Whispering Devil

“I don’t want her anywhere near me,” Spike snapped, nodding his head in the direction of Willow.

Willow recoiled away from Spike, as if he had smacked her across the face. Buffy nearly scoffed. Why should Willow be offended by what he said? He was just a stupid vampire, after all.

“Knock it off, Spike,” Buffy ordered, giving him the best glare she could muster.

“What? And I s’pose you wanna snog me senseless for the next few hours then?” he retorted, narrowing his eyes angrily at her. “Though, I s’pose you might. Out of the both of us, you got the better end of the deal.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she snapped, putting her hands on her hips. Despite the fact she’d just rolled her eyes at Willow getting offended, she found herself doing the same.

He shrugged, an awkward-looking movement seeing as he was tied up to a chair. “Just sayin’ you didn’t have to spend hours snogging a hag.”

“I am not a hag! And we’re not even supposed to be talking about this!”

“Well, well, well, someone’s a little testy, huh? What, you expect me to like havin’ your lips all over me? Disgusting.”

“Yeah, well, you weren’t exactly the highlight of my life either, Spike.”

“Could we please continue without interruptions?” Giles said in annoyance. Buffy closed her mouth quickly and Spike just snarled. “Spike, we are doing the spell, whether you like it or not, and seeing as Willow is far more adept at spell-casting than either of us here--”

“I don’t know, Giles, maybe he’s right,” Willow mumbled, pouting a little bit. “I have been kinda off lately. I mean, after the fiasco that was yesterday, maybe I shouldn’t be throwin’ herbs at anyone.”

“Maybe no one should be throwin’ herbs at me at all.”

Thankfully, everybody ignored Spike. “Willow, your spell worked perfectly, did it not? You will was being done, far better than most who attempt the spell.” Giles plucked the book off of the counter and flipped to a page, peering at the words through his glasses. “As such, I . . . I would do the spell myself, but . . .” he trailed off and glanced at Buffy, who quickly glanced away.

After what had happened with the my-will-be-done spell, nobody could deny the fact that Willow was in serious pain. It wasn’t something Buffy was proud of, but she hadn’t been a very good best friend lately. Although Willow had constantly been there for her the entirety of Buffy’s relationship with Angel, soulless or not, Buffy had been finding excuses not to deal with Willow’s problem. They had all been ignoring Willow’s pain, and after Giles and her had had a discussion, they had figured it best to allow Willow to do magick--if only to prove they trusted her. It had nothing to do with Giles being incapable, and everything to do with them apologizing to Willow without actually having to apologize.

“But Truth Spells are incredibly fickle, and seeing as your power is natural whereas mine comes from my, er, unsavoury past, we thought it best to have someone pure of heart do it.”

“You? Unsavoury past? What, did ya spit in someone’s tea as a young lad? God, that is just positively appalling,” Spike taunted, feigning disgust.

Willow whimpered, her green eyes widening in fear. “Fickle? I don’t know Giles--fickle and me are like, you know . . . fickle. I mean, fickle-y Truth Spell? It could cut out his tongue or--or something.”

“Cut out his tongue? Well, then let’s get this thing started, shall we?” Buffy aired, smacking her hands together and rubbing them.

Spike stared at Willow warily, his blue eyes more prominent against his paler-than-normal skin and dark shadows under his eyes, caused by lack of food. “Cut out my tongue, Red, and I’ll personally rip out yours.”

“Ooh, scary. Big idle threat from the neutered vampire,” Buffy teased, smirking at him when he turned his glare to her.

“I don’t see why we have to be doing this,” he grumbled, lips curling into a sneer.

“We have to make sure you are . . . truly incapacitated. Willow? Do you have the herbs ready?”

“Big yep on the herb department,” she said nervously. “But . . . what if I mess up? What if . . . what if it doesn’t even work? I mean, what if, instead of makin’ him all truth-y, he comes out just . . . seasoned?”

Buffy went over and held her friend’s shoulder firmly, squeezing it gently. When Willow’s green eyes met hers, she smiled. “I trust you, Will.” That was what letting her do the spell was all about, of course. Showing that they trusted her.

Willow reached up and patted Buffy’s hand before squeezing it briefly.

“You two gonna snog now or what? Wouldn’t be opposed to that.”

Buffy scoffed and stepped away from Willow. “Do the spell, Willow. Really concentrate on cutting out his tongue. ‘Cause, speechless Spike? Startin’ to think that’s better than a truthful one.”

Buffy leaned against the back of the couch and watched as Willow started walking around Spike slowly, tossing herbs on the moody vampire, whose intense, blue eyes focused on her warily, as if afraid she was going to make him burst into flames at any moment. His red shirt hung loosely over his body, the black t-shirt he wore under that looser than she had ever seen it.

She remembered sitting in his lap and pressing her hands against him, and feeling how thin he was underneath her touch. She remembered being so worried about him when they were engaged. She shuddered. She couldn’t believe that just one day ago she’d had her tongue down his throat.

Giles handed the book to Willow, who said each word of the spell carefully while she continued to toss herbs on him. Buffy and Spike’s eyes met, and she scowled at him, just as he scowled at her. Thoughts of his cool tongue pressed into her mouth while she moaned and arched against him filled her head, and she felt her stomach churn with disgust. The sickening thing was that he wasn’t even that bad of a kisser, and it disturbed her how . . . easy he had been to get along with. He’d offered to help Giles. He’d been happy. She’d been happy. It was so . . . wrong. The fact that his hands had been on her and she had liked it, had allowed it, made her shudder. It was so degrading.

The sound of the book snapping shut brought her out of her thoughts and she shook her head, looking away from Spike. “Okay. That should do it.” Willow frowned a little bit and her brows knitted together with worry. “Tongue still there?”

Spike sighed, rolled his eyes, and stuck out his tongue. Seeing it reminded her of having it slither into her mouth. She shuddered.

“Oh, well, at least there were no accidental, um, lacerations.”

“Bloody right you are.” He shifted in his seat, top lip curling slightly. “So, what then? The spell workin’ or not? Let’s get all this over with.”

“Well, it’s quite simple really. If you can lie, then obviously it didn’t work. Take note, we have no idea how it affects vampires differently, or if it will work at all.”

“Don’t see why not. Red’s other spell worked on me just fine,” he grumbled, eye flitting towards Buffy’s with malice etched deeply in them.

She returned the glare.

Giles sighed. “Spike, as I’m sure you’re aware, some spells affect different . . . er, creatures differently. It just so happens that a will it so spell is one of the spells that actually work. Now, I’m going to ask you a question.”

“Ask him something really embarrassing,” Willow piped up, eyes bright. When Spike shot her a look of betrayal, she faltered. “Well, I mean . . . something that he would never tell the truth about without, you know, magical assistance.”

Buffy smirked. “Sounds like a plan to me.”

“Oi, you are one step away, Slayer,” he growled.

“Puh-lease.”

“Would you two just--” Giles cut himself off, then let out a lengthy sigh. Off Buffy affronted look, he whipped off his glasses and polished them quickly before returning them to his face. “What is your name?” he asked Spike instead.

“We already know his name, Giles. Ask something else.”

Giles turned to Buffy, sighing. She hated it when he looked at her like that--like she was some stupid girl who didn’t know her right from her left. She knew that Giles was really smart, but that didn’t mean he had to look at her like she was incapable of understanding speech. “I already know the answer to that--therefore, I’ll know if he’s lying.”

“Oh,” Buffy realized, understanding right away. If they didn’t know the truth, how would they know if it was working?

“I ask again--what’s your name?”

Spike smirked at Giles. “Father Christmas.”

Buffy sighed, a little disappointed. She would have had fun with the spell, had it worked on him.

Giles shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I suppose Truth Spells don’t work on vampires. Very well. Buffy? Would you be so kind as to relocate him to the bath?”

“Hey! Don’t see the problem with me bein’ out here! Why d’ya always gotta shackle me up in the tub? Why d’ya even have the chain me up at all? I’m not gonna do anything!”

“God, is it possible for you to shut up for a second or two?” Buffy snapped as she walked behind the chair and started untying the robes that they’d wrapped around his torso.

“Is it possible for you to stop bein’ a self-righteous bitch?” he replied.

The ropes fell to the ground and she grabbed his wrist, yanking him up off of the chair. He pulled out of her grasp violently and looked down on her with his nose crinkled in disgust, as if she smelled unpleasant. She grabbed his arm, tighter than she had last time. He yanked her arm out again.

She punched him in the face, then practically manhandled him towards the bathroom, ignoring his protests, and fighting to gain hand control. She had to shove him into the tub and he struggled to prevent her from clasping the manacles around his wrists. When she pulled away he lunged forward, as if to strangle her, but the chain refused stopped him from going very far. He strained against the metal, growling at her. Buffy calmly kneeled just out of reach so she could watch his jaw clench angrily and his fingers stretch out.

Finally he resigned, then leaned back against the porcelain. She smirked at him, then bent over the edge of the tub and clasped the shackles around his ankles too.

“Fine. Didn’t much feel like bein’ in the chair anyway,” he sulked.

Buffy just shook her head, completely exasperated. Spike was such a pain. So almost wished the chip would malfunction so she would have an excuse to stake him. Despite how much she hated him, she could never kill something completely harmless. It just didn’t feel right--almost like it would lower her to his level.

She stood up and started to leave the bathroom.

Bitch.

Her hand hesitated on the doorknob. Why did he do that? Why did he goad her so much? Did he like her insulting him? She turned back to glare at him. He returned the glare with full force, the dark circles under his eyes making him look sickly. “I just don’t have the time for this,” she muttered, mainly to herself, and left the bathroom, slamming it shut behind her.

* * *

Buffy was sitting cross-legged on her bed, frowning at Willow, who was lying on her stomach, ankles crossed in midair. She was petting Amy, who was quietly nibbling on a piece of celery. “Will? You okay? You’ve been much with the pouting ever since we left Giles’s.”

“I couldn’t even do the spell properly. I’m so off. You shoulda just let Giles do it.”

“What? You heard Giles. Vampire spell defence, blah, blah.”

“Yeah. Maybe.” Her friend’s pout deepened. “I don’t know, Buffy. I just . . . I just don’t think I’m up to it anymore. I mean, I screwed up so badly with the will it so spell. Maybe I should just lay off any sort of intonation altogether. I mean, this one didn’t even fizzle. There was nothing to fizzle. Spike just came out of it smelling like my grandma’s kitchen.”

“Aw, come on. You know you’re the best when it comes to spelling. Of all kinds.” Willow managed to smile briefly at that, and Buffy sighed. “Your will it so spell worked. That was the problem, in case you forgot.”

Willow’s head perked up. “Hey, you’re right! It did! I can do magic! That spell was a total success!”

“Could you sound a little less enthused about it? Kinda in the presence of one of the victims.” Buffy shuddered for theatrical effect.

“Oh. Right. Sorry. But you gotta admit, it coulda been worse. At least Spike’s good-looking.”

She nodded, agreeing with her red-headed friend. Spike was rather handsome; she couldn’t deny that. No, wait, she could--she totally could. She shook her head, shoving thoughts of how thin and well-muscled he had felt underneath his black t-shirt. “Well, I mean, in an objective way, maybe,” Buffy rushed to say.

Willow shrugged. “I don’t know. He’s not really all that bad.”

“Huh? Willow, I’m going to blame this craziness on not enough sleep. He is entirely bad. He is very much of the bad. He’s like the mayor of Badville.”

Amy squeaked as Willow’s long finger ran down her back. “Well, I mean, he’s not like other vampires. He’s kind of a softie. Totally and completely scary and I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him--and I don’t even think I could throw him--but I just meant . . . you know, in comparison to other baddies, he’s kinda . . . well, different. I mean, kissing him? Not nearly as bad as, say, kissing . . . Mayor Wilkins. Or the Master.”

Buffy had to agree there. Well, at least in her head. She wouldn’t admit to that out loud. “And on that note, I think I’m gonna have nightmares. Well . . . after I get patrolling over with. You wanna come? I’ll let you punch a vampire if you want. You know, get all your inner turmoil out. Really helps.”

“Nah. Pretty much good here.”

“I can stay, if you want.”

Willow shook her head. “Nah. I’m not gonna be in the grief-y selfish mood for awhile. Think I’m just gonna be in the sit-alone-on-my-bed-and-watch-my-life-crumble grief. ‘Cause selfish depression? Totally not where I wanna be anymore.”

Buffy sighed, then hopped off of her bed, going over to Willow. She put her hand on her shoulder and squeezed it comfortingly. “You weren’t selfish. I was. You were in real, legitimate pain, and I just pooh-poohed it away.”

Willow smiled at Buffy, and for the first time in a long while, she got the feeling that it was a real smile.

The phone rang and with a sigh, Buffy went over to answer it. “Hello?”

