Part One

She saw him as soon as she entered the cavern: chained, battered, bleeding. Her eyes watered and her stomach churned. She’d let them convince her to stop home and clean-up first. She’d sat in the living room and let Dawn apply bandages to the scrapes that would likely be healed by morning regardless of the treatment. She’d showered and changed her clothes. And Buffy knew that every minute of it was another minute he’d spent here.

She liked to claim that she wasn’t the same girl that had crawled, all wrong, out of that grave. She liked to think that she’d grown. Look here, see how well-grounded I am? Deep down, she knew it was a lie. She was a mess.

It was her pride, mostly. She’d wanted to turn heel and run to his rescue the moment that the ubervamp’s dust had hit the ground. But she didn’t. She just hadn’t been able to admit that Spike was a priority, her priority. The snarky taunts and whispered comments had gotten to her. She’d let them get to her and then she’d let Spike suffer more because of it.

She clenched her jaw as she grew closer and wondered how much that hour had cost him. How much more would she let him suffer to please her friends?
How much more would she suffer to please them? How perfect did she have to be? She tried to quell the ball of hot anger growing in her gut. They were her friends, she loved them and they meant well. The anger didn’t subside. Instead, as always, it was buried beneath a thick blanket of guilt for even thinking such unfriendly thoughts.

She was nearly at his side before he noticed her. He lifted his head weakly and scoffed. “A knife, now, is it?”

Buffy couldn’t speak. She felt ill as she raised the knife she’d taken from the bringer who’d been acting as guard. Without a sound, she started to cut the cords tethering him to the cave wall.

Dragging forth all the bravado he could muster, Spike started again. “What'll...what'll that...you—you can't hurt me. You're—you're just a bloody figment, you are. You're just...”

Falling forward, he reached out a hand to brace himself against her shoulder, almost in the same instant that he realized it was, in fact, her. “You. Oh…” His voice broke and he squinted as he studied her. A cautious smile swept across his face, but he lacked the energy to hold it there very long.

Still not sure what she could say, Buffy met his eyes with her own and gave him a moment to steady himself before putting her arm around his waist to help him walk.

Spike put an arm around her shoulder and leaned heavily on her as they started towards the cave’s exit. He whispered almost too quietly for her to hear. “You came. You…came for me.”

Yeah, she thought guiltily, I came as soon as it was convenient. Buffy tightened her grip at his waist. “There’s a car. Xander’s car is right outside. Can you make it?”
He nodded once and the two of them made their way slowly through the tunnel.

Buffy could feel the increasing pressure of his weight against her as they left and knew that he wouldn’t be able to walk much further. Thankfully, she thought, the car was close.

She also knew that he was hurt badly but couldn’t really tell just how and where yet, and finally decided that it would be best to worry first about getting him home. Spike blacked out mere seconds after getting into the backseat and she wasn’t surprised.

Xander watched her help him into the car with a quizzical expression. “How bad?”

Buffy didn’t bother to turn towards him when she replied. “He’ll heal. I’ll…he’ll heal.” She slid in beside him on the backseat and pulled him over so that he was resting against her. She couldn’t look at Xander. It shamed her to know that he could break her resolve to help Spike with a derisive glance or comment. Better, she figured, not to test herself.

Xander arched his eyebrows, but chose not to comment. He climbed in and started the short trip back to Revello Drive.

A car horn blared loudly nearby and Spike was startled back to consciousness. He jerked himself off of Buffy’s arm and stared at her with a confused expression.
Buffy saw the bewilderment on his face, watched him study her with the one eye that wasn’t swollen shut and listened as he started muttering to himself.

“Not...First…not…her…” he started. “Buffy?” He whispered her name solemnly.

“Spike.” She said his name firmly, but with a warm tone that she rarely presented to him. “It’s me, Spike. See.” She reached over and placed her hand on his. “We’re taking you home. We’ll get you patched up. Okay?”

She wanted to say more. She wanted to soothe him with gentle words and assurances. But she couldn’t, not in front of Xander, probably not even alone. Death was something she could brave. Sweet words to Spike; that scared the shit out of her.

He looked down at her hand on his for a moment before nodding. “Right. Right then. You came.” His head was a cloud as he tried to remember the rules. The First can’t touch you, so this Buffy was actually Buffy. Or he was dreaming. That was certainly possible, likely even. He’d dreamt of her before. But the boy was here and Spike didn’t think he’d dream that.

When he gazed back up at her, there was wonder on his face. She smiled softly and nodded a yes.

Xander’s voice floated back from the front of the car. “We’re back. And judging by the fact that every light in the place is on, I’m gonna say that the girls have been waiting up for you.”

She frowned before turning back to Spike. “I’ll come around to the other side of the car to help you out. ‘Kay?”

Xander stood to the side and watched as Buffy helped Spike out of the car. Noticing the extent of the blonde vampire’s injuries, he felt a twinge of sympathy. He immediately replaced the feeling with irritation. He hated the guy; it simply wouldn’t do to feel sorry for him just because he’d taken a beating. The way he saw it, Buffy was already dishing out more than enough sympathy for the devil. Clenching his jaw he fought off the urge to shout at her. He tried to rape you; Xander argued with her silently, he’s a killer. Reluctantly, he followed them into the house.

Buffy took in the curious crowd awaiting their return with a grim expression. She ordered them silently to stop watching her. It was her house, wasn’t it? If she wanted to nurse an injured vampire back to health in the privacy of her own home, who were they to judge her? How could they not see that his soul changed everything? He wasn’t just trying to be good now, he really could be.

And he’d done it for her.

She scanned the faces quickly for Dawn. “Did you get the stuff ready downstairs?”

Dawn pulled her gaze away from Spike and turned, still wide-eyed, toward her sister. “Yeah, it’s…all set.”

“Good.” Buffy turned to Willow. “Will, could you bring me some blood from the fridge?”

Dawn answered first. “I can…I can do that. I still remember how to warm it and stuff.”

Buffy simply nodded in return.

For a moment, Dawn’s words hadn’t made sense. It came to her suddenly. Of course Dawn knew how Spike liked his blood. Spike had spent a lot of time with Dawn while she had been…dead. She’d heard the stories about dedicated babysitter-Spike. Tara had told her about it when she’d gone to her for help. “He’s done a lot of good,” she’d said. Spike had taken care of her sister for months and when she’d come back, she told him that he wasn’t capable of love. “There’s nothing good or clean in you,” she’d screamed with both her words and her fists. Buffy shook off the thought. She couldn’t change the past. She couldn’t change the mistakes made by either of them.

Today was different though; she was going to do what she knew was right, even if everyone was staring at her. She really wished they’d all stop staring at her.

Spike was only peripherally aware of the happenings around him. He was tired. He was hurt. Mostly though, he was with Buffy. He knew that she was only letting him touch her because he couldn’t walk without the help. That knowledge couldn’t really take all the pleasure away from the experience. He could feel her warmth, hear her heartbeat, smell her unique scent. If he hadn’t been struggling to avoid blacking out again, he’d have been elated.

“There’s a…a bed set up downstairs, okay? I figured that was best,” Buffy spoke softly as she started to lead Spike towards the basement steps. She felt him droop against her when they hit the top of the staircase and wondered if he could handle walking down them. Lowering her voice to the quietest of whispers, she asked, “Spike? I could…if you can’t walk…I could carry you down.” She knew that even hearing her ask had probably hurt his pride, but she wasn’t sure what else she could do.

“I can make it…just…not so fast as normal.”

She nodded and the two of them made their way, slowly and painfully, down to the basement. Buffy winced at each quiet noise he made and her determination to do this one thing well, to see him healed quickly and comfortably, strengthened. She was glad to see that her request had been followed. Dawn and the girls had cleared out a space near the sink and had set up the cot. They’d put fresh sheets on it and there was a stack of pillows and blankets. On top of the blankets was a coiled rope, and nearby, a space heater that took the bite out of the cool air.

“Here ,Spike.” She led him over and helped him sit down. He groaned from the effort. “Spike?”

“It’s nothing, really. A little rest an’ I’ll be back to normal…ready to fight the…fight.”

She looked skeptical.

“Broken ribs. That’s the worst of it I ‘spect.” He pushed the words out with an effort, as though out of breath. “Probably my arm’s broken too and there was something on the knife they used to…the bleeding hasn’t stopped so quickly as it should’ve.”

Buffy nodded, her eyes scanning him for the injuries he mentioned and checking for others he might have tried to hide. He looked awful. She walked over to the sink and filled a bowl with water. Dropping a cloth into it she walked back and kneeled down beside him on the cot. Without a word, she wrung out the cloth and touched it gently to the side of his face. At his wince, she paused. “Too hot?”

He shook his head slightly and sat inhumanly still as she washed the blood, dried and fresh, from his face and hair.

It figured, she thought, that he would have a black eye. It was the perfect thing to trigger one of their ugliest memories. She shouldn’t have hit him and he shouldn’t have let her. Buffy wondered if he knew that now. Had the soul let him see that truth? In trying to let her vent her frustrations out on him, he had in truth let her become the monster that she feared she was.

Still, she supposed he should get points for trying. He had listened even when he didn’t like what she was saying. He had been the only one she could talk to. So, yeah, points for that for whatever they were worth. Why was she adding up his points? Weren’t they past that?

As soon as she stood to dump out the now blood-reddened water, she heard the door at the top of the stairs open.

When she realized it was Dawn, Buffy put the bowl down and walked quickly over to meet her on the stairs. This was a private situation and she didn’t want Dawn coming down. “Thanks,” she offered, taking the warm mug from her hands.

Dawn opened her mouth and closed it once before glancing over at Spike. When he didn’t look up at her, she looked back at her sister. It felt too much like staring otherwise. “Is he…?”

“He’ll be fine. Tell everyone to go to bed and to please keep the volume down, ‘kay?” She gave her a dismissive nod.

Dawn looked down. “Right.”

Buffy’s face had the same closed off expression that she’d had when their mother died. Then, Dawn had mistaken it for a lack of emotion. She understood now that it had more to do with surviving. Buffy had to deal with all the practical aspects before she could deal with the emotional ones. If she started with her emotions, everything else would go to shit. Dawn wanted to ask what had happened and whether Buffy felt weird taking care of Spike after all that had occurred between them. She wanted to ask a lot of things, but she knew her sister was done talking.

Buffy watched Dawn walk up the stairs and close the door firmly behind her before she walked back over to Spike. She held out the mug. “Can you hold it yourself, or…”

He took the mug with both hands, winced and placed one hand back on the bed. “Thanks.” Carefully, he brought the mug to his lips for a tentative sip. He was starving. It had been days since he’d last drank and the temptation to swallow the entire mug in two gulps was strong. But it wasn’t the first time he’d gone hungry. He knew that if he drank too fast it would come right back up.

Giving him a small smile, Buffy went back to the sink and once again filled the bowl with water. She held the cloth under the faucet until the water ran clear and then she finally joined him on the cot. Cautious, so as not to get in the way of his drinking, she began wiping the blood from his back and shoulders.

When he’d emptied the mug, she took it from him. “Do you need more? I can…”

He shook his head firmly before giving her a quizzical look.
“Oh…okay. Do you want to lie down? I can…” she nodded towards the cuts on his chest.

Swallowing hard, he did as she suggested. The cot creaked as he shifted his weight.

“Oh! Here.” Buffy grabbed a pillow from the pile and placed it on the bed. Once he’d settled, she sat down beside him. “Do you know what these mean?” She brought a single finger up to trace one of the symbols that had been carved into his chest.

“Not really. I think really it was just the blood that was important, but…” He tried to shrug but winced instead.

Buffy’s eyes widened. “Sorry. We can talk…later.” She brought the cloth to his chest and wiped with soft, efficient movements until the worst of the dried blood was removed. She could feel his curious gaze resting upon her, but she didn’t look up. He’d always read her too well. She wasn’t sure what he’d see in her just then.

Spike’s head was spinning. If he could be sure that she would touch him like this again, he’d gladly take another beating. He still couldn’t believe that she had come for him at all. After everything that he had done, she had come. He wondered if she really believed that he could be a good man.

It wasn’t that he thought she was perfect, he knew all too well that she wasn’t. So he knew too, that she could be wrong. It didn’t matter. If she thought that he could be good, that he could make a difference, that he could make her proud; then he would. It was still all about Buffy.

He suspected that would piss her off.

Glancing over him once again, Buffy frowned. “There’s blood…on your jeans. Are you hurt? I could…we should probably stick them in the wash anyway.”

His eyes widened. Was she really suggesting that he take off his pants? “Buff…” It wasn’t going to happen. Even injured, he knew that her touching him would get a reaction. He’d get hard, she’d get freaked and this lovely little interlude would be over. He didn’t have a lot keeping him going these days; he wanted this to last as long as it could. “Pretty sure the blood just dripped there. No big worries, yeah?”

She blushed. “Right. We can wash them tomorrow. You should rest.”

Nodding almost gratefully, Spike put his hands together and held them out in front of his chest.

Buffy paled at the implication. “Spike…I’m not going to tie you up. You’re hurt.”

“You have to. The First doesn’t care…might be able to make me forget the pain long enough to massacre the kiddies upstairs.”

“Spike.”

