessed her to have that dream? She thought she'd gotten over that whole 'wanna jump him now' phase. Now, suddenly, he was everywhere to her. Had this been what he'd gone through when he'd first realized he'd loved her?

She stayed as quiet as possible, waiting to hear his footsteps move away again before sighing in relief and peering out from behind the bush. Looking up, she met a pair of sharp, crystalline blue eyes, and shrieked and fell flat on her ass before slapping her hand over her mouth in embarrassment.

Spike smiled gently; on the inside, he was rolling with laughter, but he managed to compose himself enough in her presence to indulge in a slight amusement. The Slayer was stalking him. It was almost precious.

"You do realize that I could smell as well as hear you, right? Not an effective hidin' job, this," he said jovially, plopping down beside her on the ground, still grinning all the while.

Buffy glared at him. Stupid bleach-blonde hair... stupid eyes... stupid lips, and that stupid sexy smirk that she just wanted to smack right off his face, but not the way she usually did.

Oh no, she was getting over that pesky phase quite nicely.

"Spike," she greeted calmly. "Giles sent me after you. He wants to talk to you. About your soul."

Spike's smile dropped off of his face, and he scowled. "Nothin' doin'. I'm not gonna be Rupert's pet guinea pig here, understand?"

Buffy didn't resist the urge to reassure him. "He just wants to ask you some questions, like what you remember, blah, blah, blah. He's not going to do any tests on you, I promise. And Dawn and I will be sitting right there with you to make sure he doesn't get carried away."

Spike stared at her for a moment before averting his eyes warily and looking almost – embarrassed? "You think I can maybe get a decent meal out of it?”

For a minute Buffy's heart ached painfully at the thought that he wasn't getting enough to eat (before remembering that he ate blood), then at the plaintive way that he'd asked for a meal. He sounded almost like that little boy from the orphanage in that book by that Charles Dickens guy. She mentally shook herself and, forcing a grin onto her face, she said, "We ordered Chinese food for the night." Spike winced at that, and she looked at him in concern before he nodded slowly. "Will you come with me?" she asked, standing up and stretching out her hand.

Spike sat perfectly still for almost exactly a minute, before he tentatively reached forward and took her hand, ignoring the electric sparks that flooded into him at the touch. Buffy herself felt a delicious thrill run down her spine and through her entire body before biting her lip and clasping his hand tightly. Pulling himself up off of the ground, Spike shrugged self-consciously, then nodded again. "Alright... S'pose I could."

Buffy leaned in for the finishing blow. "Dawn really wants you there..."

An amused grin quirked the corners of his lips. "Alright, then. For Nibblet." And you. Don't think I missed that shiver, love.

Buffy smiled. Turning, they set off together back toward Revello Drive, both staying a cautious few places apart, but nonetheless as close as the sidewalk forced them to be.

After a long silence, Spike spoke up. He couldn't resist the temptation. He could feel Buffy's heat radiating off of her, her sweet vanilla scent was plugging up his senses, and they were doing those damn, stupid, naughty, unspeakable things to him. So, naturally, his tongue was as loose as a drunkard's.

"So, love. Have any interestin' dreams last night?"

Buffy's eyes instantly widened, but she managed to turn to him with an air of nonchalance. ACK! He knows! sprung to her mind, but she clamped down on it. It was impossible, after all. Spike couldn't read her mind, no matter how damn perceptive he was. "Not that I remember..." she replied cautiously.

Spike smiled to himself. Her heartbeat had just bounced out of control. "Sure of that, are you? 'Cos a mighty funny thing happened last night..."

Buffy cringed, anticipating the blow. Oh no, oh no...

Spike continued. "See, I came for a little visit after you left. Just to check up on you, mind; you'd seemed a tad... out-of-sorts. Well, when I got to your house, I could have sworn you were sayin' my name. Sounded a bit like you were in trouble. So what -- were you havin' a nightmare, kitten?"

Buffy instantly relaxed. He doesn't know, he doesn't know! "Oh, uh... yeah. Probably. I think. Could have been one of those stupid Slayer dreams for all I know..." He doesn’t need to know that I haven't any since after Faith woke up from her coma three years ago...

Spike nodded. "'S all I wanted to know. You alright?"

Buffy nodded. "Sure. Fine. Better than fine. Peachy keen. Absolutely perfect." Okay, he gets it! Stop rambling! She grinned widely. And unconvincingly.

But that seemed enough for Spike.

At least, until they got to the house.

"So, was I any good?"

Buffy nodded, a goofy smile crossing her lips as she unlocked the door, slumping against it slightly. "Oh... definitely. Amazing… absolutely amaz --" She turned to look at him, and her jaw snapped shut, her smile faltering and flickering before disappearing altogether. She stood up straight. Then blinked before slowly turning to look him in absolute astonishment.

A large grin curled Spike's lips and he gazed at her expectantly, eyebrows raised, when the door shuddered against her sudden dead weight. She opened her mouth to speak, but some way or another, her voice was lost en route past her lips and all that escaped was a tiny, terrified squeak. Her face turned beet red and she could feel her ears begin to burn. Horrified with herself, Buffy turned slowly back toward the door, her hazel green eyes wide and stunned.

"Ohmigod, I did not say that. I did not say that," she muttered as she entered the house.

Spike's low, amused chuckle as he followed her inside was her only response.

To be continued...

AN2: Please forgive the randomly long conversations about Chinese food – I was starving as I wrote that :) Please please please review!

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† the double-edged sword † by AJ Hofacre

Author's Notes:
Many sincere thanks to Holly and Megan for their work betaing this chapter for me. You guys are godsends :)

part nine - the double-edged sword

Spike was NOT happy.

The minute he'd walked into the house--still laughing at Buffy's little slip-up--Giles had practically attacked him, dragging him into the kitchen. When the rest of the gang had entered (and Spike hadn't failed to notice that Xander was seething with hatred whenever the boy wasn't pretending to avert his eyes), Giles had already been well into questioning him about his trip.

He'd relayed the information the best he could -- after all, everything had gone a bit fuzzy since he'd received his soul. Though it was clearer now than it had been the first week, it was still all hazy. Needless to say, Giles had been absolutely fascinated.

"Where did you hear of this legend? How did you manage to get to Africa? What was the name of the tribe that took you in? Where was the cave? What were the tasks you had to accomplish? Why aren't you dead?"

Actually, the last one had been from Xander, which had managed to earn him a dirty look from Buffy and Dawn both. And those were just a few of the many questions that he'd been bombarded with. Luckily, the doorbell had rang, announcing the delivery boy's arrival with the food, effectively cutting Giles's interrogation short.

Thank the Lord that there had been a lot of really good food, and five extremely tired, extremely hungry White Hats present. By the time Spike had finished shredding his sweet-and-sour pork into tiny little pieces with his molars and incisors, Giles had nearly collapsed from exhaustion on the couch with a cup of tea (thankfully not in hand when he actually did collapse -- that would have been painful.)

He sighed with relief when Anya and Xander shoved off, and the rest of the house went to sleep. Buffy hadn't been able to meet his eyes for the rest of the night, and though it amused him greatly when he remembered why, her actions were all-too-familiar, painful reminders of her attitude toward him... before. Naturally, he was more than happy to have some time alone to himself.

He still loved her; this was a given. He couldn't just stop loving her, after all. But now it seemed that she had a thing for him, and he couldn't make heads or tails of it. Granted, he'd known that she'd fancied him for quite a long while -- that pre-wedding couple-ness that Willow's spell had tossed them into... as well as the kisses... and the groping... had somehow managed to bombard his mind when he'd least expected it.

It would be a terrible, awful lie if he said that he hadn't enjoyed some of the... er, situations that his extremely creative imagination had placed them in after that. And he knew Buffy would be lying if she said she'd never thought about it. Ten to one, she'd imagined the feel of Spike's hands and body every time Captain America hadn't been able to launch her the right way. She should have just come to terms with it -- Riley, as a mortal, just could not live up to the sexual stamina of the Slayer. A couple of thrusts, and Riley would've been shot for the night, while (as Buffy had learned not too long ago) Spike could, in fact, go all night long.

Ahem. Not gonna think about that, he mentally admonished himself. He was supposed to be trying to figure out why Buffy, after years of rejection--not to mention mental and physical abuse--had suddenly decided he was the hot and yummy, perfect, loving boyfriend-type after all. Gah... the woman drove him absolutely mad.

It figures, mate. You finally accept that the Slayer's not gonna actually love you, and here she goes, meddlin' things up again inside your head!

ARGH! He HATED it when she did this to him! As if she hadn't tossed him in and out with the damned mind games last year!

He'd been wondering how to deal with the situation of his feelings for Buffy, should extenuating circumstances have brought him face to face with her. Well, he'd been right there with her, in the flesh, for the last seventy-two successive hours or more. And his decision was weighing even more heavily on his nerves. Usually it was Buffy who pulled the, 'I need to be strong, I can't live by my emotions' bullshit that usually resulted in her receiving a spectacular ass-kicking, but now it was Spike's turn. And he had no doubt that his feisty little girl wasn't going to be too pleased about it. After all, if Spike refused his daily routine Kick-The-Puppy job, who was that going to leave Buffy with?

Well, Harris, maybe, but the prat was human, for one -- wouldn't be able to take it. And second, he was still trying to get back into Anyanka's good graces in the hopes she wouldn't build an 'I Hate Xander' fan club and use her powers to fricassee him. Although it would be enormously hilarious to see the self-righteous little prat run screaming down the street with his head on fire.

He shook his head and made headway for the kitchen. He needed something comforting, something soothing, something loving...

Sigh. He needed Joyce. The woman had always managed to be there for him... even though she hadn't exactly been pleased with the truth of Spike's feelings for Buffy toward the end. Still, she'd been as good to him as his own mum had been. Just then, he could have sworn his heart had suddenly, painfully pulsed with the desperate edge of regret for not getting the chance to smooth things over with her before she'd passed. He missed Joyce -- truly, truly missed her. The elder Summers woman had been one-of-a-kind and, despite the fact that the Slayer and her friends hadn't deemed him worthy to be informed of her untimely (and unfair) demise, she had taken away a part of him. She'd taken away part of the humanity still inside of him, part of the humanity that she, and Dawn, and Buffy had managed to replace.

God. He really wished that there was a way to bring the woman back. He really needed to unload. And he really needed her hot chocolate.

What the hell was he bitching for? She'd shown him the recipe, for Christ's sake! He smiled wryly to himself. She'd shown her family recipe to him, so he could make it. She'd shown it to Dawn as well, the cocoa being the only thing the teenager could really make without somehow managing to set fire to the curtains all the way on the other side of the kitchen from the stove. But Joyce hadn't shown the recipe to Buffy. And frankly, he still couldn't understand why.

Maybe it was because Buffy possessed that remarkable ability to burn water in a pan. Spike's shoulders slumped, the melancholy feeling once again invading his thoughts. Or maybe Joyce had thought that Buffy would never live long enough to pass it on.

Gathering all the necessary tools and ingredients, Spike set to work, and within minutes, he was sitting down at the island, his head bowed, his hands around the warm, fulfilling mug.

Mentally, he asked himself if this was all worth it. All of this, going to Africa in the first place, coming back to Sunnydale, coming here, to the Slayer's home, yards away from where he'd actually had the nerve to... "convince" her to love him, all to end up with his chip out of his head, and a soul that made him regret ever having been brought into the world.

The only reason he had stayed here tonight was because Dawn had batted those beautiful blue eyes at him and begged him to.

He smiled gently when he thought of Dawn. He wouldn't admit it out loud to anyone who wasn't her, or Buffy for that matter (and probably not even them), but he absolutely adored the girl. He'd been wary of her when Dawn had deemed him 'cool' and had started visiting him at the crypt, when he realized that she found him intriguing and knew she wasn't afraid. Oh, no, not his little Dawnie. Never afraid of him. He had a fond recollection (though he knew it wasn't real) from years before when he'd offered his deal to Buffy for Dru. When Joyce had driven up behind them, he hadn't seen the little brown-haired girl in the back, but her yelp of surprise when Buffy and Spike had destroyed Angelus' minion had clued him in -- the Slayer had a younger sister. When they'd all gone inside the house following Buffy's announcement of her identity, Spike recalled being alternately amused and irritated at the sight of a pair of glimmering blue eyes, gazing defiantly at him from the living room doorway. Dawn, in typical rebellious preteen fashion, had turned her nose up at her mother's request for her to go to bed, opting instead to see "what latest fashion crisis Sunnydale decided to spit out now."

He chuckled silently when he recalled the indignant snort he'd given her, coming quite close to threatening to eat her before realizing that a very formidable duo of mother and Slayer were in the room, and that there were more pressing matters at hand.

When he thought of Dawn... it was worth coming back. It was worth the dirty looks Harris gave him, the furtive, unsure frowns Giles sent his way, the fishhooks that tended to affect Anya's eyebrows from memories of their last... meeting, the slight anxiety that radiated from Red, and Buffy's tentative glances and general uneasiness. Dawn was the closest thing he had to a sister, and she had been the only one that hadn't shunned him for what he physically was, aside from Joyce. Dawn was worth it. And he owed that girl a lot.

Speak of the devil.

"Spike?" A soft, sleepy voice came from the doorway. The blond tilted his head up curiously, frowning slightly when he saw Dawn.

"Dawn-luv? What're you doin' up?"

Dawn shrugged, rubbing her left arm. "I wasn't tired," she said, yawning.

Spike smirked. "Is that so, pet?"

She grinned sheepishly. "Okay, so I wanted to come see you when Giles wasn't making an absolute lunatic of himself for information. Don't tell me you weren't glad to see him finally go to sleep?"

Spike held up his hands, smiling gently. "Caught me. What'd you wanna see me for, Bitlet?"

She stumbled toward him, yelping and cringing as her bare feet came in contact with the cold kitchen floor. She plopped down with little grace onto a stool next to him before resting her head on his arm. "Just wanted to see how you were holding up. You looked fine when you first got here, but you got quieter as Giles's grilling went on." She smiled at him slightly, looking up. "He's always yelling at Anya for not having any tact, but it's kinda the pot calling the kettle black, you know?"

Spike sighed, shaking his head. "Better believe I do."

He became silent then, and stayed that way for so long that Dawn thought he'd nearly frozen on her. Gently, she nudged him in the side. "Well? Are you?"

He glanced at her. "Am I what?"

"Okay. All right. Calm. Peaceful, serene. You know, the opposite of what Giles made you feel?"

Spike snorted. "Don't know if there's a full recovery from that, Bit. But yeh... 'm all right. Better'n I have been, last coupla weeks."

Dawn sat up. "Is it 'cos of being here, with me and Buffy? Or is it the soul?"

Spike raised his eyebrows, contemplating it for a moment. "Normally, I'd say it was the soul, full stop. Angel was one thing - I was something completely different. Angel was forced to accept his soul, I got mine back, my original one, on my own. I just figured... it might be different for me. I killed people, I know I did. An' I feel guilt, I do. But for all I've done, I was never as bad as Angelus. I had my moments, yeh, but I don' think anyone could've passed up Peaches in the evil department. But to answer your question, ducks, I think 's both. Soul's more'n common sense, you know. 'S... instinct, almost. Bein' here, 'round you an' Buffy, bein' back here in this bloody Godforsaken little town... Make's it better. Just a little bit."

Dawn leaned her arm on the countertop to stare at him properly. "Spike? Are you glad you came back to Sunnydale?"

Spike smiled, reaching his hand up to muss up Dawn's already messy hair. "Nibblet. When I see you, an' when I see Buffy... I don't think I could ever be more glad." An enormous smile broke out over Dawn's face, and she giggled in agreement at Spike's next words: "Still bloody hate this town, though."

"I always expect you to," Dawn answered, eyes twinkling. She brightened slightly as she noticed Spike's mug. "Is that Mom's hot chocolate? Is there more? Or did you drink it all?"

He waved vaguely in the direction of the stove. "There's more. 'S in the pan. Figured I'd leave some for the lot of you, but if you drink it all... well, more's the pity, eh? 'S not my fault."

Dawn snorted as she wandered to the cupboard, snatching out a mug before meandering toward the stove, and pouring whatever remained of the hot chocolate into it. "Oh, sure! Blame it all on me!"

Spike raised his eyebrow at her, nodding to the now-empty saucepan. "It is all your fault. You just snatched the rest of it, pet."

"Minor technicalities."

Spike leaned forward on the island, putting his head in his hands. "'m gonna have to make more, aren't I?"

Dawn grinned. "Yuh-huh."

"Get the milk out, Nibs," he ordered, pushing himself out from under the countertop, standing up and shuffling to the stove to continue slave labor. He heard another derisive snort and turned to the side to look at Dawn, whose arms were folded tightly across her chest.

"I don't wanna get the milk. I wanna pour the Hershey's. Then you can put in the milk and chocolate chunk bits," she announced clearly, head high.

Spike scowled. Okay. Maybe he hadn't missed Dawn all that much. "Dawn, just get the milk, 's not gonna kill ya."

"Yes, it will," she replied cheerily.

His frown deepened, and he moved toward a cupboard to get the chocolate sauce. "All 'm asking for is the bloody milk, Dawn. Now, be a perfect little love, and get it."

"Not with you ordering me around like that."

Spike closed his eyes as he pulled out the contents necessary, before standing up straight and squaring his shoulders. "I take it, then, that you want me to inform Buffy of a certain incident involving, say, your mum's old Jeep?"

That did it. Pretty eyes widened and Dawn raced for the fridge, dancing back to him with the milk carton in hand. "Got it!" she said, a painful-looking smile stretched wide across her face. Spike smirked, taking it from her and pouring the right amount of milk into the saucepan before handing it back to her. Dawn dutifully returned the container back to the refrigerator's cool confines, then remained silent and at attention at Spike's side when she returned.

After about a minute, while watching him break off pieces of chocolate, she spoke up again. Pretty damn good. She lasted a whole fifteen seconds more'n last time. "So... can I pour the Hershey's now?"

Spike snatched the bottle to his chest protectively. "No."

Dawn's eyes widened, and she immediately made a grab for it. "Please?"

"No! You'll bugger it up somehow an' I'll end up covered in it!"

Dawn tugged harder. "No you won't! You're safe from the chocolate sauce, I promise! Just lemme pour it!"

Spike held on as tight as he could, not noticing when the cap popped off. Dawn pulled the bottle to her slowly but surely, her feet slipping along underneath her, pulling her towards Spike. Spike gritted his teeth, tugging it back. It was amazing, really. Dawn was almost matching him in strength, and she didn't even have any of the powers of a Slayer.

Unfortunately, Dawn apparently really did hold a woman's prerogative to change her mind, and she suddenly decided that her arms were becoming sore from the impromptu tug-of-Hershey's-war. Which meant letting go of the bottle. Causing Spike to tighten his hold on it and stumble backwards, squirting himself right in the face, from slick blonde hair to muscular white neck. With chocolate. Room-temperature, sticky, brown, incredibly-hard-to-wash-out chocolate sauce.

Dawn's eyes widened. Not just from the incredibly huge mistake of inadvertently pouring chocolate over Spike, but... well... Chocolate-Covered Spike. It just had a really nice ring to it.

Spike scowled at her. "Safe from the chocolate sauce, eh?"

Dawn grinned sheepishly. "Well... you would have been if you'd have just let me pour it."

"Nibblet..."

"Sorry..."

"What's going on down here?" a new voice, laced with a wide yawn, popped out from the otherwise silent kitchen. Spike and Dawn both turned to witness a pink-jammies clad Willow, stumbling barefoot into the kitchen, rubbing at her eyes. She froze when she saw the brown liquid mass formerly known as Spike. For a second (through chocolate-smeared eyes), Spike thought he saw a tiny smirk quirk her lips. Then, slowly, without missing a beat, she turned and headed toward the living room.

"Buffy! Dawn melted Spike!"

Buffy closed her eyes, her head resting in one of the hands she had leaning on the kitchen counter. After Willow's slightly amused summons, she'd raced down the stairs in a blind panic expecting to find a pile of ash on the floor, considering that when vampires melted... well, they didn't turn into a big puddle of formerly human goo. She knew he could take care of himself; he didn't need the Big Bad Slayer to fuss and coddle him... it didn't stop her from worrying, though.

Okay, so really, it was no use trying to delude herself. The face must hide what the heart doth know. Or something like that. It was from Macbeth--she knew that much--and she probably got it wrong anyway, but what was wrong with a little modifying? Anyway, she knew very well that it was full-fledged terror that had been stampeding through her veins when Willow had called her down. She'd honestly thought that Dawn had somehow managed to light the vampire on fire, and she'd be seeing nothing but the really dusty version of Spike's impromptu attempt to Play Dead.

Instead, she'd gotten all worked up and scared, only to find a chocolate-covered Spike -- so not what she needed to see, especially the way she'd been feeling around him lately. Sex dream about Spike, coupled with the shock of seeing him looking absolutely yummy covered in chocolate sauce kinda made things worse.

So now, she was trying to find a way to get back to sleep and trying to calm her frazzled nerves. Not that she'd been sleeping all that well in the first place. Spike knew about her dream, the smug bastard, and though he'd obviously been amused, he had—somehow unexpectedly—decided not not to push it with her. He hadn't said a thing about it, and it was really, really... surprising. Well, it shouldn't have been, really. He was still Spike; he just had a soul now.

He must have inherited the tact he'd formerly had right along with it.

Stop being mean! the Pro-Spike side of her brain scolded. If it wasn't for you playing push-and-pull with him, he could've been nicer without the soul. You forced him to get it, so now if he's all kind and gentle and nice and weepy, then it's your fault, so you get to deal with it!

She's got a point, said the other. Even if he is obsessive and freaky and downright scary sometimes, you pulled him further into it, and into your own messed up life. Suck it up and stop trying to trade it off already!

Great. Even the Anti-Spike side was against her. I thought you hated him and everything he stood for! she accused angrily.

Anti-Spike sighed and rolled her not-really-there eyes. I did. Till you warped him, and he got a soul. Plus, now that I think about it, he is pretty hot. I can see why you listened to her so much last year, she finished, gesturing to Pro-Spike.

Pro-Spike jumped up and down, clapping her hands giddily. I KNEW you'd see it my way sooner or later! Score one for me!

Buffy's head jerked and she lifted her face up from where it had fallen into the table. Okay. This mental conversation was getting a little too freaky, even for She-Who-Hangs-Out-In-Cemeteries. Seven years of really crappy relationships combined with the paranormal and the abnormal, not to mention the whole slaying gig and constantly arguing with her inner self (or selves, in this case) was enough to make anyone beg for a lifetime in the local mental institute.

Fortunately, she wasn't completely there yet. She figured she had about one more apocalypse to go before she was allowed to be dragged in, kicking and screaming. It was times kinda like this when she wondered why the Other World hadn't worked out. Then she remembered -- Big Stinky Demon with a habit of stabbing and filling someone with hallucinogens.