“Buffy?”

“Giles?” Buffy felt slightly panicky. Giles didn’t really call all that often, not unless something bad was going to happen. “What’s going on? Is everything okay?”

“Oh, no, everything is fine. It’s just that . . . er . . . Olivia just called, and considering the situation with Spike, I found it, ah . . . necessary to meet her at her hotel instead. I . . . I would appreciate it if you could come and watch him. I would leave him alone, but I . . . I’d feel much better knowing you were here, to keep an eye on him.”

Buffy winced. She really, really didn’t want to see Spike. At all. Ever. In fact, she was starting to wonder if it was even important to know about the commando guys. She toyed with the idea of telling Giles to just let Spike go and wander the streets, unable to hurt anybody, but she sighed. “Yeah. I’ll be over in a minute.”

“Thank you so much Buffy. Goodbye.”

“Bye.”

She hung up the phone and moaned a little in displeasure.

“What’s up?”

“Giles. Olivia’s in town, and he wants me to watch Spike so he can go have his grown-up fun time. Which, eww.” She started over to the door, then stopped before she turned the doorknob. “You wanna come with?”

“Nah, think I’m gonna turn in.”

“You sure? You’re the one with the big major crush on Spike,” Buffy teased.

“What? I so do not! I was just saying that, out of all the demons you’ve fought and I could’ve accidentally paired you up with, he isn’t all that icky.”

“Try saying that with a mouthful of Spike.” Willow’s eyebrows shot to her forehead and Buffy felt her foot slam right into her mouth. “Wow. That so didn’t come out right.”

“Oi! I’m gettin’ parched, here! A vampire needs to eat sometime!” Spike shouted angrily, and Buffy heard the distinct sound of chains rattling. How Willow could say that out of all her enemies Spike was the least icky was beyond her. None of her other enemies had ever been chained in her former Watcher’s tub. None of her other enemies had ever begged for blood and called her names and rattled chains. None of her other enemies had made her feel so blissfully good with his hands ghosting across her body, mouth greedily attacking hers, while she babbled on about her wedding plans. She had never had to kneel on cold tile and watch any of her other enemies drink preheated blood from a straw.

So Spike was pretty much on the top of her list of most evil, annoying, icky bad guys ever.

She watched as the yellow novelty mug Willow had given Giles for Christmas last year lazily spun in the microwave. It was sad that she knew just how long to cook blood in order to get it to 98.6 degrees Fahrenheit.

“Bloody hell! Hurry up, Slayer!”

“Shut up or I won’t even bother!” he shouted back, glaring at the wall, pretending that he could see her through the thick wall. Unless Spike had gained a new ability at x-ray vision, however, the glare would remain unnoticed.

She heard a very loud and distinct growl from the bathroom, and a long strain of rattling and banging. Buffy nearly snickered at the image of Spike throwing a fit in the bathtub. She supposed she should have felt bad for depriving him of his natural food source. Thinking on it, she couldn’t remember the last time she had fed him. She remembered why her mother had never allowed her to have pets--after the fiasco of three dead goldfish, her mother thought it best not to upgrade to the more fuzzy variety of pets.

The microwave beeped and Buffy groaned. She opened the microwave and held the almost too hot mug in her hand, grimacing when she managed to get a whiff of the hot pig’s blood. Blood wasn’t especially strong in regards to scent, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t smell it every now and then.

She opened the door to find Spike’s eyes fixated on her, looking expectant. “’Bout time. You gonna feed me or what?”

“Patience is a virtue,” she snapped, striding over to the helpless vampire she wished wasn’t helpless so she could kill him.

“Not one of mine.”

“I wasn’t aware you had virtues.”

“Then why bring it up?”

Buffy sighed. She really wasn’t in the mood for this. She probably never would be in the mood for Spike. Ever. Would he be forever chained in Giles’ tub? Perhaps it would be a mercy killing. That excuse could work if he ever pissed her off to the point she couldn’t take it anymore.

She knelt beside the tub and put the mug in front of him. He immediately surrounded the straw with his mouth and began sucking, his Adam’s apple bobbing furiously with his gulps. Buffy had to admit, he didn’t look too good. The last time she remembered him drinking anything was when she was settled on his lap, him drinking out of it casually as if it were a cup of coffee while she wrapped her arm around his shoulder. She shuddered at the memory. Yesterday had been one of the best days of her life, which actually meant it was the worst day seeing as all the happiness she’d felt had been spell-oriented. She wondered if he’d had anything to drink since then, and she figured he probably hadn’t, seeing as he was obviously weaker. She hadn’t thought one day would affect him so much, but thinking on it, he’d been really weak before he’d come to them.

Watching him drink blood out of the straw was a bit disgusting, so she grimaced and looked away.

Yeah, that’s right. Look away. Pretend you’re not feedin’ me. Act like you never dated a vampire before. Act like you haven’t watched Angel tear into a blood packet and drain it. Hypocrite.

She glared at him, then yanked the mug away, pursing her lips in his direction, the straw dangled dangerously between his lips, as if it was going to fall, and he tried to prevent it and suck the remnants of the blood out of the straw. “Oi! Why you gotta do that all the time?”

“I did not watch Angel drink,” she snapped.

He raised his scarred eyebrows at her, looking ridiculous with the now-red straw dangling precariously. “Bit late for that argument, y’think?”

“I don’t think so. How ‘bout you stop being a pest or I won’t feed you?”

“I wasn’t bein’ a pest!” He didn’t sound angry and taunting so much as it sounded like he was pleading. She wondered just how much Giles had been feeding him. She knew Giles would never purposely deprive the vampire of food, but Spike had been weak when he first showed up. Maybe they hadn’t been giving him enough to heal.

More because of the tone he’d said it in than the words, she yanked the straw out of his mouth. He made the most pathetic whining noise she’d ever heard and she stuck the straw back in, putting it in front of his mouth. He began drinking again, just as hungrily.

She couldn’t believe how degrading it was. She was kneeling on the floor feeding Spike. She watched his lips encircle the straw. They were cracked and pale. She remembered they had been chapped when she kissed him yesterday. She remembered offering him some of her lip balm, and how he had complained it stung, and that she’d offered to kiss it better. Which, of course, led to a really disturbing memory.

Staring at his lips wasn’t helping any, so she quickly looked away, finding the wall suddenly interesting. Instead of thinking about what she was doing, she thought about Riley. Good, reliable, safe Riley. Tall Riley. Cute Riley. Awkwardly funny Riley who was totally crushing on her. Her maybe-boyfriend Riley. Yes, those were good thoughts.

So good. So damn good. God. Tastes fantastic. Bloody ambrosia.

“Has it really been that long since you’ve had blood?” she asked, turning back to him. Did he have to be so verbal about it?

His eyes snapped open and met hers, but he didn’t let go of the straw. A second later, he pulled away. “Huh? Well, yeah, haven’t had anythin’ to drink since--” He cut off, but then a slow, malicious smirk spread across his face. “Not since you sat in my lap and fed me. Care for a repeat performance?”

“If you don’t shut up, you can wait just a little bit longer. What was it you said? Walking skeletons?”

He jaw clenched suddenly, and his dark blue eyes narrowed. Were his eyes always that dark and noticeable? Must be in contrast to the wrinkly red shirt that was draped over his shoulders. Now that she thought about it, she noticed that the blue veins in his temples were more noticeable too, against his alabaster skin.

God I wanna kill her.

Buffy blinked. She’d heard his voice. She’d heard it, but his lips hadn’t moved.

Tear into her throat. Just rip out the flesh. All the blood spurtin’ out . . . Hot and thick just pourin’ into my throat . . . Listening to her scream, pound my chest, cry . . . Watch her die. I would love to watch her die.

No. This couldn’t be happening. Not again. She couldn’t be hearing thoughts again. Was it some sort of side effect? Was it like a virus? Would it come back every now and again and she’d have to go make that antidote? And why on earth could she hear Spike’s thoughts--Angel had said she wouldn’t be able to hear what a vampire was thinking.

She suddenly wished she still couldn’t.

She thrust the mug in front of him again and he drank, eyes fixed on hers. She tried to keep her breath steady, but her heart was pounding so hard she could feel her fingertips throbbing with each beat. It couldn’t be true. Not unless Angel was lying? Why would he lie? Had he been keeping his thoughts from her? What had he wanted to hide?

“He was thinking about Faith!” she proclaimed suddenly. “Son of a bitch!”

He pulled his lips off of the straw, and she just realized that he’d be thinking about how good it had tasted. “What was that? Faith who now?”

She shook her head. “Nothing. Just . . . thinking out loud, I guess.” No way was she going to tell Spike she could hear his thoughts. Spike would find a way to turn that against her, she knew it. Spike was already cutting with his words; she didn’t need him to be cutting with his brain, too.

What a crock. Prob’ly thinkin’ about Angel. Bloody typical. Faith. Faith’s a girl. Oh-hoh.

“What? Peaches not exactly runner-up for boyfriend of the year? Whose Faith?”

“If you wanna feed, I’d suggest shutting the hell up,” she managed through clenched teeth.

Oooooh. Seems I got it in one. Soft spot. Well, let’s see how she likes . . . Damn. Blood. Keep your mouth shut and drink. Stupid chit.

His lips surrounded the straw again, and he began drinking silently. Buffy was trying her hardest not to run away from him.

What a bloody idiot. If Angel slept with this Faith chit, he didn’t go and re-lose his soul. Obviously nothin’ for her to worry about, then. Either she was a terrible lay, or he didn’t touch the girl. Or maybe she thinks he was thinkin’ o’ Faith the night he did lose his soul. Hah. Yeah right. God, all the wanker talked about was her. Buffy, Buffy, Buffy. Today, I wanked in Buffy’ lawn. Today, I saw a bird and it reminded me of Buffy. Oooh, I’m gonna torture Buffy. Blah, blah, blah. As if I wanna hear about the bloody chit.

God this blood is fantastic. Not as good as a human, though. Still, it’ll do. Better than orangutan.

Oh right. Kill Willy. Soon as this chip is out, you rip out his throat. Bloody orangutan. Stupid, greasy git. Don’t drink him, though. Just snap his neck. Bet the bugger tastes like . . . car oil.

Buffy didn’t want to hear his thoughts. She didn’t want anything to do with him. She had had enough of doing anything with Spike during their engagement. Listening to him think about her problems with Angel wasn’t exactly on the top of her to-do list. She didn’t need to hear about what Angelus had said or done and she definitely didn’t need to hear about how he thought Willy tasted. Why Spike? Why did her ability have to come back just as she was talking to Spike? God, why did Giles have to go to Olivia? If Giles were here, he’d know what to do.

His eyes were still on hers, as if daring her to pull away. He was afraid she was going to jerk the mug away for no reason.

To think that yesterday she was sittin’ on my lap, kissing me. God, I wanna puke. I can still taste her, in my mouth . . . Smell her, on my skin . . . Feel her arousal on my lap. She’d kill me if she knew I’d looked down her shirt. Why the hell did Red have to do that? Stupid bint, all grinding against my knee, snogging me senseless . . . Good kisser though . . . I hate my life sometimes. I hate her. I hate her friends, I hate her town, and I hate her stupid, pert li’l breasts and bloody hell she’s got scars on her neck.

She was pissed off. She didn’t need Spike thinking about her breasts or the way she’d been getting off on his knee. That had been a spell, and if he thought she’d enjoyed it any more than he had, then he was wrong.

Then she remembered he had seen the scars on her neck, and his eyes were focused on her jugular.

Hmm. Angel. He tasted her. I bet you anything. Slayer neck. Slayer blood . . .

Oh, great. Now he was going to go off about her blood, and think about nipping at her skin and drinking her. God, she didn’t know how much more she could take of this.

Spike grabbed her wrist and yanked her into the tub. She let out a scream; a harsh, loud scream. He buried his fangs into her neck, tearing the flesh, her pounding futilely on his chest while he drank, holding her still, ignoring her cries of pain, ignoring the tears streaming down her face--

“Oi! Watch it!” Spike shouted angrily.

It was then Buffy realized she had jumped at the sudden flash of imagery in her head. That certainly hadn’t happened before. She had spilled some of the blood on his hands, and he was licking them, although he was still staring at her like she was a loony.

“What the hell is your problem tonight, Slayer?” Oh right. The sodding spell. Prob’ly all bothered by it still. Hell, I am too. The way she looked at me . . . The way I looked at her. God, somebody stake me. “Slayer, if this is about--”

“No,” she interrupted. She did not want to talk about their engagement. Ever. “Just . . . Here.” She thrust the mug into his hands, which were cuffed together. He stared at her, confused, but then he shrugged and started drinking the blood out of the mug hungrily.