“They wouldn’t be able to protect themselves. Even like this, I could still…”

“I can stop you.”

“If you got there in time…maybe. You just can’t risk it, pet.”

“I’m not tying you up. I’ll just stay.”

He frowned. “Here?”

Biting her lip, she gave a slight nod. “There’s plenty of room. I’ll sleep here. I can sleep light, if you get up, I’ll know.”

His jaw clenched and he swallowed hard. “Why?”

“Hmm?”

“Why are you doing this? You could…you could barely tolerate my being in the same town with you, and that was before I brought you into that basement…before you’d seen what I did. Now…I don’t get what you’re playing at here.”

“Playing?” Her defenses went up and she had to fight to push back the obvious snarky comments. She took a moment to calm herself. “I’m…I’m just sorry…that it took me so long to get you back, I guess.” She wondered whether she meant back from the First or back from his trip. She’d missed him. As angry and as hurt as she’d been, she’d missed having the one person she’d come to rely on.

He chuckled breathlessly. “You could have taken twice as long and you wouldn’t hear me complaining.” He gave her weak smile. “Just glad you came.”

Smiling back, Buffy reached her hand out towards him and then quickly pulled it back down to her side. She nodded. “So, I’ll sleep here.”

He shook his head. “Too dangerous… I could hurt you.” He sighed. “My demon wants …I tasted you. Down in that basement, I tasted your blood. I can still taste you. I could…”

“You pulled back, before. Even with the First…you were strong enough to pull yourself back. You don’t want to hurt me.”

“’Course not, but…” He’d never wanted to hurt her, but he had. He’d broken his one rule and it had broken him. He’d gotten the soul in an attempt to glue the pieces back together, but still felt like he was offering her a tattered box of half-eaten chocolates. He just wasn’t good enough. It was hardly a new feeling. He hadn’t been a good enough poet to get published, he hadn’t been a good enough son to let his mother die with dignity, he hadn’t been a good enough vampire to keep Dru out of Angelus’ bed and he hadn’t been a good enough hero to keep Buffy from jumping.

She did touch him then, gently placing her hand on his chest. “You won’t hurt me.”

He gasped slightly, moved nearly to tears by both her touch and the confidence in her words. He met her eyes for the briefest of seconds before turning away to compose himself.

Buffy watched the muscles work in his cheek and throat as he swallowed hard several times. Quietly, she stood up and gathered a second pillow and a large blanket. With jerky movements she placed the pillow near his and spread the blanket across his body. She tugged off her boots and slid under the blanket beside him. She wasn’t touching him, but she could sense the tension in his body and knew that he was as nervous about the situation as she was. Buffy pushed forward despite the butterflies in her stomach and the overly still vampire at her side. Twisting onto her side, Buffy put one hand on Spike’s shoulder and asked in a whisper, “Is this okay?”

He didn’t meet her eyes, couldn’t really. Is what okay, he thought, what is this? Spike was quite certain that he’d never been more on edge. Pity, he knew, would only get you so far with Buffy. She seemed to be offering more, but he couldn’t be sure just what. In that moment, he was convinced of three things concerning whatever it was that she was offering: first it was undoubtedly more than he deserved, second it would be all too easy for him to screw it up and third, he wanted it. Whatever Buffy was offering, he wanted it.

“God, help me, Buffy—it's still all about you.” His own words rang loudly amidst the chaos of his thoughts.

He nodded once and tried to force his breathing into a slow and shallow pattern. It was ridiculous, really. It hurt to breathe with broken ribs. It was a habit, though, and a comfort. Besides, he figured that Buffy didn’t really need any additional reminders of his undead status. He remembered the first time he’d woken up next to someone who wasn’t breathing, even understanding the reason, it was distinctly unsettling.

Sore and exhausted, Spike did the only thing he could think to do: he pretended to sleep until he was certain that Buffy was. It didn’t really take very long and he suspected that she hadn’t had a decent night’s rest in a while. A little hopeful voice inside him suggested that she might really have been worried for him, but a louder voice reminded him that Buffy had plenty of other worries to keep her up at night.

Slowly, he turned his head to look at her and sighed involuntarily. Once and again a terrible poet, he struggled for the words to describe the incredible girl that was sleeping so peacefully at his side. In a hundred years, he had seen a lot of beautiful people but she was the only one that could truly take his breath away. He inhaled as deeply as his ribs would allow, wanting to soak up as much of the experience as he could. Her hand still rested on his shoulder and he studied it, smiling at its deceptively delicate appearance. His girl could pack a punch.

Spike frowned at the thought. She wasn’t his; she really hadn’t ever been his. But this was something. She was offering him something: friendship, trust maybe, and it was more than he’d let himself wish for. He fell asleep with a small, hopeful smile.

Spike woke grudgingly. Even in the relative dark of the Summers’ basement, his body knew that it was morning and thus, not its time for wakefulness. He was a nighttime creature, a vampire. No amount of love or guilt would change the simple facts of his physiology: inhuman speed, inhuman hearing, an inhuman sense of smell, inhuman fangs. Inhuman. His deal with the demon hadn’t changed that. He may have gotten back the soul of a man who had always been prey, but he’d gotten it back in a body that would always be predator.

Because of that, Spike knew several things before even opening his eyes. Buffy was no longer in the bed with him. He knew that immediately, though he couldn’t have said which sense tipped him off first. His senses were always a little muddled were she was concerned. He could tell by the way her scent and warmth still lingered on the sheets that she hadn’t been gone long and he was suddenly hit by a wave of anger. Why had he let himself fall asleep? She had lain beside him all night and he missed it. Even injured, he should have stayed awake. He should have been savoring every moment. It was a gift, that intimacy, a gift he didn’t expect to receive again. Spike would have groaned out loud except for one other thing he had known almost instantly. He wasn’t alone.

Willow was there. Her scent was familiar. The buzz of magics surrounding her was distinctive for someone in tune with such things. Spike listened carefully; her heartbeat was slow and steady. He heard her turn the page of the book she was reading and gently brush off the dust obscuring the words. Not a likely threat. She was probably there on babysitting duty.

Fairly confident in his reasoning, Spike fell back on an old habit, a predatory trick. He acted more human than he was, downplaying his abilities so that those around him wouldn’t expect them if he ever needed to surprise them.

With a low groan, he stretched and blinked open his eyes and frowned as he looked around the room. He hadn’t been loud enough, Willow still sat casually flipping through an ancient magics tome as though it were nothing more intellectually challenging than the latest issue of Cosmo.

He rustled the sheets again before sitting up to stretch his arms above his head.

Willow looked up to see him frowning and gave him a small smile. “Buffy went upstairs to grab a quick shower. I’m just…um…I’m just…”

“You’re just here to stop me from killing everyone should The First decide that it’s not quite done with me.”

She blushed slightly, but nodded. “That’s about the sum of it.”

“Thank You.”

Her eyes widened at his earnest tone. Unsure of how to respond, she nevertheless opened her mouth to try.

Spike beat her to it. “It won’t be necessary though.”

“Spike.” Her brow furrowed. “We can’t be sure…”

“Tell the slayer that I’ll heal just fine in the chains. No point in you all wasting your time on account of me.”

Willow stared at the man in front of her. She was suddenly realizing that despite all their history, he was once again a stranger. The Spike she knew would have milked the situation, anything to get more of Buffy’s attention, but there had been no false bravado in his tone. As best as she could tell, Spike was being honest. He wasn’t putting on a noble act, he was simply acting nobly.

It threw her.

The Spike she knew loved Buffy. Willow had seen inside his thoughts, she knew that his feelings had been true, but he could only overcome his nature so much. It wasn’t that she hadn’t seen him try; no one could deny that William the Bloody had made some amazing gestures. Still, Willow thought, at his core, Spike had been selfish and desperately needy. But the Spike she knew was gone. He wasn’t making it as obvious as Angel had, but the soul changed things. She didn’t really know the man she was talking to now.

Spike watched her study him for several moments before speaking again. “Willow? You agree?”

She shook her head slightly. “Buffy doesn’t want…” She shrugged, trying to choose her words carefully. Not entirely understanding Buffy’s thinking made it especially challenging. Willow stopped trying when she realized that she had completely lost Spike’s attention.

Wincing, Spike had pushed himself up and was watching the stairs expectantly.

Willow turned, and though Buffy was not yet walking down, Willow was sure that she would be soon. Whatever changes had taken place with Spike, Willow had a strong suspicion that his devotion to Buffy had remained intact. Her scholar’s mind immediately saw the possible implications. Spike’s less than radical transformation after getting his soul back certainly suggested that much of what they had been taught about vampires was incorrect. Spike was a changed man but not an entirely different one. It was a conversation that she and Giles would need to have before too long.

She knew from the widening of Spike’s eyes the moment that Buffy stepped into sight. She didn’t bother to hold back her grin or the slight shake of her head. No one was watching her at that moment anyway.

“Thanks Will.” Buffy gave her friend a brief but warm glance as she walked down the stairs. Willow hadn’t argued with her or even questioned her request. She had simply shrugged and headed down to the basement. Buffy wondered almost fleetingly if she could talk to Willow, really talk to her, about the current maelstrom of conflicting emotions battering down her heart. She couldn’t. It wasn’t fair, perhaps not to either one of them, but Buffy had stopped expecting life to be fair.

She moved carefully, her arms full with towels and clothes and a steaming mug in each hand. When their eyes met, she gave Spike a small smile.

“How are you feeling?”

“Fine.”

Buffy waited until Willow left and had shut the door behind her. “Your shoulder is bleeding again.” Her eyes quickly scanned his body as she tried to gauge his recovery. Vampires heal quickly, but he’d been more than a little battered. She could see that he was still in pain by the slightly awkward way he was sitting, but was pleased by the amount of progress his body had made over the night. A couple of days, she thought, a couple of days resting and some extra blood and he’ll be back to normal. She could handle a couple of days. Her friends weren’t heartless; they’d seen how messed up Spike had been. They would hold off on any major intervention for a couple days and in the meantime she would just have to ignore the concerned glances and the certainty that they were discussing her once she left the room.

Buffy was sure that she could do it, she could let Spike heal in peace and comfort and then… She couldn’t think past then. Buffy needed to focus on the now.

Putting the pile in her arms down, she sat beside him on the cot and handed him a mug before taking a sip of her own coffee. She hoped to appear casual. See, she reassured herself, no big deal we’re just having some breakfast.

Spike took the mug with a grateful nod and lowered eyes. It was hardly the first time Buffy had handed him blood, but it was the first time she had ever thought to warm it. It was a small gesture, really nothing compared to her sharing his bed in deference to his comfort, but it was still a surprise. He sipped it awkwardly, due only in part to the stiffness of his injured shoulder, and wondered if his drinking blood disgusted her. He supposed that as a human he would have found it quite repulsive.

“You don’t got the time for this.”

Buffy frowned slightly at his words. “I…”

“It’s a nice gesture, pet…not real sure what I did to deserve it, but…I know that you’ve got to get to work and the witch has plenty to keep her busy. No one’s got the time to waste watching me.” He stopped suddenly and cocked his head to the side. “Is it just my imagination or did this house get even more crowded?” His look was incredulous. “Has Dawn got her girlfriends over?”

Buffy gave a delicate snort of laughter. “No. They’re slayers or they could be. Potentials. The First is trying to kill off anyone who has even the chance of becoming a slayer.”

His eyes widened. “Bloody ambitious for a monster that can’t pick up its own knife.”

“So, they are all headed here…to me, so…I can protect them.”

“More responsibility.” He shook his head. “’Cause you didn’t have enough.”

She shrugged slightly. “There’s no one else.”

“Should be.” Spike sighed. “Piss poor planning. One slayer to protect the world against armies of evil.” Seeing the despair flit across her features, he kicked himself. It was just what she needed, he thought, him telling her how hard things were. He should have been reminding her that she could do it, that no matter how hard things got, she fought back. She’d done it before and she would again. It was one of the reasons he loved her. He tried again. “You’ll have help, though. That team of yours, they’ll pull through for you again.”

She looked upward then, as though she could see her friends through the ceiling. “It’s bigger than anything we’ve faced before.”

“Want me to tell you that the big ones fall harder?” He smiled gently.

She turned to look straight at him. “I want you to tell me that you’ll be here. I…want you in this with me.”

Swallowing hard, Spike worked to hide his surprise. “You’ve got me. You know that. Whatever you need I’ll…”

“I need you healed.”

He smirked. Clever girl, he thought, she led me right in to that one. “Vampire here, love. I’ll heal without the coddling. You’ve got work.”

She frowned at him. He hadn’t called her love in a while. It sounded nice. Of course he’d said it while telling her to go, so it hadn’t really taken off the sting. Maybe he really just wanted her to leave him alone. She could understand that intellectually, but it still hurt. She was really trying here. The thought brought out a spurt of directness. “I took the day off. Dawn’s got school,” she said, listing everything off, Xander’s going to work, Anya and Willow are taking the girls on some errands and such. I plan to enjoy the quiet. You can either come upstairs where I can keep an eye on you or you can stay here all tied up and feeling sorry for yourself.”

Spike’s eyes closed as he concentrated on the slight stinging from the hot water blasting his body. He was a sensualist, and showers were a marvel to be enjoyed regardless of the circumstances. So, even as his mind struggled to read Buffy’s all too confusing behavior, he deeply inhaled the scents of soap and shampoo that were her favorites. He wondered how long he would smell like her after using them.