Apparently, she'd managed to bore Pro-And-Anti-Spike with her train-derailing-the-track thought processes. They were both crying out, in a subtle sort of way, for more Spike.

Well, they were just going to have to survive without any. Spike-thoughts were bound to make her head hurt. Not like it didn't already, but she was definitely feeling end-of-the-world sized migraine potential here.

"Pet?"

Strike that, make it universal annihilation.

Wearily, she glanced up, then jumped back when she realized just how close to her he really was. "God! Don't do that! It was annoying without the soul, and it still is with it!"

That's it, be Snarky!Bitch!Buffy. Ignore the fact that the Blue Eyes from Hell are boring right through you. Don't pay any attention to the fact that his hair's all wet and mussed and curly. Stay away from the ideas that are popping into your head because he's obviously still wet from his shower. Don't look at the way that T-shirt is practically molded to his chest, and don't think about the fact that his jeans are so tight that -- Ack!

Spike snorted mirthlessly. "Good to know 've still got what it takes to make you nervous." Buffy squawked indignantly, but Spike, rolling his eyes, continued. "Shut up, would you? I need to talk to you about something."

She had half a mind to squawk even more, and then punch him in the nose for telling her to shut up, but there was something in his voice that made her... well, shut up. She frowned. "What is it?"

Spike sighed, scratching his head. His little fiasco with the kitchenware and Dawn had tossed his mind right off the track it had been driving on... not like it had actually stayed there for very long when the AD part of his ADHD had kicked in... But he'd had enough time to himself in the shower to think about it now.

It was time that he started to think about things without Buffy obnoxiously shoving her way through everything he said and did. He had a soul now -- he really didn't want to be Depression Guy, and he'd stake himself if he got all broody like his grandsire -- and damned if he did, damned if he didn't, he was going to use it to its full potential. No more living life trotting after the Slayer as her lap dog. No more letting everyone else walk all over him, especially that pansy, Harris. He loved Buffy -- he would always love her -- but he was finally going to move on. Whether he had to lie his ass off about it or not.

Considering he'd had over a hundred and twenty years of being twenty-six to grow up, he thought it was pretty damn amazing that he'd finally done it. Love's Bitch was no more.

" 'm over you."

"Gwah?"

Buffy's jaw had flapped open. Vaguely, she became aware of this, and managed to snap it shut again, but words failed her, and her mouth began opening and closing like a trout gasping for water. Eventually, she managed to draw out something that was classified as human speech.

"O-Over me?" As opposed to when you were under me? Ooh. Bad Buffy.

Spike bit his lip. Eek. He looked nervous. This wasn't good. The only other time he had ever looked nervous was the first time he'd told her he loved her, and she'd rejected his pleas for a crumb with a resounding "No," and a punch to the face.

Crap. This meant he was telling her the truth. Not the snarky, 'Kick my ass if you don't like it' truth, but the 'I'm being as honest as possible, and I'm sorry' truth.

Breathing. Calm. Don't hyperventilate. Maybe you misheard him. Over you? Bah! This is Spike! He doesn't get over anyone!

"Yeah. 'm over you." The widening of her eyes, not to mention the stunned, murderous look in them aroused his self-preservation instincts and he instantly backed away, hands up in surrender. "It's nothing you did, pet, I swear it. I love you, I do, I always will." He looked up at her, biting his lip again. "Don't think I could survive if I didn't."

It was out -- that had been the first time he'd said he loved her since she'd discovered him at the crypt. He hadn't even told her that when he had relayed his journey to her. Buffy swallowed heavily.

This... this wasn't fair. He wasn't supposed to do this to her. She was supposed to be the one that always broke up with him, not the other way around! Not that they were together. Not together equaled no breaking up-age. But still... he was the one calling for the end-age of their... non-relationshippy relationship... thing. It felt like her heart was being ripped out.

Spike was supposed to be the one who'd stay.

He seemed to be reading her mind. " 'm not goin' anywhere, luv," he murmured gently, coming forward again and kneeling in front of her. He took her hands and tentatively covered them with his own, relaxing a little when she didn't flinch, jerk them away or punch him. " 'm still gonna be right here in Sunnyhell. 'm still gonna be here whenever you an' Bitlet need me." He glanced up at her, his eyes begging and pleading. "But I can't wait for you, Buffy. I can't just sit there anymore an' hope that everything you say or do in front of me is one day gonna magically tell me that you love me."

Her world was shattering. "B-But..." I do love you! Ask me! I'll tell you! I swear I will, just don't go! Don't leave me like the others! she wanted to cry out. The best she came up with was, "Why? I mean... you know about my dream, so... why?"

A fond smile crossed his lips. "It's not the dream, luv, though 'm flattered you still think about me that way." He looked up at her then, solemnly, all his adoration and devotion still conveyed plainly in his eyes. His answer broke her heart. " 'S because I need to live. I love you more'n life itself, Buffy, more'n anything 've ever loved in this world. But 've got to move on. This thing... between us, whatever it is... 's not going anywhere. Never will, because you don't love me, an' I don't expect you to. I don't deserve your love." He took a deep breath. " 'm not leavin' forever, pet. 'm always gonna be one crypt away, whenever you need me."

He stood up, and suddenly, Buffy panicked. Despite his assurances that he wasn't leaving Sunnydale, that he would still be around for patrolling or for assisting to take down the next apocalypse, or hell, even for keeping a promise to Dawn for a game of cards, she desperately reached for his hand when he turned to leave the kitchen. The familiar electric bolt made itself known, leaping between their bodies with enough power to send them flying apart. Spike turned back, his lower lip trembling, with questioning eyes.

Buffy sucked her lower lip in self-consciously. She nearly withdrew her hand and reverted to Self-Righteous Bitch!Buffy, but all at once, Pro-And-Anti-Spike began bombarding her mind. Say it! Don't let him walk away! Say it, Buffy, say it! shrieked Pro-Spike, while Anti-Spike hollered Don't you dare pull the bitch card! I will give you such a migraine if you even think of pulling the bitch card! As if to reinforce that threat, she felt a twinge of pain along her temples. Oh, Lord, her voices were manifesting themselves.

Well, as long as they didn't turn her into Drusilla. They'd made their points loud and clear.

She swallowed hard, squeezing his hand gently. "Please don't leave, Spike?"

Spike's back went rigid -- she could feel him tense right through her connection with his hand. He straightened and looked down at her. Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself. "Give me a reason."

She frowned. "What?" Okay, weird. She'd thought that by simply asking him, he'd automatically turn back, scoop her into his arms and plaster kisses all over her face, telling her he wouldn't abandon her after all.

"Give me a reason why you want me to stay," he repeated. "I'm not giving you an ultimatum, luv. Not intentionally. I'm just asking... if you feel anything for me... at all. If you can even give me the slightest hint that one day, you could ever... care for me..." His gaze turned pleading. "Buffy, please. If there's any part of you at all that could ever love me, tell me now. Please. Don't let me walk away from you, I'm beggin' you."

It was so obvious to her now that he didn't truly want to leave her. She knew instantly, no matter what he said, that he would never, could never truly be over her. He wanted to stay with her, wanted to be given a reason to stay so he wouldn't completely break her, even if he had to wait for an eternity to hear something affectionate from her. He wanted hope, and at least the tiniest bit of kindness. That was all. And Buffy had the answer he wanted. Pro-Spike was hollering her head off now. This is your chance! Tell him! TELL HIM! Tell him you love him!

Buffy started to open her mouth... and nothing happened.

Spike swallowed roughly, taking that as his response. "Right." He ducked his head, refusing to look at her. "Shouldn't've gotten me hopes up." He smiled at the floor grimly, drawing a deep breath. "I mean, even with the bloody soul, 'm a horrible thing. Can't see why you would." He heard her draw a sharp breath and start to speak, but held his hand up. "Don't. Please, Buffy. Just... let me have the little bit of dignity I have left. Okay?" He looked up and smiled weakly. " 'S better this way, anyway. You wanted normal, right? Vampire who willingly got his soul back... not exactly normal."

He leaned down, kissing her forehead. " 'll see you 'round, sweetheart."

He walked out the backdoor, not looking back.

And Buffy stared in stunned silence after the man she'd just let pass her by.

Spike had nearly made it to his crypt before he'd broken down. His shoulders began heaving and shaking, and he began breathing heavily, uncontrollably, nearly hyperventilating. By the time he'd made it to the cemetery gates, he was full on sobbing, resting his head against the wrought-iron gates and gasping out his agony.

Leaving Buffy the way he had was most definitely the hardest thing he'd ever done. It had to be -- he hadn't cried this hard since her funeral. Now, telling her he was over her, accepting that he had to move on, was getting to be his biggest regret.

How could he ever move on from Buffy?

And, after all, if he was so over her... then why was his heart breaking into infinitesimal pieces on the ground?

When his sobs had slowed to whimpers, and the whimpers to sniffles, he entered the cemetery, wiping his eyes with the backs of his hands furiously. He hated this -- he hated every single bit of it. Why couldn't the bitch come down off of her pedestal for just ONE second and admit what Spike had known since the minute he'd first laid eyes on her? Why couldn't she ignore her stupid sacred duty bullshit spiel and her even more idiotic friends' opinions about him for once, and just admit that she loved him?

But fine. If she didn't want to say it... well, he couldn't force her. Maybe, one day, she'd learn to think for herself. Maybe one day, she'd stop listening to everyone else's convictions and admit it, to him, and herself.

And when that day came... wherever he was, whatever he was doing, whoever he was with... he'd drop it or them in a heartbeat and race straight back for her. What could he say? He was a complicated man, but he did have simple needs and a simple life. There was only ever going to be one woman who could twist his heart around, put it through the grinder, before taking it out and soothing the sores, and succeed in only making him love her more. No one was ever going to take Buffy's place.

He was so intent on his thoughts that he walked straight past Clem, resulting also in not hearing his name being called by the good-natured, floppy-skinned demon the first, oh, ten times he'd shouted it.

It finally took Clem diving in front of him and springing his own version of a game face on Spike to make the bleach-blond stop in place, blinking in surprise. "Clem? What's wrong, mate?" he asked, frowning.

Clem panted. "I've been trying to get your attention for the last minute! Where have you been?"

Spike's eyebrows drew themselves together, creasing. "At Buffy's, why?" Then he grimaced. "Could you put away the tentacles?"

Clem shook his head frantically, retracting into his normal features, then looked at Spike worriedly. "I only went out for a half-hour, Spike, I swear. I don't know who did it, but the crypt is completely destroyed. I came back, and the whole place was leveled, nothing was standing straight up!"

Spike's eyes widened, and he spun, sprinting toward the general vicinity of his home. Vaguely, he heard Clem padding along behind him, trying to keep up, but he refused to slow down until he saw it for himself.

And yes -- there it was. Or rather, there it had been. He stepped forward, his eyes darting around frantically in hopes of seeing something that wasn't completely destroyed. Launching himself on to the rubble, he began digging, sifting the powder away until he found the hole in the ground that had led to his basement bedroom. Climbing down (for some reason, the ladder had been left intact), he stood still and gazed around in absolute horror.

It was all gone. Nothing had been left whole. Not one. Sodding. Thing. His home had been destroyed.

He was homeless.

He laughed bitterly at the cruel irony of it. He'd put out so many people, killed them, destroyed them, right along with their houses, and he'd reveled in it, reveled in their fear and grief... And now someone had done the exact same thing to him, short of killing him.

He'd nearly lost his sanity. He'd lost any ideals of a relationship with Buffy. He'd lost his home. He had nothing left. He'd lost everything.

He turned and climbed back up the ladder, scrambling over the remains of his domain, when he tripped, fell forward on his hands, and saw something half-hidden by the debris. If memory served him correctly, it had been taken by Willow sometime after the Birthday Party That Wouldn't End last year. A week after Dawn had been set back down firmly on the straight and narrow, but only a few days before he and Buffy had broken up.

Shrugging off the bad memories, he smiled and picked up the slightly torn picture of himself and Dawn scowling menacingly at the camera, her wearing plastic fangs and make-up, and himself in game face, baring his teeth while the Buffy in the background had her arms crossed and leaned haughtily against the wall, her raised eyebrows and annoyed demeanor making her exasperation with them clear.

Okay. So maybe he hadn't lost everything.

He tucked the picture into his back pocket as Clem stumbled over to him. "Is there anything left?" the demon asked tentatively, tilting his head.

Spike pursed his lips together gently, patting his back pocket and sighing. Slowly, he nodded and smiled. "One thing." Suddenly, he frowned. "No idea who did this? Nobody new that's got a grudge against me?"

Clem shook his head. "Not that I remember. I just came back from getting some chips" -- he held up the slightly crinkled orange bag -- "at the local demon-mart, and it was like this."

Spike shook his head. "Looks like 'm gonna have to go house-huntin'," he said, a wry smile twisting his lips. Then he frowned again. "Where the hell am I gonna stay?"

Clem scrunched up his face -- the only time that he looked more human than demon -- in thought, then snapped his fingers. "Why don't you try Buffy? She'd take you in, wouldn't she?"

Spike paused -- all physical motion and all mental thoughts came to a complete stand-still. Then he scowled and glared up at the sky, cursing the Powers That Be. "You bloody ponces think you're funny as hell, doncha?!" he roared. Clem stared at him in confusion until Spike shook his head. "C'mon, Clem. Looks like we both need a good home. Hope the Slayer doesn't mind a coupla strays." He scowled at the sky again. "Bloody imbeciles."

Clem shrugged, unfurling the bag of Doritos and pulling out a handful, feasting on them hungrily as he followed Spike back to Revello Drive.

Behind the trees that surrounded the area beyond Spike's former crypt, a pair of alarmingly bright green eyes followed the vampire and the floppy-eared demon's progress, an eager, wicked smirk curling her lips.

When she'd come across Angel all those years ago, it had been absolute jubilation for her. Manipulating him in his situation with the newly-human yet dying Darla had been a non-stop pleasure. And it was even more fun when he took the insanity she'd dosed him with a step further and allowed Darla and Drusilla a full lawyer buffet.

She hadn't appeared in her physical form, of course -- that would've been too obvious. She'd simply changed to one of her animal forms and had attacked his mind with hers. She'd invoked the lunacy that had resulted in him abandoning his odd human "friends."

It was going to be fun trying to see what would take down Spike. She had followed him all the way from Africa, the second she had sensed the glaringly obvious neon glow-in-the-dark 'I HAVE A SOUL -- TORTURE ME!' sign pointing at the vampire's head.

But Spike seemed stronger than that idiot Angel. Smarter, no doubt. It would be difficult trying to turn him around.

But she was going to try her damnedest.

Now all she had to do was lure him in. Bit by bit. Before destroying every little bit of what made this pathetic facade of a life with mortals worthwhile. Crying over the Slayer of all people? Pah. Spike was a Vampire, a Master Vampire at that. The Slayer should be bowing down on her scrawny little legs, begging him to eat her and make it painful.

Well. She was around now. And she was going to make sure that Spike remembered what being a proper vampire was like.

Now. What to do about that pesky soul.

She chuckled. "Oh, dear. This will be fun."

To be continued...

Back to index

† venom † by AJ Hofacre

Author's Notes:
Thank you, Megan :)

part ten - venom

Buffy was still in the exact same position she'd been in for the fifteen minutes since he'd left. She feared that her mind had just been completely devastated. After all, Spike had just left. Spike, the one that kept coming back to Sunnydale because of her -- and she knew he'd come back because of her, so there was no denying it, and she wasn't being vain. No one could hate their mortal enemy so much that they would keep coming back and getting their asses repeatedly kicked.

Then again, when had Spike ever been the typical mortal enemy?

Anyway, she'd been in her own little world, still trying desperately to believe that Spike had not just walked out, and that she was just dreaming a really bad dream, so it was just natural that she jumped nearly three feet off the stool only to fall flat on her ass when the door to the kitchen was jerked open.

She turned and stared wide-eyed when Spike entered, Clem following behind docilely and munching on some chips.

She stood up and watched him quietly, triumphant in her efforts to remain cool and aloof, never mind her success at not throwing herself at him, kissing, apologizing and begging him to give her another chance. Years of hiding her pain and fear behind a blank stare and, more often, anger had made her the perfect little actress and she was pleased to see Spike nervously shifting at her glare.

"Spike. You're back," she said frowning, as if admonishing him for daring to re-enter her home. Her eyebrows drew themselves together, and her eyes narrowed. "I thought you couldn't bear to be around me," she added snidely, smiling to herself when Spike winced.

Spike, meanwhile, sighed. He'd known what reception he'd receive the minute he'd seen his decimated crypt. Buffy was really the only person he could have gone to for help. The demon community wanted to kill him, save for Clem and the kitten poker group. The human persuasion wasn't much better -- well, the butcher was probably the only person that counted anyway, next to Jake, the guy that had temporarily taken over Willy's job at the Alibi Room when the dirty, sneaky little weasel had gotten into trouble with his underground dealings. Both men were fully aware of his vampire status, as well as the current not so evilness of him, but neither would avidly offer him and Clem room and board together.

Tara, unfortunately -- and here Spike's heart gave a sad twinge -- was out of the question, though he felt sure that the sweet little Wicca would have opened her home to Spike and Clem without question, had she still been among them.

Harris hated him, and while Mr. Flabby had taken somewhat of a liking to Clem, if Spike was a part of the package I-need-a-home deal, they'd be rejected in an instant. No matter what Dawn told the carpenter about Spike, the little bastard was too much of a hard-headed, biased pretentious prat to ever allow something as innocuous as friendship occur between them. Spike and Xander had a common bond and it was called seething hatred -- Xander, because of what Spike was, and Spike because of what Xander would only let him be.

There was Anya, but recent memories made that thought derail quickly. Though she would be the most accepting of two more demons into her midst, Demon-Girl was a definite no-no, especially considering the circumstances between her and Spike. Wasn't it enough that Spike had killed Buffy's spirit with that tryst, but that he'd embarrassed himself and Anya with the whole group watching as they took their grief out on each other?

Damn it.

Unfortunately for Spike, the next two choices -- Rupert and Willow -- were null and void as both currently had clemency, living with the object of his affections.

So the only one left was Buffy -- who was going to kill him. He was really dreading imposing on her, especially now after his little 'I can't wait forever' speech.

Or, hey, maybe she'd at least hold off bodily torture. She didn't yet know why he'd come back, and besides, she liked Clem. If she allowed Clem to stay, then she had to allow Spike to stay, too, since Clem would be happier that way. His Bit would put up a hellacious raucous if she found out that Buffy had tried to keep her away from Spike again. And he was positive that Red would need a good bit of support, and a good while away from the well-meaning but otherwise completely insane Watcher, too. Not to mention that Giles would love not having to hunt Spike down during the mornings, or waiting until evenings to study the blond vampire like a lab rat. So really, things were four to one in his favor.

Okay, so maybe he was getting ahead of himself, but it was worth a bloody try.

He looked up at Buffy and took a deep breath. "Somebody destroyed the crypt," he said.

At once, Buffy's eyes widened, and her Slayer half came on alert. Destruction of property had apparently become her specialty. "What? How? Who did it, do you know?"

Spike shook his head, looking towards Clem. "Clem's the one that told me."

The wrinkly demon nodded his head, his lips -- or at least where his lips should have been -- covered in the orange cheesy dusting from the Doritos. "Came back from the market, and there it was -- the whole thing, completely levelled. Didn't see anybody around, but whoever it was did a real number on it. All that stone and stuff, everything from the inside out? It's all just dust now. Not even the basement-room survived."

Spike turned back to Buffy and gave her a wry half-smile. "Guess who's homeless, Buff."

Buffy frowned. Well that sucked. She usually couldn't stand the crypt -- except for the basement and the memories of what had usually gone on down there was most definitely giving her the warm-fuzzies -- but she hadn't wanted the damned place demolished.

And poor Clem and Spike! Wait, no, not poor Spike, she was mad at him. But poor Clem! He was homeless now, and unfortunately, so was Spike, and -- oh, no, no, no. That was why he'd come back. Spike thought he could get a freebie with the Head of House since he'd actively participated in banging her last year. She scowled at him. Figures. She’d thought he'd changed, but the smug bastard was just as sneaky and conniving as he usually was, of course, and naturally he was going to try to persuade her with that lazy, pleading, sloe-eyed gaze of his and --

Damn it.

She really hated those stupid eyes.

Grudgingly, she sighed and swept her arm behind her. "Why don't you two stay here for a while," she offered sarcastically.

Spike tried as hard as he could not to smile. "Oh, no, Slayer, we couldn't impose, we just stopped by to let you know that I -- or we -- have got ourselves a new enemy and --"

Buffy scowled. "Spike, shut up and come inside, would you? Come on in, Clem," she added kindly to the other demon, who had been watching Buffy and Spike's verbal clash with his head swivelling back and forth between them as though he was watching a tennis match.

Clem trotted happily inside. Who was he to argue where he stayed? So long as they had a TV and those nifty little Fritos scoop things, he was happy.

Spike followed at a slower pace, his smile disappearing as his handsome face became more serious. Standing in front of Buffy, he gently took her hand and bent down slightly to look her in the face. "Thanks for this, Buffy. Really. I don't mean to do this to you, but I just..." Spike paused, biting his lower lip, then continued. "I don't have anywhere else to go." He looked past her at Clem. "Neither does he. We need a place, and we didn't really have a lot of choices. I just hope things won't be awkward between us...?" he trailed off, gazing at her uncertainly.

Oh, yes, she really hated those eyes. She bit her lower lip and shook her head sadly, giving his hand a squeeze. "No, Spike. It's no problem at all."

Spike smiled at her a bit, then leaned forward and gave her a tentative kiss on the forehead. Leaning back, he chucked her gently under the chin -- a father-like gesture that shocked the hell out of her since it came from Spike -- and sighed. "Thanks, luv. I really appreciate this."

He turned and walked out of the room without another word, presumably heading to the living room to crash on the couch.

"No problem," she whispered when he was out of the room. Buffy's shoulders slumped brokenly, her hope wilting in despair, and she blinked back the bitter sting of her tears. He really must have gotten over her. He'd gone from giving her looks of love and longing, to chucking her under the chin and giving her forehead kisses.

And it was her fault, because she hadn't spoken up and told him that she wanted more -- that she wanted him.

Wrapping her arms around herself, she rubbed her shoulders and walked to the living room. Her eyes settled on the two new additions to the household, Spike stretched out on the couch, shirtless and just settling in, and Clem curled up on the floor like a dog, surrounded and sleeping on so many pillows that it looked like a failed attempt at a pillow fortress. She smiled slightly at the sight. Whenever Clem snored, his teeth showed, and he let out a soft growl right along with it -- though he looked as harmless as a puppy, he seemed to be Spike's guard dog.

