Chapter 1

~*~


A small shadow darted through the moonlit tombstones, little feet hurrying over fallen twigs and withered flowers. Risking a glance over its shoulder to assess the progress of its pursuers, it missed one of the bigger branches that had been broken off by the last storm and stumbled to the ground with a distressed cry. Heedless of the impending danger, it allowed itself to succumb to the prospect of momentarily resting its tired muscles. Its entire frame went slack as it sagged fully to the ground before tensing up all over again. The sound of several heavy army boots running at a fast pace, accompanied by curtly barked commands, echoed off the stonewalls of the many crypts. The sounds grew louder as they approached.


The silvery light of the moon illuminated the features of a little boy. His face was frozen in a mask of downright terror, tears cascading from his glowing yellow eyes down his cheeks. He scrambled up and frantically turned his head, looking for a safe place to hide. There didn’t seem to be anything able to give him shelter. The tombstones and sculptures were too low or narrow to provide dark and deep enough shadows to conceal his presence. While he probably could manage to break into one of the crypts, the damaged surface would give his location away and he would be trapped inside with no way out.


They were closing in on him; their footsteps drawing rapidly nearer . The scent of their sweat was already faintly tangible in the crisp night air, their heartbeats a slow thrumming sound in the distance to his sensitive ears. He was exhausted from the chase and his short legs, already wobbling, threatened to give way under the constant strain. Another furious shout of promises of retribution for his defiance reverberated through the darkness, even nearer than before.


He finally settled for the remnants of what was once a proud statue of a guardian angel. The broken wings formed a little hideout and the boy rolled up into a tight ball underneaththem, trying to calm his erratic breathing and stem the tears that still spilled out through squeezed shut eyelids, while his entire body still shook with tremors.


The group of soldiers were close now. They came to a halt not far from his hiding spot, listening for any sounds of footsteps to locate him. One of them had something like a sensor and scanned the area for any signs of unusual heat signatures, while several of the others used their binoculars with night vision to survey thearea. A hulking soldier, who appeared to be in charge, looked at them expectantly, pacing around impatiently before he came to a halt in front of the statue.


The boy stilled, his breathing ceased as he rolled up even tighter into a protective ball. He tucked his head firmly to his chest to hide his burning amber eyes from his pursuers. He felt a panic like no other seize him as the broad man suddenly propped his foot onto the broken pieces of wings that served as his protective shield. Little bits of debris pelted down on him as the man did so. He suppressed his panic as best as he could in an desperate effort to stay completely motionless.


He heard the leader impatiently ask if they had spotted any trace of ‘the target’, but when his men replied in negative, he kicked the fallen wings in a fit of anger and uttered a few quiet curses. He motioned for his group to continue with the search. They resumed the light run and headed off towards the more active parts of the cemetery.


Only when they were gone for several minutes, and he couldn't hear them anymore, did the little boy let out a trembling sigh and finally collapsed, weeping silently.



~*~*~*~



Buffy strolled through yet another cemetery, her stake safely hidden away in the waistband of her jeans as she tried to lure her prey into a false sense of security. Had it been daylight and some place other than a graveyard, she might have actually been just another college girl out for a walk. Although she appeared to be walking around without a single care in the world, on closer inspection one could see how every cell of her body was prepared to fight at any second, her eyes avidly assessing the area for possible threats.


The general demon activity had been incredibly slow the last couple of weeks, as it tended to be around this time of the year, but the presence of the government demon hunters decreased it even further. The lack of slayage made for an extremely grumpy and cranky slayer. Who did those dumb secret operation boy scout jerks think they were? Stealing away all her demons and all her fun, with their high tech equipment and other doodads. Even that guy from high school, whatshisname... Jonathan had probably been more useful in a fight than these soldier guys were without their tazer guns and government gadgets. Cheaters, that's what they were, a bunch of arrogant, mean cheaters. Neutralizing her vampire like that.


'Huh? Her vampire...? - Nope not going there now.'