Buffy stood up and quickly left. When she shut the door behind her, she pressed her back against it and closed her eyes. "What the fuck is wrong with me?"

Buffy had contemplated calling Giles, but then she remembered that he was at some hotel with his girlfriend, and even if she did know which hotel he was at, she wasn’t about to interrupt his special time with Olivia.

She could have called Willow. She could have called Xander. But she didn’t.

To be honest, she didn’t have the guts. Last time she’d heard their thoughts, she’d enjoyed it. At first. But then the thoughts had been deafening. All of their worries . . . And they refused to be around her. She’d been so sick. The only voice she could hear at the moment was Spike’s, and as annoying as that was, it was better than hearing two. Or three. Or thousands.

Only, she couldn’t really hear him. She was in the living room and he was in the bathroom. She could only vaguely hear it, from faraway. It wasn’t so bothersome, though.

“Oi! Slayer!”

Well, now it was.

“What do you want?” she snapped back, in no mood to walk into the bathroom into the barrage of Spike thoughts.

“More blood!”

“Ugh, he’s such a whiny baby,” she murmured, stomping over to the bathroom. She opened the door roughly, walked over to him, and yanked the mug out of his hand.

“God, what’re you all in a snit about?” he asked.

She didn’t answer, just left the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. She put some blood in the mug and stuck it in the microwave, once again disgusted at the fact she knew just how long it needed to be cooked. She wondered if Giles would smell the warm blood every time he opened the microwave. She could smell it. Humans didn’t normally smell blood very easily, but when there was a lot, and when it was warm, she could.

When it beeped, she yanked it out of the microwave and stormed into the bathroom. He was staring at her expectantly. She thrust the mug in his hands, having no intention to stay with him at all.

What the hell did I do?

She furrowed her eyebrows when she looked at him, calmly sipping his cup. Why did it bother him that she wanted to leave? Or was he even bothered? Maybe he was just confused because he had bugged her without actually trying.

She turned around and went over to the door.

Don’t go.

Buffy turned around, thinking for a wild moment that he’d said it out loud. Of course, she realized (thankfully, before she said anything) he had been thinking that. Spike would never plead for her to stay, ever. It was what had confused her.

Still drinking, he thought, I hate being alone. God, don’t leave.

Never in her life had she heard him sound so pathetic. Well, maybe once--when he’d been clawing at the ground and begged for the underground base she doubted was there to “fix me.”

It was that tone--and that tone alone--that made her hesitate.

Sighing, she went over to the tub and knelt beside it. She knew what it was like to be alone, and no one could fake that pathetic tone. Especially not when thinking it.

“What’re you doin’?”

She opened her mouth to explain, but nothing came out. “Well . . . it’s just so boring out there. Nothing to do.”

“Yes, because Giles’s bathroom holds so much promise for fun.” He brought the mug to his mouth again.

“Yeah, I can see it now. Giles’s Tub of Fun. We could make a theme park out of it.”

“I can think of a few fun things to do in his tub,” he muttered, his lips barely leaving the side of the yellow mug in his hands. His lips barely moved and Buffy had to think for a moment to make sure he hadn’t just thought that. Of course when she saw the small smirk on his face before he returned to drinking his blood and the eyebrow raised in amusement, she knew he really had said it, tone dripping with innuendo.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re a pig, Spike.”

He raised his mug. “I am what I eat.”

She almost laughed. Almost.

Hah, Slayer walked right into that one. Wait . . . is she smiling?

She didn’t care how alone he felt, or how alone she had felt and that she understood what it was like to feel so lonely even her thoughts had that extra-pathetic tone. She was not going to allow Spike to see her smiling. Maybe she felt a little bad because he was helpless, but she was still a slayer, and he was still a vampire that hated her, so he could whine and complain all he wanted. She wasn’t going to sit there and smile in front of him.

She stood up and started to leave, but then she heard him sigh. “You know, Slayer,” he said, and she turned around to make sure he was really talking, “it’s not my fault we spent all day yesterday snogging. That fault belongs solely to Red.”

“So? We’re talking about this why?”

“Well, you’re all antsy and stuff. Can’t blame you, much. Right there with you.”

Figuring it was probably better to go along with the story that she was being awkward because of their engagement rather than tell him she could hear his thoughts, she nodded. “Yep. Being engaged to you is like vomiting up acid. So glad you get that. Anyway . . .” she trailed off, and turned back to the door.

She put her hand on the doorknob and went to turn it. “Slayer, um . . .” Sighing, she turned back around and looked at him expectantly. “Look . . . maybe vomiting up acid is, er, too strong of an analogy. Not one I would use. You’re really not all that bad.”

She furrowed her eyebrows, not quite sure if she should be disgusted or pleased. “Um . . . okay?” she settled for instead.

“Well, yeah, you’re a decent kisser, so--”

“Decent?” she repeated, hating the fact she sounded outraged.

“--all right, well, quite a bit more than decent. Tryin’ to keep my reputation here, yeah?” Damn good kisser. Which only makes this worse. “And . . . I’m just, well . . . Look, I know it doesn’t mean anythin’, but . . . You’re not that bad. I mean, engagement aside. Never wanna go through that again.” I would rather die. I would rather take a stake to the chest than have her on me ever again. Just not bloody normal.

She frowned. Spike was being civil. That was odd. Exceedingly odd. “Well, um . . . Thanks, I guess.”

All right, she’s buyin’ it. Maybe now she’ll let me outta this tub.

Well, now Buffy understood his suddenly nice behaviour. What a manipulative asshole.

“I mean, I s’pose it coulda been worse. Coulda been engaged to . . . er, the Whelp.”

“You’re saying I was better off with you than Xander? Puh-lease, Spike.”

“No, I meant I was better of with you. Can you imagine me and him snogging?” Oh bullocks now I’m imagining it. Me an’ my big mouth.

An unwanted image went into her mind--a brief image that she wasn’t sure was from her own imagination or his--of Xander curling up in Spike’s lap and kissing him. Initially she was disgusted by it, but the next second, she was laughing.

“That’s not funny, Slayer.”

“Xan-der and Spike-y sit-tin’ in a tree-e-e-e, K-I-S-S-I-N--”

“Shut up! Bloody hell, woman, I think you’ve got a fetish. Fine by me, but don’t bother me with it!”

She folded her arms over her chest. “Oh, what, but it’s okay for you to make comments about me and Willow kissing?”

“That is actually sexually appealing,” he commented.

“Well maybe I think two guys kissing is hot.” She smirked at him, noticing his absolutely disgusted face. He held the mug tightly in his hands, but she had the feeling he had forgotten about it for the time being. She walked closer to him. “Maybe I like the thought of Xander curling up on your knee, and kissing you all softly.”

Make her stop. God I’m gonna puke.

She smirked. “I mean, can you imagine it? Xander. I mean, he’s kinda cute. No, he’s adorable.”

Spike’s jaw was clenched tightly. Keep your mouth shut, Spike. You wanna get outta the tub. Just keep your mouth shut.

“And his eyes are so penetrating.” She knelt beside the tub, looking at Spike, careful to keep her eyes wide and her best Innocent Virgin expression on her face.

Stop it.

“And his lips? I’ve looked at his lips more than enough times. I love his hair, too. God, so soft, and thick, and--”

Bad image. Bad image!

“Thinking on it, you would have to be the top. Xander’s a bit of a girl as it is, you know.”

Spike grabbed Buffy’s hair and slammed her face against the tile, blood bursting from her nose while she yelped out in pain--

Buffy blinked. Apparently, Spike imagined things from a third-person perspective, as if it were a movie. It nearly made her jump, but she caught herself just in time.

Spike was staring at her expectantly, as if waiting for her to continue, the hatred in his eyes intense. If she mentions one more thing about me an’ Xander doing anything I will rip out her tongue. Except I won’t. Stupid chip. As if that night with Angel wasn’t enough homoeroticism for eight lifetimes, she has to mention the boy?

Oh God. That was too priceless.

She smirked evilly. “What’s the matter, Spikey? Bringin’ back bad memories?”

“What?” he muttered, and by all appearances, seemed confused. Did he tell her? Please no.

“Angel told me a very interesting thing about you.” She moved a little bit closer.

Still fisting her hair, Spike raised her head again, her face bloodied, her whining and begging him to stop, and he slammed her face against the tile a second time--

“More like a dream he had. Always wondered about the pouf.” The bastard told her. He told her!

Angel was in front of her, but he looked different--his hair was longer, more ragged, and the white shirt he was wearing was baggy and old-fashioned. “You’re a real keeper, William,” he said, his Irish accent thick, and he cupped the side of her face gently. “Glad to have another man in the gang.”

She blinked a few times. Seeing Spike’s memories was like looking from his eyes--it had been like Angel was talking to her, but she knew it was Spike he’d been talking to. “He told me all about it, Spike. About how he was glad he had another man in the group.”

“It’s Spike now,” she found herself saying, the voice coming from her mouth not her own. He reached up and gently slapped Angelus’ cheek. “You’re not too bad yourself, mate.”

“I wonder, is there anythin’ else I’ve been missin’ out on?” Suddenly, Angelus was grabbing her--Spike’s--crotch through his pants. The breath she--he--didn’t need caught in his throat. “Come on, William, you never wondered?”

“Remember how it felt to have him grab your dick? He said you were really, really excited--”

“Shut up, Slayer, shut the fuck up.”

“But--Dru--I love--”

Angelus pressed his mouth against his hard, and his eyes remained opened, too stunned to do anything. She felt herself, well Spike, harden in Angelus’ grasp as he pulled away. “Dru doesn’t mind to share her toys, Spike.”

“Dru wouldn’t mind, that’s what he said,” Buffy told him sweetly. Maybe having an insight in Spike’s mind wasn’t too bad. All those times he managed to know just what to say in order to hurt her, now she could pay him back.

I hate him. I’m gonna kill him. I’m gonna find Peaches and tear his head off. “Right, so fine, maybe we did something once but I can assure you, Slayer, it never happened again. And what does it say about your precious soul-having pouf, then, if he’s braggin’ it up all he’s done with me?”

“From the way he told it, you didn’t seem to mind so much. He said you enjoyed it just as much as he did, if not more. He thinks you’re gay, and Dru’s just a cover.”

“I am not gay.” One night doesn’t make me gay. The very thought of it makes me sick. God, why the hell did I do that? Now she’s gonna think I’m some . . . some pouf. She doesn’t understand! So what’s a little experimenting, huh? I bet her and Red have done a little of that. Huh . . . Well, now, that is an interesting thought, innit?

“The Spikey doth protest too much, methinks,” she said with a grin.

“I’m really not, Slayer.”

“Yeah, yeah. Sure.”

“Would I have gotten off to you grinding against my leg if I was?” he told her smoothly, the smirk on his face absolutely annoying.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Okay, that was a spell.”

“What? You mean you rubbin’ yourself all over me like a cat in heat? Moaning, mewling, beggin’ me to take you right there in your Watcher’s chair?” Turned that one around on her, didn’t I?

She wanted to punch him. She wanted to kill him. How dare he mention that? It was a spell! She hated him, she hated the fact he had turned her on, and she just hated him, in general. Always. “Of course it was a spell. Am I supposed to believe that you liked staring at my boobs when you thought I wasn’t watching? I mean, you were just as excited as I was. I remember how hard you got when I bit your earlobe.”

That wasn’t so much the spell as male wiring, but she’s a bitch for mentioning it anyway.

Buffy blinked.

“Well, yeah, it felt good, and Red did cast that spell. How am I to blame for things I did under the spell, luv? I remember telling you I loved you, too. Had you touched me under any other circumstances, I would’ve been sick.”

“Precisely. Which makes me think you probably aren’t that into girls anyway. It was all the spell, remember?”

“Trust me, luv. I’m as straight as they come.” ‘Cept for that one time.

“Uh-huh. Sure.”

“I am!”

“Are not,” she responded childishly.

“Am too!”

“You are so gay.”

“Oh, yeah?”

Spike grabbed Buffy’s hand and pulled her in a crushing kiss--

Bad idea. She’d stake me and I’d vomit. Vomiting on the slayer? Not the best way to prove you’re not gay. Oh, right. I’ve got a mug o’ blood, too.

Buffy briefly shook her head. That had been disturbing. Perhaps because she actually knew what it was like to kiss his lips, but that was more disturbing than images of her face being smashed into tile.

Spike took a sip of the blood. “Well, what does that say about your ex-honey? He came onto me. He was the one who’d been wonderin’ for a century what it was like. Bet he wasn’t thinkin’ o’ you the night you bumped uglies. Prob’bly thinkin’ o’ me. Or your precious Xander.”

And there went your chance to get outta this tub.