Frowning, she looked up to see that the curtains were still open -- something extremely careless from Spike. She had just gotten him back (even though she didn't really have him) and she wasn't going to lose him because the damn curtains hadn't been drawn. Stepping around Fluffy Guard Dog Clem—and being equally careful not to get her legs anywhere near those damn sharp teeth—she leaned across Spike and drew the curtains shut, pausing only once when she saw a flash of gold. Frowning, she peered into the darkness more closely and, seeing nothing, pulled back. She looked down at Spike and sighed, then leaned down and kissed his forehead.

"Goodnight, love," she murmured softly before turning and heading toward the stairs. She snorted to herself, shaking her head. "No problem at all... pfft. Yeah, right."

As she walked up the stairs, Spike turned onto his back and watched her tiny figure silently, a tired, gentle smile crossing his lips. Yawning, he snuggled back into the fluffy cushions and let his eyes close.

The Dark One watched as the blonde head appeared, glancing out the window. Snarling slightly to herself in disgust, she only just noticed when her own eyes flashed a brilliant yellow-gold before she blinked – and the effect disappeared. Instead, shaking her black mane furiously, she seethed when the blonde leaned closer to peer outside, then closed the drapes when she apparently saw nothing.

Turning away when she was in the clear, she transformed, loping across the yard, her thin agile body moving with the grace of the shape she had taken -- a leopard. She was very, very close to releasing all of her built-up aggression, but sadly, there was no one in sight to take it out on.

When she was two blocks away, she took her human form again, snarling to herself and leaning back against a tree. So... that was the little strumpet that had destroyed her darling boy's love of destruction. She could hardly see what the big fuss was all about. Unfortunately, she knew full well that there was a great to-do about her, because the Slayer-Bitch had managed to bring three incredibly powerful Masters to their knees, and she meant to discover everything she could about the girl. Angelus had been absolutely useless when it had come to her, when one considered that his souled half had loved her, perhaps to the point of obsession, and his uninhibited half had despised that love. She herself thought it was incredibly pathetic. The once powerful patriarch of Aurelius' traveling clan had been reduced to a meek, love sick little puppy. And he hadn't exactly been that pleasing without that blasted soul, either. It had been one thing to leave him be when he’d first received the soul. At first, he’d still been trying to please his Sire. Then, Darla had left him and he’d been content to let the evil of the world pass him by. The Dark One had been content to leave him alone because he had just been a pathetic little rodent, feasting on other little rodents – evil happened around him, and Angelus had not done a thing to stop it, so while he was not contributing to it, he wasn’t stopping it, either.

And then the stupid bastard had gone to Los Angeles on a so-called “message” from the Powers That Be. He had been happy enough to let the world pass him by but the second he’d seen that vapid little piece of jailbait, he’d gone tearing down the “righteous” path so fast, he hadn’t even stopped to consider that his love for the dumb bint would lead him no where.

Of course, she’d had to amend that thought when Angelus had fucked the Slayer, and she’d freed his demon, but it had still ended up bad all around, and the ignorant dip was still in Los Angeles, pining away over his so-called lost love.

Dracula had been another matter. It had been a given that there would be some awe when he'd introduced himself to the Slayer. Unfortunately, before she could get to him and convince him that killing the Slayer was for everyone's own good, he'd been recruited by those little monk twits to capture a mere pint of her blood. All so they could pull one over on a hell goddess of all things. She shuddered in disgust.

Dracula hadn't thought anything of it, and had just done the job (although she'd heard that he'd attempted to seduce the girl and failed), but the problem with the Count was that he'd heard of the Slayer. Her name had been whispered in the demon underground for six years since she'd accepted her status from that heavy-set old man in Los Angeles. And to say that Dracula hadn't been as awestruck as the Slayer had been with him would be a great lie. This Californian Slayer had been the only woman to ever reject his seductive vampiric advances, as well as the only one to completely throw off his thrall, and though it had angered him beyond belief, the Slayer had won a great measure of respect in Dracula's eyes after that.

Disgusting.

She'd had such high hopes for Spike. Though she'd been a thousand miles away at the time, she had connected to his mind, and saw things as he'd seen them. That was the main reason why the Dark One had adamantly ignored all the lustful gazes he'd given the Slayer when they'd first met, overlooked the hunger they'd had after each fight that had left the other panting in sexual near-desperation. She'd purposely neglected to notice the longing in Spike's eyes after the red-haired witch had broken a will-be-done spell and he and the Slayer had returned to normal. The desperate longing had been carefully but painfully hidden when the Slayer had come to her senses and had acted as a good Slayer should at the touch of her enemy -- with undisguised abhorrence. She'd even disregarded, and had been prepared to forgive Spike for that pathetic attempt of his to destroy the Slayer quartet with Mr. Bits-And-Pieces -- and she'd been exceptionally reasonable in forgiving that last attempt of his to redeem himself with the group by killing the demon that had gone after the Slayer's puppies.

All would have been well -- until he'd had that dream.

She snarled furiously, spinning and kicking an enormous Mack truck-sized hole into a neighbour’s wall. In love! With a human! How... embarrassing, and disgusting. Her sweet, vicious Spike was in love with a human. And was it just any human? No -- he'd fallen in love with the Slayer!

She was going to have to work very hard to correct this great lapse in her boy's common sense. And -- she glanced down at her curvy, hour-glass shaped body, smirking proudly -- she decided that she would attempt the infiltration of the Slayer's home while she was at it.

Returning Spike to his once glorious self -- and permanently putting the Slayer, and her family, out of action for good -- yes, those were her primary goals.

Two birds. One stone.

Delicious.

Buffy had spent all morning surrounded by lunatics.

Giles, who was normally the calm and collected one of the group, had gone absolutely bonkers with joy when he'd heard that Spike and Clem would be staying at the Summers' house -- it meant easy access to the revolutionary vampire. Once that gleam had entered Giles' eyes -- the predatory 'I've got a research mission, yay!' look she knew so well -- Spike's eyes had gone wide with alarm and he'd booked it out of the room, barricading himself -- and unknowingly (at the time) Dawn -- inside of Buffy's room. Giles had marched straight upstairs, demanding that Spike come out at once, or at the very least allow Buffy's sneaky clothes-thief of a sister out. Spike had cautiously cracked the door open to allow Dawn an escape, only to yelp in a very Xander-like fashion when Giles forced the door open with the toe of his shoe. As a direct result, Spike had led Giles on a merry chase around the house all day, trying to escape what he knew was going to be a barrage of questions about his soul. Buffy had found herself wondering when exactly it was that Giles had gone from Psychotic Research Guy to just plain Psychotic.

Willow, on the other hand, had reacted with a calm cool that Buffy hadn't known was in her -- apparently, Wills had been remembering her time with Oz, and was channelling his unruffled persona for the time being. Which in itself was just creepy.

Anya had arrived at the house about an hour before lunchtime and had shaken Clem's hand before looking at Spike (who at that moment had been given a reprieve from Giles) and -- incredibly -- flushing in embarrassment.

And finally, Xander had come over at the end of the day, and had been about to raise the standard Almighty Uproar until he'd seen Buffy's face. Then he'd sheepishly backed down, wiggled his fingers in a mocking ‘hello,’ and sat down in front of the television.

And all Buffy had wanted to do was just crawl under her covers and die. Or at least throw herself down on her bed and have one really long, really good sob-session, followed by a gallon of Ben & Jerry's.

She'd been kicking herself for her stupidity regarding the Spike situation all morning, so much so that even looking at him twisted her heart to pieces. She had really pulled the wrong one this time. And now she felt like the little lost lamb that stupid romance novels always talked about. She had a feeling that she was now living what Spike had been through ever since he'd realized he'd loved her, and it was pretty much breaking her apart. God, how had he put up with her for so long? She loved him so why couldn't she have just told him that? Why the hell did she have to be Stupid!Stubborn!Buffy all the damn time?

She knew why. She had told herself that nobody else was going to put Spike down, not now, not when she finally loved him, and she'd told herself that she wasn't going to listen to anyone else's opinions anymore, and she would think for herself. But the problem was that she actually had to work at that -- after all, you couldn't just snap your fingers and say, "I'm reasonable today!" and expect to be that way. After years of putting him down and one particularly horrible year that had just barely succeeded in breaking him, it was difficult to accomplish. Her friends' and Giles's opinions were still effecting her, and quite frankly she needed to screw up all the courage in the world to get them to leave her and her love life the hell alone.

If that was the case, then she should be kicking herself even more right now. Damn it, why hadn't she asked Spike for a little more time?

To borrow a Spike-ism -- bugger it all.

After three days, Dawn was still (literally) bouncing all around in leftover giddiness at the news of Spike's new stomping grounds, until Buffy had pleaded with her to tone it down -- which for Dawn meant to revert to squealing. But it was when Buffy was being dragged down the sidewalk by an extremely ecstatic Dawn the next night—Spike following behind, rather sedate in his humour—that they saw the giant hole in Mrs. Reubens' solid brick wall.

Apparently, not so solid anymore. And for some reason, that was all it took to calm Dawn down.

"Damn," Spike muttered below his breath, letting out a low whistle. "Someone get happy with a wreckin’ ball? Where's Harris? Maybe he'll explain."

Buffy paused in her frowning for a moment to give Spike an odd look, which Spike returned with a smirk, then shook her head and stared back at the wall. How she had not even noticed it this morning was beyond her, since she passed the damned place every day when she went to work.

Huh. This explained why all the police had been swarming around, topped off with Mrs. Reubens' shrieks of vandalism. For a second, Buffy wondered if she shouldn't leave town until the wall was fixed -- the Sunnydale Police had had it in for her ever since the last explosion that she'd caused while on the job, and her record with them wasn't exactly stellar to begin with since they'd accused her of murdering Kendra.

Moving closer, but not before shaking her grip out of Dawn's magneto pull, she lightly touched the edge of the wall still intact from whatever had demolished the rest of it. What the hell could have done this with the force of a wrecking ball, besides a demon? Unless Spike was right, and Xander had gotten a little carried away -- he couldn't hit Spike, so he took it out on the wall.

Yeah, not even Xander was into the property destruction thing so much. That was all Buffy, Spike, and Willow.

But what if something evil had done this? She shuddered at even the thought of coming face to face with the type of strength that could just kick a hole in a wall like it was nothing. Hell, she'd been sore for two weeks after just one fight with Glory.

Buffy's eyes widened. Oh... shit. "Noooo," she whined. "It's too early for apocalypse season! It's only November!"

Spike raised his eyebrows as Dawn's eyes widened. "You think that something caused this besides a crash-happy construction crew?" the teenager asked.

Spike looked at her. "'S really the only plausible explanation. A construction crew doesn' have any reason to knock a bloody twelve foot hole in someone's wall." Spike glanced at Buffy, nodding graciously. "Apocalypse, it is."

A strangled whimper escaped her throat. "Stupid Sunnydale. Stupid Forces of Evil that won't give me a holiday."

Spike chuckled to himself as Dawn moved toward her sister and mockingly patted her shoulder. Buffy raised her head from her self-indulging misery to give Dawn one good glare before pouting again.

Spike sighed at her petulance as he approached the holey brick wall. Buffy had been weaving in and out of moods all day, and once again, he knew it was his fault. She had said she was fine with his being over her -- like he actually was over her, like that actually meant anything these days! -- but once again, Buffy hadn't counted on the fact that Spike seemed able to read minds. Or if not read minds, then read feelings.

She'd been hurt.

He didn't bloody like it, but if the infuriating little wench would just step up and admit to what he already knew, he'd go trotting back to her like the sodding lapdog he knew he was. He'd take anything she threw at him, if she just admitted some semblance of feelings for him. But no, Miss Buffy had to be stubborn, and Miss Buffy had to be the leader and not let her feelings get in the way, even though she knew damn well that she could only get stronger if she had Spike right there by her side.

But no. This was Buffy's decision, and -- as much as it was driving him absolutely bloody insane to watch her be miserable and not comfort or touch her -- Buffy had to work things out on her own.

He grinned to himself. But maybe a little persuasion couldn't hurt. Jealousy was usually ripe this time of year...

Since they couldn't really do anything about the gaping maw in Mrs. Reubens' wall except gaze at it slack-jawed and wonder what sort of big nasty could be running rampant in Sunnydale this year, they continued on soberly to the cemetery for a quick patrol. Six vamps altogether that night, with Dawn only needing to be saved three times -- once by Buffy, once by Spike, and once by ducking and letting the master of fledgling stupidity that was following her run smack into a mausoleum wall. Naturally, she was eternally grateful to the wall, while bitchy and petulant toward Spike and Buffy.

Afterwards, Bitchy!Petulant!Dawn retreated when her pseudo parents treated her to a mini-Bronze night.

Of course, as usual, none of them had anticipated the likelihood of future troubles infiltrating their little group with such ease.

Spike had been at the bar, nursing a beer and watching Buffy and Dawn twist and giggle -- he really wasn't much for dancing, but god could his girl move! If she'd just walk over this way and give him that shy little smile that he loved so damn much...

"Hello."

Spike jumped, startled. Turning, he shook his head, sighing to himself. The voice belonged to a woman. It starts, he thought. Well, so much for vamp reflexes.

He turned to tell the woman -- whoever the hell she was -- to sod the hell off and that he was more interested in being alone... but something captured him and compelled him to close his mouth and gaze at her stupidly.

She was the epitome of beauty. Bright green eyes beneath dark, thick lashes seemed to saturate the room, and locks of beautiful thick black hair fell to just below her backside. Pink, perfectly shaped lips pouted out at him, placed below a well-defined aristocratic nose. A strong, sensual neck gave way to slim shoulders, which arched into big, full, round, straining breasts, hidden beneath a black tank top. A tiny waist and rounded hips curved down to strong, shapely thighs, covered in red leather pants. She could give a bloke a helluva ride with that body.

Too bad she didn't do anything for him.

But then, Buffy didn't have to know that... His eyes flickered to the dance floor, where Buffy and Dawn were still living it up. Buffy had been peering over Dawn's shoulder every so often when she thought her sister wasn't looking, all her efforts straining toward Spike. And seeing a beautiful, luscious brunette hitting him up was obviously not what she had anticipated. Though it pained him deeply to throw this sort of thing in her face, it also did Spike's heart a whole world of good to see that beneath her California girl tan, Buffy was going pale, and the hurt that invaded her usually stony features blossomed out for all the world to see. Especially when considering the way Buffy had treated him last year, even just standing there with another woman made his chest swell with the fact that maybe his Slayer actually did care.

Unfortunately, the sight of Dawn stopping and frantically asking her sister what was wrong, then turning around and spotting the black-haired woman hovering around him was not a good thing. He watched Dawn's lips tighten as she folded her arms, all the while thinking, Oh, I'm in a world of trouble now...

A thought that was coldly pushed away when Spike saw Buffy build up her wall again, ignoring his existence and continuing to dance. Spike growled to himself. So that's how we're gonna play the game, are we? Right then. Buffy would kick herself for trying to out-do the Master -- literally.

He turned his attention to the lovely brunette chit standing next to him and smiled invitingly. "'Ello, luv," he said softly. "Who might you be?"

The plush pink lips curved into a hungry smile.

All too easy. It hadn't even taken her much more than a hello to break past Spike's outer walls. Oh, sure, she'd seen the way he'd glanced at his little Vampire Slayer, as though asking permission from the ditz to speak to another female, and she realized full-well that Spike planned to use her as a pawn in a little lover's game to make the Slayer jealous... But she could work around that.

Besides, if she played her cards right, she just might get the invitation into the Slayer's house -- the one she needed to completely destroy the bitch's life. The way things were going, Spike looked as if he'd do anything to see if his precious Slayer would cause a commotion over him.

Anyway, her darling child was a handsome, feisty one. Any woman -- living, dead, or demonic -- would kill to get a precious few hours alone with him.

Maybe it was the accent.

She smiled smugly to herself when Spike tumbled right for her. A sexy smile, and a purring growl coloured his greeting. "'Ello, luv. Who might you be?"

Her own sexy smirk crossed her lips and she pressed closer to her little boy. Her tongue darted out, caressing her lips in such sensuality that Spike couldn't help but follow its path.

He wanted to know who she was? She planned on telling him when she eventually revealed her true nature. But for now, it was probably best to hide her real name, lest the little dimwit her childe loved happened to recognize it.

The Dark One, the Woman called Lilith -- the Mother of his kind, and the first real woman who had been placed on Earth -- opened her mouth and spoke. "Lira. You can call me Lira."

Buffy, though she appeared to be carefree and wild to Dawn (and every other single horny male in the establishment -- except the one she wanted) watched stonily from the dance floor as Spike was completely bowled over by TurboSlut.

Spike had fallen for this type before. Spike had been in love with this type before. Spike had spent one-hundred-fucking-years catering to the psychotic whim of this type before. And Drusilla hadn't exactly been an easy nutcase to crack -- or satisfy, no matter how high the body count.

So why the hell was he falling for it again?

There he was, the big moron, staring up at that bloodsucker -- which was what she had to be in order to completely grasp Spike's attention like this -- with big old wide-eyed astonishment, as though she were the brightest star that he had ever seen. Buffy's inner voices came back to her -- or at least Anti-Spike did, as Pro-Spike had apparently gotten sick of Buffy's attitude and taken a temporary leave of absence. Anti-Spike's voice was angry and admonishing.

Looking at her like she's the brightest star he's ever seen, eh? Hmmm, let's see... Oh! Buffy! Didn't he used to look at you like that? I can't ever imagine why. After all, it's not as if he loved you. Because if he'd loved you, you wouldn't have been a stupid moronic bitch, and you would have given him a chance. Anti-Spike paused, and Buffy cringed at whatever she would say that was going to bite her in the ass. She knew it would be a doozy.

As always, she was right. Anti-Spike took a deep breath (as if she could), then screeched at the top of her lungs, Oh, YEAH. That's RIGHT. HE DID LOVE YOU! Dumbass!

Buffy could practically hear the angry stomps and the slamming-of-the-door after that. Anti-Spike had obviously retreated, having followed Pro-Spike's lead.

Okay, okay. Buffy had screwed up. She could admit that, freely, because she knew full well that she'd screwed up. When she got the chance, she was going to pull Spike aside and let him know how she really felt about him.

But first, she had to do something about the previously dubbed TurboSlut. While Spike seemed to be in La-La Land over this chick, which was hint number one that Something Was Wrong In Sunnydale, Buffy could feel distrust oozing out of every pore on her body. This woman practically wallowed in Untrustworthy. And Buffy was going to do everything in her power to find out why.

She watched the Spike-Makes-An-Ass-of-Himself Show for a little while longer before growing thoroughly disgusted with her lover -- uh, former lover (whom she was currently pining away for) -- and grabbed Dawn so she could saunter over there casually. She'd had enough of this wishy-washy crap.

It had absolutely nothing to do with jealousy. Nope. Nothing at all.

She scowled darkly when TurboSlut laughed and ran a hand down Spike's cheek. Spike smiled sweetly, grasped her hand, and began tenderly rubbing her fingers.

Okay maybe there was just a little jealousy.

To be continued...

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† stalking seduction † by AJ Hofacre

Author's Notes:
All of my gratitude and appreciation go to Megan for this. Thank you so much, hon.

Chapter completed August 13, 2003

part eleven -- stalking seduction

He'd been asking for it, really. It wasn't as if he didn't know what Buffy's temper was like. It was that he'd forgotten what Buffy's temper was prone to make her do when she was pissed.

And currently, what she'd done had been soaking into and destructively staining his silky dark purple shirt for the past ten minutes. (Was there a double meaning behind this? He'd worn this shirt the first time they'd made love.)

"Bloody bitch," he muttered under his breath, dabbing uselessly at the sugary, fruity concoction she'd dumped on him. He wouldn't be as pissed off if she'd just punched him in the nose and insulted him like usual, but instead, she'd poured her drink all over him.

Dawn glanced at him, her lips pressed tightly together. "Quiet. You brought this on yourself."

His lower lip popped out, as if on cue. "But do I have to act like I did?" Spike asked, his voice bordering on a whine. Dawn had to bite down on her lips to keep from smiling.

"It'd be nice if you did," she retorted. She glanced sideways at the buxom brunette who was halfway across the room at the bar, where Spike had been sitting until Buffy's petty little revenge tactic. "Who the hell's she, and, what's more, what the hell are you doing with her?" she demanded.

Spike glanced toward Lira and grimaced slightly. Maybe he'd played up the swinging bachelor thing too much in front of Buffy, who was currently in the bathroom, refreshing herself. And cursing my name by all that's holy, he thought. After all, he had wanted to make her admit to her feelings; he hadn't meant to make her insane. Spike sighed and looked at Dawn. "She is Lira, an' she would also be my sorry-ass attempt at tryin' to make the Slayer jealous. So far, all I managed to do was make her pissed."

The side of Dawn's mouth quirked up. "Spike, you pissed her off by daring to be seen with another girl. Trust me -- Buffy's jealous."

Spike frowned. "Well I was more or less hopin' she might at least fight her, not dump her girly drink on me." His frown once more became a pout, and his nose scrunched up. "I really liked this shirt. I'm gonna be smellin' like strawberries an' mangos for the next week."

He said this last part in such a dejected tone that Dawn couldn't help but laugh. "God forbid you smell a little fruity, Spike." It was when he scowled at her that she realized exactly what she'd implied. Her cheeks dimpled and she laughed harder. "Sorry."

He shook his head. "Bloody hell," he sighed.

Dawn tilted her head at him curiously, soaking another paper towel, wringing it out, then dabbing at the ends of his shirt. "So what was with the suddenly needing to 'prove Buffy's jealousy' bit?"

Spike glanced at her, grasping the shirt tail and spreading it across his thigh, wiping at it desperately. "Tha's exactly what I was tryin' to do. Prove her jealousy -- prove that she has feelin's for me. I bloody well know she does, but your airhead of an older sister is still keepin' mum about it. 'S drivin' me nuts." He threw his hands up in disgust. "Sod it, the shirt's ruined, 'Bit." He tilted his head, gazing at her. "You wouldn't mind too much if I killed your sister for this, would you?"

Dawn shrugged. "Sorry, but yeah. As airhead-ed as she is, she's still family."

"Damn," Spike said, shaking his head and sighing while Dawn giggled. He looked around the Bronze momentarily, and almost immediately, his head turned in the direction of the restrooms, spotting Buffy heading through the crowd. "Oh, bugger. Here come's the Ice Queen now."

Dawn frowned. "Ice Queen? Come on, Spike. She should at least merit Frosty Empress or something equally dumb!"

Spike rolled his eyes. "You wouldn't mind bein' a luv an' helpin' me out in my moment of need, would you, ducks?"

Dawn grinned sneakily. "I will manipulate and invoke craziness in my sister to the best of my abilities," she said, holding two fingers up as a promise.