Grinning, he remembered the way her perfectly odd little nose had scrunched up when she’d declared that a shower was the first thing on his schedule.


“No offense,” she’d said, “but you smell like the school basement.”


He hadn’t argued. He’d simply followed her up the stairs in a bemused silence.


He used the cloth that she had handed him to scrub away the last of the dried blood as well as the dust and grime that seemed, to him, to permeate his every cell. If he’d been a human scrubbing with such force, he’d have rubbed himself red, but even recently fed, Spike didn’t have the blood to spare for such things. He read the shampoo bottle, wondering if it was time to bleach his roots again and who he could ask to help if it was. It said to repeat, so he did.


It wasn’t that Spike was one for following rules; it was just a good excuse to prolong a pleasant experience or to delay returning to an even more pleasant but far more confusing one.


“Spike? You didn’t pass out in there or anything, did you?”


He started at the sound of her voice on the other side of the door. Of course she hadn’t gone far; she couldn’t leave him alone. He turned off the water.


“If you’re worried pet, you’re welcome to come in. ‘S nothing you haven’t seen before.” He knew she wouldn’t come in. He was counting on it, really. He could hear her heart rate speed up as she considered his words and wondered if that meant she was embarrassed or excited. Could she still want him?


Reaching for a towel, he brushed the thought aside. It didn’t even matter. She had wanted him before. It didn’t change things. Attraction wasn’t the issue, affection was. Or maybe not, he sighed mentally. She had liked him at least, hadn’t she? She had. He felt sure. If she hadn’t liked him, at least a little bit, then he would never have been able to hurt her. All the time they’d spent arguing about it, all the times he had tried to convince her that she could trust him had been a waste. She had trusted him. She might not have realized it, she had certainly never spoken the words, but her actions had told the story again and again. She had trusted him with her life if not with her heart.


If Spike knew nothing else, he knew that he had hurt her and so he also knew that first he must have gained her affection. You couldn’t betray someone who didn’t trust you. So, yeah, he’d had her trust and her affection.


Affection, not love.


Buffy could never love him.


He understood that now and he knew that she didn’t want to be with someone she didn’t love. It had made her feel like less than what she was. He had done that to her. It hadn’t been his intent, but it had certainly been his doing. He would never have pushed so hard if he’d known then how it felt to be disgusted with yourself.


He glanced at the door and tried to imagine what she looked like standing on the other side. Many times, Spike had seen Buffy when she thought no one was watching. She always looked more vulnerable than she should when she let her guard down. He pictured her chewing her lip, anxious for him to come out where she could better monitor him. He wasn’t so hopeful as to think that she was anxious to see him. He wondered if she was as nervous about the coming day as he was.


Spike couldn’t think of a single day they had spent together alone. Oh, she had stopped by a few times for a quick physical release of one sort or another. He had most certainly tried showing up on her doorstep, blanket smoking, with the hope of wrangling an invite. But they had never just hung out.


He finished drying off and reached for the sweatpants and tee shirt that she had handed him earlier. His jeans were headed to the wash, although Buffy had expressed doubt that they were salvageable. He pulled the string in the waistband of his sweatpants tighter. Both items were clearly too large and still held a faint trace of their previous owner’s scent. Buffy had claimed, as she’d casually held them out to him, that she had found them and figured they were the closest thing to his size in the house. Spike wondered if she had left out the fact that they had been Riley’s to protect his feelings or hers. He wondered if she still had feelings for the ass.


He had no illusions now. He knew that she’d only been gentle that day because she was upset over seeing the boy all happily married. He should have seen it coming. It had been too good to be true. He’d never in his life been so happy as he had in the moment she’d ordered, “Tell me that you love me.” He wasn’t a complete fool; he’d realized the truth as soon as the other man had barged in. Even now, it hurt to know that the most tender lovemaking he’d ever known had nothing to do with him.


He ran a hand over his hair, realizing then that it was nearly dry and that it was curling tightly. He frowned. He hated the curls. Spike looked around the room intently. Surely, he figured, the girl had some hair goop in there somewhere. His eyes touched upon the tub, the shelf behind the toilet, and the empty mirror.


He froze.


It wasn’t until that moment, when he stood dressed and nearly dry enough to leave, that Spike truly realized where he was. Here he had been wondering if Buffy still found him attractive while he stood in the very place where he had tried to force himself on her.


His eyes darted about the room as the scene replayed itself in his mind. He’d been so desperate. He’d only come over to talk. He hadn’t even expected to touch her. All that he had wanted was for her to admit that he was something. He’d just wanted to feel like he was something. She’d been so self-righteous in her anger over his fling with Anya, but she’d hurt him too. She’d left him. He was going to tell her that.


Mostly though, he’d just wanted the hurting to stop. Not seeing her, that made him hurt. Seeing her, even if she was yelling at him, would make that pain go away at least for a little while. Then he’d seen her, and she looked so sad, and he thought that he could make them both stop hurting.


Spike felt ill remembering how easily he had convinced himself that she didn’t mean what she was saying, that she wanted him and that she would forgive him once they were together again. He dropped down to the floor and sat with his knees tucked tightly against his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut as though he could block out the memory and ducked his head. He shook.


Buffy knocked gently and called out, “Spike.”


It was taking him too long and she hadn’t heard anything for several minutes. She was going to have to go in.


“Spike?”


She tried calling for him once more before she opened the door. She stepped in carefully, more than aware that she didn’t know what or maybe who to expect. She spotted him immediately, crouching in a tight ball near the tub. He looked for all the world like someone too lost in their own torment to even notice her entry. It hurt her heart.


She wanted to go to him, to comfort him. She wouldn’t have wished this kind of pain on him when she’d hated him. Had she ever really hated him? Buffy couldn’t remember. He’d been a threat. She remembered being scared. He’d scared her when other vamps hadn’t. And then he’d annoyed her. His presence, his existence had annoyed her. She couldn’t kill him, not while he wasn’t a danger. Vengeance wasn’t a Slayer’s duty; at least it wasn’t this slayer’s duty. So she hadn’t killed him, she’d just watched him. The watching was the worst. Watching Spike when he wasn’t hunting was a little too much like watching a person. The Slayer didn’t have time to wonder about the ethics of her job. Vampires were monsters and Spike was annoying, only sometimes she’d kind of liked him. Buffy couldn’t remember ever hating him.


She took a step closer, her hands raised palm forward in front of her. It could be a trick. The First could be messing with them. “Spike, I need you to talk to me. I need to know that you’re you and not…”


He looked up then, not bothering to hide the tears wetting his checks.


She gasped softly and fought the urge to leave. This was too much. Spike was curled up in the very spot where he’d hurt her the most. He’d proven that she’d been right all along. She could admit now, if only to herself, that she had begun to think that she’d been wrong. She’d never thought that she could love him, not that. But, she had accepted that he loved her and she had thought, truly, that he wouldn’t hurt her. He’d said it so often and so earnestly. Even now, Buffy was fairly sure that he’d meant it. Spike just hadn’t known what he was capable of.


He looked desolate; his pain laid raw and naked before her.


Buffy knew what it felt like to be empty of everything but hurt. She remembered thinking that numb would be better and she remembered learning that it was worse. At least the pain had been hers, she had been herself. Numb, she was no one.


The pain in his eyes was his. Buffy recognized Spike’s pain all too well. He wasn’t being controlled by The First. The knowledge didn’t really make her feel secure. She knelt down in front of him and waited. Spike always talked.


“I shouldn’t have come back. I don’t know…how can you even look at me?” His words came shakily as tremors raked his body. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”


How could she look at him? It was a fair question. How could she look at his face and see past the pain he’d caused her? She supposed that she could look at him because he just kept giving her something new to look at. How could you turn away from a vampire who sought out his own soul? How could you not try to forgive him? “You came back because you want to do the right thing.”


“I hurt you.”


Buffy struggled to find a response. She had hurt him too, but it wasn’t an excuse. She knew that he had never wanted to hurt her, but he had. She couldn’t deny it. She wouldn’t tell him that it was okay. It wasn’t. It couldn’t be okay. He knew that. He’d known that immediately. It was why he’d left. She sighed.


“You did.” She said it without condemnation; she was simply stating a fact.


He turned his head away. Shame and despair cloaked his words “Never wanted to.”


Buffy nodded, even though he wasn’t watching. She didn’t really have anything to say. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe him, it just didn’t change anything. Knowing that he shared the nightmare didn’t really make it any less hers. Misery doesn’t really love company.


“I should leave.”


“It wouldn’t change anything.”


“It’d be easier.


She scoffed. “For who? You? Maybe.”She chose her words carefully and spoke them confidently. “You already decided that you’d rather do the right thing. You got your soul back, Spike. That couldn’t have been easy. This…this isn’t easy, but you can do it. You can help me.”


He gazed up at her through his lashes. “You really think so?”


She swallowed and nodded. “I do.”

Part Four

The walk back downstairs was quiet as both were still shaken from revisiting their lowest moments. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Buffy gestured awkwardly towards the kitchen.

“Are you hungry, maybe?” Her voice was little more than a whisper.

“I’m fine.” As wonderful as it should have been spending time with this new, gentler Buffy, Spike was ready to go back to the basement. Her support was awe-inspiring, but the memories of just what he’d done to her were still vividly imprinted in his mind. Pushing them back, pushing himself to do anything but cower on the floor was exhausting. He was almost ready to choose tied up and alone.

“But if you…extra blood should help with the healing, right?” She smiled softly but couldn’t hold eye contact. Instead, she let herself catalog his injuries. The bruises on his face were almost gone, but he’d managed to open the cuts on his chest again. She could see the droplets of blood making the t-shirt she’d given him stick to his wounds. The internal stuff was harder to gauge, but she’d seen his cringe getting up from the floor and knew that walking was still difficult for him. He still had a ways to go before he’d be back to normal.

Spike looked over at her and fell in love. It was probably the thousandth time he’d fallen in love with her, but it didn’t make the experience any less shattering. He was simply stunned by the person she was. She was all the things that he could never be. She was strong in ways he had never realized a person could be. Her strength didn’t come from her muscles or her magic or even her charm. Buffy’s strength came from her will to do to what was right. Spike knew that Buffy would do what was right, intrinsically right, even if it wasn’t right for her. He knew that she was helping him because she thought it was the right thing to do. He suspected that she wished it weren’t the right thing to do. He wasn’t sure it was.

He wanted to make it the right thing, though. For her, he wanted to be worth helping. More than anything, Spike wanted to be the kind of person that she could be sure of. He’d do anything to make her proud and deep down, he knew that that was the problem. Buffy would only really be proud if he wanted to do the right thing. Period. Full-stop. She wanted him to want to do the right thing not because she did, but because it was right.

Spike didn’t think he could ever love the right thing as much as he loved her. He’d always choose her and that was simply one of the many reasons that he knew she couldn’t choose him.

He nodded slowly. “I could do with a bit extra. How about you? Have you eaten today?”

Buffy frowned slightly as though the question confused her and Spike knew that she just couldn’t remember. She’d been forgetting to eat more often lately. It was just one more sign of how bad things were getting.

He followed her to the kitchen and watched as she reached into the freezer for a bag of blood and then into the cabinet for a mug. When she headed towards the microwave, he stopped her with a gentle hand over hers. She jumped.
“Sorry.” He pulled his hand back as though he’d touched fire. “I’m…sorry. I…” He nodded towards the blood in her hand. “I can do this myself. Why don’t you fix yourself some cereal or some such?”

“I don’t…mind. If you want to sit down, I can do this. You’re hurt.” She couldn’t quite look at him just then, but Buffy was determined. She had decided to take care of him and she wasn’t about to let her nerves stand in the way.

“Wouldn’t want to face off against a demon army just yet, but I can handle a microwave, surely.” He grinned.

It was the smile that did it. Buffy wasn’t sure how he managed to say so much with a smile, but he did. He had dozens of different ones: soft smiles, sexy smirks, flirty grins. He could convey love, anger, almost anything with a single look. But this was her favorite one, this was the smile that said let’s have a little laugh at ourselves. It was meant to tease her but with a solid helping of self-effacement.

She found herself smiling back. “All right, but if we have some kind of microwave demon I don’t want to hear about how I left you all weak and helpless to fend for yourself.” She handed him the blood and decided that a bowl of cereal did sound good.

Spike tried not to stare at her while she selected a box from the cabinet. Buffy being kind he could explain to himself. Buffy flirting was another matter altogether. He told himself not to read too much into her response. She probably hadn’t meant anything by it. Still, he felt a warmth that had nothing to do with the hot mug he was lifting to his lips. He felt like a man being flirted with.

The lighter mood held through their quiet breakfast together and Buffy announced that she was ready to veg in front of the television. Spike nodded agreeably, but didn’t say anything out of fear that his eagerness to spend more time at her side would be obvious and unwanted.

He stood in the foyer while she adjusted the curtains and blinds. He was sure that she had never looked more beautiful.

“All right, I think we’re good for some smoke-free viewing now.”