Seeing as him snarking at her was a lot better than him kissing her, she actually wasn’t too upset. Still, the comment about Angel stung. Although she knew that Angelus and Angel were two different people, the fact that he had done something with Spike--not only that, but had initiated it--was disturbing, and hurtful. Of course she knew Angel was thinking of her that night they made love, but she was still jealous--in the same way she was jealous of Darla whenever her mind wondered to the vampire she had met so briefly, or of Drusilla, who Angel couldn’t even bring himself to kill. Not because she worried Angel still might feel for Spike or the others, but because he had been able to share something with them he could never properly share with her.

“First off, that was Angelus, not Angel, and Angel hated you.”

“Angelus hated me, too. You honestly think he cares about stuff like that?” She’s naïve for a slayer.

“I am not naïve,” she spat instinctively, realizing a second later that he hadn’t said that out loud, but he didn’t say anything so she figured he thought she was commenting on his actual sentence. “I know that Angelus can’t love anymore than you can; I’m just saying that unlike you, Angel was a different person, whereas you’re pretty much the same.”

I can love! I am not like him at all! Stupid bint!

“You’d be surprised how different I am from him, luv.” He took another drink of the blood, sighing. “Look, I’m gonna cut to the chase. I hate the tub. Will you get me outta here?” So much for planning and patience. You really gotta work on that, Spike. Patience really should be one of your virtues.

“And why should I do that?” she asked, surprised he had given up on his plan to be nice to her in order for her to unchain him. Then again, she knew that Spike really wasn’t a patient person. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that had he waited until Saturday . . .

Serious, mate, you’re an idiot. Why would the Slayer do anything for you? “’Cause you’re pretty?” he suggested, smiling at her and widening his blue eyes in an attempt to look cute.

“Ooh, nice try. But it’s gonna be a bit harder than that.”

Dammit. How do I convince a girl I hate to let me go when she hates me too? Let’s see . . . Uh Slayer, so she’s strong. Commenting on that would be pointless. Um . . . She’s pretty. Obviously that didn’t work. Pretty girls know they’re pretty. Something true, or at least she hopes is true . . . But not obvious . . . I hate flattery. God, why can’t she just be susceptible to your flirting? Wait a minute . . .

“You know, Slayer . . . You an’ I both know you’re not dumb enough to fall for anything I throw your way.” Call her smart. I bet no one’s ever called her that before. I’ve seen the way Giles looks at her. What a pillock. She’s smarter than they give her credit for. She’s lived this long, hasn’t she? “I’m not gonna sit here and flatter my way outta this tub. You know it won’t work, and I know it, too. Either you’re gonna do it, or you not. I’m not gonna waste my time flattering you.”

Buffy almost laughed. He was flattering her by saying he wasn’t going to. She could say what she wanted about Spike, but he really knew what he was doing when it came to compliments. She figured he would be--he always had a way with words.

“If I take you out of this tub, you know I’m just gonna tie you up to the chair anyway.”

Better than this too-short, too-cold, hard porcelain tub I hate with a passion. The chair is actually comfortable. Don’t tell her that; she’ll get off on making you cramped.

“Yeah, I know, I’m not an idiot. It’s just . . .” I hate being alone. I hate this tub. I hate this loo. “Yeah, you’re right. Never mind.”

Sighing, Buffy stood up and went over to where the key was hidden. She knew Giles often put Spike in the chair, so she didn’t see anything wrong with doing it herself. If he got too annoying, she could just threaten him with the tub, since she knew how much he hated it. “If you try to run off, I’ll kick your ass,” she told him, lifting the key up so he knew what she was doing.

And go where? Detroit? “All right.”

Without another word, she quickly undid his chains. When she pulled back he stood up quickly, so quickly it unnerved her, and she took a step back. He swayed slightly and some blood sloshed over the side of the mug, splattering on the porcelain underneath him. He had a dazed look in his eyes.

“Change o’ plan,” he said in a gravelly voice. Buffy tensed. If he went to run past her, she would knock him down. “I’m takin’ a shower.”

She blinked. That was a lot better than him trying to run past her. And after she took a whiff of him, she found herself inclined to agree. “Um . . . Okay.”

He thrust the mug forward. “Put this on the sink, will you?”

Sighing, she took it from him, careful not to touch where the blood had spilled, and placed it on the sink. “Will you put these in the washer for me, please?” he asked casually, as if he asked her to do that every day, gesturing at his clothes.Yeah, the 'please' should do it. Proper an' all.

“Ugh, I think not. Do your own damn laundry.”

With that, she left the bathroom, shutting the door behind her, ignoring the insult he shot her way--but only because she didn’t know if he actually said it or not.

Spike sang in the shower. Buffy didn’t know what to think about that. Either he was thinking about singing, or he was actually singing, but either way, it was strange, but funny. She laughed when she heard Spike swear and loud thumping noises, which made her think he had fallen. The fact he let out a stream of highly colourful curse words after she heard the loud thumping noises only proved her theory, and she found herself laughing.

“Stop laughing!” she heard Spike growl from inside the bathroom.

She hadn’t realized he could hear her laughter. The fact that he had only made her laugh harder.

When she heard the shower turn off she stifled her chuckles and grabbed the rope, placing the chair that everyone sort of decided was Spike’s where they usually placed it, and waited for him to come out. She heard him shuffling around in the hallway and she heard him messing with the washer.

Finally when he stepped into the kitchen, Buffy frowned. He was shirtless. At least he had the decency to have a towel wrapped around his waist. He looked at her holding the rope, and smirked. “I knew you were into bondage,” he commented.

“I’m not tying you up like that,” she spat.

Causally, he leaned against the archway of the hall. “Wasn’t expectin’ you to.”

Buffy wasn’t blind. She knew Spike was attractive. It wasn’t like she hadn’t known that before. The first night she’d seen him, she knew he was attractive. It wasn’t like she hadn’t ever fought a good-looking vampire before. But seeing him shirtless was a different thing entirely. Seeing him wet and shirtless was even weirder. Vampires that good-looking shouldn’t be allowed to wander around in nothing but a towel, and especially not when wet.

She was used to his hair being slicked back, so when she realized it was sticking up in all directions, she also realized how endearing it looked on him. And the way the water travelled along the skin of his chest and abdomen was positively evil. It was evil. Just like the smirk on his face, and the knowing look in his eyes was evil.

Ooh, Slayer likes what she sees.

She hadn’t realized she was staring. She quickly shook her head and pursed her lips at him. No way was she going to let him notice how much she liked looking at him. It was okay to look. As Willow had said, he was attractive. It wasn’t bad of her to notice it, especially when he walked in looking like that. But judging by the obviously flirtatious look on his face and what he’d just thought, she knew it was too late.

“What are you doing?” she demanded. “Go get some clothes on.”

“Can’t. They’re washing.” He hooked his thumb through the top of his towel, and her eyes were suddenly drawn to the V his hipbones made. He puckered up his lips and Buffy forced herself to stare into his eyes and only his eyes. “If you’d put them in when I’d asked, they’d be done by now.” Kinda glad she didn’t though. Look at her starin’ at me like I’m bloody Adonis. Hmm, Slayer’s not wearin’ a bra today. Perky.

“Don’t you have any other clothes?”

“Not here, I don’t. Besides, seems like you don’t mind me walkin’ around like this too much. Can’t keep your eyes off of me.”

“Puh-lease, Spike.”

“You’re certainly doing a lot of starin’. It’s not a crime, luv.” And judgin’ by the state of those nipples, it’s either really cold in here or someone’s likin’ this a bit too much.

“Oh yeah? Well--you’re staring at my boobs,” she spat back childishly, putting her fists on her hips, making sure to keep her grip on the rope tight.

“Yeah, and? I can look away.” As if to prove his point, he stopped leaning against the archway and stared directly into her eyes. Her eyes kept flicking towards his chest against her will. “You can’t, luv. Admit it--I’m gorgeous.”

“You’re disgusting,” she responded. “And I can’t stop looking? Well watch this.” She turned around and stared at the blank wall. She felt so much like a child at that moment, but she didn’t care. She wasn’t going to give Spike the satisfaction of being right. So what if he was attractive? She still hated him. It was just too soon after Willow’s spell for her to see him shirtless, was all. Her stomach churned in disgust when she realized that had he walked out like that when she was under the effects of the spell, she would have jumped his bones.

Willow needs to die, she thought, hoping that Spike couldn’t hear her thoughts as well.

Well she’s not very smart. Turning her back on a vampire? What an idiot. Then again . . . Chipped. God, am I really that pathetic? She has no qualms whatsoever about turning her back on me? I am the epitome of wow she has a nice arse. Bad thought. So what? I can look. She can look. Looking doesn’t mean anything. Damn spell! I never cared about lookin’ before!

The fact that Spike had looked at her before filled her with an inappropriate amount of confidence. She smirked. So she hadn’t been the only one looking. It had never really occurred to her that he might take an appreciative glance of anyone, seeing as he had been so obsessed with Drusilla, but she realized that it didn’t mean anything. And the fact he had been appreciative of her, his enemy, well . . .

She felt his breath on her neck and she straightened. She hadn’t heard him coming. He hadn’t been thinking about sneaking up on her. It wasn’t right--if she was going to hear his thoughts, then she should be able to know when he was going to sneak up behind her.

When she felt him touch her shoulder so gently she wondered if she had imagined it, she spun around and glared at him. The fact he was so close surprised her, even though she’d know he was there. She reached back to smack him, but he caught her wrist deftly and smirked at her.

She ignored the sudden warmth between her legs.

“Let go,” she ordered, pursing her lips, hating him so intensely at the moment she would have staked him had she a stake on her at the moment.

What’s her problem? She’s acting like I was . . . Oh. Well, that’ll be a cold day in hell before I touch her like that without a spell to blame it on.

She didn’t know whether to be offended or grateful.

“Can’t sit in my chair if you’re in the way,” he told her, releasing her wrist and taking a step back. She was suddenly colder, as if his body had been radiating heat, which was impossible seeing as he was dead. She felt a bit stupid for assuming he was hitting on her.

She quickly stepped away and watched as Spike sat in his chair, hands behind his head. Well now that I know what she was thinking I can’t get it out of my head. Dammit.

“I’m not gonna tie you up,” she told him, figuring that would take his mind off of what she didn’t want to hear him thinking. Or worse yet, see him thinking.

“You said that part already. Can’t a man sit an’ relax without ropes?”

“You’re not a man, Spike.”

“Want me to prove you wrong ‘bout that?”

For a second she had no idea what he meant about that, but when she saw the way he waggled his eyebrows at her, she grimaced. “Ew, no, definitely not.”

“Well, guess it’s just me an’ you, no ropes, no shirts, until I can get my clothes dried. That about sums up the next few hours, doesn’t it?” A slow smirk crept across his face. “What can we possibly do to pass the time until then, I wonder?”

Buffy looked him over, eyes trailing over his perfect abdomen, and then back up to his taunting face. Then she returned the smirk.

* * *

“Have I told you lately that I hate you?” Spike snapped angrily.

“Oh, only about ten thousand times in the last hour.”

Despite the fact she had told him she wouldn’t tie him up when he was shirtless, she had done just that. Spike had struggled, but after his chip went off a few times and she’d assaulted him, he allowed her to tie him up. Of course, he’d griped the entire time, but she was used to that. He looked ridiculous, his hair stuck up, ropes tied around his bare abdomen tightly, and just because he’d been extra annoying, she even handcuffed his hands behind his back.

“These ropes chafe though,” he whined.

“Then you’ll have to deal with a chafed chest. Not my problem. Your clothes will be done soon enough, and then you can get dressed and then I’ll tie you up again.”

“You know what you are? You’re a bitch. I hate you.”

“Well this is all your fault anyway, with all the innuendo-y comments and waggle-y eyebrows.”

“Why does it bother you so much? Still hot for me?”

“Yeah, right, it’s called self-preservation. If I have to think about doing anything even remotely non-hate-y with you again, I’ll kill myself. And me? So not wanting to be in the land of the dead.” She folded her arms and looked him over. “Why do you keep up with the comments, Spike? You still hot for me?”

“No,” he snapped. Because I like to get under your skin. You’re so easy to irritate. I like pressing your buttons. I like brassing you off. I like hurting you. I want you to die. I want you to hate life. Why else would I do it? You stupid sodding bint. Why don’t you go off yourself? I hate you! “Same reason you like to taunt me, I imagine.”

“Well, it certainly isn’t to get into your pants.” She gave him a quick look over. “Or towel, as it were.” His thoughts were really disturbing. The sooner she didn’t have to watch him anymore, the better. Then she could tell Willow what was going on, and find a way to get rid of it before it overcame her. As much as she hated hearing Spike’s violent thoughts, she wasn’t going to leave just yet. One man’s thoughts, as horrible as they were, weren’t nearly as horrible as a thousand thoughts pouring into her brain all at the same time.