She shoved that thought firmly back into the box that was labeled ’extended vacation in Egypt’, slammed the lid shut, and put it hastily into a very, very far corner of her mind. She so needed to talk to Willow about possible lingering side effects of her stupid spell.


Buffy continued her grumbling about the Initiative and their methods as she walked on. Giles thought it was a fantastic development , of course; now she didn't have to worry about protecting the innocents all on her own, but Buffy wasn't that sure herself. She had seen some of the things that had been thrown out once the Initiative had finished with them.


It made her shudder just to think about the mutilated demon corpses. Sure, she was the Slayer. She went out every night to kill demons and vampires, making sure Sunnydale's denizens could spend another day alive and blissfully ignorant to all the things that went bump in the night. That's what it was. That was why she was called the Slayer, killing demons, sometimes even hunting them, but she never tortured them, and she sure as hell didn't use them for some sick experiments.


It had been a shock to discover that Riley, her boringly normal psych TA, was one of them. She had never intended to start something serious with him anyways, despite Willow's not so subtle encouragements, but there was no chance in hell she could be with someone who condoned, let alone participated, in the atrocities they called ‘scientific research for the greater good of mankind’.


She was startled out of her musings by a small whimpering sound, barely audible above the various sounds of the night. She tried to locate its origin and ended up in front of an old stone angel, the bright moonlight casting it into a silvery glow. The Slayer carefully approached the small huddled form she could make out beneath the fallen wings. What was a little kid, at least she thought it was one, doing out at this time of the night, and in a cemetery no less.


"Hey, are you okay?" she asked softly, as not to startle the obviously frightened child.


The small figure stiffened as soon as she had spoken, stopping its whimpers. The fear was practically tangible in the air around her.


"It's okay. You don't have to be afraid anymore. I'm here to help you, that's what I do, what I'm good at, helping people, in cemeteries, who um... need help," she babbled on, trying to sound as harmless and non-threat-y as possible.


She breathed a sigh of relief when she noticed the kid started to crawl out of its hiding place and hesitantly turn around. When she got a good look at its face, she let out a surprised gasp and took a stumbling step back.


Frightened yellow eyes were peering up at her through the darkness of the night as the little boy tried to wipe away the tears that streaked his pale cheeks. Little ridges distorted his innocent face, tiny fangs peeking out between his lips while he hiccuped silently, attempting to hold back fresh tears.


'Oh god, oh god, oh god... oh my god!'


Buffy desperately tried not to hyperventilate while her brain struggled to process what she was seeing. It was a vampire. The little boy, probably not much older than four years, a little vampire boy. What kind of monster would do something horrible like that, to turn an innocent little kid? Merrick and Giles had never said anything about kid vampires when they lectured her about her sacred duty.


Oh god, they couldn't honestly expect her to kill a little boy. Just thinking about plunging a sharp wooden stake into his heart when he was looking at her with such vulnerability and trust was making her ill.


Buffy's heart was beating a mile per minute, so hard she thought it might actually break out of her chest at any moment. A thousand thoughts flittered through her mind like a group of startled deers, too fast for her to grasp one and hold onto it. She fought to calm her breathing and her racing pulse; it wouldn't do to distress him further.


Something from this little being in front of her called to her, on a baser, more primal level, beckoning her to him. A wave of familiarity coursed through her, nagging at her senses. Her ever present Mr. Pointy was burning against the small of her back, but she couldn't force herself to reach for it as she cautiously stepped closer to the still trembling child.


His demon face had now receded, and even in the dim light, she could make out his eyes, a brilliant shade of blue with some swirls of green and hazel. They were gazing expectantly at her. He sniffled, still rubbing at the dried tears, but then he tilted his head to the side as he regarded her closely, his eyes wide and filled with hope.


"Mommy ?"

____________

TBC...

Chapter 2

~*~



Buffy felt her heart break for the little lost creature in front of her, while he continued to look up at her with his wide, frightened eyes. His lower lip was wobbling as he tried to be brave and not cry. He rubbed at his eyes occasionally and even in the dim light she could see that they were red in a way that only copious amounts of crying brought with them.