He walked in eagerly, only to come to an anxious stop by the coffee table. The couch was the only seat with a decent view of the screen, but he wasn’t sure that she’d want to sit next to him. Sure she’d slept beside him the night before, but then he’d gone and brought up the attack.

Buffy pointed to the couch. “Do you want to lie down maybe? It’s probably easier on your ribs.”

It would be. Sitting up hurt like hell. “I’m fine. I can sit, if you want to share. Or…or we could pull over the…”

Buffy shook her head and sat down. She pulled a pillow onto her lap and patted it.

He gawked.

She sighed. “I can sit somewhere else, if you want.”

He answered quietly, his eyes focused on the carpet. “You know I don’t.”

She patted the pillow again.

When William was sick or heartbroken, his mother had often cradled his head on her knees. She’d patted his hair and called him her little prince. Spike had almost forgotten how much he still missed his mother. He stepped woodenly towards the couch, dropped tiredly onto it, and aching to go to a home that hadn’t existed in more than a century, he laid his head on the pillow.

Buffy looked down at him but couldn’t see his face since he was turned away. It was, she figured, for the best; looking into his eyes that closely would be more intimate than she was ready to get. She was only a little surprised to find herself wanting to run her fingers through his hair. Only a few moments earlier his touch has startled her enough to make her jump, but already the almost overwhelming desire to touch him had returned. She didn’t have time to wonder why or if it meant something; she was too busy trying to resist. She tried to tell herself that she had insisted that he lay on her for practical reasons. It would be more comfortable for him and she would be able to keep a close eye on him even if she got drowsy. It was totally logical. She was really good at justification. She reached for the remote and turned the television on.

Cartoon animals whizzed across the screen and a jaunty tune blared just a little too loudly. She turned the volume down without asking. He’d be able to hear it clearly even if it was too quiet for her.

She flashed back suddenly to one of their gentler moments. She’d slept with him. Once, she’d gone to him and instead of ripping at his clothes she’d simply curled up on his lap and cried herself to sleep. She’d been even angrier than usual when she’d woken shortly after dawn to find that he’d simply held her all night and watched a television that seemed to have no sound. After that she had avoided him for days. It was a display of weakness. It had shamed her even more than the sex had.

She put the remote down and settled her hand a few inches from Spike’s head. Her fingers itched to bury themselves in his curls. She frowned and tried to concentrate on the cartoon. Buffy liked cartoons, they generally had a simple black and white world view. There was a good guy and a bad guy. Everyone knew who to root for. She wished that her own life was that simple. Besides, she thought, in cartoons the character could die and then be back in the next episode. It was only natural that she felt a certain affinity.

This was one of her favorites, but she couldn’t focus. Frustrated, she grabbed for the remote.

“In the mood for anything particular?” She tried for a casual tone as she began flipping through the late morning television offerings. Familiar music made her pause. She smiled. “Ooh, I love this movie.”

On the screen Patrick Swayze gestured sexily for his costar to come dance with him on a log.

On the couch, Spike scoffed.

“Hey! It’s romantic.”

“Sure, but they’d never last. Got nothin’ in common. I’d give it six months until she leaves him for some boring lawyer or doctor type.”

Buffy frowned. “The whole point is they fall in love despite that whole being from different worlds thing.”

“Yeah, until she realizes that he’s got nothing goin’ for him aside from pulling off the tight pants.”

“Why are you being so grumpy?”

“I’m not. I’m just saying that this movie is ridiculous.” He reached up and pulled the remote out of her hand.

Buffy was too surprised to protest. He’d barely been speaking since she’d brought him home; she didn’t understand why Dirty Dancing would agitate him enough to cause the sudden verbosity. She stared at him openly.
He quickly turned through several channels before stopping with an abrupt snort. “Here. This one’s more realistic at least.”

Her eyebrows went up as she looked curiously at the television. “The King and I.” She laughed. “It’s more realistic that the King of Siam falls for a tutor.”

Spike shrugged. “Based on a true story, if memory serves.” He shook his head. “The point isn’t whether or not they’re in love. The point is, loving her, it kills him. Love brings down the King.”

Buffy struggled to remember the end of the movie. She was sure she’d seen it as a kid. She knew that it didn’t have a happy ending; that was why she and Willow always stopped watching after the big dance number.

It dawned on her then, suddenly, what had brought this on. Spike was feeling bitter or trying to at least. As pessimistic as his words were, she couldn’t quite buy it. He was hurt, that she understood, but she knew Spike better then he thought she did. He was a romantic. He wouldn’t just give up, not even if it looked like there was no hope. Spike didn’t give up on love. Buffy knew that there would be changes now that he had his soul back, but she knew that his ability to love wouldn’t be one of them. It was too big a part of who he was to be lost. He loved wholly and openly, despite all obstacles. Buffy didn’t think she could ever love like he did. She wished she could, that she could be as brave as he was, that she could risk as much as he did. It simply wasn’t who she was.

She sighed. “Maybe we should just stay with the cartoons.” She didn’t know what to say. It hurt her to think that she had convinced him that love only led to pain, but she didn’t think that she was the one to convince him otherwise. She wasn’t so sure that it didn’t. She just knew that she wanted him to believe. Buffy wanted Spike to believe in love enough for both of them. In that moment, she knew that what she really wanted was for him to hold her hands and to give her that earnest look of his and to promise her that they still had a chance. She wasn’t brave enough to take it, but the thought of losing it tore her up inside.

“Sure.” The winds left his sails and Spike wondered why he had even opened his mouth. It was frustration mostly. The moment he had settled onto the couch, all thoughts about his mother had fled and he’d been completely taken over by her. Buffy’s scent, her warmth, the sound of her heart beating and her stomach gurgling. It had immediately overwhelmed him. He was hard in an instant and there was nothing he could do about it. He couldn’t move, at best that would mean giving up his chance to be close and he didn’t even want to consider worse scenarios. He flipped back to the cartoons before reaching up to hand back the remote.

She took it and settled it back on the side table. She pretended to watch while her mind tried to wrap itself around its own discovery. She wanted Spike to love her.

Part Five

Buffy wanted Spike to love her.

Maybe it wasn’t a discovery so much as an acceptance. She had finally accepted that she wanted his love. The questions were obvious even to her. Did she love him? Could she want his love without returning it? If she did love him, what then? Could they actually have a relationship? Her hand found its way into his hair without her conscious decision to do so and she comforted herself by twirling his locks around her finger.

Spike tensed. He’d been lost in his own thoughts, pretending to watch the television but not really taking any of it in. But now she was touching him, to say that he was alert would have been an understatement. The show had changed. There was a talk show on now and Spike wondered distractedly when it had started. Slowly, reluctantly even, he turned his head to look at her. She wasn’t looking down. Her eyes were set on the screen, but it was clear that her mind was somewhere else. He swallowed. She didn’t know what she was doing. Her caress was really no different than doodling or chewing one’s nails. It wasn’t about him; it was just a nervous gesture. He wondered if he should stop her or if he should pretend not to notice. He saw the realization on her face the moment that she knew what she was doing.

She smiled sheepishly and pulled her hand away. “Sorry.”

He tried not to look disappointed. “Didn’t mind.”

“The curls are fun. You should leave the gel out more often.”

He didn’t know what to say. “I…oh.” He nodded and pulled himself up, though his ribs protested loudly. He wanted to pace, but settled for sitting down on the coffee table and staring at her. His head tilted as he tried to figure out what to ask.

He’d surprised her by getting up, but the questions in his eyes were familiar. She was sending mixed messages again. Buffy decided it was time to make at least one thing clear.

She kissed him.

There was no warning really, not for either of them. She simply cupped her hands around his face and kissed him. She was gentle, barely brushing her lips against his before pulling back.

She watched as he struggled with hope.

“Is it pity? Was that…”

Her eyes widened. “No. Spike, no.” She shook her head in denial and wanted to cry. She hadn’t made anything clear at all.

“Then what?”

She shrugged. “A kiss.”

He looked up and jostled his leg restlessly. He felt like a ponce, begging her to give him some scrap of emotion. “Why, Buffy?”

She looked him square in the eye and sighed. “I just wanted to kiss you, Spike. I thought…if you don’t want…”

He grabbed her hands before she could finish. “Don’t. You know how I feel, what you are to me; I could never not want you. But I need to know the rules here.”

She shook her head. “There’s no…”

“There’s always rules, pet. This…” He gestured back and forth between them. “Is it just today? Or until I heal? You keep touching me.” He shook his head and continued in a rapid-fire frenzy. “Am I supposed to pretend it doesn’t affect me?” His expression plainly stated that it was not even possible. “Or maybe…was it just the one time or are you going to kiss me again? Am I allowed to kiss you?”

Buffy paled. “I don’t have all those answers. I don’t…I mean some of them I...” She stopped and took a deep breath. She was scared, more frightened then she’d been facing Glory or The Master or dozens of the other baddies she’d dealt with over the years. She trembled, but she made herself face him. “I want you.” Her voice was quiet but steady. “Not like before, not…not like before. I like you. You’re…you and I like you. And yes, I’d like to kiss you again.”

She watched the steady stream of emotions run across his face and wondered if she’d said enough. Her feelings were still so confused. She couldn’t explain them to herself; she hadn’t a clue as to how she could explain them to him. Her shoulders slumped. How could he know her so well, read her like no one else could, and not see that things were different?

Her newfound self-awareness pointed out that she had only just realized it herself, and that once again, she was being too hard on him. She tried to maintain a gentle and encouraging expression.

Spike bit his lip to keep himself from continuing his torrent of questions. She’d said that she liked him, that she wanted him even. There was a time when that admission would have been enough, he wasn’t sure that it was now. Oh, he was sure it was enough for him. Spike figured it was more than he deserved and more than he’d ever expected. If it wasn’t forgiveness, it was at least acceptance. Buffy said that she liked him. He was elated. His heart jumped to his throat.

But he didn’t think it was enough for her. He worried that she was already regretting the kiss and he wished that she would tell him what to do.

Spike had never really been one for taking orders before. Hell, he’d gone out of his way to rebel against them. But from her, for her, he’d gladly take direction. He just didn’t want to screw up. Again.

He’d been quiet too long. It made her uneasy. She spoke softly. “Spike?”

He nodded. “Did…did you have a time in mind?” He looked up at the ceiling and shook his head. He was blowing this. He felt like a schmuck.

Buffy frowned in confusion. “A time for…”

He sighed before looking at her. “The kissing, pet.”

Her eyes widened. He wanted to know when she planned to kiss him again. It was…cute, really cute. She laughed. Buffy had long ago accepted that Spike was hot. Even when he’d been evil, it was hard to honestly deny his attractiveness. But she’d never really thought of him as cute. Thinking it now brought a barrage of images to her mind’s forefront. The man was adorable. She leaned closer. “Does now work?” She didn’t wait for his response.

Spike groaned as her lips touched his again. He couldn’t help himself. His hands flew up and buried themselves in her hair. He pulled her closer and slid his tongue tentatively between her lips. When she didn’t pull away, he relaxed and deepened the kiss.

Buffy almost sighed. She could feel every muscle in her body loosen. The kiss didn’t feel like sex, though certainly the hints of it remained beneath the surface, it felt like a comfort. She smiled against his mouth and reached her arms up around his neck. She kissed his cheek before pulling back slightly and studying his dazed expression. She tried to imagine what he’d say if she told him he was cute and she giggled. Buffy felt younger than she had in years.

“Sitting like this has to be hurting you.”

“I don’t mind.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes. Very manly.” She scooted back on the couch. “Why don’t you lie back down?”

He wanted to argue. He wanted to tell her that he was fine and ready for anything. It would have been a lie, but he was more than tempted to tell it. He didn’t. Instead, Spike nodded and waited until she pulled the pillow onto her lap.

Lying down again, he muttered, “Plenty manly and you know it.”

“Mmm.” She nodded and went back to playing with his hair.

Part Six

The talk show gave way to soap operas and they both watched with glazed over eyes. At one point Buffy realized what they were watching, frowned, and considered changing it. A glance down at Spike told her that he didn’t care and since she didn’t really feel like reaching for the remote, the soaps stayed on.

Spike was teetering on the edge of bliss. Sure his ribs still ached and he could feel the bones in his arm mending, but she was touching him. Intentionally, with affection, she was touching him. One of her hands rested on his chest while the fingers on her other hand had continued to gently fiddle with his hair. He knew that men couldn’t actually die from blue balls, but he wondered if vampires could. He’d dust happy. She wanted him. She’d said it. She’d said that she wanted him. It wasn’t something he was likely to forget, ever. But even without the memory of her words he would have known. It was there, obvious even. Her scent, her arousal filled him with every unneeded breath. She was enjoying having him close. She liked him. She’d said that, too. He laughed.

Buffy frowned slightly at the chuckling vampire on her lap. As far as she had seen, nothing particularly funny had happened on the television. “What?”

“You like me.” He smirked.

She smiled. That was funny. “Don’t get me wrong. I still think that you’re a pain in the ass. I mean, you’re totally rude and my lawn looks like an ashtray and…and you’re a total slob.” She shook her head. “It’s like you grew up with a maid.”

“I did.”

The wrinkle appeared between her eyes. “You…?”