Spike chuckled and patted her leg affectionately. "Tha's my girl!" Dawn giggled again before she spotted Buffy and promptly reverted to Stone Cold Dawn. "... And if I ever catch you near my sister again..." she hissed, loudly enough for Buffy to hear as the elder Summers barely trumped to a stop.

"Dawn," Buffy called in the way an owner might order a beloved pet. Apparently Dawn had been trained very well, because, after one quick wink and grin at Spike, she went.

Spike smiled to himself. Damn, but it was good to have such a clever, devilish little chit on his side for once. He slowly stood up, arching his back as he stretched, then meandered over to where he'd left Lira.

"Ex-girlfriend, right?" she asked, watching the blonde and brunette girls as they left.

Spike's shit-eating grin faltered, and he frowned, grunting under his breath. "Yeah. Somethin' like that," he muttered.

Lira -- a.k.a. Lilith -- tilted her head sympathetically. "Poor thing. Who ended it?"

Spike shrugged. "I screwed up. She ended it."

Lilith frowned. "Then what right does she have to come over with jealousy and douse you with her drink like that?"

"Every right. W-Well, maybe not... with the jealousy, but I did do some... nasty things to her. So she does have every right. I-I think." The more he stumbled over his words, the more unsure Spike sounded. Eventually, he shook his head and held his hand up. "Look, Lira, it was really... bad between us, an' I'm bein' as polite as I can be when I ask you to drop it." He stood up again, looking around. "How about I just walk you home, eh? Got nowhere else to be, an' to tell the truth, I don't really wanna be here anymore." Spike held out his arm to her chivalrously, crooked at the elbow.

Lilith slid off her stool, accepting his arm. "Okay, we can leave. But how about I walk you home instead?"

Spike looked at her with surprised eyes, tilting his head to the side. "You must be new in town. There's lots of nasties in Sunnydale that you need to watch out for. This isn't the safest place for a chit to go walkin' out at night by herself."

The brunette shrugged. "I can hold my own," she said simply.

After a moment's contemplation, Spike reluctantly nodded. "Tha's a plan. Let's go."

Lilith smiled.

"Okay. How bad is it getting to you?"

Buffy looked up, her lips curled in such a deep frown that her nose was scrunched halfway up her face. "How bad is what getting to me?"

Dawn rolled her eyes. "Buffy. Please. I'm your sister, I know when something's bugging you. You've been moping ever since we left. Hell, you've been moping since we were on the dance floor. You've been moping since May! How bad is it eating you up that Spike was with another chick?"

Buffy scoffed. "It is not... eating me up! Nothing is getting to me, and there is no eating up of... of any kind! This is me, not being eaten up!"

Dawn snorted. "That much is obvious," she muttered under her breath. Clearing her throat, she spoke up. "Buffy. Again. We're sisters. And, if you wanna get technical, we're each other. Same blood and all that? Literally? I can practically read it all over your face. You are so totally eaten with jealousy."

"I am not!"

Dawn nodded slowly. "Ah, so that's why you poured your Fizzy Hawaiian all over Spike's gorgeous purple shirt?"

Buffy sputtered for a moment. "Well... i-it was dirty, a-and I didn't think it would stain all that much, and... and he looked over-heated!"

Dawn stared. Surely her sister wasn't so incredibly dumb that she'd honestly think that... this... was a valid excuse?

Buffy flushed. "Okay, okay! So I was..." She glanced around, as if looking to see if Spike would suddenly pop up behind her, well within hearing range, "So I was a little jealous! After all, it wasn't so long ago when he was showering me with utterly devoted attention." She caught the look on Dawn's face, and hurriedly reiterated herself. "Utterly devoted attention that I didn't want! I just..." She bit her lower lip and looked away. "I got kinda... used to it, is all."

Dawn's eyes softened, and she wrapped an arm around her sister's shoulders. "Buffy... it's just me. It's okay to admit how you felt. Not one word of this is gonna get back to Spike unless you want it to."

"I was jealous," Buffy blurted out, before her eyes widened and she clapped a hand over her mouth. A few minutes of uncomfortable silence followed as the sisters ambled along the sidewalk. And then, Buffy spoke up again, much calmer, much more resigned this time.

"I was jealous," she murmured again, softly, her voice hurt. "He's always been following me, telling me he loved me and anything and everything else he could think of, and then, suddenly... I mean, even when he was with Drusilla, he had some sort of half-blind obsession with me. He followed me, I know it, and all I could feel him doing was just... watching me. That night when I first met him?" she questioned, turning to Dawn. Dawn nodded in recognition. She'd heard every possible version of that night's events, and so she had been fully prepared to meet the swaggering bleach blonde vampire before he'd ever even been aware of her existence.

Or at least, that was what her memories said to her.

Buffy continued. "I knew he was there. I was dancing, I was having a good time, but all of a sudden, my senses acted up, and all I could feel was this warm shiver running down my spine. I hadn't even met him yet but I knew who he was, and I knew he was watching me. And I could feel him in every pore of my body, and I've felt him that way ever since. No one has ever gotten me that riled up before, not even Angel."

Dawn tilted her head. "So... are you saying that you were attracted to him even then?"

Buffy bit her lower lip, then slowly, tentatively nodded. "Yeah. I think so." She shook her head. "Anyway... ever since he told me he loved me -- " She paused, then frowned, then started back up again. "No, wait. It started before then. He's been romantically interested in me, I think, since my freshman year of college. Since our... " She blushed. "Since our faux engagement. Anyway, ever since then, it's been so hard to get rid of him. I thought that was what I wanted, that I wanted him to leave me alone, to get out of my way, to let me breathe."

She glanced at Dawn again. "I got used to it. I expected him to be there, I expected him to pop up behind me and snark at me, to pounce over my head and start pounding away on the baddie of the night for me, even when I didn't want him to; later, I waited for him to follow me around, telling me he loved me. After I ... came back, he just wanted to walk beside me, not saying anything, not implying anything, but just... he listened and knew the right times to make a joke and pull me away from brooding."

Dawn grinned. "And God forbid you should brood."

Buffy tilted her head, regarding her sister with a wan smile. "Right." She shook her head. "But then... last night, before he got home and told me about the crypt... he told me he was over me. He begged me to tell him that there was a chance between us. Practically got on his knees and begged me. And I choked. I couldn't say anything. And I wanted to. So badly. I wanted to throw my arms around his neck and tell him I loved him, and that there would always be a chance for us, and that I wanted him always... and I couldn't. I couldn't say a word. I still don't understand why."

By this time, Buffy's eyes had blurred with tears. She hadn't even realized that she'd stopped walking, and was just standing on the sidewalk, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. "And it hurt him so much. I could see it in his eyes -- he was more than heartbroken. He turned around and walked out. He came back not fifteen minutes later, but I was still so shocked that I could barely say a word to him. I just told him that he could stay at our house, and I went to bed."

She shook her head. "So I really have no right whatsoever to be jealous. I'm the one that rejected him, again. So if he goes and gets a girlfriend, this... this Lira chick, if she's someone that will actually give him the amount of attention he deserves, then more power to him. But..." She looked up and started walking again. "I don't want him to have a different girl. I want him to have me. I want to be with him, and I'm sick of letting everyone else tell me what I should or should not want or feel. I'm just sick of it."

They continued on before arriving at their home, turning up the walk and heading toward the front porch before Dawn spoke up. "Buffy, I may not have much experience, but I definitely know one thing: If you want something bad enough, you have to fight for it." The teenager lifted her head, her brown hair draping itself over one eye. "Fight for him. If you want him, fight for him. Take him back. Don't let him get roped in by that skank."

Buffy gave the girl a half-smile. "Any ideas for me?"

A slow smile curled over Dawn's lips. "Oh... just one."

The house was right around the corner, and for all the times he'd been there, he'd never noticed what a disturbing 'loom' quality it had. Hello, certain doom.

Sigh. He may as well say goodbye to Lira now because as soon as he walked through the front doors, Buffy was going to kill him, and he'd never see this raven-haired beauty again.

Spike stopped right in front of the walk, but Lira, who still had hold of his arm, and seemed preternaturally strong—which, considering this town, wasn't as odd as it seemed—led him all the way up to the porch. Grudgingly, Spike tromped up the steps.

"So this is where you live," Lilith breathed, looking curiously through the front window.

Spike shrugged, uninterested. "S'not really mine. My, uh... a friend lives here. They're letting me crash for a while. My old place was destroyed." Lilith turned to look at him, wide-eyed, and Spike shrugged. "Eh, s'nothing unusual in Sunnydale. Shite gets knocked down all the time."

Lilith gently touched the front door. "Could we go inside, maybe?" she asked coquettishly, batting her eyelashes.

Spike shrugged after a moment. "Why not," he muttered. As he opened the front door, he remembered and froze. Buffy was why not. She was ready to kill him anyway, for even daring to be seen with another girl in public; if he brought this girl inside the house, no one would ever see her again. As he stepped inside the threshold, he turned and smiled weakly. "Uh, actually, luv, maybe it's best for you to go straight home. Since it's not my house, I don't think my mates'll be too pleased with me bringin' you home. Not to mention, I'm worn out as all hell."

It took but a second's contemplation to reach the facts. Well, that, and a keen sense of smell. Okay, and the fact that she'd been watching him and his little circle of acquaintances since his return to this horrid little town. But it only looked like a second's contemplation to Spike. "This is your ex's house, isn't it?" She smiled slowly. "Come on, let me in, Spike. We can show her the true meaning of jealousy if we're inside the house..."

And as much as Spike fidgeted about that idea, he couldn't. As much as Buffy hurt him from the all day, every day stuff, he couldn't deny that no matter how hard he tried to fight it, he was still head-over-heels for the girl. He just didn't want to hurt her anymore.

That didn't necessarily mean, however, that he wasn't going to. But he was only willing to go to a few certain extents, and no way was letting another chit in the house going to be good for any of them. He gave her a stronger half-smile. "Sorry, luv. It's appealin', naturally, but I don't want to risk your hide on the burner. 'S better for me to just go in there an' let the little wench get on with it."

Lilith fidgeted noticeably. Her hands twitched; in fact, she looked to be fighting against strangling something. "Are you sure you don't want me in the house? Spike, let me come in, please. I'll make it worth your while, I promise."

Spike frowned. For all that she wanted to help him get back at Buffy, she really wanted to be inside the house to do it. "Lira, you really wanna be in the house so badly? 'Cos I've barely known you one night an', yeah, that's not generally a problem with me, but you sound like you want the house more'n me!"

Instantly, Lilith backed off. "No, it's not that. I guess... I'm just cold."

Spike gave her an odd look. "We're in California . It's eighty-six degrees during Indian Summer in November."

Lilith shrugged. "Maybe I'm used to the East," she joked, gazing directly into his eyes as she backed away. "Okay, Spike. I guess I'll see you around."

Spike stared back dumbly, before snapping out of his confusion and jumping down the porch steps, running out to her. A voice in his mind, one he'd never heard before but one that was urgent and laced with promise, told him he wanted to kiss her. The voice had come from nowhere -- yet he heard it and wanted to obey. After all, she was a sweet girl, and he didn't want her to leave on a sour note. The least he could do was to... "Wait..." She turned around expectantly. "Don't you wanna at least..." He shrugged modestly. "Seal the night with a kiss?"

The dark-haired beauty -- so much like Drusilla, and so familiar to him it was eerie -- smiled and turned around. Placing her arms around his neck, she pulled him in for a deep, slow, stirring kiss. Spike's eyes closed as he wrapped his arms around her, one hand at the small of her back, one hand at the back of her head. He wasn't so used to women being his height or even, in Lira's case, slightly taller than him. As much as she'd matched him blow for blow, Dru was just the tiniest bit shorter than him, as was Harmony, and... Buffy.

And with that thought, his inner eye switched images quickly. He wasn't seeing Drusilla anymore. He wasn't seeing Lira, either. It was all Buffy. Always Buffy. Gold hair, eager pink lips, cute little upturned nose, even if it did have a slight bump on the bridge, hazel green eyes glittering with fire, passion, love, hate, lust...

Holy hell, he was suffocating. And he didn't even breath!

He jerked away from Lira, gasping in order to catch his breath -- which, again, was bloody redundant. Lord, but the effect Buffy had on him was mortally degenerating. Putting his hand on his chest, he drew in one single breath, then looked up at the woman in front of him. "Er... maybe it's a good idea for you to be leavin' now, yeah?"

Lilith smiled. "Of course. See you, Spike," she near-promised as she walked down the front walk. Her teeth ground together in obvious fury, and as soon as she was out of Spike's sight, she pummeled the trunk of a tree.

Stupid vampire. William was being quite unreasonable about this whole thing. She growled to herself and transformed, taking the shape of her chosen animal. There had to be something more she could do in order to wear him down. She'd already struck once, she thought as her leopard form leapt onto the remains of the brick wall down the street -- her kiss with Spike had been witnessed by that short little blonde bitch from the upstairs window. But there was something more she needed to do. She had to get inside that house! Destroying the Slayer and all her comrades -- or preferably having Spike destroy them -- would be the only way to free sweet, vicious William from the spell that this harlot had unknowingly cast on him.

Now... she just needed to think of her tactics. And she always thought better after a good hunt.

He cringed as he walked inside, only to see Buffy standing at the bottom of the stairs, her arms crossed in front of her chest. Glancing at her face briefly, he was slightly mollified to see that she wasn't glaring at him, but rather looking down at her boots, her blonde hair swinging down to cover her face.

"Hi. So, uh," she started softly, before taking a deep breath. "Someone new?"

Spike cleared his throat, standing up straight. "Yes. Yeah. Uh, maybe."

Buffy chanced a glimpse at him, then ducked her head down again -- the vision of seeing that black-haired witch with her limbs and... parts... plastered all over him kept taking precedence in her mind. She still couldn't believe she'd tortured herself by spying out of her window on them. Had she completely lost her mind? "Gonna, um... Gonna be s-seeing her... a-again, I mean?"

Well how the hell was he supposed to answer that? If he said no straight out, he'd be lying and if he said yes, he'd hurt Buffy's feelings. Maybe.

Damn the Powers, there was just no way around a 'maybe' answer for him, was there?

Sighing, he shrugged. "I might."

He couldn't help but feel slightly victorious when he saw the slump in Buffy's shoulders at his response. Whether she admitted it or not, now, Buffy was upset at the idea that he wasn't going to grovel for her any longer. She was upset at the thought of him with someone else.

Buffy rolled her shoulders and coughed slightly, still refusing to look at him. He really was trying to push past the badness of their relationship. What more could she say to him? "I... I-I hope things go well for you," she murmured, before turning to go up the stairs. Stopping mid-ascent, she glanced back toward him, eyes still lowered. "I'm sorry about your shirt. I didn't have the right."

He nodded slowly. "You were pissed. 'S understandable," he replied, bunching his eyebrows together in confusion and concern.

"That's still no excuse. Goodnight, Spike... and good luck," she offered, then continued up the stairs, leaving Spike staring after her sadly, and just a tad worried about her demeanor. The minute she reached her room, however, and eyed what was on her bed, her sadness slipped away and the determination that made her prowess as a slayer something to be envied took over.

She still wished him luck -- all the luck in the world, as a matter of fact. Because if Dawn's plan worked, Spike was sure as hell going to need it.

Buffy wasn't giving up without a fight. And Lord was she going to fight -- dirty to the core with nails and teeth and all out bloodshed. Just the way Spike liked.

She wasn't going to lose him that easily.

Days later, Buffy watched from her bedroom window, smiling wryly to herself when Spike turned away from the Vamp Tramp, denying her access -- once again -- to the Summers' home. He looked oddly pale and out-of-sorts, but disgusted and distraught at the same time. Or maybe that was just her imagination? Either way, Spike looked completely at odds with himself -- but confusion or not, he still had not fallen prey to the suggestive whims of that... woman, for the fifth night in a row.

Although she would have been even more pleased with Spike if he didn't insist on kissing the living dead's version of a walking STD.

He'd been seeing that Lira girl off and on ever since the night Buffy and Spike had taken Dawn out to the Bronze. If it wasn't for her patrols, Buffy thought she might have withered and died from the misery of watching Spike cavort with another woman. Thankfully, though, she had an incredibly sharp little sister on her side.

But either way, it worked out. Spike wasn't around Influential Possible Vampire Whore, and—thanks to Dawn's ingenuity and clever planning—Buffy was alone with Spike in the house. Dawn had informed Clem, Giles and Willow that since the mini Bronze night a couple of days before, Buffy had been more on edge than usual and wished to spend the night alone, so it would be wise to go to the local motel following a mass patrol for the night. When countered with a speculative question on Spike's presence in the house as well, Dawn responded, albeit very lamely, that Spike would be in the basement, keeping to himself, while Buffy would be wiled away in her own bedroom. Alone. By herself. As in not-with-Spike.

Which of course, she would be. Hopefully. If this plan went off without a hitch.

Maybe it had been the urgency in Dawn's voice that had gotten Willow to lay off and follow along. Buffy didn't know, and didn't really care. The point was that she and Spike were alone in the house, and thanks to an outfit she'd never thought she'd have use for -- and the sweltering evening that had crept up on Sunnydale tonight in Buffy's favor -- the plan Dawn had provided her with in order to win Spike's affections was once again in place.

The question of how Dawn knew that Buffy had this outfit contained an answer that the Slayer was determinedly ignoring to the greatest of her abilities.

When Anya had first given her the gauzy red teddie, she'd been shocked into embarrassed stillness, because for some reason the idea that Anya owned anything like this in her wardrobe was more shocking than half the words that came out of the vengeance demon's mouth. The teddie was trimmed with black faux rabbit fur around the cleavage and the hem, which was probably the only reason Anya had worn it in the first place, since she believed that the supposedly real rabbit that had contributed to this outfit had died a most painful and gruesome death.

One of these days, Buffy was really gonna have to get to the bottom of Anya's rather ridiculous rabbit fear.

The teddie dipped so low over her breasts that Buffy was amazed that the damned thing could support her so well anyway. It was virtually backless, supported only by a few strings that crisscrossed over her skin, and the thong portion was pretty much the same -- one thin, single string settling between her... cheeks.

And to make things more embarrassing for her, she could not for the life of her find a way to keep her garters attached to the damned thing. They were supposed to be hooked to the bikini-cut hem in the front—which settled much too far above her bikini line, in Buffy's opinion. However, the garter belt seemed to enjoy loosening itself and slipping down her waist until it twisted around her legs. And the robe Anya had bought to go with the whole ensemble? See-through and ended right below her ass. Go figure. So much for at least keeping some of her body concealed. It would do the trick, though. Spike's eyes would very likely not be returning to their sockets when he saw her in this.

Personally, the only thing she liked about the entire outfit was the robe. The make-up tips that had come with said robe had been very helpful. She enjoyed the way that the kohl black eyeliner rimming her eyes made them appear smoky and mysterious.

The only problem was that it was entirely likely that Spike would keel over and die from spontaneous sexual combustion. She was wearing -- or barely wearing, anyway -- his favorite colors, after all.

Self-consciously, she glanced down at herself, appraising how she looked, and imagining what Spike's possible reaction would be. Snorting to herself, she recalled Anya's words when she'd first handed the naughty girl outfit over to Buffy, back when everything had still been all right in Anya-and-Xander-land.

"I read in Cosmopolitan that sheer, racy undergarments such as these, when worn by the women in question, were guaranteed to throw a man's hormones off balance, ensuring heightened pleasure and longer lasting orgasms," Anya had said. Then she'd frowned. "It definitely added stimulation, but Xander didn't like it at all. In fact, he seemed more interested in taking it off of me, instead of ravishing me with it on. Not that I minded, but show a little appreciation, you know? I spent much of my well-earned paycheck on that thing!"

Buffy had merely stared pale-faced at Anya, unable to keep herself from shuddering at the thought of herself coming in bodily contact with one of her best friend's... er... releases.

But worse still was what Anya had said after that. "Based on the fact that Xander didn't seem too fond of this thing, and seeing as I no longer have any use for it, and also regarding the fact that though you're skinnier than I am by far, we're still about the same size, I would like to present this to you to have. You aren't seeing anyone at the moment, so you have no need to worry about wearing it in the bedroom, and granted that you never will use it, I can take it back anytime I need to, so long as you don't have any orgasms while wearing it." She'd grinned. "So! Have fun!"

Oh, yeah, Buffy had thought at the time. How can I not have fun with gorgeous, sexy underwear, when you've made it particularly clear to me that I'm unappealing to men, what with my skinny-ness, and the fact that I don't have anybody...

Okay, so she'd decided to put those thoughts on the back-burner for tonight. After all, tonight, she did have somebody. Granted, he was half-terrified of her, not to mention being "over" her, and he had suffered severe emotional and physical abuse because of her, but she had SO gotten over herself! She was finally Buffy again, she was normal, and not going through the motions and feeling sorry for herself and taking it out on everyone that meant something to her—well, except when Xander brought it on himself. And, bigger plus, she was in love with Spike. And she was willing to put herself into far-too-sexy garments with her skinny—but getting plumper—little self, just to get him back from a conniving, whorish she-devil, so that HAD to mean something.

Of course it meant something. She was doing this to get Spike back in her life. She'd never wanted him in her life before, thanks to her friends' influences and her own stupid, stuck-up notions about vampires and their feelings. So, yes, it meant something. She was getting Spike back. Biiiiiig step forward.

Well, Anya had never asked for the outfit back, possibly because long after she'd given it to Buffy, Darth Willow had tried to end the world, and Anya's relationship with Xander had been the real apocalypse.

So Buffy was going to put this to good use, especially since she still had the body needed for it to work.

And hopefully, after Spike regained his equilibrium, he'd have her on the ground within a nanosecond. Or preferably, in his arms and carrying her to her bedroom, but she'd make do. Just as long as she got him back.

Meaning something to him again was, really, all that mattered to her.

These urges to kiss Lira were becoming stranger and stranger, Spike thought as he threw himself onto the living room sofa. He was also more tired than he usually was -- and kissing Lira was, in fact, not as pleasurable as it had been the first time.

Ah, well, at least his luck was holding out and there were no screaming banshee slayers tonight. Spike had been rather fearful of possible return-fire since she'd apologized that night about his shirt, but instead she seemed to be going about interactions with him the usual way -- by pretending he didn't exist.

He glanced around in boredom. Clem wasn't home tonight for some reason, he noted idly. Floppy must've been out with the kitten poker crowd again.

Suddenly, a whiff of something caught his attention, and he inhaled deeply. Quirked his ears. Frowned. Sat up.

Nobody was here. There was only one heartbeat, coming from the second landing. Kinda fast-paced beating, almost nervous, he'd say, but whatever, that wasn't the point. The point was, he and someone else were the only ones here. Where was everybody else? Had Buffy finally driven them insane and run them all out of the house? Had she hinted to Giles, Willow and the others that Spike was being a bad non-neutered puppy or something, and had sent them after him? In which case, they were running a wild goose chase, since he so obviously lived here now.