She was nearly overwhelmed by the wave of protectiveness and fierce possessiveness that slammed into her. Something from deep inside screamed at her to rush to his side, to make sure he was okay, and most importantly to painfully bring down any threat that sought to harm him.


She refused to believe that something that vulnerable and obviously terrified could be anything but pure innocence. She didn't waste a single thought on the theory that he might just be playing on her protective feelings and compassion in an attempt to get her to abandon her usual caution, to come closer and walk right into a trap.


Her mind made up and her earlier apprehension gone, the blonde slayer stepped closer. She had to get him out of the cemetery first, then she could start worrying about finding his 'mother'. She slowly approached him and crouched down in front of his sanctuary, holding out her hand for him to take.


"No sweetie, I'm sorry, I'm not your mommy. I'm Buffy." She threw him a warm smile and said in a soothing voice, "Why don't we get out of here, hm? We could look for her together."


The boy regarded her thoughtfully, chewing on his bottom lip between the occasional sniffles. Buffy really hoped she'd gained his trust, because she didn't know how frequently those soldier guys patrolled this part of the cemetery and the last thing she needed now was a confrontation with them.


As if reading her thoughts, his eyes widened a little more. "The bad men are looking for me," he whispered fearfully.


"It's okay," she reassured him. "I won't let them get you."


He seemed to consider the sincerity of her statement for an agonizing couple of moments. When he apparently had found what he was looking for, he shot up from his sheltered position beneath the once white marble wings to leap into her outstretched arms.


Startled, Buffy tensed for the fraction of a second, her slayer senses going into overdrive as they suddenly registered a vampiric signature in such close proximity.


He went right for her throat.


'How could you have been so utterly foolish? To let a vampire, no matter the size, this close. Without a chance to defend yourself, your guard completely down? Didn't you learn anything?' , the little voice inside her head, that sounded decidedly British and Giles-y, continued to berate her in a taunting tone.


But the anticipated sting of his fangs tearing savagely into the sensitive flesh to drain her of every last drop of blood never came. Instead she felt the cool puffs of his breath tickling the little hairs on the side of her neck as he nuzzled against her. Little whimpers and muffled sniffles and sobs drifted through the crisp night air.


Buffy visibly sagged with relief, and letting out the breath she didn't know she had been holding, she chided herself for being such a fool and doubting her prior judgment.


She embraced him tightly and rubbed her hands in slow soothing circles over his back, offering whatever comfort she could to the distraught little vamp in her arms.


He had finally seemed to calm down and she was about to get up, when faint shouts and the the sound of a tussle carried over to them. She didn't need to hear what they were saying to recognize the voices belonged to the commandos that were barging in on her territory and trying to do her job once again. She wouldn't have minded giving them a piece of her mind along with a little demonstration what a Slayer was capable of, but that would have to wait. Her first priority was to get the kid to safety.


Buffy's brows furrowed in concern as she noticed the boy in her arms tensing up, almost desperately clinging to her, before he went completely still. Even though he had been weeping, albeit quietly against her shoulder, no sound was now coming from him and his seemingly unnecessary breathing had stopped as well. The fear was rolling off of him in waves and she could feel his terror with every fibre of her being. It cut right into her soul.


What had those bastards done to him to evoke such a reaction? She didn't know why she cared so much, but she did. She silently vowed to make anyone pay who had a part in this. Painfully.


She hurriedly stood up and continued to murmur soft nothings into his ear as she made her way out of the cemetery in the direction of her watcher's home



~*~*~*~



The blonde slayer and her companion, who had fallen asleep as soon as they had left the gates of the graveyard behind, made their way through town in the direction of Giles' apartment. He would know what to do.


While she went on in a fast but inconspicuous pace, Buffy thought back to the only other two times she had faced a vamped kid.