“Well, good, because I don’t want you in my pants or my towel.”

“Good,” she replied.

“Fine.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Perfect.”

“Fantastic,” he growled. She scoffed and rolled her eyes, turning around and heading towards the couch. “Ha, I win.”

She ignored him.

* * *

Buffy wanted to sleep. She wanted to lie down on Giles’ couch and just nap until the washer went off. She remembered that when the voices hadn’t been too horrible, sleeping made it better. She couldn’t hear anybody talking when she was sleeping. She couldn’t hear them thinking.

But none of them had been an irritating bottle-blonde named Spike.

Apparently, Spike’s thoughts were about as irritating as his words. The one thing she could say about Spike was that he often said what was on his mind. She liked that, because when he talked, he didn’t think, because everything that traipsed through his head, he said. She remembered admiring that trait in Cordelia for the first time in her life.

However, the fact that what he said and what he thought were both scathing and annoying didn’t help.

At first, he tried to goad her into conversation--rude, bickering conversation, of course, but she just ignored him, letting her eyes close as she felt herself drift into sleep. Then he started thinking. She knew he was thinking, because she had re-learned how thoughts sounded different from voices.

The images were worse. Every now and then, she’d have a flash of what he was imagining or remembering. When it was a memory, it was like she was seeing it. When it was what he was imagining, it was like watching a movie. The memories she didn’t mind so much, seeing as they were usually about Drusilla and some stupid, insane thing she’d said, and then Spike would ponder over its meaning for what seemed like forever. It was his imagination that bothered her, seeing as it usually involved him leaping over the couch and strangling her, snapping her neck, or tearing out her throat.

And God how could he stand thinking? Didn’t he annoy himself with his irritating thoughts? He made up songs about bathing in her blood to the tune of various Christmas Carols--stupid, pathetic songs. Songs that weren’t even well thought out. Even he knew that, because anytime his rhymes got too pathetic or the syllabic something-or-other he referred to was off, he would call himself a crass idiot not fit to know the English language. So then why did he continue to do it?

“Washer’s done,” he told her suddenly, and she jumped.

She got up off of the couch and moved the clothes from the washer into the dryer. The thrumming of the dryer was loud. She went to leave the laundry room, then looked at the dryer and at its loud noise. Sighing happily, she curled up on the floor, her spin curved against the cool metal, taking in comfort of the rhythmic thrumming of it, and the heat it emanated.

Sleep came easily for her then. She thought of how comforting it was, to be away form his irritating voice. She liked that her mind was her own again, not his to be barging into, although he didn’t really know what he was doing.

A loud, obnoxious trilling noise filled her thoughts and woke her up. She jumped at the noise, realizing it was just the dryer sounding off that it was finished. She blinked a few times, trying to wake herself up, as she took out Spike’s clothes and held them against her. They were warm and smelled of fabric softener. She breathed in their scent and left the laundry room.

“’Bout bloody time!” he shouted angrily, staring at her.

“What? It’s not like you missed me,” she snapped, just as angrily.

Look at her, all knackered an’ all. Aww, she fell asleep. Buffy furrowed her eyebrows at the tone of voice he’d thought that in. It was almost . . . adoring. Apparently it had bothered Spike too, because his brows were furrowed. Huh. That was odd. Anyway . . .

“No, but I miss those clothes. These ropes pinch and chafe.” All over my chest, which even she seems to appreciate. “And seein’ as you couldn’t take your eyes off my chest, I’m not the only one benefiting from getting those clothes on.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I was not looking at your chest.”

“Uh, yeah, you were.”

“You were looking at my tits, Spike, how do you know where I was looking?”

“Your nipples were pert, luv. Course I was looking. I’m a man, aren’t I? Men look. And, oh, before you even suggest I’m not, one little twist of my waist and the towel will drop.” She, without wanting to, glanced down at the towel and noticed that it looked about three seconds from falling off.

Buffy sighed and went over to him, dropping the clothes on the floor in a heap. She went to the back and untied the ropes, watching them slide to the floor. She reached into her pocket to grab the cuff keys, then remembered she hadn’t put them in her pocket.

Then she remembered that she actually had no idea where the cuff keys were.

“Uh-oh.”

“What uh-oh? Don’t like that.”

“Um . . . I don’t know where the cuff keys are.”

“What? You put them on me!”

“Well--I saw the cuffs--I just put them on--I didn’t think--”

“You didn’t think? Well, there’s a bloody surprise, Summers not thinking!” She grabbed the small chain and tugged on it, causing the metal to cut into his wrists. “Ow. That was uncalled for.”

“Sor--” She clamped her mouth shut. Spike barely glanced at her. “Um, I meant, get up and put your clothes on.”

“Can’t exactly do that without my digits, luv. Find the damn key.”

Sighing, she wrapped her fist around the chains that linked the cuffs together and yanked it. “There,” she snapped, ignoring his cry of pain and the clanking of the handcuffs hitting the floor.

She got up and watched him stand, holding onto the towel so it wouldn’t drop. “You’re a right piece of work, Summers. You know, I’ve killed two slayers. I’ve never hated one before.”

Something about his sentence bothered her and tugged at her memory, then she remembered saying something very similar to Angel the night he’d killed Darla. She folded her arms, stung at his unintentional barb. “Go to hell, Spike.”

“Ooh, incredibly witty tonight, aren’t we?”

She turned around so she wouldn’t have to look at him anymore. “Get dressed so I can tie you up again.”

“Great incentive, that.”

She listened to him thinking a string of insults directed at her, wishing that he’d said them aloud so she could spin around and smack him across the face. However, seeing as they were his thoughts, she just clenched her teeth together.

“There, done, bring out the kink and tie me up.”

She turned around and glared at him. And noticed that his wrists were bleeding. “Your wrists are bleeding,” she pointed out pointlessly.

He raised his eyebrow at her. “Yeah, kinda noticed. Courtesy of you ripping the cuffs off.” Hurts like a bitch, too.

“Sorry,“ she mumbled. She hadn’t meant for it to cut him so much, although thinking on it, she should have realized it would wound him. He tilted his head at her. “Well, it was either that or have you walk around naked. Tell me, how were you planning on dressing with your hands cuffed? I don’t know where the keys are.” She sighed, then grabbed his hand, careful not to grab his wrist as well.

He jerked away. “Oi, what’re doin’?”

“What, you want those to get infected? Giles has peroxide. Something you’ll be needing soon, too--your roots are showing.”

He gave her a two-finger salute that she didn’t understand but assumed wasn’t very nice. She grabbed his fingers and yanked, with every intention of leading him to the bathroom, and he grunted. She’s gonna take care of me? Huh. What has my unlife come to? He pulled his fingers free, but followed her to the bathroom.

She forced him to sit on the toilet seat as she fished through Giles’ supplies. She knew where the peroxide was--she had used it a hundred times before.

He was quiet while she pressed the peroxide-soaked cotton against the cuts in his skin. He didn’t even think, other than to reprimand himself for hissing whenever he did and compare her to his mother briefly. He told himself not to think about his mother, and that was when his mind went blank.

She put that away for future reference. If she ever wanted him to shut up, she’d just ask about his mother.

“Okay, that’s all patched up, I can tie you up again.”

“An’ we all know how much you enjoy that.”

“Shut up,” she snapped, glaring at him.

He chuckled at her, and she glared, hating how his tongue rested on his bottom teeth. Thanks, Slayer.

Oddly enough, she couldn’t even be that mad at him for laughing at her now.

* * *

Buffy had placated Spike by allowing him control over the television. She handed him the remote and told him to go wild. She even moved the chair so that he was beside the couch and had a better visual of the screen. He wondered to himself why Buffy was being oddly kind to him, but he didn’t make any theories about it.

Honestly? She’d figured out that the happier he was, the less annoying his thoughts were. And the more concentrated he was on something, the less his mind wandered into thoughts that would inevitably consist of him killing her.

He had changed it to some cheesy late-night soft-core porn, but even then she didn’t complain. His thoughts only consisted of how fake the sex looked, but that he liked the blonde girl’s tits more than the brunette’s.

When her eyes closed and she slowed her breathing, Spike must have assumed she was fully asleep because he muttered “Finally” and changed the channel. Buffy recognized the music to the Soap Channel, a channel her mother also had and one Buffy pretended to hate when others were around. She almost laughed when she realized Spike must obviously do the same thing, and fell asleep to him complaining about some idiot who obviously didn’t know what evil was if it bit him in the ass.

That night, Buffy dreamed of Drusilla, as strange as that was. Parts of her dream were random and odd, as any dream was meant to be, but every now and then she dreamt of something she felt came from Spike--mostly, the Drusilla part. Oddly enough, it didn’t bother her. Most of it was about Drusilla spinning in a garden that looked familiar, or her staring up at the stars and naming them. She saw Drusilla from Spike’s point of view whenever she entered her dreams, which explained how dreaming of the evil bitch made her feel pleasant.

“Buffy?” she heard Giles say, and felt someone shaking her shoulder.

She woke up, still listening to Drusilla crooning something in the back of her mind. “Huh? What?”

“You fell asleep on the couch.”

She slowly sat up, clearing her throat and rubbing her eyes. The sounds of the television were playing quietly in the background. “Oh. Hey Giles. What time is it?”

“Nearly six-thirty. You haven’t missed any classes, have you?”

“No, no, I still have time. Actually, I should probably head off if I wanna get there.” She yawned and stretched her arms over her head. “Did you have fun with Olivia?”

“Hmm? Oh, yes.” The blush the crept along his cheek almost made Buffy laugh. “Er, might I ask . . . What happened to my handcuffs? They were broken. Spike didn’t . . . ?”

“Slayer broke ‘em,” came Spike’s tired voice. Buffy looked at him. It seemed that he had fallen asleep with his chin on his chest, but now he was lifting his head up and blinking. “Oh, yeah, and she made me watch this tosh. Really, Slayer, the Soap Opera channel? Were you trying to kill me?”

Buffy raised an eyebrow at him. Giles calmly plucked the remote from Spike’s hand. “Yes, of course she was, Spike.”

Dammit.

Buffy ran as quickly as she could to the dorms, half worried she wouldn’t make it to school on time, and half because she needed to get to Willow. Luckily for her, mostly everybody was asleep, and so no thoughts other than hers went through her mind.

Willow nearly jumped out of her skin when Buffy charged into the room, and Buffy would have laughed at the sight of her best friend shrieking and waving her hands up in the air were she not too focused on her telepathy problem.

“Willow!” she cried, grabbing her friends arms tightly. “I can hear thoughts again!”

Willow’s green eyes widened and her mouth dropped into a small O so quickly it was almost humorous. “What? Really? Oh no! Why? Did that demon attack you again? You left it alive, right? We have to make the--”

“No, no, I didn’t fight the demon, this is something else,” Buffy told her, exasperated and worried, as she ran her hands through her slightly-greasy and messed up hair. “I went over to Giles’ last night, remember, to watch Spike, and it just . . . happened.”

“What? No demon-y encounter?”

Buffy shook her head. “Nuh-uh. I was feeding Spike, and suddenly, I was hearing what he was thinking. I would’ve called you last night, but . . . Well, I didn’t want to be bombarded with your thoughts and his and I couldn’t leave him, you know that.”

“No, of course Buffy, you did the right thing. I mean, you wouldn’t want to have to walk back here when everyone was still awake. Good thing it’s really early in the morning, huh?”

“Yeah.” Buffy furrowed her brows in thought. “What if it’s a virus? You know, like a telepathic virus. Once you get it, it can come back anytime. Like a cold sore.”

“A cold sore of the brain,” Willow supplied.

Buffy cringed at the image that gave her. “Ugh. So not happy about this. Is there anything you know, right off the top of your head? I would’ve told Giles, but . . . Well, you know, just got back from Olivia’s--really not in the mood to hear what he’s thinking.”

“I hear ya.” Willow bit into her thumbnail and furrowed her eyebrows in thought. She was quiet for a minute. “I can’t think of anything right off the top of my head.”

Buffy groaned, although she had been expecting that. Although Willow was smart, she couldn’t expect her to have an answer for everything.

“Hmm, you know, Giles has a book about demon viruses. Maybe it’ll be in there. I mean, this is bad, Buffy, really bad. Maybe you should take the day off.” She started pacing and Buffy watched as she worried her lip between her teeth. With each passing second Willow’s brows furrowed closer together. Suddenly she stopped pacing and turned to Buffy, eyes wide. “Ack! Sorry! I’m so sorry!”

That worried Buffy. “Why? What? Oh my God, is it bad?”

“No, I meant uh . . . the whole thinking you’re gonna go completely insane thing. I’m sure we’ll get it fixed before that happens.”

Buffy shook her head. “No, don’t worry. It’s okay.”