What the hell was going on?

Aah. Footsteps. The person-who-was-here was finally making their physical presence known.

And holy hell, did they make it known.

As soon as Spike caught the slightest glimpse of the body that was coming down the stairs, his eyes attempted two different things at once: first, they widened to almost painful proportions in order to get a better view, while at the same time, they snapped shut, so as not to embarrass the hell out of himself when she made it into the living room.

He had a feeling that was going to happen anyway.

Buffy descended the final step, looking for all the world like an innocent angel -- okay, well, maybe 'innocent' wasn't quite the right word. Not with what she was wearing. The only angelic thing about her was probably her hair, which was down, floating around her like a golden halo, and -- oh, hell, here came the bloody awful poet. Shut up, you insufferable git! he hissed inwardly at William before returning his attention to the Pure Sex that was walking toward him. Her eyes were outlined in charcoal black, her lips were dyed ruby red, and her skin, normally a healthy, golden California tan in the light of day, was a pale, pale white in the dark of night in this house. And her outfit...

That outfit was so bloody scandalous that Darla would have cringed at the sight of it... and Darla had been a whore.

Still, it did its duty, and Not-So-Little-Spike rose up to happily salute Slayer and Body.

Buffy smiled slightly at him. "Hi, Spike." She paused for a moment, unsure of how to continue after that. Go with sweet and innocent, like you wear this sort of thing every night! chorused Pro-And-Anti-Spike who, subsequently, seemed to be merging into one, and were apparently acknowledging Buffy again, now that her sense had been knocked back into her. "Listen..." She moved closer to him, the sheer red robe swishing back and forth with her movements. Spike's eyes widened at the high cut of the bikini-like bottoms -- and nearly fainted from pure, undiluted orgasmic overload when he saw that the soft brown hairs that had once decorated her mound had apparently been shaven off.

It took a minute for him to come back to earth and listen to her. "I know I've been ignoring you lately... I didn't mean to." She sighed and decided that being truthful was the best way to go here. "It was just... hard. Watching you get ready to go out with someone else. And I really am sorry for the... you know... turning you into a Sea Breeze. I know I already apologized for that, but still. I did it out of..." She swallowed hard and forced the word past her lips, "j-jealousy, and I should have controlled myself. You have a right to see other girls. I-I shouldn't have done that. You still mean a lot to me, though... even if we can't be together. We are, after all, friends."

She knelt down so she was eye-level with him, jarring the Anti-Nightie so much that the top slipped down slightly, barely showing a hint of a pert, pink nipple to his eyes. He fought off a whimper. Buffy, however, took no notice of his reaction, instead laying her hand on his bare chest, the contact alone being enough to nearly drive Spike off the edge at this point.

"We're still... friends, right, Spike?" she asked, with enough suggestiveness in her voice that easily out-innuendo-ed every quip and leer Spike had given her in the last five years. And now she was nibbling her lower lip. The action was so enticing and endearing at the same time that, as Spike unconsciously began to lean closer, he nearly fell off the couch.

Catching himself before he committed the first action to prove himself an utter ass in front of her, he nodded quickly, affecting a nonchalant air. "Yeah, sure, Slayer. Whatever you say."

He was nearly thrown through a wall by the smile that exploded onto her face. She threw herself forward, impulsively hugging him, and unconsciously rubbed her half-exposed breast against his very much exposed, very Buffy-sensitive chest. He hastily caught the unmanly 'eep' that threatened to emerge.

"Thanks, Spike," Buffy said, her insides nearly quivering with laughter at the tension and desperation in Spike's body. Over me, Glory's lopsided ass! she thought giddily. Now all she had to do was make the tension absolutely unbearable. Thank the Powers for that sweltering heat.

She pulled back, rubbing a hand lightly over her chest. "God, I think I'm melting," she breathed, frowning at the sticky sweaty-ness that coated her skin.

For his part, Spike did his best to respond while attempting to tear his eyes away from the tiny slayer hand running over the delectable slayer skin on his delicious little Slayer -- and, yeah, he really had to stop that. Still trying not to keel over with laughter, Buffy took pity -- at least for the moment -- and went to the kitchen to let him calm down.

Immediately, Spike's eyes were closed, and he was on his back muttering to himself.

Crosses, garlic, sunlight, holy water, stakin', getting staked, beheadin', catchin' fire, burnin' up, suckin' blood, suckin' warm, delicious human blood, suckin' Slayer's blood, suckin' Buffy's blood, suckin' Buffy -- ack! No!

That was not working! Spike cringed, unable to believe he was reducing himself to his next thought. Think about last year, mate. Think about bein' used, think about nearly rapin' Buffy, think of your stupid bloody mistake when you got drunk an' shagged Demon-Girl, think of Harris, think of Stupid Git Harris, for Christ's sake, think of bloody Harris in a cat suit and coming on to you!

Spike's eyes snapped open, and he gave a full-body shudder. Well, that one worked.

At least it did until Buffy walked back into the room and shot every non-lustful thought he had to hell. Even making that horrid Harris image in his mind naked and coming on to him wasn't going to distract him from Buffy's beauty.

Buffy, meanwhile, knew exactly how she was affecting Spike, and the knowledge made her giddy. She really had been hot, however, when she'd left Spike's company for the kitchen. But the second she'd stuck her head in the freezer to cool down, she'd spotted another method of inducing Spike-Torture.

Namely, a box of rocket pops. Not exactly the right color and nowhere near Spike's proportions, but it would do.

Spike's eyes widened when he saw the way-too-close to phallic shape of the Popsicle in Buffy's hand. His jaw very nearly fell off of its hinges when she brought the pop up to her lips and slowly, deliberately, licked the very tip with a dart of her nimble pink tongue.

His eyes followed helplessly as she engulfed the frozen treat, making her seemingly innocent act of enjoying the iced sugar seem all too obscene. He wasn't positive how, but he managed to close his eyes and begin to mutter to himself mentally. Harris in a cat suit! Harris in a cat suit! he thought desperately, squeezing his hands into painfully tight fists at his sides. However, the Harris in a cat suit! mantra somehow turned into Buffy in a cat suit! -- complete with visuals, and then she wasn't in a cat suit, she was in that scandalous little scrap of lace, and then she was naked.

At the images fluttering in front of him from the times he really had seen Buffy naked, Spike very nearly fell on the ground, howling from the bona fide physical pain that his thoughts cost him. He chanced a glance at Real-Life Buffy, thinking a barely dressed Buffy would at least be slightly better than Naked Buffy and would calm his erection down the tiniest bit.

Well, hell, that didn't work.

For one, her popsicle was melting. Meaning that now, little rivulets were dripping down her hand, and she was in a race to catch them before they dripped down her elbow. Meaning that she was licking and sucking at the rocket pop like there was no tomorrow. And for Spike, from previous experience, of course, watching the little show that Buffy was presenting to him set his borrowed blood to boiling in lust.

He groaned silently. Why? Why me? I'm trying to be good, really! Why do you bloody gits have to torture me?!

Her tongue was trying to catch up to all the drippings (Spike cursed the imbecile who'd made this night so goddamn hot -- weather-wise), and after a frustrating moment of trying to figure out what it was, exactly, that she was going to do, she finally deep-throated the whole damn thing. Spike's eyes bolted open, and try as he might, he couldn't help the one tiny, unmanly squeak that shot out of his throat and did a taunting 'nyah, nyah, nyah-nyah, nyah!' waggle right in front of him. Sigh. There was no other way around it. He couldn't deny it to himself anymore.

He was hard. All thanks to that devious little bitch.

Buffy, on the other hand, loved every single second of this. Obviously, she had no problems with turning Spike on. But here was the hard part -- getting him so riled that he made it up the stairs and right into her bed.

Which actually, now that she thought about it, shouldn't be that difficult at all.

"Spike?" she asked, creeping closer until she was on her knees on the floor beside him. Spike's mind stubbornly refused to acknowledge the 'on her knees' part, while the rest of his body was currently in the midst of a veto in the decision to toss his brain into the clinger.

The popsicle was still very useful, as Buffy's lips were now following its length up and down. He knew, because his eyes had opened long enough to catch her on the upsweep. Her head tilted to the side a bit, and she contemplated him as her tongue traced the tip of what was now the most perverted rocket pop on the planet. Deciding that it would be best to just point out the obvious rather than to give stupid, long-winded statements, she leaned over him and placed her hand over his. His body gave a very visible jolt, and he glanced at her, wide-eyed and anxious.

"Do you--" Her voice cracked and she cleared her throat. Spike relaxed a bit -- obviously Buffy wasn't all stones tonight, and was even a little nervous about what it was exactly that she was pulling. "Do you," she started again, "want to come upstairs and let me... handle the problem?" Her hand moved from his to the painfully large bulge in his lap.

Spike let a hiss escape his throat through his teeth. The searing hot pressure of her hand was so familiar, so comforting, so, so... arousing, that it was difficult not to just explode right there. It was then that it finally hit him what Buffy was doing -- and why. Yes, she really was coming onto him. Why? Because she still wanted him. But Christ, even after all the shit he'd put her through, she still craved him?

Somehow, that wasn't very comforting. Was she fucking insane?!

Well, at least she'd finally ditched that evil popsicle. Right into a potted plant, but still. No more torture. She straightened, standing up, and Spike's eyes shot closed when he was treated to yet another view of why Buffy had chosen this scrap of nothing to cover her tonight. Her hand reached out to cup his cheek, and he unconsciously leaned into it, purring. She waited until he opened his eyes again.

"No pressure, Spike," she murmured softly, then slowly, deliberately blinked once. "I'll be waiting."

She turned and Spike was given yet another glimpse of her transparent backside.

He was gonna murder the lunatic who'd given that teddie to her. It was a piece of undiluted evil.

Granted, the view was pretty enticing. Not as nice as her front side, but still way up there. What with nothing but a piece of floss between her smooth round cheeks, and the way her hips were swaying back and forth, and the whole point that she was very nearly naked right in front of him!

He nearly caved in and went after her.

But then he realized what the little bint had implied by her "I'll be waiting." Translation? "I'm waiting upstairs for you and with the way I look, there's no doubt in my mind you'll come after me, because you have absolutely no self control when it comes to my bare ass."

She had actually assumed that he wouldn't have the willpower to deny her something she wanted.

Something she wanted. Of course. Once again, it was All About Buffy. It was a wonder that the girl's head wasn't floating off her shoulders, the way her ego was daily inflated.

Well she was wrong for once. He wasn't going to go traipsing after her like her little lapdog again, eager to please, more eager to get fucked, happy to just have one of her condescending eyes straying his way. Spike was going to sit right the fuck here on his tight little ass, while Buffy was going to be hit with the mother off rude revelations. She could stew as much as she wanted -- he didn't give a shit. He was staying put until she understood that he had not been put on this earth and brought into her life for her own personal amusement.

One of these days, she had to learn. Spike was not her special lust-bunny.

His decision made, he sat back and unzipped his pants, shucking them down to his knees.

Hey, his realizations about Buffy may have pissed him off, but the image of her was still stuck in his head. He had to do something to get rid of this problem.

She was pissed. No, brassed off.

No, wait, she had one better. She was fucking livid!

She'd been waiting for Spike to trudge upstairs for more than forty-five minutes now -- assuming that Spike might want to fix himself instead of limping up the stairs -- but so far, Spike had proven to be a no show. So, she headed back downstairs.

Her jaw dropped at the sight of the object of her affections, turned on his side, facing the couch, peacefully asleep.

Suddenly, her anger found itself merged with unbearable hurt, and it took every cell of her body to keep that wailing sob that was rising in her throat from escaping. Unfortunately, she couldn't stop her tears from dripping down both cheeks, and after a few sniffs, she bowed her head and made her way back up to the bed that she would apparently be occupying alone.

It was true. He didn't want her anymore. Oh, he wanted her physically -- with the way she'd been dressed, she had pretty much ensured that. But when it all came down to it, he was a man, and she was a woman wearing transparent clothing that pretty much just covered her tits. Spike probably would have reacted that way to any woman he'd seen wearing that outfit.

But if it had been so easy for him to just roll over and go to sleep without giving her a second thought...

"Thoughts bad," she whimpered, sniffling. "No more thinking."

This was all Dawn's fault, she decided. The teenager had been the one to push her into the whole Operation: Seduce Spike thing; Dawn had been the one to encourage her to act on her feelings for him. Therefore, seeing as how the whole sorry attempt had backfired horribly in Buffy's face, it was Dawn she was placing the blame on.

But there was another face that was surfacing in her mind -- another person that she knew, deep down, was the cause of her jealousy and hurt.

No, she thought, straightening abruptly, her face solidifying into a hateful mask. Not Dawn's fault. HER'S. Her tears stopped flowing, and her eyes hardened and became ice cold. She knew why Spike was no longer interested in her.

"Turbo-Bitch," she growled.

Inside her rational mind, the Slayer was well-aware the she was just trying to justify her own feelings of guilt. Buffy wasn't completely stupid. She knew the entire situation was all her fault. But when Buffy the girl was hurt or angry, Buffy the Slayer lashed out and became violent. And Buffy the Slayer did not want to be violent toward anyone she cared for, especially not the man she loved. So she would do the next best thing.

Buffy would take her frustrations out on the bitch who'd stolen Spike from her.

Practically tearing off the now-useless teddie, she dressed dangerously in a pair of black jeans, a black tank top, and her black, steel-toed army boots. Strapping several stakes onto various locations on her person, she fought the urge to go down the stairs and give Spike a good kick in the shins. Instead, she took a trip to her teen years, and climbed out her window. Dropping nimbly to the ground, she scowled and continued on towards the cemetery. Maybe it was natural instinct, or maybe it was wishful thinking on Buffy's part that led her there, but something told her to search this place for the bitch that had dared to take Spike away from her.

However, after about an hour of searching, she realized how fruitless her search was, and began wondering if her Slayer instincts were on the fritz. The Drusilla wanna-be that had set her sights on Spike was human—she had to be; her presence hadn't even set off Buffy's normally accurate Spidey-senses. There was no reason Stupid!Evil!Bitch would be wandering around the cemetery, not even this late at night.

With fatigue, failure, and depression setting in, Buffy turned to go home.

And then she heard voices.

Normally, she wouldn't be worried -- especially since Pro-and-Anti Spike (now merged, as she'd realized before) had made it a habit lately of talking to her like they were old friends -- and like they were real. But she knew right off the bat that the voices she was hearing did not belong to her friendly neighborhood mental loonies.

Stepping into a wall of bushes and peering through the leaves, she squinted her eyes and realized that --

Sigh. She'd stumbled in on a make-out session.

Dammit.

But something told her to take a closer look. And so she did.

The female (who, by the way, had her long, skanky legs wrapped around the guy's waist) finally lifted her head and smiled an almost bone-chilling smile.

Buffy's heart gave a lurch. It was her! Lira! It was the Slut-Bomb! YES! she cheered internally. Not even with Spike for a month, and the whore was already playing him! And Buffy better than anyone knew how much Spike hated cheating -- he was a one-woman vampire, and always had been (which made him a bit of a freak in the vampire world. Not that he already wasn't one). When he heard about this, he was going to be furious!

And you'll get to console him and be in all self-righteous indignation with him! Pro-Spike added excitedly. Buffy's eyebrows creased.

Where the hell have you been? she thought.

Er... visiting last year's memories, the Spike Brigade replied sheepishly.

Buffy nodded to herself understandingly. Ahhh. Understandable. Proceed.

She nearly smacked herself on the head when she realized what she was doing. Stop talking to yourself, dummy! Get home and tell Spike he's taken up with another two-timing whore!

But before she could, Lira did something that not even Buffy had anticipated.

Her fangs bared, her head dove down and she struck like a viper. Her victim never had a chance to make a noise, and her legs' tight grip on him snapped him in half. She drained the boy in two seconds flat.

Buffy's Slayer instincts thrummed with excitement. The evil man-stealer was not only a two-timer, but she actually was a vampire.

A slow, predatory smile curled her lips.

This night just couldn't get any better.

TBC

Review please :)

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† blood bares all † by AJ Hofacre

Author's Notes:
Many thanks to LadyYashka for her support, and as always, lots and lots of gratitude to Megan, who is STILL playing beta for me despite actually having a life outside of the Spuffyverse :)

Please review!!! I really do reply!

Author's Note the Second: Beware, kiddies. This is where the violence/torture warning comes in. Thank the Gods it's only for this chapter... or is it?

part twelve -- blood bares all

"I knew it."

Lilith stilled, wondering why she hadn't sensed the presence until the intruder had spoken. Normally, her senses were far more advanced and keener than a Slayer's and Vampire's combined; then again, she had just been concentrating on dinner. She slowly turned around, tilting her head as she caught sight of a smirking young blonde behind her. Lilith's eyes narrowed, and she growled. "You!"

Buffy's smirk widened slowly. "Yeah. Me." Walking closer, her arms folded tightly, she shook her head. "Lira, right? I should've known better, if you ask me. I mean, the whole dark-n-gothic thing? Drusilla's worked so much better, and she had the added bonus of being a lunatic. Still, I should've realized you were a vampire fun girl from the start." She shrugged. "But I guess it would have clicked eventually, once you brought Spike into the mix."

Buffy's smile finally faded at that. "You couldn't have left him alone, could you? Why do all the wanna-be Big Bads want to go after him? Why couldn't you, I don't know, go after the... the President, or the Pope, like a normal baddie? Why Spike?"

Lilith prowled closer to her. "I'm trying to save him, you blubbering fool!" she snarled.

Buffy rolled her eyes. "From what, hair products hazardous to his unlife?" she retorted.

"From you!" the vampire shrieked, and Buffy moved back, startled. She gaped at the woman in astonishment.

"Me? You want to save him... from me?" She watched Lilith advance, furiously nodding her head. Buffy stayed in shock for a second... and then it wore off, and she rolled her eyes. "What the hell kinda psycho-planet are you living on?"

That managed to throw Lilith off. "What?" she snapped.

This time, Buffy was the one storming forward. "You want to save him from ME?" she repeated incredulously. "I am the least thing dangerous in Spike's life, and you, ya dumb bitch, you, you barely even... even KNOW him, you wanna -- what? Bring him to life? Make him a king?" Her fist swung abruptly, and as she was now less than a foot away from Lilith, her fist caught the raven-haired woman across the face; and as Lilith had been caught off guard, the punch sent her crashing backwards right into a tombstone -- in the shape of a cross. She winced, but merely shrugged off the stinging as she felt her exposed skin begin to sizzle. That was definitely gonna leave a mark.

Buffy shook out her hand, standing over the woman called Lira with a look of disgust and hatred on her face. "What else could you have been planning on doing, huh? Maybe... getting rid of the competition?" Buffy snorted derisively. "Sorry, honey. I'm NOT going anywhere!"

Lilith had remained on the ground, glaring hatefully up at Buffy's tiny but powerful form, but when the Slayer had finished her tirade, the darker woman had surged upward, grabbing Buffy's leg and yanking down hard. The blonde girl let out a yelp, and crashed down flat on her ass, legs and arms sprawled out to break her fall. Lilith bent down and grabbed Buffy by her hair, slowly pulling her up.

Oh fuckfuckfuuccck, that hurt!

Lilith abruptly let go when Buffy was standing—well, wobbling on two feet, at least—and the Slayer stumbled back several steps, staring in disbelief at the woman.

"Are you fucking insane?" Buffy whispered, bright green eyes wide.

Lilith smirked, baring her teeth. She drew herself up to her full height, which, given that Buffy was normally obscured by everyone at social functions due to her height deficiency, was really quite a good deal, and growled.

"Do you really believe your own delusions, Slayer? Do you really believe yourself to be that on top of things in his life that you have a say on everything or everyone that passes through? You forget, little one, that he's been alive for a century longer than you. William has known people and creatures all over the world in every way possible, decades longer than he's known you. So yes, maybe I am just a little bit insane, when a little bitch like you claims to be so important in someone like William's life."

The dark-haired woman tilted her head in a way that agonizingly reminded Buffy of Spike's (over-abundant) curiosity. Lilith lifted her head, haughtily staring down her nose at Buffy. "I do know him, Slayer. Just as I knew Aurelius himself, Darla, Drusilla..." she sneered, "and your precious, soulful Angelus."

Her feline-like eyes flashed gold. "I know them all, just as I know William. I know William... just as I know all of my children."

Buffy stared at her momentarily in silence. And then she snorted. "Then maybe Social Services should have come after you instead of me, because you have been a VERY bad mommy!" the little blonde exclaimed mockingly. Her eyes lit up. "Ooh! Is it okay by law for the Slayer to invoke punishments on negligent parents?"

Lilith smirked. "Oh, do it. Please. I'd love to see you try."

No sooner had she spoken than Buffy had launched herself up and belted her across the face. "I'll try. I'll definitely try... and I'll most definitely succeed." Another fist thrown against Lilith's face, and Buffy pulled back, her breath coming heavily. "Whore."

Lilith snarled and aimed a wicked right hook across Buffy's jaw, which—when Buffy ducked—slammed into the corner of a mausoleum, breaking off a chunk and reducing it to dust particles. Buffy gaped wide-eyed in horror at where her head had been. If she hadn't avoided that punch right at that second...

Maybe confronting this Lira woman alone hadn't been a good idea after all.

Falling back into a defensive stance, Buffy pushed off from her toes and barrelled headlong into her counter-attack when Lira came at her again. Except that when she plunged toward the evil bitch, the Slayer found herself flying through the air and landing flat on her ass. Again.

She sat up and looked around warily. What... where the hell had she gone? Buffy's eyes lit up and she grinned. Maybe the slut had run away? Big Badass Vamp Chick was just a pussy-footed wimp after all!

"Spike's gonna figure you out, bitch! He's not gonna fall for that bullshit act anymore, not after I let him know!" she yelled out into the night, hoping her voice carried to wherever Lira was. "You don't deserve him! You're a waste of creation, and you're delusional if you think he's EVER gonna be with you! You - oh!"

Buffy's eyes widened as Lira climbed over her, shoving her face firmly to the ground, lily-white hands around the Slayer's delicate throat. "My name is not, nor has ever been Lira, Slayer-wench. My name -- and you should be humbled to know it -- is Lilith." The woman's brows slanted hatefully. "He can't know if you can't tell him," she hissed. Her eyes flashed, and she bent over Buffy, bearing her long, needle-sharp fangs. "And you can't tell him if you're dead."

Her hands tightened around Buffy's throat, and now the Slayer was struggling, gasping for air. The vampire chuckled in amusement. "You stupid, silly child. You really think that I'm just a girl who's got a yen for a boy?" She shook her head. "I think you might be the insane one."