He shrugged and then winced. “So, I’m a total prick, but…”

“But yeah…I like having you around.” She shook her head again. It troubled her that she really knew so little about Spike and the man that he once was. She wondered if he would become more like that man now that he had his soul back. “Tell me…tell me something that I don’t know.”

“Queen Victoria died in 1901, Indian whisky is actually rum and Istanbul was previously called Constantinople. There’s actually a catchy song about that last bit.”

Buffy laughed but wasn’t deterred. “I meant about you.”

Spike tensed noticeably. “Don’t think that’s a good idea, pet.” He replied quietly.

“I’m not trying you set you up, Spike. I know that you’ve…I know that you are a vampire.” She sighed. “Who were you before?”

He frowned. “Before I was turned?”

“You told me before that you were a bad man, but…” She trailed off, unsure of how she could explain that she just didn’t believe him. She wondered why exactly she didn’t. She supposed it had something to do with the manners that he generally tried to hide, but had popped out around her mother or the fact that when she’d hurt his feelings he’d looked like those feelings had been trampled plenty of times before. Maybe, she acknowledged, she just didn’t want to consider the possibility that Spike’s good qualities actually came from the demon.

“I lied. Wasn’t really bad.”

She smiled. But he continued before she could say anything.

“I wasn’t really good either. Weak. Self-Involved. No one.” No one Buffy could have loved, he thought. He didn’t really think someone like Buffy would have ever even noticed the man he was. Maybe, he amended, if she would have had to come and rescue his sorry ass. Then, he was sure that he would have been memorably lame.

“I’m sure you weren’t so bad.”

“I was a grown man living at home with his mother because I hadn’t found a wife. I wore reading glasses even when I wasn’t reading and I had…stupid hair.”

Buffy bit her lip to hold back her mirth. “How,” she said, giggling, “how was it stupid?” She resisted, barely, the temptation to make a crack about his current preferred hairstyle.

He glared for a moment before his expression turned serious. He couldn’t help but worry that Buffy asking about his past would only lead to badness. “Why do you… There’s a lot I’m not proud of, Buffy. I can’t change that.”

“Spike, I told you. I’m not playing a game. I’m not trying to get you to tell me all the things you did so that I can tell you they were wrong. I know plenty of that stuff. I know…plenty. And I know that you are different now.”

“Still a vampire.”

“I know that.” She frowned, wondering why he’d said that. “I don’t…” Mind was the word that popped into her head, but she wasn’t sure it was the right one. “I know that. It doesn’t change how I feel.”

He wanted to push her to explain those feelings, but instead he asked, “Because of the soul?”

She nodded.

He looked away. “I loved you before I got it back.”

“I know.” She leaned down and pressed a kiss against his temple. “Do you wish you hadn’t gotten it back?”

He looked up at her then, startled.

“I’d be easier, right?” Her tone was oddly neutral. “If you didn’t have to deal with all the feelings and…”

“Thought you weren’t testing me.” He shook his head. “No, I don’t regret it. I mean…” He snorted and paused for a moment. “I probably should have prepared better for the aftermath, getting back here was hell.” He gave her a small smirk. “I’ve never been one to stop and think things through first. I wanted my soul. I got it.”

“For me.”

His eyes widened at her admission. He swallowed and nodded once.

Her heart raced. It was almost too much. It wasn’t like she hadn’t known that he’d gotten the soul for her. Of course she had, he’d told her himself. But he’d been crazy at the time. Her reaction hadn’t been important. Now it was. He was watching her, waiting with his head tilted and a touch of fear in his eyes. What could she possibly say? What words could ever express the overwhelming totality of his act? Thank you just seemed so cold. She kissed him again instead and cursed herself for her failing.

Spike pulled away after only a few seconds. “Does it make you happy? Is it what you wanted?”

“No! I mean yes, of course it makes me happy.” She sighed. “It’s incredible, Spike. I just meant…I could never have asked you…anyone… to do something that…” She blinked but didn’t turn away to hide the tears threatening to fall from her eyes.

He sat up quicker than he should have been able to and pushed in close to her. “I wanted to be a better man, for you. I still want--Bloody hell, Buffy I still lo—”

“Don’t!” She threw her hands up and shook her head. “Oh God, Spike, don’t say it. Please.” She watched in horror as the hurt on his face quickly changed to anger.

He turned away from her. “It’s nothing you don’t already know.”

“I know, but—”

“But what, it’s okay for you to use my feelings but not to hear about them?”

“No, William.” She said his other name with a slow deliberateness, hoping its use would show how very much she wanted to be gentle “I just-”

He turned to her then, eyes blazing. “You saying goodbye again? Pull out a bloke’s given name when you plan on breaking his heart?”

Her own anger reared its head. “Stop it! Just…stop.” She took a series of shallow breaths. “I can’t say it back.” She wished she could. In that moment she wished that she could just say the words that he wanted to hear. She just couldn’t let him say them and not hear them back. It was cruel and she was sure it would break both of them.

He scoffed. “Didn’t expect you to.”

“I can’t say it…yet.” She couldn’t say them until she was sure that she meant them, until she was sure that she could do something about them. That was the bigger question, really. Could she give them a real chance? They’d both been through too much already for anything less than a full commitment.

Spike saw his life rush before his eyes. Surely the girl was trying to kill him. His voice was weary when he asked, “What does that mean, Buffy?”

She scooted across the couch and reached up slowly to cup his face in her hands. “I have feelings for you. I told you that, but…” But what she asked herself in frustration, you’re not sure you care enough to face your friends or you’re still not sure that you’re even capable of a real relationship?

“You can’t love me.” He whispered her words back to her as though they were a sacred chant. There wasn’t any question in his tone. He really didn’t think she ever could.

“Give me a chance to decide for myself.”

Spike was going to say something. He hadn’t decided what exactly, but he knew that there had to be something to say. She might love him. She had said that she thought she might love him. He had to have a response.

She didn’t wait for one. She pressed her lips to the corner of his mouth and whispered shakily. “I know it’s not what you want to hear, Spi…William, but I need some time. Could we try a fresh start, like a taking things slow and figuring things out kind of start?” She rubbed her thumb gently across his cheek. “I don’t want to hurt you.” Now that she’d finally started talking, the words came easier. “Can you give me some time?”

He stared at her, open-mouthed, for several beats before nodding. “I’d give you anything, Buffy. Die for you.” He didn’t tell her that he loved her, though he still didn’t really understand why she didn’t want him to say the words.

“Don’t.” She rested her forehead to his. “I want a chance to get to know you.”

Part Seven

She kissed him again, gently and with a warm affection that he could almost taste and Spike fought to clear his heart’s fog from his head. He knew better than to let his emotions overrule his reason when dealing with Buffy, but it was still a challenge not to. He’d always been a passionate man.

He had to deepen the kiss. He could tell that she was trying to keep things soft, but his feelings weren’t a gentle breeze. He was holding a hurricane at bay. His love wanted out as much as his demon ever did. And the demon really wanted out. That they both wanted the same thing wasn’t as rare as one would expect. Buffy had been Spike’s only focus well before he’d been able to admit it, but even before that he’d sought out love almost single-mindedly.

Ignoring the considerable pain that the action drew, he tugged her tightly against his chest and slid his hands down her back. He pulled her easily onto his lap and groaned as her legs curled around his waist. She was warm in his arms and he thought, wistfully, that kissing her was like kissing the sunshine he’d lost. Even his own inner poet cringed and he was glad that he hadn’t said the words out loud. As much as he liked talking, he knew that words were not his best tool for communication. It was particularly true when it came to dealing with Buffy.

He arched his back and pressed his arousal against her. She gasped and he took advantage of the opportunity to pull her bottom lip between his for a quick suck.

Buffy moaned as her head dropped back. They were moving too fast. She knew that she had to stop him. She felt his breath against her throat and realized that she had closed her eyes. She knew that he wouldn’t bite. It wasn’t even a concern. He was hesitating to even kiss her neck. Her hands came up to pull his head closer and rake through his hair encouragingly. This, at least, was familiar. She had always trusted him at her neck more easily than he’d trusted himself. Before she had thought that it was some kind of death wish, now she knew better. She bent her head back in an unmistakable gesture.

It was almost a relief when she finally felt his lips against her. She moaned deeply and continued to hold him there as he kissed and licked at her racing pulse-point. When he trailed down her collarbone, she pulled away slightly. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Spike dragged his eyes up from the disheveled neckline of her shirt. “I’m fine. Good.” His hands slid under the hem of her shirt to tease the skin at her waist.

“You’re hurt and…”

Frustration brought his words out as an almost whimper. “It’s not too bad.”

“And I’m not ready.” Her voice was quiet but sure.

He fell back against the couch at that and dropped his eyes.

Buffy sighed. “I just—”

“You don’t owe me an explanation, pet.” He looked up and gave her a small smile.

She didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t that she thought she owed him an explanation for not being ready. She knew he hadn’t been trying to push. She just wanted him to know that she felt the pull too. Her knees were still shaking. But telling him seemed hurtful. She knew how the words would affect him. It was almost like teasing to tell him that she wanted him when she wasn’t ready to do anything about it. Besides, she was certain that he already knew. He could read her body in a multitude of ways she generally didn’t want to think about. She reached out to cup his cheek with her hand.

“If we try this again—after you’re healed—if we try this…” She gestured between them. “It needs to be different. Like, in a bed different.”

Spike tried to keep a neutral expression but couldn’t. He smirked and gave her a comically exaggerated look of skepticism.

She giggled. “Ok, maybe not every time. But…sometimes?”

He nodded before leaning forward to give her a quick kiss. Spike was honestly considering the possibility that the situation might kill him. He was trembling still from both desire and pain, but he knew that he would gladly suffer far worse to have her smiling at him the way she was.

“Are we ok?”

Spike watched her bite her lip as she waited for his response. She was clearly concerned about his opinion or feelings or something. It wasn’t something he was used to. Hell, Spike wasn’t really accustomed to anyone concerning themselves much with his thoughts or wellbeing. It was nice. It was more than nice, but it also made him uneasy. He did what he did best. Spike faked the confidence he didn’t feel.

“Better than, love.”

“Are you hungry?” Buffy asked as she stood up.

He shook his head and started to shift into a more comfortable position. When Buffy didn’t rejoin him on the couch he frowned. “Pet?”

She remained standing awkwardly in front of him. She really had to pee. Unfortunately, she still couldn’t actually leave Spike alone. Even more unfortunately, she had just spent several seconds contemplating just how aware Spike was of her body’s functions. She groaned inwardly.

“I-have-to-use-the-bathroom,” she said quickly.

His eyebrows came together. “What’s that?”

She sighed. “I have to use the bathroom…and I can’t leave you down here by yourself.” A blush tinged her cheeks.

Spike’s lips twitched. Embarrassed Buffy was too cute. “So much for takin’ it slow, huh? Joining you in the loo like a couple of old marrieds.”

“Joining? No-no, there will be no joining. You can just…you can just stand outside and—”

He laughed and winced as he stood up. “I don’t know, pet, I’m pretty fast. I could be—”

She cut him off with a glare. “You’ll wait outside the door and make noise so that I know that you’re there.”

He couldn’t help chuckling as he followed her up the stairs.

Buffy stopped outside the bathroom door. “Just…stand here and…and-unh!”

She went quickly into the bathroom and shut the door firmly behind her. She dropped her pants and sat on the toilet. She listened. She could hear Spike walking loudly outside the door. She sighed heavily. She couldn’t do it. Buffy just wasn’t the kind of girl who could pee with a hot guy listening. Oh she knew it was ridiculous, the rational part of her brain understood that Spike had undoubtedly heard her pee before. She knew that he might even be able to hear her from downstairs. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t the same as actually going while he stood outside the door and listened. She stood up and turned the sink faucet on full blast. Better. Only now she couldn’t hear him.

“Spike?”

She heard him laugh and then call back. “Still here.”

“I need you to sing or something. Loud.”

“Not gonna sing.” His tone was firm.

“Ok, well hum then.”

She heard his noise of irritation and then the sound of him humming a vaguely familiar punk song. She quickly relieved her bladder.

She was washing her hands when the song changed. Instead of the Ramones, and yes she was now fairly certain the previous song had been a Ramones number, she now heard a much softer tune. At first she only noted the abrupt switch from the peppy punk riffs to the melancholy folk melody and wondered what had caused Spike to have such an odd mood change. Then she recognized it. She froze. It was the trigger. Spike, or The First haunting Spike, was humming the trigger song. Shit! She had only a second to wonder at her own stupidity before she walked into the hall. She couldn’t believe she had left him alone.

“Spike?”

He looked up at her, the picture of innocence. “Yeah?”

She was sure. She knew him too well to be fooled. The energy around him was totally different. He wasn’t even standing the same way. The man in front of her showed no sign of his injuries. “This isn’t you?” She took a cautious step towards him with her hands up in front of her.

“No?” He made a show of looking skeptical. “Who am I, then?”

“I heard the song. You’ve been— ”

He lunged at her.

She knocked him away instinctually. “You don’t want to do this. Spike!”

“Don’t I? Isn’t this what I do?” He came at her again.

She faked to his right and slid easily by his left side before sweeping his legs out from under him and knocking him to the ground.

He was up in an instant. “Come on, pet. Give me another shot at that pretty little neck of yours.” His eyes narrowed and his cocky smirk shouted predator.