Willow nodded and started pacing again, and Buffy waited for her to say anything. She just needed Willow to say something to reassure her, tell her she had a plan, so that Buffy could calm herself down a little.

“What do you think?” Willow asked suddenly.

Buffy frowned. “About what?”

“You think you can handle that for now?”

“Handle what?”

Willow blinked. “You know, going to Giles’s.”

“You didn’t say anything about Giles,” Buffy reminded, blinking at her. “I mean, you mentioned that virus book he has, but that’s . . . oh.” Buffy hummed to herself. “Um . . . Weird, I didn’t hear you think. At all.”

Willow sat still for a second. “What about then?”

“Nope.”

Willow hummed to herself. “Huh. Maybe it comes back, but only for a little while. Still, we should probably tell Giles later. I mean, if it keeps coming back in spurts like that, it could really throw you off.”

“Yeah. Yeah. Huh, that was weird.”

“So . . . What did Spike think about?”

Buffy shrugged. “Nothing you wouldn’t expect. He hates me, wants to kill me, blah, blah, blah. Normal Spike stuff. Pretty much the same stuff he says out loud.” She frowned. “But . . . The weird thing is, um, I saw things. Visuals. That didn’t happen last time. Like, he would imagine something . . . And I would see it, like a movie. Oh! Or he would remember something, and I would see it like I was him.”

“Huh, that is weird. You think you can go to school, or do you think it’ll come back?”

Buffy shook her head. “Nah. I think I’ll chance class. If it comes back, I’ll just leave.”

“Okay--but promise me you’ll come with me to talk to Giles. I’m not kidding, Buffy--this could be serious.”

Buffy groaned. If the thoughts were gone, she didn’t want to press the issue anymore. She just wanted to pretend it hadn’t happened, but she knew that she would have to bring it up with Giles. Sighing, she changed her clothes and got ready for the day, hoping it wouldn’t come back in the middle of one of her classes.

* * *

Buffy walked beside Willow, dreading the conversation with Giles. She didn’t necessarily want anyone to know. No harm, no foul, and no reason to dredge it all up. But she knew they had to research it, because Willow was right--if it came back sporadically, it could really confuse her, or throw her off guard.

When they made it to Giles’, Buffy took in a deep sigh. “Is Spike asleep?” she asked suddenly.

Willow and Giles looked at her, most likely confused by her strange greeting. “Er, yes. I imagine so. He hasn’t complained for about an hour. Which generally means he’s dead to the world, no pun intended. Why?”

“’Cause I don’t want him to know,” she mumbled. When she saw how confused they looked, she raised an eyebrow. “Would you want Spike knowing you could hear and see what he was thinking?”

“No, I suppose I wouldn’t,” Giles conceded. Then he furrowed his eyebrows. “Wait . . . you can hear thoughts again?”

“Which is why we’re hear. We think maybe she contracted a virus and it came back or something.”

“You can hear what I’m thinking right now?” he asked. “Oh, Buffy, and this morning--I’m so sorry, if I had known I wouldn’t have been thinking of Olivia and the peanut butter, I swear to you I had no intentions of--”

Buffy lifted a hand. “Whoa, whoa, whoa--Giles, I can’t hear thoughts anymore. And that is more information than I needed to know.”

Giles cleared his throat and whipped off his glasses. “Er, right . . . Yes, I apologize . . .” He replaced his glasses and fidgeted for a moment. “Er . . . so, it went away, then? Your . . . affliction?”

Buffy nodded. “Yeah. It’s gone now. We were, um . . . wondering if you knew anything about that? I mean, I thought maybe that demon that, um . . . did the mental bond-y thing with me might have given me herpes. You know, telepathically. And without the gross sores which, ew, now I’m never getting that image out of my mind.”

Giles frowned slightly. “Perhaps . . . It seems to be the only explanation. When did it start?”

“Um, while I was watching Spike sometime. It must’ve went away before you got here.”

“Wait . . . You mentioned something about seeing his thoughts earlier.”

Buffy nodded.

“That is odd . . . It could mean that each time it returns it’ll have a stronger effect on you.” Buffy must have looked worried, because Giles rushed to amend himself. “Or it could just be his over-active imagination. I have a few books on the subject of telepathy, and we could always reread about the demon itself.” He went over to the bookshelf and busied himself with grabbing some books.

“Hey, grab that one about demon viruses, too,” Willow suggested, pulling up a chair and sitting at the table.

Buffy groaned and sat beside her best friend, putting her head in her hands. “God, I so don’t need this right now.”

Willow put a hand on her back. “You don’t need this sort of thing ever. But don’t worry, if there’s something in any of these books, we’ll find it.”

Buffy made a noncommittal noise to show that she’d heard her. “Ugh. Out of all the times for it to come back, why did it have to be around Spike?” She lifted her head from her hands and looked at Willow. “He can never know, okay? Ever.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Oh, boy, you have no idea. It’s definitely not of the good when you get images of him bashing your face into the tile. And some of his memories? I’m gonna need mind-bleach.” She thought of Angelus cupping Spike’s manhood and she shuddered. “Oh, speaking of mind-bleach-y thoughts, how’s that forgetting spell comin’ along?”

Willow’s eyes widened. “Oh . . . Um, you meant that? Sorry, Buffy, I-I thought you were joking. I mean, those things are so fickle and dangerous, and I don’t--”

“Hey, Wills? I was kidding.” She furrowed her eyebrows when she thought about how fixated Spike had been on the fact she’d rubbed against his leg. “Well, kinda.”

* * *

Buffy scanned over the page tiredly, resting her jaw in the palm of her hand. She was currently reading over one of Giles’ books about demon viruses, and thankfully, it didn’t seem to her than she had any combination of any of them. Some of them were as harmless as a demon flu that only affected certain types of demons, but there were others that were so grotesque and disgusting she couldn’t even read about them without her stomach churning.

“Ugh, maybe it was some freak relapse and it won’t ever happen again,” Buffy aired, hoping it would make Giles see the error of his ways for making her read pages of horrible and disgusting ailments--some of them with pictures.

“Buffy, as much as I would love for that to be so, you must consider the worst case scenario. You were lucky this time. You were alone with someone who is essentially harmless. Can you imagine this returning during combat? I don’t wish to alarm you, but obviously the power of it has strengthened--you said that you could see his thoughts; his memories? That is most worrisome.”

Buffy sighed. “If I have to read about pustules one more time, I think I’m gonna yack all over your books, and it won’t be because I have any sort of illness.”

“Buffy, I understand you not wanting to research this, but I can’t help but worry. This is serious. You remember its effects on you the last time it happened?”

She sighed, realizing he was right. “Yes.”

“Giles? It says here that there’s a sort of spell that makes people more perceptive of their enemies. You think that might be the case?” Willow suggested warily. “I mean, Spike’s an enemy, right? Maybe someone, or something, cast a spell on Buffy to make her more perceptive? You know, of demons? ‘Cause she didn’t hear us, but she heard him.”

Giles hummed thoughtfully. “Yes, but why? Why would an enemy of the slayer do such a thing?”

“Maybe it wasn’t an enemy,” Willow said dolefully. When both Giles and Buffy looked at her, she sighed. “Well, you know how . . . off I’ve been lately. Maybe when I did that spell yesterday--you know, the truth one--I accidentally . . . did this instead. A lot of the ingredients are similar.”

They all shared a look. Clearly, none of them wanted to admit it, but Willow’s suggestion was highly likely.

“The perception reversal spell is really simple, an-and harmless, too. I mean, if it’s something else, all the harmless spell will do is make her . . . um, it’ll do nothing. She’ll probably just sneeze ‘cause of the herbs flying at her face. I mean, it’s just a perception reversal spell. All we need is a few, um . . . things,” Willow mumbled awkwardly, her finger scanning over the words while she ducked her head, and Giles and Buffy tried to refrain from looking at each other. “We’ll need some taggis root, obviously.”

Buffy and Giles finally met each other’s eyes, and Buffy felt a strong surge of guilt fill her. She didn’t want to think Willow had caused it, but it made sense.

“We’ll go to the store. Buffy, will you watch Spike? I’d ask you come along with Willow and me, but . . . it’s nearing dusk, and if an enemy were to show up . . .”

“Yeah, yeah, I know--Perceptive Buffy, not a Good Buffy,” she said with a shrug.

Giles nodded, then handed Willow her jacket. “Spike should be up soon. He has a mug of blood in the fridge. Oh, and Buffy?” She looked at him. “Try not to let him get to you. Remember, his thoughts may be bad, but he is harmless. The demons out there aren’t.”

She nodded. “Try to hurry.”

He nodded, then quickly left the house with Willow.

Buffy waited for a minute, watching the sun lower on the horizon. It wasn’t quite dark enough for vampires to be out and about, but soon they would be. She held her head in her hands. She had wanted to show Willow she trusted her, to give Willow more confidence, and what had that accomplished? Willow being in more pain. Buffy was a horrible friend--not only had she abandoned Willow when she was upset, but she had turned her good intentions against her in an attempt to make her more confident.

Willow wasn’t a bad witch. Buffy might not have been an expert in the whole Wicca thing, but she could tell Willow had a lot of power. She would have to be in order to cause as much trouble as she had with Buffy’s engagement. And to be fair, Willow hadn’t screwed up her spell at all--in fact, it had worked perfectly. So how could she mess up an even simpler spell? It made sense, but it didn’t seem right.

“Hello? Is anyone there?” Spike called.

Buffy groaned.

“You didn’t leave me alone, did you? Hey! Rupert!” She heard him rattle his chains. “Oi! Gettin’ parched! Hello? Oi! Nancy Boy!” He started shouting loudly and stomping on the porcelain.

Buffy choked back a few chuckles and stood up, going over to the bathroom. He was still throwing a fit when she opened the door. “God, could you be any louder?”

Spike suddenly stopped making racket and stared at her. The look on his face was priceless. Oh. Well, isn’t this just perfect. Throw a fit, why don’t you? No one can hear you. “Well it’s about time. I’m thirsty. And my wrists hurt.”

Buffy furrowed her brows. “What? Giles put the shackles on? Didn’t he see your wrists were cut?” When she realized how concerned she sounded, she scoffed. “I mean, not that I care . . .”

“Well, apparently, neither did he.” Never mind the fact I refused to tell him it hurt. Told him I didn’t even care. Like hell I’m admittin’ anything about how much I hate this tub. “I think he’s a sadist, luv.”

Buffy sighed. “Well, I’m sure the cuts have reopened. You haven’t been drinking enough blood to heal as quickly as you normally do.”

Don’t let her know how much it hurts. “Yeah, well, prob’ly. Don’t really notice it much. And, speaking of blood, I could use some right about now. I didn’t finish my breakfast this morning.”

Sighing, Buffy went over and got the key for the chains. “Look, Spike, they’re just cuts, but I don’t wanna hear you whine about them all night, so let’s get this over with.”

“I wasn’t whining,” he told her, and she knew he was being honest.

“No, but you will. I know you, Spike. You always complain.”

“Well, you’re right about that.” He extended his wrists and Buffy undid the manacles and shackles around his feet. “You gonna tie me up in the chair again, or is the tub for me?”

“I don’t know. Maybe if you’re really nice when I put the peroxide on, I’ll tie you to the chair.”

“As if I care either way.” Thank God.

Truth was, Buffy had actually liked Spike saying ‘thanks’ to her the night before, even if it was only in his head. She didn’t want to sound selfish, but considering all the things she did for people, she never really got any gratitude. She knew she shouldn’t be worried about that, but it was nice to hear it, even if it was from him.

I can tell Joyce was a good mum. Look at how Buffy takes care of me. She learned that from somewhere and Joyce, well . . . she makes one good cuppa. I wonder if Buffy visits her. Hell, if I still had my mum, I’d visit her every chance I got.

No. Stop thinking ‘bout that. Look where those thoughts got you.

Buffy furrowed her eyebrows while she pressed the cotton balls against his reopened cuts. She ignored his hisses and small growls, and contemplated about what he’d thought about Joyce. Buffy really hadn’t visited her much. Even on Thanksgiving, she had decided to do it on her own. Buffy couldn’t pretend to understand what his deal with his mother was, but she wondered if perhaps she should visit her mother more often.

“Slayer?” he asked.

“Hmm?”

“How’s your mum?”

He shrugged. “Good, I guess. You know how mothers are. I mean . . . um, well . . .” She looked up at him and cocked her head to the side. “Do you?”

“Always naggin’, worryin’, that sort of thing?” She nodded. “Yeah, I get that. Had a mum too, once, you know.”

She was almost afraid to ask, considering he was a vampire and the two times she’d caught him thinking about his mother, he’d gotten awkward about it. “What . . . um, what happened to her?”

“You mean, did I kill her?”

She opened her mouth to protest, then realized that he knew she’d be lying if she did. “Yeah.”