Buffy whimpered, grabbing at the woman's hands desperately, bucking against her in an attempt to regain the air that she was quickly losing. "You know, something tells me that Spike's gonna... gonna notice it if I'm... not back in the house by... by daybreak!" she gasped out.

Lilith smiled coyly. "Oh, believe me. He won't."

It was the thought of how exactly Lira -- no, Lilith -- might go about shielding her unfortunate disappearance from an apparently very trusting Spike that caused the enormous, powerful surge of adrenaline to shoot through her. The Slayer's body scrunched up beneath Lilith's, and her legs came up around the other woman's head, wrapping 'round her neck tightly. Jerking her legs, Buffy yanked the other woman off of her, forcing her to fly back into the ground. The blonde came at Lilith in a flurry of motion, kicking and punching as much, and as hard as, she could.

"You won't live long enough to touch a damn hair on his head," Buffy growled, gathering all of her anger and unleashing it in tidal waves at the prone vampire. Blows to the head, ribs, neck, and sides, even a cheap low blow, all rained down upon the dark-haired woman. And it was when Buffy finally stopped, backing up considerably in order to catch her breath, that she realized something truly, truly horrible.

Lilith did not have a single mark on her. In fact -- there was nothing indicating that a 110-lb. slayer who had unleashed the furies of Hell and otherwise on the darker woman had just attacked Lilith.

Buffy had, for the better part of her slaying career, rarely been in a fight that hadn't left the other party mashed to a bloody pulp on the ground. It was her experience with Glory that had humbled her to that.

But this bitch was stronger than Glory. And Glory had been a god.

So what the hell was Lilith? One of the Titans?

Buffy was petrified. So, instead of backing up slowly, she did the one thing that probably saved her life.

She turned and ran like hell.

Lilith gave a mad little giggle of delight, and clapped her hands - apparently, Drusilla's insanity was not one of a kind, and did, in fact, span generations. "Ooh, I love it when they run!" she cooed. Then, quick as lightning, she followed.

In retrospect, it really was pretty stupid of Buffy to hide from a slightly brain-damaged, probably centuries old vampire behind a crypt, but then again, her mind was more occupied with "Flee-In-Terror" mode. Buffy was not known for thinking logically or rationally in a bad situation - that was what Willow and Giles were for. The Slayer, on the other hand, had a habit of skipping steps when it came to emergencies.

Anyway, the point was, she was acting on animal instincts, saw the big building, and tried to hide behind it. What the hell kind of super-hybrid vampire was Lilith that not even a Slayer at her most brutal could lay a single mark on her?

Okay. Now she was quite positive that it hadn't been a good idea to go after Lira -- bah, Lilith alone. If she got out of the cemetery alive... Oh, god, please let me get out alive... then she was going to alert the gang ASAP.

Riiiight after she ran home to Spike with her tail between her legs, and squealing like a farm animal that she regularly likened him with. Well, hey, Spike deserved to know that his latest interest was a fucking lunatic!

She frowned. And what the hell was Lilith's deal with the "They are my children" thing? She couldn't be saying that she was Spike's -- that she was the woman who had given birth to William The Bloody -- could she?

Well, she does look a little like him around the nose -- Bad-Buffy (as she had now renamed her Pro-Spike thoughts, given how often they gave her bad advice or unnecessary information - such as now) piped up.

EW! If Lilith was his mother... then... she was hitting on her son... and kissing... oh, ew. Gross.

Okay, so it wasn't really that believable. If Lilith was even remotely related to Spike, he would have known. Spike had an unbelievable memory when it came to stuff like this. It had been a century and a half since he’d last seen his mother, but all the same, he still would have recognized her, right?

"Wow. Creative hiding spot, Slayer. I probably never would have found you," a dry, mocking voice said, piercing into her extremely weird thoughts.

Buffy's eyes widened; then her air was once again being cut off, and she was struggling and kicking her feet in mid-air.

"Let me go!" she tried to scream, but her voice only came out as an unintelligible rasp. Lilith did let go - unfortunately, it was just with one hand. The other remained firmly at Buffy's neck, pinning her to the mausoleum wall while Lilith's free hand pulled back - then collided.

Buffy swore later that she felt her brain rattle in her head; the force of Lilith's blow had been so strong.

When she regained consciousness again, she began instinctively lashing out, kicking at the other woman's middle in an attempt to be released.

In response, Lilith's blows became more punishing. Buffy wasn't even aware of how badly she was bleeding until the blood from her split lip began to flood her mouth. Looking down, she noticed that her tank top was very much ruined. She wouldn't have cared at all, normally, as she had gotten used to all of her favourite clothes being decimated night after night over the last seven years, but the sight of her smeared blood on her skin underneath her tank top seemed to be a great cause of concern.

Somehow... it only made sense that this blatant, heinous destruction of her outfit would fuel her hatred for the stupid fucking bitch who wouldn't. Let. Go. Of her neck. As much as it was paining her to move at all, Buffy swung her head forward, ramming her forehead into Lilith's perfect nose.

And again, it only made sense that a good, perfectly positioned head-butt from a cornered Slayer would manage to get the bitch off of her. But just to be sure, once Buffy regained her equilibrium and was able to stand up properly, she spun and knocked Lilith across the jaw with her heavy boot.

By no means was Lilith out for the count, but the dark-haired woman couldn't help but admit that the Slayer (when given a fair chance - or, otherwise, placed in a life-threatening situation) was quite a worthy opponent, and could very well hold her own against power as old as Lilith's.

So she gave Buffy a free card.

She chuckled as she tentatively touched her chin. "You know what, dear? Go ahead and tell sweet William whatever you think it is you know about Big Bad Lilith. Let's see what he says... who he believes." The vampire shook her head in amusement. "You would think that a Slayer of such success and renown as yourself would have thought to do a little research on me before she would even think of attacking."

Buffy's face burned bright red, but she refused to say anything. Instead, at Lilith's next motion, she lunged forward and caught the small, heavy gold signet ring that Lilith had thrown at her.

The darker woman smirked. "Do your investigating, girl. And the next time you want to pick a fight with me... make sure you're ready first."

Buffy, who had been determinedly studying the ring during the bitch's speech, looked up startled when she heard the hiss. Letting out a gasp, she stumbled, backing up wide-eyed when the greenish-yellow eyes of a leopard gazed malevolently back at her from the bushes. One blink, and they vanished.

Buffy stood where she was for a long moment, swaying slightly, then sighed. Rubbing her forehead, where she was fairly sure a bruise would form, she limped achingly out of the cemetery, heading back home, and - hopefully - to Spike's arms. Though both had forfeited this fight tonight, Buffy couldn't help but admit to herself who the real victor of the match was.

She managed to make it home without a sound of protest from her aching body, even when she climbed the porch steps. But apparently, even knocking on the front door had become too much for her - she managed to knock once before her fatigue forced her to collapse on the ground. She just caught sight of the door opening before her eyes saw black.

It had taken every single little bit of willpower to stop Spike from charging up those stairs after Buffy, in order to, er, take care of the problem she'd managed.

And once his subconscious Buffy made an appearance, his lonely hand working him into a well-deserved release, it was quite easy to roll over, pretend he was curled up with a sweet and loving Buffy, and go to sleep.

Unfortunately, his slumbers never lasted long these days -- he woke up after a good, solid half-hour of rest, hearing vague footsteps on the floor above him, before grunting with annoyance and passing out again.

This continued in a slightly erratic pattern until about 3:18 in the morning, when there were a few loud thumps at the door during his conscious period. Frowning, he managed to stand up without tangling his legs in the makeshift throw that covered him, and sauntered toward the door cautiously.

Somewhere in his lucid, not sleep-deprived mind, he registered that it wasn't normal when loud banging noises were made against the front door at three in the morning. And then, the aforementioned lucid parts remembered that Spike lived on top of a Hellmouth, where this WAS a regular occurrence.

It was that realization that made Spike change course and stagger over to the weapon's chest that Buffy kept - in plain view, no less - in the corner of the living room. Of course, the axe he hauled out was probably a bit of overkill, but he wasn't taking any chances. He moved back toward the front door.

But the bloody pile of... something... lying there was cause enough for him to fling the axe back into the house, and scramble onto the porch. Rich, pulsing, fluid, aromatic, delicious, tangy... Recognition flared. Oh, god. The blood. He dropped to his knees next to the figure in shock.

"Oh, God. Buffy," he muttered, gently pushing her over onto her back. "Shit!" he exclaimed when he got a good look at her face. Cuts, bruises, blood... Buffy's beautiful, beautiful, picturesque face... The Slayer looked like she'd hit a wall. Covered in spikes. Repeatedly.

"Gods, Buffy, what happened to you?" Spike asked quietly, closing all his senses to the rich, thick red rivers that were dribbling down her face and across her body. It wouldn't do to have his demon react in hunger to the blood placed before him now -- as it was, he was having to forcibly shove the demon back, given how close to the surface it really was. After a moment, when he was satisfied that his demon had been subdued, he settled one arm behind her head and the other behind her knees, lifting her up with barely a grunt. (Lord, but Buffy could stand to gain a few pounds!) He carried her inside carefully, placing her gently on the living room couch.

The minute she woke up, he was gonna raise hell until he found out what had happened to her. But first...

He swallowed hard.

He had to stop the blood.

Warm. So warm, and so... nice. And loving. Safe.

Buffy sighed softly and turned over, her eyes fluttering open. To meet the piercing blue gaze of an incredibly hacked-off vampire.

Uh-oh. He knew she was awake.

"WHAT THE BLOODY FUCKING HELL DID YOU DO NOW?!"

Buffy cringed. Ick. Warmth, love and safety made a swift exit. Now playing: Annoyance.

Oh, goody. She's been awake for half-a-second, and the Spanish Inquisition had already begun.

Buffy looked up, preparing to play the role of the wide-eyed innocent over whatever Spike was going to blame her for now. But Spike had that look on his face. The one with the squinty eyes, and the flared nostrils, and the bared teeth that used to say, "If you make another stupid comment about Drusilla being a ho again, I'm gonna rip out your intestines and wear them as scarves!"

Except this time it was much scarier, because now, Spike could follow through on that threat.

Okay. So it was full Menace Mode, then. Dammit. That meant he wasn't going to budge.

Well, fortunately for her, she knew him well enough by now that she could see the tensing of his jaw, and the nervous tic of his fingers that revealed his fear and concern for her.

Either that, or her head had been banged into the damn mausoleum too many times.

Oh, whatever. It couldn't hurt to humor him.

"Do? I didn't do anything. I went patrolling, and I got into a fight."
Spike glared at her. She backed up. "Okay, a really, very BAD fight. That's it!" Well, it's a half-truth, at least. And did I mention that the bitch who did this to me was your skanky new... whatever she is?; oh, by the way, she's also an evil vampire!

Buffy frowned at the middle of that thought. How was it that Spike couldn't even tell that Lilith was a vamp? Normally he would've been able to react to her presence, even if she were fifty miles away.

Hmm. She should probably get to researching The Enormous Ho sometime soon. Mental note to bug Giles.

Spike raised his scarred eyebrow skeptically. “Patrolling. Right. That’s what you did after sundown. For three hours. Remember?"

Shit. Her face was turning bright red, and she knew it, but she still fought tooth and nail against it. Or, if she couldn’t beat it, then she could at the very least keep her composure.
Spike was leaning against the couch and smirking at her now. “So, tell me, Slayer – why’d ya wanna do another sweep after we picked off the new-vamp populace for the night?"

She looked at him closely, green eyes narrowed pointedly. “I was just feeling a bit… dejected. I wanted to get it all out,” she muttered. There, she thought, that’s vague enough to get him off my back, and sounds enough like “rejected” to make him feel like a big dumb guilty… person. Oh, yeah, I’m SUCH a word-smith tonight.

She noticed his face soften slightly, but if she’d actually thought that Spike -- Spike! -- was going to back off, then her common sense was going the Way of The Dodo.

His voice was so cold when he next spoke that it was practically Arctic. “An’ tha’s a reason to disappear?" He stopped for a moment, glaring hard at her, then affected a high falsetto voice. "Ooh, I'm Buffy the Vampire Slayer®. I’m depressed, I can’t take five bloody minutes out of my broodin’ to wake up the sleepy vampire an’ let him know where ‘m gonna be!" Thankfully, he returned to his normal voice after that. "S’that it, Slayer?” He turned fierce blue eyes in her direction, flashing with the cool, hard gold of the demon. “I was fuckin' asleep, Buffy! I wouldn’t’ve known where you were if you hadn’t’ve crashed headlong into the effin' door! An’ what if you hadn’t’ve made it back? What the hell would we ‘ve done then? How would we ‘ve found you?” His next one, a true low blow, really, really went in for the kill. “How could I fuckin’ tell Dawn?! What the buggerin’ hell were you thinkin’, ‘f you were even thinkin’ at all?” he yelled.

Buffy winced. Oops. Out of sight, out of mind, it seemed. She hadn’t even been thinking about Dawn, she was shamed to say.

Oh, yeah, she was up for Sister-Of-The-Year.

Whoa… mmkay. How had he managed to pin her to the couch when she wasn’t looking? His hands were grasping her shoulders, as if he were desperate for her to understand, or believe him. Her defensiveness reacted, and she started kicking and shoving at him, all the while groaning in agony – to no avail.

Ugh. He was five minutes away from beating the sense into her.

And as always, her mouth jumped in to ruin the day… or make it even worse, the way things were going.

“You could always ask your sweet, innocent girl about it,” Buffy snarled, continuing to push and shove at him, though it was doing little good.

Spike stopped and frowned down at her in confusion, exasperation, and (not to mention) annoyance. “What? What the bloody hell are you talkin’ about? What’s Dawn got to do with this?"

Buffy groaned and rolled her eyes, then whimpered softly – dammit, the bitch had beaten her so badly she’d bruised Buffy’s eyes! She shoved him away, this time succeeding, and fought the urge to start laughing when he flumped onto the floor. “Not Dawn, braintrust! Lilith! Your new Drusilla wanna-be!"

Now Spike was just lost. “Who, now? I don’t have a – wait, a Drusilla wanna-be? There’s a chit walkin’ ‘round tryin’ ta be Dru? An' who the hell is Lilith?” For a moment, he looked almost excited by the possibility, practically bouncing on his heels – well, he would’ve been if his ass hadn’t been firmly planted on the ground – then, the confusion set in. Again. “Why?"

By that point, Buffy was poking herself on one of her bruises to keep reminding her that violence would NOT be appreciated in this situation, and no, she really should not pop Spike on the nose, no matter how much the situation called for it because he was the man she loved and it wouldn’t be suitable.

Then she remembered that the man she loved had been semi-sociopathic for the better part of a century, and would probably welcome a good punch to the face, as that would induce foreplay, and inducing foreplay would thereby ensure that -- Arrggggh... Bad. Buffy. Thoughts.

Also, kinda starting to sound like Anya. Major wig-factor there.

Either way, she decided it would probably be better to explain things to him when she wasn’t resorting to the literal version of beating sense into him.

“Spike,” she began calmly, giving him a deadly Look when he opened his mouth to interrupt. “Your new... companion,” (for lack of a better term. She still couldn’t bring herself to say the 'g' word.), “is identical to Drusilla. In. Every. Way. And her name is not Lira. It's Lilith."

Spike snorted. “Yeh. Right. An’ people called Dru insane. You’re positively nutters, Buffy."

She scowled.

Spike chuckled in amusement. “They’re not identical! An’, all right, yeh, they got a bit of the tall, pale, seductive dark-haired thing with a penchant for me bit goin’, but it doesn’t mean anything! An' her bloody name is Lira!"

“Argh!” Buffy ground out. She grabbed for her head, then rethought it at the last moment, as it was still swelling and throbbing with pain, and grabbed Spike’s head instead, doing her best not to throttle him. Because, as her subconscious was quite fond of reminding her – daily – it wouldn’t do any good.

“Spike! Listen to me. Clearly. They. Are. The. Same. The mannerisms, t-the way they walk, the ‘cross-me-and-you’ll-die-a-painful-painful-death’ attitude, and, oh yeah, the BLOODSUCKING! Lilith -- LILITH, not LIRA, is a VAMPIRE!"

“Oh, I’ve fuckin’ had it with you, Slayer,” he growled, straightening. “Lira is not a bloody vampire, an’ I should know, seein' as I fuckin' am one! If she was, I woulda sensed her fucking demon –"

“The same way I did?” Buffy demanded quickly. “I couldn’t sense her demony-ness either, Spike, but I saw it with my own eyes! She killed a man tonight, Spike, and she did it by ripping his throat out!"

“You’ve been on the soddin’ Hellmouth too long. She’s got the whole vamp thing goin’ for her, so you’re becomin’ delusional! Yeh, she’s a bit odd, got a screw loose an’ what-not, and okay, she’s a bit of a --"

“Blood-sucking crabs-infested gutterslut?” Buffy supplied innocently, grinning when Spike turned and glared at her.

“An eccentric, I was goin’ ta say, you stupid bint. An’ how do you --“ he stopped and looked at her closely. “Tonight? You saw ‘er tonight?"

Buffy let out a relieved breath that she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Yes, that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you! I saw her tonight in the graveyard with another guy. And she killed him. So not only is your new girl a vampire, but she’s macking on other guys to boot!"

Spike looked at her in disbelief, causing Buffy’s earlier euphoria at his having finally ‘gotten it’ to completely disappear. When he at last gave a reaction, she wished to God that, for once, she’d kept her mouth shut.

“Were you actually – you have the gall to – you bloody stupid fucking BITCH!” he roared, and suddenly, Buffy was trying very hard to avoid the virtually apoplectic rage she could see in his now-yellow eyes. She yelped when she suddenly found herself propped up against the wall next to where she’d been sitting. A tiny pained whimper escaped her lips as her bruised ribs jarred against each other and she closed her eyes tightly, bowing her head down. An indignant inner-Slayer began ranting at how she could have even possibly missed Spike’s lunge at her, but she quickly forced the primal inside to shut the hell up as she looked up and gazed at the fury on Spike’s face.

“S-Spike?” she stuttered, looking up at him nervously. Another very non-Slayer like action; she hated to admit it, but he was really starting to scare her now. Unfortunately, he didn’t seem to know what he was doing and grasped her harder, his fingers already forming bruises on her previously bruised arms. She tried again, meeker this time, her body beginning to shake. “William?"

That did the trick. Spike suddenly realized that he had actually managed to scare the living hell out of her, and he pulled away quickly. Raking his fingers through his gelled hair, he turned and glared at her.

“Summers, you're a real piece of work, you know that?” he spat. She gazed at him wide-eyed, but before she could contest that statement, Spike continued. “For months at a time, it’s push-me-pull-me because it’s the soddin’ wrong thing for you, but the right thing for your body. So when I back off, I think ‘m doin’ the right thing, since you don’t want me, physically or... well, not so physically. I decide to move on, I meet another chit who is nowhere NEAR as complex as you are, and you bloody start stalkin’ her!” Buffy began sputtering incoherently. “An’ now you start rampagin’ on, tellin’ me she’s seein’ other guys, her name's not really her name, an' she’s a vampire? Are you that fuckin’ spoiled, Buffy? Are you that fuckin’ jealous?” Spike raged.

Buffy’s eyes blazed. “I’m telling you that she’s a vampire because that’s what she is!” she bit back, as soon as she was able to form words properly again. “She did lie to you about her name, and as for her seeing other guys, well, I don’t know about ‘guys’ plural, but I definitely saw her with the one. And now he’s dead, because she squeezed him with her freakish man-legs, hard enough to break his back, while she stuck her tongue down his throat before she sucked his blood!"

Spike’s eyes flashed again. “You’re a nasty little liar. You’re full of shit, Buffy!” he snarled. The smaller blonde gasped, her jaw dropping indignantly.

“I’m telling you the truth!” she yelped.

“You’re fuckin’ jealous as hell that I refuse to be your bloody lapdog anymore!"

“I’m trying to save your sorry excuse for an unlife, you grade-A asshole!"

“Bitch!"

“Manwhore!"

“You stupid fucking bloody senseless cunt!"

Oh, THAT did it.

With a wild cry and no heed for her own injuries, Buffy lunged at him.

Dawn sat alone on the bed in the hotel room she was sharing with Willow and sighed, watching Clem contemplate the merits of stealing the tiny Jack Daniels, or going for the much smoother Mudslide. “Do you think it’s working?” she asked the floppy-skinned demon.

Clem shrugged, opening the tiny JD and sniffing at it before shrugging again and downing it. “Don’t really know, kiddo.” He threw a disgusted glance at the now-empty bottle. “But I DO know that I will never drink this stuff straight ever again. Kittens on the rocks taste better than this stuff, I don’t know how Spike does it.” He turned his attention to the Mudslide and smiled crookedly at Dawn. “Have you ever had one of these?"

Dawn’s eyes lit up and she started toward him when he held the bottle out.

“Oh, wait. Isn’t there some sort of law against little humans like you drinking?"

God. Dammit.

Dawn sat down again, scowling.

Their lips crashed together at full force, Buffy clinging desperately to Spike. Her arms were flung around his neck, and she was finding it quite difficult not to virtually climb up his body to be closer to him. Her legs were wrapped tightly around his waist, and Spike was sucking and licking at her lips like they were the greatest pleasure that he had ever known – hey, maybe they were. He stood up, straightened, and began stumbling backwards, looking for some sort of surface to hold him up before his knees buckled, and ended up pressed between Buffy’s lither, squirming little body and the wall. The position, with their combined attempts at trying to do the impossible and climbing their way inside each other, allowed their bodies to firmly interlock without any actual interlocking, and they both moaned out loud.

Spike’s hips began to twist and grind into Buffy’s, and she gave a deep, shuddering, very heartfelt moan, arching against him. With his hands firmly circling her waist, he lifted her up and pushed and pulled at her, his mouth finally leaving hers to trail a fire of ice down the length of her neck and chest.

Buffy very nearly screamed in happiness when she felt his lips close on her skin. She had never been so damn happy to be wearing a button-down, and she (temporarily) let go of her clamp-grip on Spike’s neck to assist in tearing it down the middle. The effect was like metal colliding with a magnet. As Buffy had neglected to re-don all of the necessary garments before she’d gone out, Spike’s head had zeroed in and latched on to her small bare breast. Buffy gave a yipping shriek and threw her head back, moaning. “Spike...” she gasped, running her hand over his chest. “Oh... God! Missed you... oh!"

Her other hand began to move down his back to clutch his ass as the first hand squirmed its way between their bodies, just as Spike moved his head back up to kiss her breathless again.

He was lost. He’d missed her so bloody much, and he’d dreamed for ages of being in her arms again. His brain had temporarily shut down, and all he could think about was her, kissing her, touching her, being with her. His thoughts could only focus on Buffy; and his body had most definitely recognized hers. His demon was clamouring inside of him, recognizing its mate and begging for the chance to claim her --

All rational thought returned the minute he heard his zipper go down.