The Anointed One


An involuntary shudder raced down her spine as she recalled the pure malice that had filled his eyes. Even though her recollection of both encounters was rather fuzzy.


The first time had been when he had led her into the Master’s liar, but she hadn't been paying much attention to her guide back then. What with her death at the Master’s fangs being decided by some higher powers and her watcher and kinda possible boyfriend trying to keep that little fact a secret. No, she had been far too confused, frightened, and angry at the betrayal of those close to her to pay the small demon any notice.


The second and last time she had met him hadn't been under any better circumstances. The night he had tried to resurrect the Master.


Much like the first time, she only recalled the thunderstorm of emotions that had been raging through her at the time. She had still been horribly shaken up by her death, drowning in a puddle of water and absolutely freaked out by the prospect of facing her killer once again, should that crazy vamp cult succeed.


Her friends , especially Xander, hadn't been any help either and her entire focus had been stopping the Master from entering their plane of existence ever again.


Even if her recollection of those meetings was hazy at best, one thing was for sure: the Anointed One was nothing like the little lost boy that had fallen asleep on her shoulder as soon as the threat of the soldiers was gone. The Anointed One may have tried to act like a kid his age but he hadn't been able to hide his true intentions from that part deep within her that made her the Slayer. No, even as he had smiled seemingly innocently at her, his malevolence had clung to him, curled around him, reaching out in black tendrils invisible to normal sight that tried to latch onto your soul to corrupt you as well.


But she couldn't sense anything like that from the little vamp in her arms. Only that all encompassing feeling of kinship, almost like some kind of connection between them.


And since when could she actually sense if someone or something was evil? She so had to talk to Giles about that.



~*~*~*~



Spike sat on Giles' couch completely bored, flipping through the channels aimlessly as he tried to find something decent to watch on the watcher's small television set. At least he wasn't chained to the tub any more. Bloody uncomfortable.


Would someone have told him last year, hell even just a few months ago, that he would be sitting in his mortal enemy's surrogate father’s flat, drinking pig’s swill from a novelty mug and being practically house broken and totally useless, he would have laughed into their face and then ripped their throat open to watch the blood cover everything in its immediate proximity in a brilliant sheen of red.


The blonde vamp growled in frustration and flung the remote onto the couch. He stalked over to the front door, his hand poised just inches above the knob. He contemplated throwing the door open and making good on his escape from this hell hole. Leave this godforsaken town and the infuriating bitch of a slayer behind.


He could go back to South America, find some demon doctor and get rid of his electronic leash, that bloody piece of plastic those government wankers had shoved into his brain.


For a moment, he got lost in his fantasies of blood and gore and all the wonderful violence he would unleash once he was free again. He had to actually leave for them to come true though.


His mind made up, Spike reached for the handle when another thought pushed its way through the dreams of carnage and havoc yet to be wreaked. He snatched his hand back as if burned, barely in time before it made contact with the smooth steel. The witch had done some mojo to the entrance of the watcher’s flat, something that was supposed to prevent him from escaping again. A spell specifically for him, woven with a sample of his blood and all.


"Balls!" he ground out, nearly growling. He ran a hand through his hair to shake off his uneasiness and, unable to contain his agitation, started pacing. His fidgiting freed some of the soft curls that had been carefully slicked back as to not deceive the big bad persona, but now bounced lightly on his forehead.


He didn't want to risk getting caught in one of Red's spells again if he walked through the door now, no matter how much the Slayer and her merry band of do gooders drove him up the bloody wall with their ‘holier than thou’ attitude. He didn't fancy to be turned into a toad or worse if her mojo went wrong again, which was highly likely if one considered her latest forays into the world of magic.


One would have thought she was too smart to be that naive when it came to manipulating the supernatural forces. There were always consequences.


That meant he was stuck. Throwing his hands up in defeat, Spike snarled at the door. He even gave in to the childish urge to shift into game face to spit some foul curses at the unsuspecting wooden barrier.


It was all Buffy's fault... the Slayer, not Buffy. The Slayer's fault. He should have never come back.