Buffy spun and kicked him again. More than anything, she was pissed to be causing more damage to his ribs. She really hated The First.

His hand curled around her knee and pulled. She lost her balance momentarily and fell to the floor. Spike dropped down on top of her with a focused leer.

Buffy Summers was The Slayer. Years ago the instincts of the girl and the Slayer weren’t always in agreement. But that had changed with time, so it was especially unnerving for her to experience it again. The Slayer was a no-nonsense type. Her plan was to knock Spike out and carry him downstairs where she could chain him up and wait for him to awaken. Hopefully when he did he would be his normal and generally less homicidal self.

But Buffy was also a woman falling in love with the man on top of her, and though she knew he would recover from another kick to the head, she really wanted to heal that man. It was a long shot, but she felt like she had a chance.
“Spike, Look at me. You don’t want to hurt me.” He had stopped himself before in the basement. Buffy was sure that he could do it again. Of course, that didn’t stop her from forming a fist when she felt his fangs graze her throat. “You can’t do this. You won’t.” She pulled back her hand before giving it one last try. “You love me, Spike. You love me.”

He responded almost instantly. It was as though he was a balloon that had been popped. He collapsed, boneless, on top of her. The threat of hurting the woman he loved was simply a more powerful influence on him than the trigger.

Her fist fell limply to the floor. She was tempted to hug him at that moment, but she couldn’t be sure that it wasn’t a trick. She gave him a hard shove and scrambled out from underneath him. “Spike?”

He propped himself up slowly. “You have to chain me up, Buffy. That was too close. I can’t…”

“No. We are going to get to the bottom of this trigger thing. It’s definitely the song, the old Britishy one. I’ve been thinking, if we can figure out how that works—like why that song is the trigger—then I think we can un-trigger you.”

He looked at her incredulously.

“I’m serious, Spike. It’s definitely that song. We just have to figure out why it works.”

He knew the song she was talking about. Somehow her breaking into his First-controlled actions eliminated the memory loss that had previously accompanied his episodes. It had been the same in the basement. Spike knew why the song was important, but he didn’t know how to tell her. And he was less than sure that it would do any good. Still, when he looked at her, he saw trust in her eyes. He didn’t think he deserved it, but he wanted it. For that trust, for her, he knew that he’d do anything, give anything. He’d even tell her his worst truth. For her trust, Spike would tell her exactly why he could never deserve her love.

“You won’t like it.”

“You won’t like it.” His eyes dropped to the floor.

Buffy watched Spike for another moment before, certain that he was himself, she scooted closer. She was startled for a second by the unusual expression on his face. He looked scared, genuinely unabashedly scared. Though she was sure that he’d been frightened in her presence many times before, Buffy couldn’t really think of more than a couple of times he’d shown it. Spike almost always hid his fear behind a display of bravado and attitude. But he didn’t this time. She sighed. It was heartbreaking to know that he feared her more than anything else and that it had nothing to do with her being The Slayer.

She reached her hand forward awkwardly to pat his arm. “It doesn’t matter. Whatever it is-we just need to figure out how to get The First out of your head.”

He nodded, but still couldn’t meet her eyes. The shame was simply a part of him; it had been with him for so long that he could barely remember a time when he hadn’t felt it. His mind reeled through memories and questions. He wondered if he would even be able to explain his feelings to her. Was there any chance that she could accept that a soulless vampire had felt all that he had? Could she possibly understand that anyone could be as stupid and naïve as he’d been? Even if she did accept all of his truths, even if she believed that he’d had only good intentions, Spike had to wonder if it would matter.

“My mother sang that song to me-when I was young.” He inhaled quickly and sighed. “She sang it.”

Buffy frowned. She didn’t know what exactly she’d been expecting him to say but she knew that she hadn’t been expecting that. She tried to remember if he had ever even mentioned his mom before that day. It was strange for her to even think of Spike as someone who had a mother. A horrible thought occurred to her.

“Spike, did your mom...” She tried to keep her voice soft. “Did she…Were you abused?”

He looked at her with shock-widened eyes. “What? No! She was a good mum. She’d never--”

Her hands came up in surrender. “I’m sorry. I just don’t understand why the song works. I thought maybe it made you angry.”

“It doesn’t.” He shook his head. Anger wasn’t really the issue. Pain, maybe. Self disgust, certainly. The song reminded him that he was nothing but a worthless monster. No one had ever loved him. Not even his own mother.

Buffy slid her arm around his shoulders. “Spike, whatever it is--”

“I killed her.”

She swallowed hard. “Oh, I…” She felt sick to her stomach. She knew that a lot of vampires killed their families, but she hadn’t really expected to learn that Spike had.

“I was trying to save her, Buffy.” He looked at her intently, almost desperately. “You have to believe me. I know it doesn’t change things, but I was trying to save her.” He could feel her hand on his back trembling and knew that she wanted to pull away. “Please.” His whispered plea was directed as much towards himself as it was towards her. He was trying so hard to be a good man. He had to tell her the truth, but he needed the strength to do it.

Her eyes narrowed and she nodded once. “Ok, Spike. I believe you.” And she did, with Spike she knew that nothing was ever quite how it appeared on the surface. She pushed back her natural reflexes and tried to keep an open mind.

A touch of surprise showed on his face before he went on. “She was sick. She’d been sick for so long and the doctors—the bloody doctors and their tonics and leeches—she was dying and I just wanted…I wanted to save her.”

Buffy tightened the arm she had on his shoulders and waited for him to continue.

He started to get lost in the story. She watched as a far-away look came to his eyes and tried not to get lost in thoughts of her own mother.

“I didn’t even want to go to the party. I went for her. It was expected. Had to keep up appearances.” He exhaled and closed his eyes. “It made her happy to think that I was accepted there, so I played my part. The next day I’d have entertained her with clever anecdotes and gossip. She liked that. So I dressed. I went to the party, let them mock me.”

Spike hated admitting to his weak past. He knew that it was ridiculous, that Buffy would certainly not agree, but a part of him wished that he’d been telling her the truth that day at the Bronze. A part of him thought that being a bad man was still better than being no man.

Buffy fought the urge to interrupt with questions. The Slayer was a busy girl. She rarely allowed others the luxury of taking their time when a curt “get to the point” would do the trick. She knew that today would have to be one of the rare exceptions. She was going to let Spike tell the whole story, in his own way and in his own time. She forced herself to relax against him and rubbed his back encouragingly.

“It wasn’t really anything new. But there was a girl. A man’s pride can only take so much. I took the long way home, didn’t send for the coach.” He shrugged. “I figured my mum would be asleep by the time I got in. Wouldn’t ever need know that I’d left the party so early. She didn’t get out much. So sick. Doctors wouldn’t tell me the truth, but I knew. She knew. Bloody hell. She kept up such a brave face, but she knew.”

It was his story. It was a part of him, but it had been a long time. Soul or no, he wasn’t the same man. He could still remember every hurt. The sting of each rejection, the loneliness, the impotence and uselessness in the face of his mother’s pain and inevitable death still burned. Yet beside them all were screams of frustration from the stronger man he’d become. He could never forgive himself for sitting idly by when he should have been fighting. That in the end, it was his actions and not his inaction that caused the most harm was only an ironic final twist of his self-inflicted sword to the heart.

He brought his eyes up to hers for a moment. “That’s when it happened, you know?” At her frown of confusion, he explained. “Drusilla. She found me. Turned me. I didn’t fight it. I didn’t fight anything back then, but I wouldn’t have.”

Buffy nodded and whispered. “You wanted to die.”

He shook his head firmly. “Didn’t see it as death. I didn’t know…I saw it as power. She had power. I could feel it, even then, I could feel it coming off of her in waves and I knew it was dark. I didn’t know the details. Blood. Death. Didn’t ask. She offered to make me more than I was and I…I was nothing.”

Buffy shook her head but kept her denials to herself. She wasn’t really sure her presence was even on Spike’s radar at that moment.

“She buried me, you know? Looney bird. There’s no need really, but Dru was never really a practical sort. So I woke up, stripped naked, sharing a casket with someone who’d been dead more than a bit longer than me and buried in dirt. I choked on it. Once I broke through the casket and all the earth dropped in on me, I gagged on it. Didn’t need to breath, of course, but I didn’t know it. So I had to dig myself out. I felt the power immediately.”

He looked up at her then and turned suddenly so that he could meet her eyes with an intense gaze. “I was a new man. In that moment, when I pushed out of the ground I felt stronger, more…more like a man, than I had ever felt when I was one.” He saw the frown form between Buffy’s eyebrows but continued. “Nothing was going to hold me back. All the people whose opinions had seemed so bloody important a day earlier were nothing to me.”

“Dru took me hunting, right away that first night, and it was…” He trailed off as though he couldn’t find the words he needed.

“Food?”

“No. I mean yes, but it was more. I loved it. It was forbidden and no one could stop me. The thrill was…it was life.” He paused as a new pain filled his eyes. “All those people—I didn’t even see them, Buffy—just the crunch. I killed them. I didn’t hate them. They were just—nothing. It was only about me. I couldn’t see past my own bloody feelings. The power, the control-I felt like I was finally alive. Becoming a vampire didn’t feel like death, it felt like living. And I wanted to share that. I loved my mum, Buffy. I loved her. I wanted her to live forever.”

She nodded. There were tears in her eyes. “I can understand that.”

Wrapping his arms around her, Spike pulled her into a tight hug. They comforted each other silently for a moment, before Buffy pulled away and swiped at the tears on her cheeks with the back of her hand.

“What happened?” She knew that there was more to the story. She didn’t know how she knew, but she did.

Spike nodded. “She hated me. My own mother…hated me.” He couldn’t pull his gaze up from the floorboards.

“For turning her.”

He shook his head but didn’t look up. “No. That—she didn’t seem to mind that—said it gave her new eyes or some such. No, it was me, she hated me. Said she always had.”

“No, she—”

Horror filled his eyes as he relived the few moments he spent with his mother after she had risen. “Said she should’ve killed me, bashed my head in to spare her a lifetime of my wretched presence. She said that I wanted—that I turned her because I wanted to—” He barely held back a gag reflex. “She hated me.”

“Oh Spike. She didn’t mean it, she couldn’t have--”

“Why not?” He glanced over at her with a tortured expression.

“You loved her, you wouldn’t have--”

Spike gave a short and bitter-edged laugh. “You gonna tell me that I wouldn’t love someone who thought I was shit, beneath her, nothing?”

Buffy’s eyes widened and she turned away. She couldn’t take back the horrid words. She had said so many ugly things to him, called him so many names that he didn’t deserve. It didn’t even matter that she hadn’t ever really believed most of it. She couldn’t take back the hurt she’d caused and that only made it harder to ease the pain that had come before she’d entered his life. His mother had loved him. Buffy simply didn’t doubt it, but she was at a loss when it came to convincing him. And she knew, as soon as he’s said it, she knew that this fear was his biggest one. Buffy was sure that this was the pain that The First was tapping into. It made sense; Spike sought love with a desperation she had never seen in another person. He needed to know that his mother had loved him.

What could she say? She wanted to tell him that he was lovable, that he’d been far too appealing even when he shouldn’t have been, that if he could tug her heart strings as a monster that he must certainly have held love as a man. She couldn’t. It was too much. She just wasn’t ready for the truth that lay in those words and thoughts. She’d been all too close to in love with him before, saying that now…

She turned back slowly. “She raised you?”

Spike looked confused by the question. He paused a moment before nodding.

“She raised you to be a loving man, to love her and to treat…to treat others with…” She stopped and sighed. “You love so much, so—hard—that had to come from somewhere.” She smiled suddenly. “Spike, she sang to you. You said it. She sang to her son.”

It gave him a pause. He could see where she was headed. It was hard to imagine someone taking the time to sing lullabies to a child the despised. “But the things she said, Buffy—”

“It wasn’t her.”

Spike frowned. “The demon.”

Buffy nodded. “Before—before you turned her—did you ever think that she might…did you—”

“I was her world. I always knew that I was her world.”

Buffy smiled encouragingly. “It was just the demon. She lost herself.”

Spike shook his head. “I lost her. I did it.”

She sighed. “You meant well.”

“Doesn’t change things.”

“No.” She nodded in agreement. “But I bet she would have forgiven you.”

He snorted. “Yeah. She always thought that I was better than I was.” He smiled sadly.

She reached up and gently cupped his cheek. She waited for his eyes to meet hers before she spoke the words that she knew he needed to hear. “She’d be proud, now. She’d see the man you are now and she would be proud.”

He blinked back his tears and nodded his gratitude if not his agreement. “You’d have like her, my mum.”

“Will you tell me about her?”

Nodding, Spike stood up and reached his hand down to offer her help standing up. He chuckled softly as she stood up and he tucked her hand around his elbow. “Now mind you, she was all proper by the time I came along, but I always caught whispers from the servants.”

“Ooh.” Buffy giggled softly. “And?”

“Seems my mum was an adventurous girl—rode about without her sidesaddle—called my father by his Christian name before the wedding—she may even have been seen licking frosting from her finger while she thought no one was looking.” He winked.

“That is shocking.” She laughed.

“Yeah, she used to send my nurse away all the time. Wanted to take care of me herself. That caused a bit of fuss I guess.”