An older woman was coming at her, beating on her chest. There was a fire flickering in the background, and she felt tears running down her face when she saw that the woman’s face was deformed into that of a vampire--

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Buffy knew that the bitchy thing to do was press the issue, and that she should be as mean and rude as possible in regards to him, but his tone made her decide against it. Thinking on it, she hadn’t really wanted to do it in the first place. It just seemed to be a line she shouldn’t cross.

The woman disintegrated into dust before her--his--eyes--

Buffy cleared her throat and shook her head. “Okay.”

Huh, she’s being more civil than usual.

She looked up at him, wondering why he’d had to stake his mother. Had she attacked him? Had it been some sort of vile, twisted plan of Angelus’ before he sired Spike? She wanted to know, but at the same time, she didn’t.

“Spike?”

“Yeah?”

“My mom likes you,” she told him, cringing. It was true, as much as she hated to admit it. “I don’t get it ‘cause, on the list of boys you don’t wanna bring home to Mom, you’re pretty much at the top.”

“What can I say? I’m a charmer.” Buffy shook her head and rolled her eyes, tossing the last cotton ball into the garbage. “Well, you can tell your mum I like her too.”

Buffy tried to find a note of sarcasm in his voice, but he was being serious. She nodded. “Next time it comes up, I will.”

He smirked and arched an eyebrow at her. “Do I come up in your conversations a lot then?”

“Only when I have horrible nightmares.”

Spike chuckled. “I can see it now. Your mum, tryin’ to push you off in my direction. Don’t think she gets the whole ‘mortal enemy’ thing, but, well, you can’t blame her. I’m a keeper.”

“Yes, because God knows Mom would be thrilled to find out I’m dating a guy who snacks on humans and has no real job to speak of.” She furrowed her eyebrows. “Well, there was that one time . . .”

“What one time?”

She sighed, shuddering at the memory of it. She knelt before him, hands on her knees, and looked up into his face. “She wanted to know if that charming young English man was going to come over any time soon, and if he ever worked out the situation with the girl.”

Spike laughed at that. Really laughed. Buffy smiled at it--she’d never heard Spike laugh before. “Really? What an odd bird.”

“Why did you go to her, anyway?”

“Well, I was lookin’ for you. I had that invitation, right? You never revoked it. Anyway, your mum was there instead, so I just asked if I could talk to her for a bit.” He shrugged, acting like it was perfectly normal for a vampire to do that.

Buffy had been so worried when she’d heard his voice over the phone. She knew that she wouldn’t have the time to save her mother. She knew for a fact that when she showed up, her mother would be dead, and Spike would be gone. And even after she’d showed up to find Spike hadn’t touched her, there were times when she thought about how badly it could have gone and she got chills.

“It never crossed your mind to kill her?”

Huh? Why would it--oh. Oh right. “Well, yeah, o’ course it did. I was gonna kill her as soon as I finished my hot cocoa.”

“No you weren’t.”

He lowered his head in defeat. “No. I wasn’t.”

She didn’t understand it, but then again, it was Spike. She figured it was perfectly normal not to understand him at all.

“Well, come on. That blood isn’t gonna drink itself you know.”

* * *

“I did not check you out!” Buffy insisted, and she even stamped her foot a little bit.

“Oh, come on, you know you did.”

Buffy threw her hands up in the air. “I was being cautious! Here you were, saying you were trucing, but how did I know it wasn’t one of Angel’s tricks?”

“Because I hate the pouf! He was stealin’ my girl from me--you honestly think I’m going to kill the one person who actually has a shot at takin’ him out?”

“It’s called lying for a reason, Spike. Point is, I was makin’ sure you weren’t going to go to attack me--I was not checking you out!”

“You act like it’s a bad thing.”

“Uh, hello? It is a bad thing! You, vampire. Me, slayer. Can you not see the badness?”

“What, an’ like you weren’t starin’ at my chest yesterday, either. You thought I was hittin’ on you, too. Whose mind is in the gutter now?”

“You were right behind me! What was I supposed to think?”

“That I was tryin’ to push you aside so I could sit in my chair, obviously!”

Buffy growled and stomped her foot in frustration again. She pointed at Spike, who was sitting in his chair, ropes all around him, but by the way he was smiling, one would have thought he was pleased with the situation. “No, Spike, you were the one looking at me! You were looking at my boobs!”

“And I admit it, don’t I? So what? You think I’m going to lie? Yeah, you’re a looker. What? It’s illegal to appreciate that now? Just ‘cause I hate you doesn’t mean I can’t look! Just admit it, Summers--you were looking, and you were liking.”

“I will admit no such thing!”

“Because you’re in denial. Just say it. Just tell me how hot I am. Tell me you like looking at me. Go on. Do it.”

Buffy sighed and shook her head. Spike had it in his head that when she had tied him up, she had grabbed his ass. Maybe her elbow had grazed his posterior or maybe her leg had rubbed against him at some point--she didn’t know. All she knew was that he was adamant on the fact she had grabbed his butt--not only vocally, but in his thoughts, as well. When she’d denied it, he went off about how he wasn’t stupid and that he knew she thought he was hot. She’d tried to explain that maybe a part of her had touched him accidentally, but he wasn’t buying.

“You’re so full of yourself, you know that?”

“Yes, I’m well aware of that, thank you, but that doesn’t mean what I’m saying isn’t true. You think I’m hot, Slayer, and it had nothin’ to do with any sort of spell. You thought so before the engagement, and you think it now.”

“Why do you want me to say it so much, Spike?”

“Why won’t you admit it?”

“Why do you care?”

“Why do you?”

Buffy moaned in in exasperation and buried her face into her hands. How was it that he irritated her so much? He hadn’t even been that bad--he had actually been somewhat civil. Now he had to go back to being a massive prick. What was that all about? And why did he want to hear her say it so bad?

She is a bloody liar, I know it. I’ve seen how she looks at me. Come on. She’ll crack eventually. You can’t be the only one who thinks your enemy is hot.

Her head snapped up. So he was feeling self-conscious about thinking she was hot even though he hated her. It was about evening the score--making it so he didn’t feel like a freak.

Well, screw that.

“Spike, you’re not attractive. You’ve got funny cheekbones, and your eyes are all squinty, and your hair--what is that? What style are you going for?”

Oi! My cheekbones are fine!

“Hey, my cheekbones are fine! And my eyes are not squinty! Talking about squinty eyes, what about Peaches? Is he trying to do a smouldering gaze? ‘Cause it just makes him look near-sighted if you ask me.”

“At least his hair doesn’t blind people.”

“Oh, come off it--his hair sticks straight up. He could ram it right through someone and kill ‘em that way if he wanted. You do realize he’s got the forehead of a caveman?”

Her mouth dropped open. “What? He so does not!”

“And you think he’s better looking than me? Well, that is truly, truly shameful. I’m actually depressed.”

“You’re just pissed off because you’ve got a crush on me and I don’t like you back.” She put her hands on her hips and smirked knowingly.

“In your wildest dreams. I said you were hot--never said I liked you. And you’re not that hot anyway. Dru was better.”

That randomly stung for some reason. Why should she care if Spike thought Drusilla was more attractive? He had dated her for over a century, after all. “You don’t actually expect me to believe that, do you? Her eyes are like ET’s eyes, and--and her skin was oily,” She finished lamely, realizing that Drusilla was actually quite beautiful.

“Her eyes were hypnotic, and her skin was just fine. You’re a looker, but you’re not that much of one.”

“Whatever! You clearly want me! If I wanted to, I could so have you eating out of the palm of my hand.”

“Don’t make me sick, Slayer. If I never kiss you again it’ll be too soon.”

“Well the feeling is mutual,” she snapped, tossing her hair out of her eyes.

“Good!”

“Good!” She turned on her heel and went over to the couch, plopping down on it, wondering why on earth she had bothered to tie him up to the chair in the first place.

She folded her arms and stared at the blank television screen.

Stupid slayer. If she would just admit to the fact she thinks I’m sexy--and I know she does--then we wouldn’t have been arguing for the past fifteen minutes. Wait, you like arguing. So it’s a good thing. And I do not have funny cheekbones!

Buffy gritted her teeth.

The door opened. “Buffy, we’re--what’s Spike doing out here?” she heard Giles say.

Buffy stood up from the couch, wondering why she even bothered to sit down in the first place. “He hates the tub.”

“What? I never said that.”

Buffy opened her mouth to contradict him, then realized he really hadn’t ever told her that. “Oh. Well, his wrists were cut and it wasn’t good for the shackles to keep rubbing against the cuts.”

“They’re cut because of you in the first place.”

“Well if you’d just told Giles they were cut, they wouldn’t have reopened ‘cause of the shackles, huh?”

“If you would have just admitted the fact you liked me walkin’ around with that towel on, you wouldn’t have tied me up and put the cuffs on for no good reason!”

“Whoa, guys,” Willow said, walking forward with one hand raised, using her other arm to keep the paper bag pressed against her chest. “So Spike is tied up in the chair. Okay. Fine. Buffy accidentally cut his wrists with the cuffs, and Giles didn’t realize that the cuts bothered Spike so much. Okay? No need for fighting.”

“Well, in order for us to do the spell, we can’t have him interrupting us,” Giles pointed out reasonably.

Spike frowned. “What spell? Not another truth one? Obviously that didn’t work.”

“No, Spike, it’s something to help Buffy in her patrols. And we’re not about to have you distract us.” Giles bent down and untied the ropes, glancing at Buffy quickly. “Now, we’re going to put you back into the tub. Depending on your behaviour, we may or may not allow you back out here in your chair, understood?”

“As if I care either way,” he grumbled, but snarled and lowered his head in defeat anyway.

Buffy waited for an explosion, or a bright flash of light, or a deep, booming voice to declare the spell was over. But nothing came. Giles said all the words, threw the herbs, and did an odd dance and spoke in a funny language, but nothing happened. She didn’t feel any different than she had, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t worked. And they’d made sure Willow hadn’t done any part of the spell, which only made Buffy feel like a bitch whenever she saw the pained expression on her best friend’s face, but seeing as she had most likely caused the whole telepathy thing, they didn’t want to chance her screwing up the perception reversal spell.

“You feel any different?” Willow asked tentatively.

“Nah, pretty much the same. Then again, I didn’t feel any different before. Except for that annoying, nagging British voice in my head, I was totally fine.”

Giles sighed, then put the book on the table. “That is really the only idea we had. Unless either of you have any other ideas . . . ?”

They both shook their heads.

“That perception reversal spell should have done the trick. However, we’re going to have to test it. Buffy?” Giles looked at her expectantly.

Sighing, Buffy stood up from the chair that Spike usually sat in and dusted herself off. She didn’t really want to go talk to Spike to make sure, but she knew that she had to. Just so she would have an excuse to go in, she warmed a mug of blood, trying to ignore the hopeful and expectant faces on Giles and Willow.

She went into the bathroom, cupping the mug in her hands. Spike looked her over. “And to what do I owe this incredible honour? Didn’t even have to ask.”

She shrugged. “I guess this is my way of saying . . .” She tried to think of something quickly, and said the first thing that popped into her head. “Sorry?”

He blinked. Summers is apologizing to me? Has hell frozen over? “Damn right you are. ‘Bout bloody time too.”

Buffy sighed as she made her way over to Spike. Apparently, the spell hadn’t worked, and yet, Spike’s thoughts were the only ones she could hear--so far, anyway. That had to mean something. “Yeah well don’t get too excited. I’m not that sorry.” She knelt beside the tub and held out the mug.

“Did the spell work then?” he asked as he took the mug of blood from her.

She sighed, placing her hands in her lap, remembering the lie Giles had told about it helping her to fight. “I don’t know, haven’t patrolled yet.”

“I’d be more than glad to help you figure it out, ‘cept for my little handicap.” Stupid sodding chip. I would love to beat her face in, but no stupid bloody commando wankers.

“Yeah, right. More like you’d be hoping the spell hadn’t worked so you could get the advantage. Which you so wouldn’t, by the way.”

“Oh, please. Got two notches on my belt already, pet. Not exactly a fledgling.”

“Oh, wow, two slayers? Gosh, that’s terrifying!” Her hand flew to her chest in mock surprise. “I mean, how can I compete with that? It’s not like I haven’t killed hundreds--thousands--of vampires.”

“You know it terrifies you, Slayer. Stop the act.”

“You weren’t even scary before the chip, why would I be scared of you now? You’re so threatening with all the dirty glares and chain rattling. Face it, Spike--if you’re so tough, why am I still here?”

“If you’re so tough, why am I still here? Come on, Slayer, after all the posturing, the threats, you never did put that stake to me. I think it’s ‘cause you like me.”