Come back to finally kill the only slayer that had faced him and was still among the living. The one whose pretty neck he just couldn't snap like a dry twig. Whose blood seemed to taunt him whenever he was near, rushing through that luscious body of hers, begging him to take just a little sip without ever coming near his fangs, let alone his taste buds.


He groaned and felt the pressure of his fangs as they eagerly pressed against the gums at the thought of sinking into her supple flesh, her warm blood running over his tongue, gliding down his throat as it set his nerve endings ablaze with its heavenly flavour. Slayer’s blood. There was nothing on this Earth that could compare with the blood of a slayer. He bet his slayer’s blood tasted like ambrosia, especially compared to the foul taste of the pig’s swill they were feeding him.


He shook himself out of it before he started to drool and remembered that he was pissed at the petite blonde. That annoying little chit with her stupid gleaming golden locks that seemed to be spun right of the sun’s deadly rays...


"Argh..." he snarled once again in frustration and stalked over to the shelves where he knew his fellow Brit kept his secret stash of liquor.


He really needed a drink.


~*~*~*~


Spike gave a triumphant shout having finally located a bottle of the watcher's finest when suddenly the prickling sensation at the back of his neck alerted him to the presence of an approaching slayer and someone that felt like family. The alcohol was momentarily forgotten as he tried to figure out who could be with the tiny blonde bane of his existence, and more importantly why.


There weren't that many members of the house of Aurelius that would register that strongly. In fact, there were only two left. The great poof and his nut case of a sire; but it didn't fell like any of the two. What the hell was going on?


He turned just in time to see the Slayer in question struggling through the now open front door, calling for her watcher. In her haste to get the littlle boy to safety and some answers from Giles, Buffy hadn't thought about the fact that he needed to be invited. She stopped abruptly and looked between the bundle in her arms and the door in confusion. It shifted slightly in her embrace. That was when Spike noticed that it seemed to be a person. A kid. A kid that practically screamed family to his demon.


"Spike, where is Giles?" Buffy directed at the blond vampire that was still staring at her, a puzzled frown marring his features.


She took in the scene before her. Rumpled bookshelves, a surprisingly full bottle in his grip that hung forgotten at his side. He had broken into Giles' liquor cabinet... again. What was it with the Brits and their alcohol?


"Spike?" she repeated somewhat impatiently. That seemed to snap him out of his trance.


"Huh?" was all that came from the otherwise chatty blonde. His eyes still fixated on the kid in her arms. Her grip on the boy tightened ever so slightly, before she realized what she was doing. 'It's only Spike, it's not as if he could actually harm anyone,' she reminded herself and relaxed, somewhat unsettled by the strong urge to protect her charge.


"Giles. Where is he? I need to talk to him about some stuff," she replied as she carefully transferred the peacefully sleeping child onto the couch.


"Rupes said he had to run an errand. Didn't say what time he was going to be back."


Buffy run her hand absent mindedly through the little boy's soft dark blond curls from her position on the arm of the couch and let out a frustrated sigh. She needed some answers and she wanted them quickly. She really needed Giles for that.


"Where'd you get the pint sized one, slayer? Didn't know you were the motherly type," he lightly teased his slayer while he watched her interact with the kid, a far away look on her face.


He stepped closer to the couch to get a better look at the peculiar child. He stopped dead in his tracks, however, when its eyes suddenly flew open and he was pinned with a burning amber gaze that stared at him from a miniature game face. The little demon only uttered a single word before he fell promptly back into his deep slumber.


"Sire."


Through his shock he saw Buffy's head shoot up and swing around to face him, her eyes narrowing dangerously.


'Uh oh, that can't be good.' Spike barely had time to process the implications of that rather simple statement and slip into a state of utter and complete confusion, let alone admire the the way his slayer’s eyes darkened with fury, her gaze burning right through him glittering with unsuppressed rage before she flew upon him.


'Bugger...'


____________

TBC...