“Yeah, I think I would have really liked your mom.”

“Thank you.”

Confused, Buffy frowned slightly.

“It’s been weighing on me—that bit—it’s been on me for a long while, but you’re right. I was her world.”

Buffy nodded. She could see that. His mother would have loved the way he did, fully and without fail. She wondered if she could love like that. She was feeling more than tempted to try.

Part Nine

When she returned home shortly after six o’clock, Willow found the vampire and the slayer conferring in intimately hushed tones in the dining room. She couldn’t, at first, determine what surprised her the most. That they seemed closer than she had expected a few days earlier didn’t seem to be a shock after all, but that she’d been able to startle them was. Surely, she thought, the two supernatural-types should have been able to hear her and the girls drive up and stomp into the house. She could tell from their expressions that they hadn’t. She wondered what they had been discussing, whatever it was must have been quite distracting. She was tempted to ask, but doubted that they would tell her. She wondered if she was still Buffy’s best friend.

Even with her mind tumbling through all the mysteries that were Buffy and Spike and herself and Buffy, she noted happily the mostly eaten sandwich on the plate sitting in front of Buffy. She wasn’t sure when she’d last seen the other girl eat. She was sure that Buffy had lost enough weight to go down a cup size at Victoria’s Secret. Not that she thought about Buffy that way, it was just the kind of thing good friends noticed.

“Will!” Buffy blushed as she stood up. “You’re—you’re back already.”

Willow laughed. “Yep, after only ten hours of refereeing fights over sleeping bags and what are apparently the last pair of doc martins in a size 8 in the whole of Sunnydale, we have returned.”

“Ten…Oh!” Buffy stared openly at the clock. “Oh.” She grabbed nervously at her plate and scurried over to the trash to dump the remains. “We—we were just talking about The First. You know, trying to figure out if he—it,” she shrugged before continuing “has any plans.”

Willow nodded. “Oh that reminds me, I was thinking I should check out those symbols, the ones…umm on Spike. They might tell us something.” She turned to look at Spike quizzically.

Holding back the urge to look over at Buffy, he nodded casually and pushed himself up. Spike noted the other questions in Willow’s gaze but figured he wouldn’t have been able to answer them even if he’d wanted to. The quick distance that Buffy had placed between them at the arrival of her friend had certainly not escaped his notice. He told himself that it didn’t matter; she’d already given him more than he’d dared hope for. He’d told her that he’d die for her; it seemed silly to get upset because she didn’t want to snuggle in front of her friends. It seemed silly, but it still hurt. “Should be healed soon. Best do this now.” He reached down and tugged his shirt up over his head. He almost managed to hide his wince of pain. His scuffle with Buffy outside the bathroom had undone a good deal of his earlier healing and probably added another broken rib to the list.

Willow focused on the half-healed scars. He was right, she noticed, they would probably be gone by morning. Already they were simply raised white lines against his vampire pale skin. There were several of them and she tried not to think about how they’d gotten there. She’d seen worse. Hell, she’d done worse, but she didn’t like to think about it.

Buffy’s eyes widened at the sight of his bare chest. The too-large sweatpants that she’d given him rode perilously low on his hips. She looked away quickly, but not quickly enough. It shouldn’t have affected her; she’d seen him before and under far more arousing circumstances. This was about the mission. They were up against something that made all their previous apocalypses look like playground skirmishes. Willow needed to study the symbols that The First had carved into his skin. She needed to look for clues. Buffy argued with herself. He was hurt. She could see fresh bruising on his side. It didn’t matter. The brief glimpse was enough to make her ache.
She balled up her fists. It was all the touching and talking. She’d let down too many walls. She’d opened herself up to wanting him. She gave him a furtive glance. He appeared to be watching Willow. He answered a questioned with a regretful shake of his head. Buffy wasn’t fooled. He knew. She watched his nostrils flare as he inhaled and almost whimpered when he raised a single eyebrow in questioning acknowledgment.

“Umm…” She wrung her hands. “If you’re going to be here for a few minutes, I’ve got a couple of things to do.” She didn’t even wait for Willow’s distracted nod before hurrying upstairs.

Spike watched her leave with a small smile.

Willow grabbed a well-used sketch pad from the counter and jotted down each symbol. “Do you remember if there was any chanting or spell casting when these were made?”

Spike frowned. “No. I don’t think so.” He shrugged. “I was a little distracted.”

Willow’s cheeks grew pink. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“No worries, Red. Wasn’t insulted. It’s just the truth. I don’t remember any chanting, but there could’ve been.”

She nodded before turning her eyes to the dark blue bruise coloring his side. “I don’t—I don’t think I can heal you. You’re not—Earth magics can mend live tissue, I mean all living things are part of the Earth so it’s like it’s healing itself but…”

“I’m not living.”

“Not exactly.” She frowned. “I might be able to help with the pain though. A little spell.”

He shook his head. “Thanks for the offer, but it’s nothing I can’t handle and the magics…well, I’d rather not play with it if I don’t have to.”

“I can understand that.” She was tempted to tease that having Buffy play nurse was probably helping more than she could anyway, but wasn’t sure if it was her place. She hated not knowing her place.

Buffy cleaned up, brushed her teeth, used the bathroom in blissful solitude and gave Dawn a quick call before heading back downstairs.

Anya and the potential slayers had set up camp in front of the television. They had a couple of pizzas and a stack of DVDs. Buffy nodded to Anya, grateful that someone else was seeing to the girls for the time being. Training was important, but she knew the girls also needed to get some rest and a chance to get to know each other. It would make them a stronger team.

A guilty voice in the back of her mind countered that she was shirking her responsibilities to them in order to spend time with Spike. She pushed down that voice with a reminder that Spike was her strongest soldier and that he was important to the mission.

She followed the sound of Willow’s voice back into the dining room. Spike’s shirt was back on. She gave a quick sigh of relief and avoided meeting his eyes. “So do those symbols mean anything to you?”

Willow shook her head. “No, not yet. I’ll get on the research wagon tonight.”

Buffy nodded. “Good.” She watched her friend anxiously for a moment and wondered how much she knew. Had Willow heard what Spike had been saying to her when she’d walked in to the dining room earlier? Had she noticed that she had had her hand resting on his arm? Hell, Buffy acknowledged to herself, for all I know Willow can read minds now. She sighed before noticing that the other girl was about to leave. “Oh! Will, I think we may have figured out the trigger.”

Willow turned to her, surprised.

“It was the song. I think—” She gave Spike a quick questioning glance. “I think we figured out why the song was working and so it won’t work anymore. I think he’s…de-triggered. I mean we’ll have to be careful for awhile until we can test it, but I’m thinking no more trigger.”

“That’s great! How did you…” She stopped herself mid-sentence. Buffy had clearly avoided giving any details. Willow figured that she would do best if she waited until she and Buffy were alone to ask for more information. “That’s great.”

The two women shared a quiet smile. Both wanted to say so much more to the other. Both got lost in the memories of times when they would have.

“We still have to be careful.” Spike’s voice interrupted their reverie. “We can’t be too sure yet.”

Buffy nodded.

“So you’re still on vamp-sitting duty.” Willow pointed out, trying to hold back her grin. She wasn’t sure it was a good idea, but she was growing increasingly sure that Buffy had feelings for Spike and found her current excuse to spend time with him more than a little entertaining.

“Yeah.” Buffy flushed. “I mean we can’t be too safe, so…umm…I’ll be downstairs tonight.”

Willow nodded before looking up to catch Spike’s eyes. “Be careful.”


Spike followed Buffy down to the basement and watched her pace with an amused expression. He knew that seeing Willow had flustered her. He tried not to think about how much it would hurt if she took back all the things she had said that day.

She paused when she noticed him watching her and reached up to check her hair anxiously. “What?”

“You’re beautiful.” He said it quietly but in a determined tone.

He’d caught her by surprise and she gasped softly before giving him a shy smile. “Not too hard on the eyes yourself, mister.”

“Yeah, you want me.” He teased gently before swallowing hard. He couldn’t read her expression and suspected that she had a dozen thoughts running through her head.

“I do.” She trembled as she watched the effect her words had on him but didn’t step closer.

He froze, waiting for the other shoe to drop. “But?” He asked quietly.

She glanced up the stairs to the unlocked door. “I don’t…” She shrugged and whispered. “What if I can’t do it?”

“Can’t…” Confused, his brows came together for a moment. Just as quickly, he paled. “Because of what I did. Because if I touch you—”

Buffy shook her head. “I don’t mean that.” She stepped towards him, once, twice. “I mean this.” She gestured back and forth between them. “Us. What if I just can’t do a relationship? What if I drive you away too?”

He stood up and quickly closed the distance between them. His hand cupped her cheek. “I’m not going anywhere, pet.”

“But—”

“You can’t get rid of me.” He grinned. “Haven’t you figured that out yet?” He leaned in and touched his forehead to hers.

Buffy shook. It was happening too fast. She hadn’t figured it all out yet. Her arms lifted up to slid around his neck, but she couldn’t meet his eyes. The Slayer couldn’t admit fear, but maybe the girl still could. “I’m scared.” Her words were barely a whisper.

The breath he’d been holding came out as a hoarse chuckle. “Yeah, me too. Bloody terrified.”

She couldn’t help it. She laughed softly and looked up at him. “The timing is awful. I mean, with everything that’s going on—we should be focused on the mission—we don’t have—”

“And when this is done there’ll be something else.”
Buffy frowned. She wished that she could believe otherwise, but he was right. There was always something. There would always be a reason to put it off. And maybe that was just one more reason that they shouldn’t even try. She sighed.

Spike ran his hands up and down her arms to slow her shivering. “And I’ll still be here. I can wait, Buffy. If that’s—I can wait, but I could make you happy. If you’d let me.” He cupped her face in his palms. He had to make his case, one more time. She was listening this time. It could be different. He had to try. He loved her too much to hold it in. “I know I’m not much, I know that you deserve so much better, but…I’m yours, Buffy. Body, soul, whatever else there is to me—it’s yours and I—I could make you happy. I’d do anything to make you happy.”

He saw tears in her eyes, but no answer. He couldn’t wait. Spike pressed his lips to hers for a tentative kiss.

It was the hesitation in his kiss that did it. Always before, Buffy thought, his kisses had been demanding. She’d felt like he wanted to consume her. Always he’d been grasping so desperately for her love, taking more than she could give. But this was different. He was different and she was. She pressed more deeply into the kiss for a moment before pulling away. “You’re a good man. I know you don’t see it yet, but I do.” She nodded. “I do.” Buffy made up her mind. She stepped away and reaching down to pull his hand into hers, led him over to the cot they’d shared the night before. “Maybe we could both get a little happy.”

Last Time: “You’re a good man. I know you don’t see it yet, but I do.” She nodded. “I do.” Buffy made up her mind. She stepped away and reaching down to pull his hand into hers, led him over to the cot they’d shared the night before. “Maybe we could both get a little happy.”




Spike reached for her as he sat on the edge of the bed, but she pulled back and shook her head. She was smiling playfully, but he still felt a touch of panic. He was too close to having everything he’d ever dreamt of not to be worried about losing it. “Buffy?”

“Lie down. You’re supposed to be resting so that your ribs can heal.” She laughed at the horror her words brought to his face and then bent down to give him a light kiss. “I’m not going anywhere. I just don’t want to hurt you.”

“I don’t mind.”

“I do.” She rolled her eyes as she sat down next to him and gave his shoulder a light push. “Now lie down and let me take care of you.”

Spike lay back on the cot and stared up at her in open-mouthed shock.

She giggled. “Speechless? Who’d have ever thought that was possible? I—”

Gripping her shoulders tightly, he pulled her mouth down to his for a kiss that had her trembling with need in seconds. She moaned softly and clutched at the blankets. When she felt him start to sit up, she pulled away. Her breath came in quick pants. “You.” She pointed at him. “Stay down.”

He took in her flushed cheeks and glazed-over eyes and smirked. “Bit late for that, love.”

Rolling her eyes, Buffy moved to straddle his thighs and pin him to the mattress. She whispered in his ear. “I still have the rope, Spike. If I have to tie you down to keep you from hurting yourself, I will.”

Spike couldn’t hold back the shiver that ran through his body at her words. He’d rather be the seducer. He wanted to demonstrate all the ways he could touch her, just how hard he could make her come. He wanted to see the surprise on her face when she realized just how well he knew her body.

She slid her hands beneath the hem of his t-shirt and he decided that her way could work just fine.

Buffy pushed his shirt up his chest slowly. Slow, she had decided, would be just the thing. “This—is a really ugly shirt.” She smiled.

“Yeah? Seem to recall that you’re the one that told me to put it on.”

“Mmmm.” She nodded. “And now I want to take it off you.” She watched his Adam ’s apple bob as he swallowed hard. “For medical purposes, of course.” He raised his arms up and she pulled the shirt up over his head. “Got to give you a full check-up.” Tossing the shirt to the floor, she leaned back and titled her head to study him for a moment. She bit her lip. He was a beautiful man; his current injuries couldn’t really detract from his over-all effect on her.

She was startled a moment later by Spike’s insistent tugging on her own shirt. She took it off quickly and let him pull her down on top of him.