“Oh, please. More like you’re in love with me. Always begging me to admit I think you’re hot--which I do not--and after all your posturing and threats, I’m still alive, so it works both ways buddy.”

“You also weren’t in a wheelchair for months, rollin’ around a bloody factory while Peaches wandered the town killing innocents with my girlfriend. You coulda hopped in and staked me any time, pet.”

“Well that would’ve been stupid, huh, seeing as you helped me with Acathla.”

“Oh, so you claim to know that I was gonna do that? Some sort of slayer dream? That big ol’ gasp an’ look of shock was all for show then? Please, Slayer. I know you fancy me. No shame in that.” He smirked at her then drank deeply out of the yellow mug. She makes it so easy to irritate her. God, so predictable.

She furrowed her eyebrows. She wanted to yell at him and call him a pig, but realized that was what he wanted. As hard as it was to keep her temper under control with him making completely false accusations of how she felt about him, she figured that being able to get under his skin for once was worth it.

“Is that what you want, Spike? Me to ‘fancy’ you?”

“Hell no. The very thought of it makes me want to heave. Not exactly the cream o’ the crop, are you, Slayer? ‘Sides, I don’t feature gettin’ Angel’s sloppy seconds.” And the obligatory Angel comment, that oughta rile her up.

Her fist clenched in her lap suddenly. It took all of her will power not to punch him in the face. She was not going to give in this time. She was not going to let him win. “That’s funny, isn’t that all Drusilla ever was?”

Bitch! “Shut your gob!”

“And you too, as I remember it. Didn’t Angel have his way with you a time or two?”

“That was once, and after I’d been with Dru a thousand bloody times, and Drusilla is not sloppy seconds!”

“No, but you’re just second best. You know she never loved you like she loved him,” she taunted.

“Shut up, Slayer, shut up right now or I’ll--”

“You’ll what, Spike? What are you gonna do to me?”

He narrowed his dark eyes. “Don’t mess with me, Slayer.”

“Oh, no! I’m so scared! Here comes the deep growl-y voice and the Glare of Doom!” She gasped.

“I’m warning you.”

She laughed cruelly. “And what are you gonna do? Face it Spike--you and I both know that all you ever were to her was a toy to pass the time until Daddy came home.”

Blood flew at her face suddenly and she gasped. The warm, thick liquid dripped over her face and into her mouth, and she coughed, spitting the taste out. She was aware of Spike laughing at her, and she was aware of the fact that Spike had thrown his blood at her face, but she could only concentrate on how disgusted and angry she was.

“Asshole!” she shrieked, then launched herself at him, ignoring the sting of blood in her eyes, spitting out the foul, coppery taste, while she pounded on his chest. He would grunt every now and then in pain, but mostly he was laughing. He tried to futilely block her and push her away, but since the shackles prevented him from moving too much, all he ended up doing was smacking her in the sides with the chains accidentally.

She could feel the wet, sticky pig’s blood sliding across her neck and over her face, dripping on her brand new shirt that she knew she’d never be able to wear again. “Damn you, Spike! What’s wrong with you?” she yelled, punching him in the face.

“Ow,” he groaned, the back of his head thumping off of the porcelain. He reached forward to strangle her or shove her away, but she grabbed the chain with one hand and twisted his hands away. He tried to gain hand control and jerk the chains away from her while he bucked and thrashed in attempts to knock her out of the tub.

She’s covered in blood, he realised suddenly. Hot, warm blood . . . on her flesh . . . That was when she noticed she was straddling his waist, and she could feel his hard on pressed against her. Just grab her . . . lick off the blood . . . won’t hurt a bit . . . He thrust against her, his cock hitting her in a place it had no right in touching, and her body reacted against her will. She arched her back slightly and ground against him, pleasure throbbing in her groin. Oh no. Dammit! Get her off of me! Get her off!

Buffy leapt off of him and tried to get out of the tub, but tripped herself doing it so she landed, hard, on her hip. She scrambled to her feet and ran over to the sink, glancing in the mirror. She grimaced. Quickly, she grabbed a washcloth and ran it under the faucet.

“That was all the blood, Slayer, I swear it was the blood.”

“Shut up. We’re not discussing this.”

“I would never--”

“I know!” She snapped, glaring at him. “You think I don’t know that? Blood, bloodlust, yes, I get it, let’s drop the subject, okay?” She turned back to the mirror and started scrubbing her face with the warm rag. “And if you ever throw blood on me again I will kill you.”

Are you daft? Of course blood on the slayer is gonna turn you on! Don’t you think before you act? You’re lucky she understands, Spike, otherwise . . . Wait. Wait half a mo’.

Buffy cringed. She knew where his thoughts were going.

She responded. She moaned. What the hell was that about?

She scrubbed her face faster. She wanted to tell him that it was her body’s response; that it had been involuntary. But she couldn’t spout it off seeing as he hadn’t actually said it.

After-effects of the spell, is all. Hell, I’m still getting those, why the hell shouldn’t she? She can’t tell me that in the middle of the night, when she’s alone, she doesn’t . . . think about it. That’s all it was, Spike. She doesn’t like you. She hates you. Don’t let it bother you.

Figuring she got enough of the blood off of her face and ignoring the stains it left on her shirt, she stomped out of the bathroom. When she made it into the kitchen and Willow and Giles were staring at her, she sighed. She knew they were looking at the spots of blood she had missed, and the big red splotches on her new soon-to-be-tossed shirt.

“The spell didn’t work,” she spat angrily as an explanation. Willow and Giles simply sighed.

* * *

“Buffy, are you sure this is a good idea?” Willow asked, stepping closer to her.

Buffy sighed. Even though Willow was her best friend and had dealt with the whole slayer thing for several years, she still didn’t get it sometimes. “Will, telepathic or not, I’m still the slayer. I can’t just sit around and let the vamps get all crazy. Besides, the perception reversal spell didn’t work, so obviously, that’s not what happened.”

“No, but . . . Well, you can hear Spike’s thoughts, but not mine or Giles’s or, well, anyone else at the school. What’s the difference between Spike and, say, oh, the entire human population? The being dead factor. Obviously that has something to do with it, and maybe that means you can read other dead guy’s thoughts, too.”

Buffy gave a little one-armed shrug. “Not so bad, really, if I can. I mean, it won’t be too distracting, as long as I’m not stuck in a room with them. Maybe it’ll help me fight. ‘Cause, you know, they’ll be thinking about what they’re gonna do next. It might not actually be a bad thing.”

“Well, there is that, I guess,” Willow conceded. “Still, I just . . . I feel so bad, y’know? If I hadn’t have been so un-focus-y then . . . I mean, I can’t even imagine what it would be like to hear Spike’s thoughts, or any thoughts for that matter. I don’t want to know what people are thinking. And it’s all my fault that you can hear Spike’s, and, well, on the scale of thoughts I don’t wanna hear . . .”

Buffy reached forward and pressed her stake-free hand against Willow’s shoulder. “Don’t. Don’t start thinking like that. Your spells work Willow. Look, this whole thing, it might not even be--” A bush beside the walk-path rustled slightly, and she stood in front of Willow, raising her stake.

Riley walked out. As soon as she saw him, she quickly put her hand behind her back, hiding the stake. Riley started fumbling with something on the back of his shirt, and he grinned at her. “Hi, Riley!” Buffy greeted, and she cringed when she realized how high-pitched her voice sounded.

“Buffy! Well, isn’t this a surprise! Seeing you . . . on campus . . . to the school we both go to,” he said, his smile slowly faltering with each word. He was wearing a black turtleneck thing with black slacks, and he was brushing off his clothes with the hand not behind his back.

Buffy nodded. “I know! Surprise,” she agreed, laughing feebly while she clutched the stake behind her back even tighter. “This is so . . . yeah, ‘cause of the popping out of the bushes thing, and the . . . night.”

He nodded, laughing, and she laughed too, although it was forced. Riley’s hand was behind his back, and she noticed he was shifting his weight onto his other foot repeatedly. He was always so nervous when he was around her. Any other time she would have found it cute, but at the moment, she was mostly hoping he didn’t notice she was obviously hiding something behind her back.

“So . . . What are you two doing out so late?” he asked, looking between the both of them.

“Oh, just . . . going back to the dorm,” Buffy lied, rolling one shoulder and tossing her hair out of her face. Then she realized that her dorm was actually behind her, and she was walking in the wrong direction. “Which is in the other way. ‘Cause . . . we’re going to a . . . party. At the Bronze. A friend party at the Bronze, and then we’re going back to the dorms, and . . . What are you doing out?”

“Oh, just walking. I just love a good stroll. At night.”

“Oh, yeah, me too, I totally get that!” Buffy agreed. “Right, Will? Aren’t we just always strolling at night?”

Willow nodded quickly, and Buffy realized that her and Riley were circling each other slowly, continuing to face each other although they were walking past the other. Willow was standing close to Buffy’s back, as if trying to shield the stake from sight in case someone was behind her. “Oh, yeah, Buffy and I are . . . are so hip to that! The-the walking,” she stated, nodding and laughing every now and then.

Riley nodded. “Yeah. Well, I’ve gotta . . . go stroll in that direction. You two be careful and, uh . . . have fun at the Bronze.”

Buffy realized they had fully circled each other, and her back was facing the direction she needed to go. “Uh-huh. You too. With walking.”

“I will. See you two in Psych tomorrow.”

Buffy laughed at the same time Riley did. He was nodding and smiling at her. “Okay. See you then, Riley.”

“Bye, Buffy, Willow.”

She turned around quickly at the same time she moved her stake in front of her so he wouldn’t see it. Her heart was beating weakly in her chest and her fingers clutched the stake tighter. She heard Riley walking away from her, and she didn’t talk again until the sounds of his boots against the cement disappeared.

“That was close,” Buffy said, letting out a sigh of relief.

“Oh, boy, you’re tellin’ me,” Willow agreed. “Speakin’ of good ol’ Riley . . . How’s that goin’ for you? Is there kissage? ‘Cause you can tell me if there’s kissage.”

“Not yet. We’re still kinda in the tentative stage. You know, when you’re not sure if you’re actually dating yet, or if you’re still flirting with purpose, or if there’s an actual direction you’re going, or . . . if you should run away in the opposite direction as fast as you can before you ruin the poor guy’s life.”

Willow frowned, then put her hand on Buffy’s arm. “Oh, Buffy, don’t think like that. He’s a nice guy, and you should totally go for it. It’s not like you haven’t dated someone who didn’t know you were the slayer before.”

“Ah, yes, ‘cause Owen, Scott, and Parker totally went well.” Buffy looked down at the sidewalk, then glared at the stake she clutched in her hand. “It’s just . . . I like him, I do, but . . . Well, this is my life. Slaying, you guys, demons . . . and if I did go on date with him, what then? I could never be close with him, not without telling him what I am, and I . . . I don’t want to put him in danger. And it’s just, I don’t know him well enough to know if I should . . . if I should take that chance with him yet.”

“Well, it’s a good thing you’re still in the tentative-flirting-kinda-dating stage ‘cause this is the perfect time to get to know a guy.”

Buffy nodded. “Yeah, I guess, it’s just . . . well, I’ve already had to lie to him because of Sunnydale weirdness . . .”

She heard a growl and a vampire stood in front of her path, his eyes glowing yellow. “Slayer,” he snarled.

“And speaking of Sunnydale weirdness,” Buffy muttered, then charged at him.

She blocked each punch he threw her way with ease; not because she could hear his thoughts, but because he was obviously a fledging that couldn’t fight. She toyed with him a bit longer than necessary, trying to search his mind, listening for any thoughts, but none came to her. It was blissfully silent in her head.

She finally staked him, allowing him to settle into dust around her. Sighing, she turned back to Willow. “Anything?” Willow asked, pointing at Buffy’s head.

She shook her head. “Zip. Maybe it just took awhile to wear off. Or maybe Spike’s thoughts are just annoyingly stubborn like him.”

Willow fell into step beside Buffy, walking slowly beside her. “I’m so sorry Buffy. First I screw up the Will It So spell, and now, well . . .”

Buffy shook her head and sighed. “Come on. You didn’t screw up the Will It So spell. It worked perfectly. And you’re not even sure it was you who made me hear Spike’s thoughts. It could’ve been something else. I mean, that truth spell you did, it probably didn’t even do anything. You don’t know which spells are gonna work on different demons and humans. It probably didn’t even work on him ‘cause he’s a vampire, and the whole hearing his thoughts thing could be totally unrelated. You heard Giles, you don’t know how each spell is gonna affect . . .” she trailed off.

Apparently, Willow was getting the same idea Buffy was, because she slowed to a stop and her wide eyes met Buffy’s. Her mouth slowly dropped into a tiny O. “You don’t think . . .” Willow started, her eyebrows knitting together in worry.

Buffy nodded. “I totally think.”