PS: The kid needs a name, and I just can't decide which one to take. So I made a poll. It would be absolutely fantastic if you could spare a minute and vote here. Thanks!!

Chapter 3

~*~

Deep down below the premises of Sunnydale University, Dr. Maggie Walsh slowly walked in front of her slightly overstuffed but neatly organized desk, her eyes alert and trained on the opposite wall. The entire length of the wall was lined with monitors, each labelled with a number that belonged to a holding cell or a 'research lab' on the level down below the high security area of the Initiative facilities.

Some of the screens showed the various hostiles, agitatedly pacing their small cells, banging angrily against the electric field which prevented their escape, or cowering in a corner of their cell. Others showed the special research rooms, where her teams of scientists performed their tests.

She lingered for a moment and watched as a struggling sub terrestrial was restrained with a painful and most importantly paralyzing taser blast before the soldiers present hefted it on the metal table in the centre of the room. The scientists started applying the electrodes and other required medical devices for the scheduled neurological evaluation on the now unmoving body.

The last monitor in the row, marked with the digits 314, seemed to capture her attention more than the others as her gaze stayed for a good while on the figure on the examination table, her eyes roaming over the still form and something akin to an affectionate smile upon her lips.

On said table lay what once could have been a handsome young man, completely motionless. Now it bore more resemblance to a jigsaw puzzle made up of human, demon, and glinting metallic body parts, fused together by the best surgeons and computer experts the secret military program could obtain. It was obvious that there were still pieces missing, a gaping hole in the middle of its chest and one arm reached only just below the shoulder where a mass of tubes and wires protruded from the stump were evidence of that.

Her eyes swept again over the unmoving form, shining with parental pride and what would have appeared to others as a glint of insanity.

Dr. Walsh moved on and watched another screen when someone knocked on her office door. Several of the medical assistants and two armed soldiers were carefully approaching a young woman in another cell, but stopped some feet away from her. Their, for now useless, taser weapons carefully trained on the ground as they had learned a painful lesson a couple of days before when the current had rebounded from some kind of barrier and knocked the unfortunate soldiers out for a whole day.

She issued a curt "enter" without taking her eyes off the screen. The blonde woman cowered in the far corner of the cell, her eyes closed and her brow furrowed in concentration. Her arms were protectively stretched out in front of her while her lips moved in a flurry of words that no one could quite make out.

A sturdy young man with newly cropped light brown hair, clad in dark green fatigues entered her office and stood at attention, silently waiting for her to acknowledge him.

They both looked at the small monitor where, unbeknownst to the young woman that was huddled in her corner, once the initiative personal had left the room, gas warbled slowly into the cell through the gaps in the air duct. She stared at the fog for a moment and her eyes widened in sudden comprehension and fear before she crumpled to the ground in an unconscious heap. The soldiers re-entered the room with gas masks, strapped her to a gurney, and wheeled her out of the cell into one of the many labs of the underground facilities to thoroughly investigate the origin of her strange abilities.

Dr. Walsh turned to the young soldier, her commanding officer of the Initiative's military forces, and with a short nod signalled him to stand at ease. She proceeded to walk behind her desk, sitting down and shuffling some of the daily reports on the progress of the medical research into a neat stack in one of the few free spaces.

"Commander Finn," she addressed him finally looking up. "Did you find our escapees?" she questioned in an impassive voice.

"Negative, ma'am." He tried not to grimace, knowing the news wouldn't go over well with his superior. "We were able to follow Project 13's trail to the area around sectors 25 through 27. There we lost it and had to retreat for a while as the Slayer was patrolling that area. There is still no sign of hostile 17. We were able to capture some of the other HSTs on your list though. My men are securing them in the holding area as we speak."

Dr. Walsh nodded sagely, but made a little displeased sound and muttered something inaudible under her breath.

"Agent Finn, I believe I don't need to remind you how important it is to get Project 13 back under our control, do I?" she regarded him with a stern glare. "We have been working toward this for the last four and a half years. Numerous teams of scientists and specialists worked 24/7 to get us to where we are now. Not to mention the millions of dollars that have been invested into this project. Only to have it escape when we were finally making a breakthrough."