Spike’s eyes snapped open, and he dropped Buffy in alarm.

Buffy let out a little yelp of shock as she hit the floor, staring up at Spike dumbly with her jaw hanging open. “Spike?” she asked in surprise. “W-What is it? Why did you... I mean..."

Spike was backing away from her as quickly as possible, eyes bright and alert. All of his nervous tics had returned, and she suddenly knew that if she made any sudden move, Spike would jolt and take off. And God... the look on his face.

Terror. Utter terror.

“No,” he muttered, “no, no, no, no BLOODY way, this isn’t fuckin’ happenin’ again!” He bent down into a crouch and put his head in his hands, whimpering softly.

It was like a bucket of ice water when Buffy clued in. She’d been too far gone, elated that Spike’s response to her kisses had been just as passionate and loving and demanding as his kisses had always been; that his feelings for her thankfully hadn’t disappeared.

Unfortunately, she hadn’t noticed that while they had both been responding to each other, she had managed to manoeuvre him into the exact same position they had taken the first time they had had sex.

But apparently, Spike had noticed.

“Oh, god,” she whispered, and she scrambled over to him on her hands and knees, uncaring of the scared rabbit demeanour that Spike was exhibiting now. She knew exactly why he was acting like this. Last year, she’d used and abused him to the point of insanity, and Spike was scared shitless that it was going to happen here. Now. All over again.

“Spike, oh God... baby, I’m so sorry,” she gasped, wrapping her arms tightly around him, holding her own even when he began to twist and push away from her. “God, Spike, I didn’t mean it, baby, I didn’t mean to do it, you have to believe me, please!” She bent so that she could look him in the eye, and desperately cupped his face with her hand. “Spike – William – please, I’m sorry, I’m so, so freaking sorry!"

He didn’t respond.

She grabbed his chin and lifted his head. “Spike! Please, look at me!” Blank blue eyes stared back at her – stared through her – but she otherwise had his attention now. She shook her head, her eyes tearing up. “I didn’t mean it. You know I didn’t. I never meant it, Spike. I don’t want to hurt you anymore...” she whispered softly, slowly leaning forward and burying her face in his neck. “I’m sorry... I just... want you... I want you back so much, Spike, and I don’t know what to do.” Quietly, she began crying, clutching at him desperately. “Please, please don’t hate me again... I couldn’t bear it... Please, Spike, please don’t hate me..."

Spike was silent for a good deal of time... but he was clinging to Buffy as desperately as she was clinging to him. Hopefully that meant that no, he didn’t hate her, and no, he wasn’t going to curse her name for all of eternity.

When he finally did speak, it was with a certain air of hurt and resignation. He shook his head and whispered softly, “Why don’t you ever want me on your own accord, Buffy? Or how ‘bout when it doesn’t benefit you?” His voice was bitter.

Buffy looked up slowly to see his stormy gaze practically pinning her down. His face was set as hard as stone, but she could see his beautiful eyes pining and begging her for answers.

He continued. “Why do you only ever want me when someone else does? I feel like some little sprog’s bloody toy, Buffy! You have your fun with me, an’ then you toss me away, an’ when someone else picks me up, you want me back again. What do you want from me, Slayer?” he demanded. “’Cos if you’re just jerkin’ me around by the shorthairs, just put a stake through me an’ put me outta my fucking misery, right the hell now. Tell me what you want."

Buffy stared up at him before straightening and giving him a pleading gaze. “Get rid of her. Spike, please. I hate her... and I hate that she wants you... and what if she wants to hurt you? I-I couldn’t... please, just...“ Her head dipped and pressed against his chest. “Please get rid of her?"

Spike sighed. “Buffy--"

The Slayer sat up, looking at him desperately. “Spike, PLEASE! She’s using you! She’s trying to turn you against me, and it’s working! She’s evil, a-and, she’s using you to get to me!” she gasped. “Please, please don’t fall for her! Spike –“ Her hands clutched at him frantically, even as he tugged her closer, stroking her back and trying his best to comfort her, even as her tears clouded her vision and obstructed her view of his beautiful face. “Please, don’t leave me?"

Spike’s stomach dropped, and his poor abused heart leapt up to the base of his throat. ‘Don’t leave me.’ She was asking him not to leave. She wanted to keep him there, with her. For him, that was the closest Buffy was going to get to admitting her feelings for him. In his mind, those three words were essentially the equivalent of ‘I need you,’ and only one step closer to ‘I love you.'

And suddenly, an enormous surge of realization and happiness overwhelmed him.

His girl was back.

For the past five years that he’d known her, Buffy had gone from wearing her heart on her sleeve for the people that she loved, to maintaining a cold façade to keep the people she loved safe. Last year, she had been worse – her friends’ meddling, and her reluctant expulsion from Heaven could attest to that. She’d felt betrayed by the very people she had risked her life time and time over for, and as a result of her blossoming friendship with Spike, and then her blossoming not-so-friendship with him, Buffy had taken out all of her aggressions on him. But now...

Now, this Buffy, sitting in front of him with tears in her eyes, and hugging him as if she feared the world would rip them apart – this was the infuriating little blonde spitfire he had unknowingly fallen fangs-over-heels for at the Bronze so many years ago. This was the girl who put her heart on the line when she fought, so that her fighting would mean something.

He rubbed her shoulders gently, placing a reassuring kiss on her forehead.

“I am never leavin’ you, Buffy. ‘m always gonna be around, always gonna be here for you,” he muttered fervently. His hands came up to tilt her face, so she was looking up at him. “How many times am I going to tell you, girl? I’ll leave Sunnyhell when I bloody well want to. An’ if I decide I wanna stay an’ pester you for the rest of your soddin’ life, then you’re gonna hafta live with it, pet. ‘m not goin’ anywhere."

Buffy managed a small snort of laughter, leaning in and resting her head against Spike’s shoulder. For an uncertain moment, Spike didn’t know if his body would shrug her off, or welcome his random use as a pillow, and he felt himself tense in a way that would be perceived as bad in Buffy’s eyes. Then he glanced down at the annoying little blonde and sighed, relaxing. His arm closed more securely around her, and he dropped another kiss at the top of her head. Looking up at the ceiling, Spike sighed again. Only one thing left to complete this whole... whatever it was.

“She’s gone, luv,” he promised quietly. “Lira -- Lilith is gone. I swear it.'

She had finally fallen asleep, upstairs in her room. Thank the sodding Powers...

After about an hour of her whimpering and clinging to him like a human magnet, she had finally passed out, and Spike had lifted her into his arms, carrying her up the stairs. As he hadn't exactly felt comfortable playing the whole 'Mum' role, he hadn't bothered taking her out of her clothes, so if she would wake up later with creases in her skin from her black leather pants and the tight, pleated button down she'd been wearing, it wasn't his fault.

Dawn and the others had come home about an hour after Buffy had gone to sleep, and Spike had been rather annoyed -- although at least partially grateful -- to learn that the entire Buffy-Seduction thing had been the Bit's scheme. Pity it hadn't worked properly. In his role as playing Buffy's Magnet, the tiny Slayer had refused to let him leave her bed, even in her sleep, and so he had been resting on the bed with her -- just holding her -- when a loud crash alerted him, and a tumble of brown hair and blue eyes had burst into the room, grinning.

Dawn's grin had instantly disappeared at the sight of her battered older sister, however. Spike, after finally prying Buffy off of him, had then had to spend ten minutes trying to calm the hysterical teenager down enough to a) keep her from waking Buffy with her half-sobs and screams, and b) make her comprehensive enough so that she could tell Giles and Willow what had happened.

All in all, he'd been exhausted, and it was only too gladly that he had followed his instincts and collapsed back onto the bed with Buffy. A small, warm Slayer body had been just the thing he'd needed at that moment to relax.

And then he'd seen the ring.

It was nothing like the claddagh that had tied her for so long to his prat of a grandsire; that had been small, and essentially weightless. The ring surrounding her middle finger was built to be heavy. There was a blood-red jewel placed in the very center, amid a swirl of pink and yellow gold. The band was a bit uneven, and the edges were worn down, meaning that the ring had seen quite a bit of wear and tear over the ages. It was quite large as well, which made him wonder how on earth Buffy had managed to hold on to it.

Where had she gotten this?

This was the sort of ring that was carried around as a family heirloom. Only a right git would have dropped this thing, and left it where Buffy could find it. Not that he'd thought that Buffy was such an idiot that nobody could trust her with something of this calibre and beauty -- er, not that he thought Buffy was an idiot...

He felt a dawning comprehension settle itself like a mantle on his shoulders as he looked at Buffy. He hadn’t been a completely clueless git. He’d recognized her little word play when he’d asked her where she’d gone. He’d hurt her heart and her pride terribly, and she’d run out to get away from him. And she’d stumbled on Lira – Lilith – that bloody bint he’d been dating in the process? There was a part of him that brayed that the situation had been brought about by Buffy, that she had purposely gone after Lilith to find some dirt on the woman and to cause some trouble. There was another part that was telling him that it had been a mere coincidence that Buffy had discovered the woman that night. Jealous or not, Buffy had no reason to lie to him about something as insane as this.

He glanced down guiltily. Her wounds most definitely lent credence to her story.

And at the sight of the ring that he now held in his hand, he was beginning to believe that Buffy really knew what she was talking about.
The name, too. The woman’s real name... Lilith...

He had gently prodded her, stroking her arm in an attempt to rouse her. "Buffy, luv, what cemetery were you at tonight?"

She hummed, and mumbled, and groaned softly to herself, before murmuring, "Forest Hill..."

He couldn't resist a soft smile as she attempted to burrow her way into the pillow. The mystic healing that tied itself to her kind was already beginning the slow process of mending her injuries, but she wasn't even close to the point where she would be well. His hand lightly wrapped around hers, and he squeezed gently to get her sleepy attention focused. "That's where you saw Lir-Lilith?"

Another soft humming noise. "Mm-hmm..."

A pause, then Spike pushed on hesitantly. "She didn't... say anything to you, did she?"

Buffy slowly popped open one eye and stared up at him curiously. "We're playing Twenty Questions now?" After a moment, she whined. "Spike, Buffy is incredibly tired, and incredibly in pain. Can we do this tomorrow?"

He shook his head. "No, Buffy," he said softly, "I need you to answer me now. What did she say to you?"

Buffy sighed and sat up, wobbling slightly. "She said something... something about her... lineage. Her... children. She was talking about her children... which I guess means her Childer, right?" she asked. Spike nodded curtly, and she continued. "She... thinks that by being with you... she's saving you. From me. I told her she was nuts, and... we started fighting. And then she... Wait," she grumbled softly, closing her eyes tightly. "She told me that she'd never been known as Lira, and that her name was Lilith. She said that... she knew you. Better than I knew you. She said, she knew the entire line of Aurelius, just like she knew you.... and..." Buffy frowned, looking up at him. "She knew you just like she knew all of her children."

His quick intake of breath had startled her, but as she'd still been half-asleep when she'd revealed this information to Spike, his quiet, soothing words -- not to mention the gentle rumblings emanating from his chest -- managed to lull her back to sleep. And when he was certain that she had passed out completely for the night, he breathed out one single word: "Bugger."

He had taken the ring over to the light to get a better glimpse at it -- and as soon as the light hit the jewel in the center, Spike knew, without a single doubt, that everything that Buffy had been trying to tell him was true.

He had gazed at the shimmering red words mirrored on the wall with a sense of foreboding that life upon the Hellmouth had only honed to perfection in the last four years.

virgo quisnam occupo lux lucis;
eternus unus**

Not for nothing had Spike been well-versed in Latin as a human child. And not for nothing had he been known to keep (mostly) cool in situations of dire and utter panic.

He had stalked out of the room. Giles needed to know everything, anything that was remotely available about -- Lilith. Then they could stop whatever she was planning before she could even begin; no matter that it had something to do with him; and no matter that she seemed to be, quite literally, out for Buffy's blood. They would gather up the required information and resources, and once Buffy was again at full strength, they could... possibly call in reinforcements... and -- and kick Lilith's ass, and save the world. Again.

But it didn't stop the terror-infused words from resounding inside his mind, nor the nausea from roiling in his stomach.

Oh, gods... Lilith is... it's her.

TBC...

** the above is Latin. Roughly translated, it says: "the maiden who has seized the light; the eternal one"
(Got this from http://www.tranexp.com:2000/auth/. And wikipedia.com, BTW)

Author's Note The Third: Who's her, you ask? All will be explained in Part 13. Well, mostly all. But to get there, you have to REVIEW... Please?

Back to index

† progress † by AJ Hofacre

Author's Notes:
Well, here we go. Four years of nothing have finally turned into something. I hope you guys like this -- here it is, for the first time ever, Beneath You Part 13 -- Progress.

As always, my heart felt thanks to my dear beta Megan, and to LadyYashka who is instrumental in giving me mounds and mounds of support. Thank you both so much.

part thirteen - progress

Utter, all encompassing terror was a very quick way to forgive someone who has wronged you, and Spike had had at least four days to stew on it.

His vision blurred as he gazed again at the telling red words he had once more projected onto the wall, then down at Buffy who—thankfully— lay lightly bruised, but not bleeding (anymore), sleeping quietly on her bed. Swallowing hard, he glanced back at the words, and for a minute it seemed like the entire room shook – then he looked down and realized that he was actually shaking hard enough to blow up a can of Coke. Giving a belated gasp, he dropped the signet ring onto the floor like he’d been burned.

It had finally sunk in.

This had been his routine for four days. Ever since he'd discovered the words hidden within the jewel that could only be seen by a reflection of light, Spike had taken it out at every opportunity to study it. He'd presented it to Giles and demonstrated it. He'd allowed Willow to hold it and attempt to locate information on it. They'd tried their damned best to reassure themselves that it was just another hoax -- like half of the idiot fledglings in the graveyards that got themselves turned so they could be another Dracula, Louis, or Lestat.

Looking at it now -- gazing at the words and then looking at the ring this time -- it rang clear in Spike's mind.

She was... real.

He’d thought she was a myth. Another story Angelus had made up to try to warn off young William’s catastrophic behaviour as a fledgling. Spike wasn’t quite sure why he’d thought she was a story, considering everything that went on around Sunnydale. But somehow, in his mind, Spike had denounced her supposed legends and myths to just that – nothing more than stories. Tall tales that the old ones told their Childer so they wouldn’t be forgotten.

His mind was officially boggled.

The mother of the vampire race was here. In Sunnydale. And, oddly enough, coming on to him, while beating Buffy to within an inch of her life.

Spike sighed. Fucking figured. It couldn’t ever be something simple, could it? They couldn't ever go up against something easily beatable, like terrorists, or corrupt, slightly insane politicians, no, they had to try and go against someone who was all but fucking immortal! Weren’t the regular Big Bads enough, what with old Bat Face, the glorified stripper and UberEvil!Willow wreaking havoc? Now the creator, the literal mother of all vampires, of all demons, had to come to town.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

She was the first Woman that the Bible refused to write about. She’d been created to be an equal to the first Man in every way, shape and form. Lilith had not existed, and then suddenly, one day, she had, breathing her first breath of air as a fully-grown adult female, sprung from the dust of the ground like her counterpart.

The Father had intended for her to be her husband’s lesser – Lilith did not like that. She sneered at the idea, preferring to live amongst the animals and demons of the world, rather than be subject to her husband’s stupidity, and The Father’s subjectivity. She laughed when, from afar, she watched Him pull a bone from her husband’s ribs and throw it to the ground to mingle with the dust, before the other – her replacement, her sister – sprang up from the sod.

Eve was everything Lilith was not, in that she deferred all she thought to their husband. Lilith watched as the Father blinded them to all things but living in bliss in the Garden; watched in disgust and horror as her sister was willingly made the lesser in her relationship with The Father’s fool.

Lilith herself took up a life of her own, luxuriating in a world without the strictness of The Father’s rules, and the idiocy of her husband’s desires. Outside of Eden, Lilith was free -- to do whatever she wanted with her world.

The demons of her realm realized that she was the first created of The Father’s Chosen, and bowed down before her, honoring her as if she were a God. They brought her food and sacrifices and they lusted after her because she was a very beautiful woman, despite being made in The Creator’s image. They were demons – not blind.

Lilith knew of their lust for her, and used it to her advantage. Knowing that her sister and the idiot were still living in Eden, blind to their own bodies and each other, Lilith followed their example – she walked about in the nude, pretending that she wasn’t aware of how she affected the beasts of her realm. As it was, she had managed to attract the attention of two particular demons – the Prince of Lies himself, Lucifer, whose partner she would be, and the creature whose children she would bear, the Turok-han.

Lucifer could shape shift, and regularly appeared to her as a dark, handsome man with hair the color of soot and eyes of the bluest blue. He repeatedly offered her a place beside him on his demonic throne, but she continuously refused – she liked the world that The Father had created, and there was more opportunity to provide mischief when on Earth than below in Hell. Relenting to her logic – because as beautiful as she was, she was also very intelligent; probably more intelligent than The Creator had intended for her to be – Lucifer stopped offering her his throne, and instead offered her one of her own, on Earth and in command of all of the demons. He allowed her to accept the advances of the Turok-han, and offered her eternal life in the exchange that she allowed herself to breed for him. Her children would be numerous, and would populate the Earth that the Creator seemed so intent on keeping empty, save for the two oblivious ones in Eden.

She was tired of her sister not thinking for herself and allowing the bumbling idiot his own way no matter the consequences – which, since they lived in Paradise, were actually quite few and far between, if not completely nonexistent. So she accepted Lucifer’s offer on the condition that he would free her sister from Adam’s clutches.

It didn’t quite go as she had hoped it would. Lucifer had gone about it all as she’d wanted – he had appeared to Eve as a snake, having possessed the four-legged reptile; he had encouraged her to take an apple from the Tree of Knowledge that The Father had been so determined to keep His creations away from. Eve's natural curiosity prevailed, and she had accepted, and Lilith had hoped that with a bite of the apple would come the knowledge that she was being oppressed and used as nothing more than a mindless companion when she could be so much more. But Lilith's imprudent sister had delighted at the taste of the apple, and had been so conditioned that everything that was hers was also the Fool’s, that as soon as he found her and saw what she had done, she offered him a taste of the apple as well. Eve's own sin committed in naivety and despite Lilith's best intentions, had resulted in Eve's husband knowingly committing the same sin.

As punishment, they had been exiled from Eden together. The serpent whom Lucifer had possessed had his legs removed, and was forced to slither on his belly to reach his destinations.

And to Lilith’s horror, after their expulsion, her sister stayed with the fool -- going so far as to bear his first child.

What vicious, disgusting, vile offspring as well. Lilith, to her horror, bore sole witness to her nephew Abel's murder, committed by the jealous Cain. Stricken and disgusted that the Father had allowed such a foul urchin to live despite what he'd done, Lilith took it upon herself to dole out punishment. She commanded the Turok-han, her mate, to dispose of the brat.

For her, it was the beginning of the end.

Her head was wet.

No. Not wet. Damp. And... rough? Why rough?

Oh, God. Someone was trying to kill her. Again.

She gasped and squirmed, letting out a cry as she began struggling, trying to fight off whoever was trying to smother her.

"Shh, sweetheart. 'S alright. Buffy, 's just me."

Her eyes snapped open instantly and met worried blue. She heaved a great sigh of relief and grasped the hand that was cupping her cheek.

"Oh!" she gasped, reaching up to throw her arms around his neck. "Oh, God, Spike, you're here!"

She sensed rather than felt his hesitation, before he gave in and wrapped his arms around her. But she definitely felt him chuckle before she saw his smile. "Where else would I be, pet? Told you I wouldn't leave you, didn't I?"

Buffy closed her eyes, relishing the feeling of his arms around her - something she'd been certain she would never feel again. Granted, she'd imagined more than just his arms around her, but if she was looking to be forgiven for her past misdeeds, then she needed to be less of a horny bitch, and more of an actual person-with-a-brain.

"I don't know... I guess I thought that I imagined the past few nights..." She frowned, and then winced when pain shot across her brow. "Not that I remember much." Peering up at Spike, she clutched at his arm tightly. "Did... Did I get hurt?"

Her heart sank as soon as he sucked his lower lip in and drew a short breath.

He sighed. "Yeah, sweetheart. You got hurt real bad." He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "An' you were right... 'Bout Lira -- er, Lilith, I mean." He sighed again. "She's the one who did this to you."

The fact was, Spike thought guiltily, that following his discovery of the message in the ring, Buffy had suddenly been thrust into a bout with fever. He'd done his best to sooth her while discussing the situation with Rupert, and now, days later, the fever had broken. Buffy's forehead and face was still a little warm, but not alarmingly so. And even better than that, all of her wounds had healed. All that remained of the attack on her by Lilith was a pukish-yellow colored bruising along her left cheekbone, her left collarbone, and the right side of her ribs. All in all, she was healed -- perhaps not quite mentally yet, but certainly physically.

The memory began filtering through Buffy's mind, and an exhausted moan escaped her lips. She didn't even bother to take the effort for her well deserved 'I told you so' lashing. "She was so strong," Buffy whispered. "I hit her with everything I had, and she just wouldn't go down... She was like a brick wall or something; Spike, it was like I was fighting Glory all over again, except this time, she was twice as strong -- nothing affected her!"

When Buffy looked up at him again, Spike's lips were pursed tightly together. Concerned, she tugged gently on his arm. "Spike? What is it?"

He opened his mouth to say something, then seemed to think better of it. Inhaling deeply, he hoisted himself upright onto the bed, stretching out lengthwise before tentatively wrapping an arm around her. Quietly breathing a sigh of relief when she leaned into him unquestioningly, he said, "Sweetheart, you, uh... you remember the ring she tossed at you? The one you gave me?"

Buffy nodded, her eyes showing her wariness and confusion, then her disgust at her recollection of the ring. "Yeah. It was gold and ugly, and could've used more diamonds instead of just that big old honking ruby in the middle."

Spike snorted with mirth, hugging her close. Typical Buffy -- more focused on the appearance of the ring than what it might actually mean. It brought a breath of fresh air to the frustration and worry of the last few days. Shaking his head, he continued. "I didn't understand why she gave it to you if she was tryin' ta keep herself a secret." His eyes lowered suddenly, miserably. "I get it now. She doesn't care. She wants us to know what... who... she is." He reached into his pocket and retrieved the small but heavy ring, holding it between Buffy and himself.

Buffy curled herself in towards him, a chill rushing down her back as she glanced at his drawn features, then down at the ring. "W-Who is she?"

Spike remained silent for a moment before raising his head and capturing her gaze with his own. "She's the beginning." At Buffy's dumbfounded look, he sighed. "Gather close, kitten. Got a bit of a story to tell you."