"No, ma'am," the young man replied, clearly uncomfortable under the head scientist’s penetrating gaze.

"I want you to increase the numbers of teams and have them fine comb the entire town, if need be. I want it back. Dismissed."

"Yes ma'am!" He saluted and hurried out of the room to carry out her orders.

~*~*~*~

Spike was so startled by her sudden outburst and the confusion that raced through his body that he didn't even have time to put up any defence as Buffy shot off the sofa and punched him right on the nose. A searing pain registered in his brain when he finally caught up with what was happening and he brought his hands up to shield the injured organ, glad that it wasn't broken.

"Ow! What the bloody hell..." he started to growl but was cut off when the slayer hissed an angry "shhh!" at him and shooting a pointed look at the couch.

Rolling his eyes, Spike risked a glance over the back of the couch and was surprised to see that the tyke was still sleeping peacefully and, in fact, hadn't so much as twitched at all the noise and ruckus he and the obviously mad blonde Slayer were making.

Without so much as a warning or her usual snarky comments, the Slayer's fist flew towards the side of his face again. Luckily he had come out of his stupor and had been able to raise his arm to deflect part of the force behind her punch or she would have knocked him out cold; and later, he probably would have been floating into the night in a cloud of a million little dust particles not long after. If the fury burning in her darkened gaze was anything to go by, she thought he was involved in whatever had caused her to go off the deep end. He parried her kicks and punches as best as he could without setting off the blasted chip in his brain. What surprised him most though was not the anger that sparkled in her expressive hazel eyes, but the hint of hurt and betrayal that swam among the other emotions.

He paid for his moment of distraction as a high heeled boot caught him squarely in the chest and propelled him to the other side of the room. He slammed into one of the many bookshelves that lined the walls and slumped to the floor in a shower of broken wood and scattered books. He briefly winced in pain at the shards of the bookcase digging into his back and the sting of his ribs, hoping they were only bruised and not actually broken.

He was quickly brought back to the problem at hand by the blonde stalking towards him, her breath coming in short angry puffs and her eyes burning with anger, a vision of Athena incarnate. He flipped back to his feet and prepared himself for another attack. The weakened vamp was able to successfully block some of Buffy's powerful punches, but soon found himself back on the ground after one of her high kicks got past his defences and connected once again with the side of his head.

He tried to fend off the dizziness that threatened to overwhelm him as he struggled to get up. He didn't have a chance to, however, as strong thighs trapped his hips in a vice like grip, pinning him to the ground. Startled blue eyes flew up only to be met with blazing hazel ones.

The Slayer didn't give him any chance to get his wits back. Straddling his prone form while he shook his head to get rid of the stars dancing before his eyes she continued to punch him.

"You... monster... how could you do that to him? He's just a little kid. I shouldn't have thought you were any better than any other disgusting blood sucker and staked your pathetic ass when I had the chance," she spat at him, though she wasn't yelling, as not to wake up the little boy who slept peacefully on the couch oblivious to the fight going on in the living room.

"Slayer! Buffy!" He tried to get her to stop her assault but she ignored his pleas. He grabbed her hands an held on, effectively stopping her attack. Spikes was glad when he realized that his chip wasn't sending near crippling waves of pain through his battered body as the enraged slayer increased her struggles against his tight grip.

"Would you just listen for a sodden moment you stupid twit!" he snarled at her, startling her out of the murderous fog that seemed to cloud her rational mind. "I don't know who turned the brat, but I sure as hell didn't. Besides, the kid's demon isn't any older than a couple of weeks, maybe a month. An' from what I've seen so far not very dominant either. An' if you recall, I was rather tied up for the last couple of weeks," he drawled sarcastically, referring to his time in the Initiative and later on in the watcher's bathtub. “So how in the bloody hell should I have done that, eh?" he tried to reason with her, hoping to get through to the rational part of her.

The blonde slayer seemed to come out of it as the struggles subsided and she stared down on him. He was confused at the look of horror that washed over her face.

~*~*~*~

Buffy processed what he had said and realized that he was right. Her shoulder sagged as her instinct to protect and revenge left her in a rush.

As she came back to herself, she couldn't believe what she done and had been about to do. The moment she had heard the word sire out of the little boy's mouth she had been overcome with the urge to protect him and to mete out painful retribution to whoever had hurt him. And that had appeared to be Spike at that moment. She had been totally consumed by her rage and righteous anger and all rational thought had been pushed aside.

She was frightened that she had reacted in such a primal manner to a possible threat towards something the Slayer considered hers to protect. Her slayer side had never been so dominate before and taken control over her almost completely. It wasn't so much the thought that she had beat up Spike, she had done so many times in the past and knew he could take it - probably even enjoyed it, the pervert - but she was horrified that she had attacked and taken out her anger on someone who couldn't fight back. Someone who, at the moment, was utterly helpless. It didn't matter that he was an evil and absolutely annoying bloodsucker who had tried to kill her and her friends several times, but because of that chip in his head he was at their mercy.

Sure she enjoyed the hunt in the dark of the night, when she patrolled Sunnydale's numerous cemeteries and revelled the rush of the fight, but those demons were just as strong as her, if not stronger and far from helpless. She was the Slayer and not some schoolyard bully who beat up people for the fun of it, otherwise she wouldn't be better than those commandos.

~*~*~*~

Buffy looked down into the piercing blue eyes of the vamp beneath her and was mesmerized by their intensity before she averted her gaze and mumbled an apology.

Spike was stunned speechless for a moment, maybe he had bumped his head one too many times, because he could have sworn the Slayer was actually apologizing to him.

"What was that, slayer?" he asked somewhat jokingly. Partially to get her out of whatever funk she had gotten in since she stopped beating the stuffing out of him and partially because he didn't think he heard her right.

She levelled him with a nasty glare but repeated her apology anyway.

"I said," she told him primly, "I am sorry. I shouldn't have beaten you up like that, when you are practically helpless, no matter how angry I was or how evil you think you are."

"Oy! I'm evil! The Big Bad. William the Bloody. One quarter of the Scourge of Europe. I'm the evilest thing there is, and don't you forget it missy!" He predictably bristled at that and she couldn't help the small grin that escaped her at his righteous indignation.

Buffy looked down and noticed that she still sat on top of the platinum blonde vampire and that her hands were still in his. She struggled a bit to get up only to freeze at the groan that tumbled from his lips.

At first she thought she had further aggravated his injuries but immediately quashed that thought as she felt something hard poke into her. 'Oh my god!'

"What now you stupid bint?" Spike asked clearly exasperated when he felt her go still above him and saw the panicked look in her wide eyes.

He watched her cheeks flush that lovely shade of red again, only this time not in anger rather because she realized the effect their scuffle had had on him and that she had in fact his whole attention. It brought back deliberately repressed memories, at least on her part, from a few weeks prior when they had been in similar positions, albeit under the influence of a certain spell.

The petite slayer struggled some more in a vain attempt to free herself from his grip but stopped all movement, when another groan came from the blonde beneath her.

"Let me go!" she hissed furiously at him, tying to hide her discomfort behind a mask of anger. "God, what's wrong with you? Did all that bleach fry your brain or do you seriously get a kick out of getting your ass royally thrashed?"

"What? It’snot as if I could help it. The demon's got a thing for violence. An' with you being all warm and wrigglin' your pert little bum above me, slayer." Spike leered up at her and emphasized his point with a little bucking of his narrow hips, smirking as she flushed a deeper shade of crimson.

"Cut it out, perv," Buffy ground out with a significant glance at the couch.

"Vampire," was his only retort. At the quelling glare she sent him he let go of her hands with an exaggerated sigh. Playtime was over.


____________
TBC...