~

Lilith's spirit abandoned her, just as Lilith abandoned Eve. Her sister was a fool, who bore ignorant fools and was mated to the biggest fool, the King of fools himself.

When Lilith turned her back, she shed the last mantle of her humanity. After Adam and Eve cast Cain from the tribe for his crime against Abel, Lilith had called on her mate to exact her vengeance.

Of course, she'd forgotten about the warning mark on Cain's forehead that the Creator had placed there. It didn't matter in the end -- the Turok showed no mercy. Not to Cain... Not to his wife... Not to his children.

It should have pained her to see the destruction of her sister's eldest. But Eve and Adam had allowed the murderer to live while denying their youngest his right to be avenged. Abel had been a paragon of virtue: a good, kind, innocent boy who loved his family and the Lord dearly... and in a moment of jealousy, Cain had struck him down, had dealt his own brother the deathblow without a single backwards glance.

The wife and children, no doubt, would have followed the cretin.

"Okay," Buffy said, drawing the word out in her confusion. "I'm not a big Bible reader, Spike, you know that, but I do remember some stuff. Basically you're telling me that Lilith was the real first woman, but she didn't want to be the Mary Sue type, the sort of perfect woman that has no flaws and does whatever her hubby tells her to do, so she dropped him and started hanging out with demons instead. She screwed the Devil and that icky Turk-whatsit -- major ew, by the way. She looked at Eve like her sister and took offense that one of Eve's kids killed the other one. So you're saying that Cain was actually killed by this Uber!Vamp thingy on Lilith's orders after he killed his own brother? Because he killed his own brother?"

"'xactly, princess," he agreed, nodding.

Buffy settled back against her pillows in confusion. "But she's evil," she protested. "She obviously doesn't feel a hint of humanity or compassion, otherwise she never would have done this to me, right? How can she be so cruel now when it was obvious that her issues with Cain made her all uppity and self-righteous and stuff?"

Spike sighed. "Buffy, sweetheart, she's been alive for the most part, for over six millennia. Nobody is sure exactly how old she is, but she's really soddin' old." His eyes saddened as he looked at her. "Humanity can only carry you through so much before you abandon it completely. Sometimes 's just easier not to feel."

She was obviously still confused. Spike closed his eyes, then drew a deep breath and opened them. "Let me finish explainin'."

The Lord had not been pleased with Lilith’s coercion of her mate. There was no way to hide from him. Lilith instead had to settle for keeping a low profile, along with her mate and her clan. She'd made one move - a strike of vengeance for a senseless death that He had not seen fit to punish -- and suddenly she was in the wrong.

She'd incurred the Lord's wrath.

There was one shining light, despite the foul stench around her - Lucifer remained by her side. He was her mentor, her lover and her constant companion. It was Lucifer who had warned her of the Lord's discontentment with the world, and he had shielded Lilith and her tribe from the Great Flood when God's displeasure had been realized. Lucifer had kept every promise he had made to her - from her wishes for Eve, to the agreements he'd made with Lilith for herself and her followers. Of course, he took some liberties in the process: along with her crown, Lucifer bestowed Lilith with the Gemma Aeternitas, as well as the matching strength, speed, and indestructibility of her mate --

"The who-what now?" Buffy demanded.

Spike rolled his eyes. "If you'd stop bloody interruptin' me, you'd know now, wouldn't you?"

Buffy scowled at him fiercely, and he chuckled relenting. "All right, all right." He held up the ring. "Gemma Aeternitas. The Gem of Eternity. Lilith's..." Spike stopped, a look of quiet consideration appearing on his face. Buffy sat up abruptly, tugging on his arm.

"What? What is it?"

A tiny shadow of a smile lifted the corner of his lips. "Nothin' to worry your pretty head over, love."

Buffy blinked. "Umm... okay? Continue, please?"

Spike rolled his eyes again.

At Lilith's request, Lucifer had tied her lifeline to the Turok-han's. Should her mate ever be killed, Lilith's own heart would stop. Her body and mind would remain functional, but for all other appearances, Lilith would be dead.

The Creator would not be able to find her, for she would become the definition of soulless.

Lucifer also ensured that she and her mate would be fertile. The night that her first child was born was a night of absolute wonderment for her, as she was sure it had been for Eve. She named the boy Seff, and her mentor, mate and clan all gazed upon the child in awe. Seff, the first child born of the real first woman, had Lilith's human features and her entrancing beauty. Unlike his mother, however, he had the ability to shift between his human features, and the demonic face he shared with his father.

He was not the only child Lilith would ever have. As promised to her by Lucifer, her children would be numerous and would populate the earth. Her body was conditioned to sustain the brunt of multiple pregnancies, and she birthed nearly a hundred children a night.

Seff, however, was Lilith's first child, and her first-born son, and in that, he was her favourite.

He was also the beginning of a new era on earth. He was the first hybrid. He was the reason that the vampire half-breeds of the future would exist.

Seff was born eighteen years after the Great Flood, when the world had been washed clean of the sin that had littered it. By the time Seff reached his eighteenth birthday, Lilith had existed in the world for 1,692 years -- a full 762 years after Adam's death.

Unknown to Lilith, her son eventually would set in motion a chain of events that would change the world as she knew it -- and the changes would not be pleasant.

He was such a damn fool. Why did he even bother to open his mouth?

He should have known not to give Buffy information she wasn't ready for - especially after she'd been beaten and bludgeoned by the very creature they were discussing. After all, Buffy had that nasty habit of retreating when given too much information at once.

And yet, Spike had still brought it on himself.

The hyperventilating had started round about the time that Spike had told her of Lilith's approximate age and time on Earth. Sobs and half words were escaping her lips, and Spike was sure he heard the words, "dying," and "gonna kill me" somewhere in the muddle. Giving a loud growl that may or may not have rocked the foundations of the house, Spike grabbed her shoulders and shook her.

"Knock it off, Slayer!" he snarled. "She's not going to kill you! She's after me, remember? An' if she's thinkin' to get anywhere near you, she's gonna have to go through me to do it, because I am not lettin' a bloody thing happen to you, you barmy bint!"

Sigh. Only Spike could vow to protect her, and insult her in the exact same sentence. Was it weird that this actually comforted her?

Buffy forced her breathing to slow, gripping Spike's upper arms tightly until he nearly bled from the nail indents she made. She barely noticed his grimace of pain, but at least he'd managed to get her to come back to herself again. She slumped into his arms gratefully, nuzzling his chest.

"Spike, what are we going to do? How the hell are we even going to be able to beat her? She nearly killed me!" she groaned.

Spike huffed in irritation -- not irritation at Buffy, but irritation at the whole situation. "I don't know, Slayer... The bitch is damn near invincible. We'd be lucky to wound her, even if it was just temporary."

Buffy turned her head up and stared at him in disbelief. "What the hell is wrong with you? I can't believe you just said that!"

"What?!"

"Spike, that was the point in the conversation where you were supposed to say that we would beat her no matter what the odds!"

He scoffed. "Well, yeah, if you wanted me to bold-faced lie to you! As it happens, we need to deal with the truth!"

"It wouldn't kill you to lie to me to build my hopes up!"

"Lying to you would lull you into a sense of false security and get you killed!"

"It would not! It would empower me with the whole girl power thing, and I'd be confident and I'd be able to beat her, and we could do that happily ever after thing like we're supposed to be doing, you great big ass!"

"... What?"

Buffy suddenly snapped her lips shut, staring at him wide-eyed. Dammit -- foot-in-mouth strikes again. Could she ever learn to not talk? "Nothing!" she squeaked.

Spike stared at her with what looked like a mixture of awe and surprise on his face. "Buffy, luv... what happily-ever-after thing? With who? Us? As in...." he sputtered for a moment, a hand waving uncertainly between them. "Us?"

Buffy scowled. "No, I mean us as in me, Dawn and the mailman!" she sneered. Smacking his chest, a big pout pushed its way onto her face. "Of course I mean you and me!"

He could just barely hear the "you idiot!" tacked onto the end of her sentence, but the words she was saying, as sarcastic and irritating as they were, had firmly caught his attention.

She wanted to be with him? She was admitting it?

Actually, he needed clarification first. "Now, when you say you an' me, you mean..."

Ugh, men! Why was it that when Buffy finally decided what she wanted, they all turned stupid? She gazed at him in irritation. "I mean that I want to be with you, Spike!" She sighed and the look in her eyes softened as she took in the hope in his face, her hand reaching up to caress his cheek. "I miss you... and I don't care what anyone says anymore. I want to be with you. I don't ever want to lose you again. When I thought you were falling for Lilith, I was terrified that I would! I was so scared that I would never get the chance to... That I wouldn't be able to say that... to tell you t-that I --"

Whatever Buffy wanted to say, Spike wouldn't know til later. The minute she stopped talking to take a breath, Spike lunged at her, rolling her beneath him on the bed and pressing his lips to hers ecstatically.

Hell, he was sick of waiting, of pretending not to be affected by her. There wasn't much Buffy could do that would make him ignore her, and all the pretending he'd done up until now was exhausting. Buffy was finally admitting her feelings - sort of - to him, and he was going to take full advantage of that fact.

He bloody loved this woman. And he was going to do everything in his power to show her that, once and for all.

If he'd thought that Buffy would protest, he was dead wrong. Rather, she'd resumed her octopus impersonation from before, clinging to him with both arms and legs, while accepting his kisses and returning them enthusiastically. Her arms came up from his sides and she happily threw them around Spike's neck, nuzzling him gently.

"I'm gonna hazard a guess and say that you agree with me?" she asked, looking up at him with both hope and apprehension.

He smiled down at her, blue eyes sparkling, before he bent his head and kissed her nose. "More than agreein’ here, sweetheart." His lips seemed to tremble for an instant, and she almost gasped out loud at how vulnerable it made him look. He tightened his jaw and tilted his head, looking at her pleadingly. "This isn't a dream, is it, luv?"

A wide smile stretched across Buffy's lips, and she shook her head. "Not a dream. Very real. See?" She took hold of his side between two fingers and pinched. Hard.

"OW! God-dammit, Buffy!" he snapped. Glaring at her, he pinched her back, then slapped her ass, asking, "Was that really soddin' necessary?"

Buffy squealed at the retaliation, trying to slap him away from her, only to have his hand come down on her ass once more, palm flat. "Ow, ow! Spike, quit it, I'm sorry!"

Spike snorted. "You little liar, you're not a bloody bit sorry!" he answered, then pinched her again before settling himself more firmly on top of her, locking both of his legs in a firm grip around hers. His hand came down again, slapping each side of her ass, and she shrieked, arching herself into him.

"Ack! Spike, stop! I'm sorry, I swear, I really, really am please stop stop stop!" she yelped, twisting and turning under him as she tried her hardest to escape.

Spike chuckled, leaning down to kiss the crown of her head. "All right, all right, we'll say I believe you. I'll stop." He shot her a mischievous grin as he rolled her over flat onto her back. "Now, prove how sorry you are an' gimme a kiss, sweets," he continued as his hand rubbed soothingly over the marks he'd left on her bottom. She giggled and squirmed at the feeling, leaning up.

"Gladly," she murmured happily, catching his lips.

He kissed her sweetly, his hand wasting no time in running under her shirt and flattening against the smooth, taut expanse of her belly. Quickly, he began forcing the shirt up, exposing her skin, and Buffy lifted herself by the heels of her feet, arching her back to help him pull the material off. She whimpered discontentedly when the top forced their lips to separate so that Spike could clear it away from her head. She wore no bra beneath the shirt and her nipples gave the appropriate response when she was finally free of the garment, hardening instantly upon contact with cooler air. However, nothing could stop the tensing in Buffy's entire body when she saw the heartbreaking look of despair and horror on her vampire's face. She flinched back slightly, pulling her arms away from him to cover herself up.

"Do I really look that bad?" she asked, her voice a whisper of a breath in the otherwise quite room. Her lower lip was trembling, and Spike's heart plummeted when he saw that she looked about ready to cry. He gazed at her brokenly, his guilt and pain evident in his own crystal blue eyes, before gathering her hands in his, pulling them away from the welts and bruises. Sighing sadly, he pressed soft kisses to her fingertips before granting a fuller kiss to her lips.

"No, sweetheart, it's not that... just... 'm such a bloody berk. I should've believed you about that lyin' bint." He raised one hand, sightlessly stroking the palm shaped bruise along her collarbone before drifting down to the yellowish-blue mottled skin of her breasts, and finally, the vague red welts along her ribs. "God... what she did to your beautiful skin..." He suddenly blinked and glanced away, and Buffy was startled to see that he had the beginnings of tears in his eyes. "I should've been with you," he continued, sounding angry. "I should've done fuckin' somethin' 'sides sulkin' like a git on the fuckin' couch! She shouldn't've gotten the chance to do this to you, Buffy!"

Her hands tugged gently away from his grasp, her mind connecting to his with understanding. Of course, her silly vampire was blaming himself for the situation as always. She reached her right hand up to cup his face, leaning in close to nudge her nose gently against his. "Spike, you couldn't have known," she said soothingly, her voice low and spilling over with her emotions. "I mean, you were asleep, and I snuck out the window like a teenager! I was so mad at you that even if you had known, I probably would've avoided you anyway." She gave him a small, self-deprecating smile. "Besides, if anyone in this house is as stubborn as me, it's you. I would've seriously been surprised if anything you would have said had managed to get through to me."

His hand moved again to trace her skin, this time maneuvering around the hand touching his face to cup her soft breast in his palm. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she cooed softly as his thumb began to toy with the distended nipple. Spike let a low growl escape as her head fell back and rolled to her shoulder before she opened her eyes to gaze dreamily at him. He glanced up at her. "You were mad at me?" he questioned, a tiny pout forming on his lips.

In reply, she gave him a nod and pouted as well, her nose scrunching cutely above her mouth. "Yes," she humphed, her lower lip jutting out pointedly in the way she knew he hadn't been able to resist from the first time she'd really used it on him -- the first time it had meant anything between them and mattered: during Willow's "Will-Be-Done" spell. At this moment, however, she ignored the sudden growl that echoed from his chest, as well as the hungry gaze he fixed on the aforementioned appendage. "That whole entire spiel in the living room that night? Yeah, that was so you would follow me up the stairs, you loser! Anya gave me that outfit -- do you understand that? Anya gave it to me, Spike! Without asking for, and I quote, 'monetary compensation'! I knew what I was doing with that damn Popsicle, you idiot!"

Spike groaned, then chuckled as he buried his face against her neck. "Right, then. Next time I think I'm bein' chivalrous when you want somethin', Buffy, feel free to aim for the nose. I wanted to chase you up those damn stairs so bad," he sighed. Shrugging guiltily, he pulled away from the crook over her neck and looked down at her hands. "I thought you were fuckin' wi' me. Thought you were tryin' ta make me lose control so you could prove a point."

Her eyes watered miserably at his explanation. God, what's been done to this man... and it's my fault. "Oh, Spike, no," she whispered, turning into his arms and nuzzling his chest. "It wasn't a test, it wasn't a trick... I wanted you. I still want you. I just want to be with you, baby." She propped her chin up on his chest so that she could peer into his eyes. "Do you understand?"

He still looked doubtful and Buffy cursed herself for dragging this man's self-esteem down so damn low that he couldn't even tell when she was being truthful anymore. She cursed herself for ever having made him think that everything he thought or did or said would be met with ridicule and hate and disgust, and that she'd never bothered to tell him how –

The light suddenly snapped on in Buffy's head. She nearly gasped out loud, because when the thought assaulted her mind she felt so stupid that, had Spike not been there and looking at her the way he was, she may have taken to smacking her head into the wall from her sheer stupidity.

There was only one way to assure Spike that she meant everything she was saying. She had to pull out the big guns. She had to tell him the truth.

It terrified her to her very bones, but really, it was long past time she told him anyway.

She rolled to her side and sat up, wrapping her legs around his waist so that she could straddle his lap. Both of her hands cupped his face to ensure that he was staring at her -- not that he ever wasn't, but one had to be sure -- and gazing at him for a moment, she placed a soft, lingering kiss on his lips before pulling back to rest her forehead against his. She was surprised that Spike didn't speak a word, especially considering that he had to have noticed how hard she was shaking. He only held her closer.

She took a deep breath.

"I love you."

A split second later, Spike's body stilled, though hers continued to shake from anticipation and fear -- God, this must have been how he'd felt when he'd first told her he loved her two years ago. She supposed it was only fair now that the tables were turned. At least there was no Drusilla and no chains. Well, maybe she wouldn't have protested against the chains this time.

He pulled back from her in achingly slow motion and Buffy bit her lip hard to keep from crying out at the acute loss. Was he going to reject her? Had she waited too long?

With the kindest smile she had ever seen him wear, and with the softest voice she'd ever imagined him using, he whispered, lips against the shell of her ear: "I know."

Stark silence.

In the next beat, she smacked his shoulder as he started to laugh, and then squealed when he yanked her close to kiss the breath from her lips. "'m sorry, baby. 've been such a git to you these last coupla weeks," he murmured, rubbing her back lovingly.

She inhaled deeply, then giggled, wrapping her arms around him tightly. "If there was a way I could deny that with a straight face for you, I would," she declared, laughing all that much harder when he uttered an indignant, "Oi!" a whole thirty seconds later. When his hands went to her sides and began tickling her in retaliation, she shrieked in stark joy, her hands slapping at him playfully. Catching both of her flailing limbs in one of his, he wrapped his other arm around her, pulled her close, and kissed her ardently. The erection he already sported at half-mast grew exponentially when she bit his lower lip in revenge.

God, he could explode just from the taste of her.

As soon as their lips met again, Buffy melted into him, closing her eyes and whimpering. When she managed to free her hands from his tight grasp, she allowed one to trail up his chest and around to the back of his neck, holding him close to her, while she bent her knees, the balls of her feet resting flat against the mattress. Her other hand took that time to prove her eagerness to be with him by sneaking in between their bodies to unclasp his jeans. The button was a little difficult to maneuver, and the zip came down easily, but both Buffy and Spike sighed in relief when the painful-looking erection encased beneath the denim sprung free and slapped wetly against Buffy's belly.

Spike groaned softly and tore his lips away from hers, burying his face in her neck as he ravished the milky skin with kisses. As she wrapped a fist around his cock, stroking him up and down at a maddeningly slow pace, his mouth trailed downward, sucking one of her nipples into his mouth and scraping his blunt teeth gently against the tip. Buffy gave a whining mewl, her head lolling about in pleasure as her own grip around his dick strengthened. In response, he gave a low growl, thrusting his hips up underneath hers, grinding as best he could against the flimsy lace panties she still wore.

"Buffy," he groaned, running a hand up her sweaty back, before letting it fall back down to cup her ass, tugging gently at her underwear.

"Mmm?" she answered, dotting light kisses all along his forehead and his incomparable cheekbones.

"Darlin'?" he whispered, gently beginning to raise and lower her tauntingly against his hardness.

Whimpering, her lips left his skin and her head fell forward onto his shoulder. "Yes?" she purred happily.

He allowed an answering purr to rumble and escape from deep within his chest, before he continued. "You need to get this god-damned thing off before I rip it off of you."

His lips curled into a smile against her skin as she let out a peal of laughter. Pushing away from him -- and ignoring his pathetic whimper of protest when his lips were no longer connected to her breast -- she held onto his shoulders and stood up carefully on the bed. Holding his gaze with a tiny smile on her lips, she hooked both of her thumbs into the sides of the barely there scrap-of-nothing she wore before tugging them down past her hips. The moment they cleared her taut thighs, she let go and they dropped to her ankles, resting against Spike's legs until she stepped out of them and kicked them away.

At which point, Spike grasped her by either thigh and yanked her down to straddle him. Buffy squealed and tried to roll off of him, but only succeeded in taking him with her. "Spike, no!" she yowled, giggling and wriggling away from him. "I'm not doing anything with you til you get your damn clothes off and join my Naked Club!"

Spike growled in frustration, hopping off of the bed reluctantly. Hurriedly, he yanked his loose jeans off, and nearly beheaded himself as his shirt cleared his hair, before he lunged for the girl on the mattress.

He was met with an armful of air and a delighted, rolling laugh.

Glancing down at the space between his arms where Buffy should be -- and more importantly, where she wasn't -- a comical expression of utter bafflement appeared on his face when he looked up and saw his Slayer standing on the other side of the bed, holding her sides from laughing so hard.

Spike was almost hurt, his confusion tuning into his insecurities and making him think for a moment that she didn't want him after all -- until he caught the undiluted joy and pure mischievousness in her lovely eyes.

So. The little bint wanted to play, did she?

Spike felt an evil grin appear on his face, and saw the grin on Buffy's falter. Then, he sprang from the bed, quick as a cat, chasing after her when she yelped and shot toward the other side of the room. Letting loose a snarl and scrabbling for her as he rounded the corner of the bed, he gave a dark, amused chuckle. "You silly little minx. After all this, you want ta play games with me?"

He stood about five feet from where she was, confronting her head-on though he could see her eyes darting from left to right, intent on finding an escape. To his great relief, she was smiling - she really was just being silly and playing love games with him.

His muscles tensed in anticipation, his blue eyes narrowing on her lithe body when she finally reacted, darting to the left before feinting and skipping to the right. Spike had expected her to pull such a trick on him, and began laughing as he jumped after her, his arm catching her around the waist. She shrieked with laughter like a teenager and squirmed when he reeled her into him, playfully attacking her neck with love bites and kisses. Dipping down for a second behind her, he lifted her up into his arms, swinging her around until she was hanging ass-up over his shoulder. Shrieking again, this time in a fit of pique and outrage, she pounded her fist into his back, kicking her legs and swinging her arms wildly. In retaliation, because he was pretty sure that one of her fists had managed to knock one of his useless lungs into his gullet, he gave her a sharp nip and a slap on the ass before dumping her teasingly back onto the bed.

"So, not even a full day an' you're already tryin' ta run from Ol' Spike, eh, blossom?" he asked, leaning over her and smiling. Instantly, her good humor seemed to be restored, and he was rewarded with that brilliant toothpaste-commercial smile.

"Never, Spike," she murmured adoringly, reaching up to stroke the scar over his brow. Suddenly, a confused frown appeared on her face. "Blossom?"

He shrugged. "New nickname I thought 'd try out on you. Like it?"

The mega-white smile was back. "I thought you were calling me Blossom, like that girl from the show."

Spike snorted. "The one with the prat who sounds like a blonde version of Harris? Not likely, sweets." He bent down and placed a noisy kiss on her cheek before worming an arm underneath her and pulling her close. "You like it, or should I use another?"

Her eyes softened and she rolled into him. "I like."

Humming against her happily, his lips touched her forehead. "Good."

TBC...

End Notes:
Please review, folks! This is the first new chapter in four years!!!

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