He kissed her hard and fast. “Let’s play naughty nurse some other time, yeah?” He kneaded the muscles on her back for a second before unhooking the strap of her bra. When she sat up to pull it off he caught hold of her waist and waited until she made eye contact. “Just be with me. Please, just be here with me.”

He spent decades building a façade. All he’d thought he wanted was a little pride, a touch of the dignity that he’d been denied as a human. But for her he’d beg. He’d done it before and would do so again, though he knew that she would never know how hard it was. He knew that she just thought it was who he was, that he was weak, perhaps. But it was only who he was for her. He’d worshiped Dru. He’d spent a lifetime trying to earn her full attention, but he’d never begged. Not really. He’d never laid himself bare and let her rip up his heart. Only Buffy got to do that. He hoped she wouldn’t do it again.

Her eyes glistened. He was right, she was distancing herself. The game made it easier to pretend that what was happening wasn’t a big deal. He deserved more. She nodded. “I am—here, I am.” She watched him for a moment. He didn’t bother to hide the awe in his eyes, but his brow was furrowed and he looked more than a little lost. She could tell he was trying to figure out what to say. Feeling just as helpless in that arena, Buffy decided that action would have to suffice. Grasping his hands, she guided them up to cup her breasts and was greatly relieved when he took over.

Spike rubbed his thumbs across her nipples and smirked with masculine pride at the gasps he drew.

Buffy suspected that they should be taking their time; she’d made a fuss earlier about how it would have to be different this time. She just couldn’t wait anymore. She ached for him in a way she’d only thought possible in over-the-top romance novels. She only pulled away for a second to tug off the last of her clothes, but she saw the momentary fear flash in Spike’s eyes and knew that he was still waiting for her to turn and run. She cupped his face between her hands. “I’m here, Spike.” She shrugged. “William?” A part of her thought that his given name seemed more fitting for the moment but she didn’t know if he liked it. Smiling, she admitted softly. “I don’t know what to call you. You’re different-with your soul-you’re different, but you’re still…”

“Either. Whichever you like-it’s fine.”

“I like both.” She gave him a smile as she said it, hoping he would understand that she meant she liked all of him.

His heart swelled; it the perfect answer. He hadn’t even thought about it until that moment, but it was true. He needed to hear her say both of his names. He needed her to accept that he wasn’t human, but that his soul always would be. He needed to hear the woman he loved whisper his given name with affection just as much as he needed to hear her shout the moniker he’d claimed in passion.

He trembled. She was naked, gorgeously and wonderfully naked, sitting on his thighs and saying sweet things. Worried that he’d do something wrong or that he’d push too fast, he kept his hands resting gently at her waist, rubbed his thumbs across the soft skin on her stomach and waited for her to make the next move.

She gave him a hard kiss before whispering a confession. “I’m worried that I’ll hurt you. I don’t want to.”

He blew out a quick breath. “The ribs’ll mend, pet.” He shook his head and his eyes pleaded with her not to leave.

Buffy shook her head. “Not your ribs. I mean that too, but—mostly I just don’t want to hurt you anymore.” Her hand came down to touch his chest above his heart as she said “you”. “We’ve had enough of that. I want—I want us to be good to each other. I want to be good to you.” She reached down and rubbed his sweat-pant covered erection with a tender hand. “Will you let me?”

His realization of just exactly what she was asking permission for nearly made him whimper. He could barely think for wanting her, and she was asking if it was okay. He groaned and wondered how she could possibly need to ask, how she could still not understand that he was hers. Smothering her protests with a kiss, he flipped them both over and looked down at her intently. “Always.” His voice was hoarse. “I’ll always want you. I’ll always love you.” He didn’t wait for her to respond. He knew that she couldn’t repeat the words. Shaking with need, he freed himself from his pants and settled between her legs. “Always.” He met her eyes with his before pressing into her with a single long thrust.

“Oh god!” Buffy clutched at his shoulders and gasped in pleasure. “So good.” She gazed up at him in amazement and wondered if it had always been this great. She remembered good, but what she felt at that moment was so much more. It couldn’t have been this good before, she decided. If it had felt like this she wouldn’t have been able to walk away. She whimpered as he pulled out and gasped almost triumphantly when he slid back in. “Yes. Oh Spike.”

The wonder in her eyes was almost too much for him. Spike trembled with the effort to hold himself together and to maintain a slow and steady rhythm. He didn’t want to finish too quickly, but knew he wouldn’t be able to hold out long. His ribs ached and his muscles were still weakened from the days of starvation and torture he’d faced at the hands of The First’s minions, but the greater challenge was pushing back his body’s sheer joy at being home. “Missed you so much. Never thought—never thought I’d get another chance.” He kissed her hard, pushing his tongue into her mouth to mimic the actions of his body. Her moan a pleasure drew out one of his own and he rested his forehead against hers. “Won’t last much longer, pet—want to—oh bloody hell—I want to be here all night, love, but—”

“More nights. Other nights.” She promised breathlessly as she struggled to keep her actions gentle. She could feel him trembling above her and knew that it was only partly caused by lust. She scooted to the side and gave him a light push. “Lie down.” She continued before he could argue, as she was certain his pride would force him to. She kept that pride in mind when she spoke. “I want to ride you senseless. Now. Lie. Down.”

He complied almost instantly.

Buffy grinned in secret triumph as she moved to straddle his hips. She settled herself on top of him and then paused quite suddenly. “Did you need a break?” She bit her lip to keep a straight face as she watched the shock and frustration from her teasing play across his face.

Catching sight of the slight upturn of her lips, Spike caught on to her game and quickly pressed his hips upward, surging in to her warmth without a word.

She gasped softly in surprise and pleasure. “Oh.”

“I’m already all broken, love. You got me all wrapped around your finger- no need to tease.”

She made a show of pouting at that and he loved it, loved seeing her playful side. He’d been sure always that it was there, but she had only rarely shared glimpses of it with him. He moaned and let his head fall back to the pillow as she began to move on top of him. She smiled down at him and he was in heaven.

“You are…you’re amazing, love.”

Her head dropped down to nuzzle the soft spot below his ear and she whispered, “You are.” She kissed him hard, urged on by a possessive voice in her heart that reminded her that he wasn’t just amazing, he was amazingly hers.

With his arms wrapped tightly around her and the feel of her hot skin sliding against him, he came. He shouted her name as he lost himself and his other face pressed forward. Spike moved quickly to pull himself back but wasn’t fast enough to prevent Buffy from nicking her tongue on the sharp point of his fang. He heard her small gasp and paled with disgust. “I’m so sorry, love…I--” He dropped his gaze to bed and avoided her eyes.

Buffy’s brow furrowed as she pulled his face back to hers and pressed her lips to his.

He pulled away again, shock widening his still amber-colored eyes. “You’re bleeding!”

She raised a single eyebrow. “You mind?”

He stared at her, frozen. “I shouldn’t, I--”

“I want you to.” She brought her lips to his and gently coaxed him back into a kiss. She felt the tension in his shoulders as she wrapped her arms around his neck and pushed her tongue into his mouth.

He tried to hold back, to only lightly touch her tongue with his own, but he couldn’t. As soon as he tasted the coppery droplets he moaned deeply and pulled her tongue more fully into his mouth.

She clung to him as he suckled on her tongue. She wasn’t surprised to feel his returning arousal, but was quite stunned by her own. She was certain that she shouldn’t like him feeding off her. She did. It was a minuscule amount, she knew that, but still, in a small but sure way she knew that she was feeding him. She was giving herself to him and it felt natural. She smiled against his lips.

He was still licking at her tongue, though she was sure that the tiny wound had long since stopped bleeding, when she settled herself back onto his erection. Before he could express his surprise, she pressed her tongue against the tip of his fang just enough to draw blood.

He knew then, though he wasn’t sure that she did or even if she ever would, he knew in that moment that she loved him. She had to love him at least a little bit; he decided as a wave of astonishment crashed over him, she would never share herself like she was if she didn’t. He was still in awe several moments later when they both finally found completion together.

He wanted to tell her that he knew. He wanted to tell her as she cuddled up against his side afterward and when she pulled the blanket up to cover their still naked bodies, but they both fell asleep before he found the right words.

“She looks like me.”

The voice broke into the rather pleasant dream Spike had been having, and he awoke with a frown. He blinked blearily at the person standing by the bed. “Wha…” He paled. It was his mother. It wasn’t her. He knew it was The First. He knew almost instantly, but it was also still his mother. He could smell the faint scent of mint that had always clung to her clothes after she’d drank her morning tea. He couldn’t quite hide the shudder that coursed through his body. He sat up slowly, and though he hated to turn away, cast a quick glance to the side to make sure that Buffy was alright. He could hear the slow, even breathing that signaled her sleep, but with The First around he couldn’t really be certain. She was asleep, but he wasn’t really sure if that should be a relief or a concern. Whatever else The First was planning, Spike was certain humiliation would play a part. The jagged remains of his pride pled silently that Buffy would remain asleep and not witness this latest humbling. His more rational side knew he might need her help.

“Surely you’ve noticed the resemblance, William. After all these years you chose a girl who looks like your mother. Should I be touched?”

“You’re not her.” Spike’s voice shook. “You are not…not my mother.” He had to look away. He knew The First did impressive impersonations, but even after being tortured by Dru’s clone and by Buffy’s, he couldn’t help but feel the pull of his mother. She was wearing her favorite dress; it reminded him of taking her out for ices at the park before she had become too ill. She’d always loved sweets.

She laughed. “But of course I am. Look closely sweet William; I still wear the mark of your fangs.”

“I…I’m sorry.” His words were barely more than a whisper.

“For sending me to Hell or for making my life so very torturous that Hell has oft seemed like a fair retreat from it?”

He didn’t respond. He couldn’t. Of course The First would know no matter what assurance he could find his mother, his real mother, had loved him Spike still had to wonder about the true horror of what he had done. She’d had only just risen. He had staked her before she had ever had a chance to feed. But it might not make a difference. She might be in Hell. He might have sent his own mother to Hell.

“I wanted—”

“To save me? To be the big hero?”

She laughed again, the hollow sound dug deep into Spike’s gut. The sound of her voice alone brought pain. Hearing her laugh without the warmth of her soul was heartbreaking. He took a deep breath and struggled to remember she wasn’t there. It didn’t matter. It was just an illusion, but it wasn’t without truth.

She took a step closer. “You will never be the hero, William. You will never be anything more than a pathetic, inept little fool.” She leaned close. “Tell me you can’t hear the pity in her voice when she claims to love you.” Her eyes widened. “Oh. But she doesn’t even pretend, does she?” She grinned triumphantly. “You’re nothing but her whore, a stick to scratch the itch. Oh, indeed, I am so very proud to have raised such a talented whore. Such a sick little boy, I should have put us both out of our misery.”

He yelled then and Buffy awoke to see him repeating the words to himself. “You are not my mother. You are not my mother.” His chin was tucked tightly against his chest, and he clasped his hands together behind his head.

“Spike?” His arms hid his face from her view.

He didn’t respond, so she sat up and put her hand on his arm.

He continued muttering softly.

“Spike, look at me.” Buffy moved slowly, kneeling across his lap. She leaned in, kissed the top of his head and gently pulled his arms down. “What happened?”

Spike shook his head but didn’t look up. “It was nothing—The First—the standard taunt and terror routine. Just caught me by surprise, I’m fine.”

Buffy nodded. “You know, you kinda suck at lying.”

His head came up then, slowly but surely, and he stared at her with a furrowed brow.

“I’m just saying.” She shrugged. “How about you tell me what happened?” She gave him an impish grin, but softened the affect by rubbing her palm along the side of his face and burying her fingers in his hair.

Spike took a deep and wholly unneeded breath. “The First decided it was time I had a visit from Mommie Dearest.”

Buffy cringed. “That must have been—”

“Yeah, about as pleasant as butting heads with a chaos demon.”

“Did she do the song? Try to turn you?”

He shook his head and sighed. “She stuck with the more basic memory lane kick.”

Frowning, Buffy shrugged. “I don’t know what that means, that she didn’t try. Maybe The First knows that it can’t control you anymore or maybe it just wants us to think it can’t. Attacking me in my sleep seems like it would work pretty well though, so…”

“I won’t hurt you.”

“I know, Spike.” She nodded.

“No.” He leaned closer. “I’m saying I don’t think that The First can make me hurt you. Most everyone else probably, but even if it can control me still, I won’t hurt you.”

Buffy looked thoughtful. “Because you love me.”

“That’s a right pretty thought, but I think there’s more to it. The First can take my soul out of the picture; can take me out of the picture, really. So, it’s just the demon left, and he is plenty willing to do The First’s bidding since he wants the same thing. Only…” He sighed. “The demon doesn’t want you dead.”

Buffy looked skeptical, and he knew it was a risk to really talk about anything that went against her black and white view on vampires. Still, it seemed important.

“The demon, my demon, he’s had to deal with the rest of me for over a hundred years. We’re not really separate, not like split personalities on a sit-com. He’s changed me some. I’ve changed him some.”

“You’re losing me. You just said that when The First was in control it was only the demon part, now you’re saying that, what, that’s not possible because you’re all connected?”

Spike shook his head. “No. The First can break the connection, it’s just the demon is used to me, to making…allowances for me.”

“Allowances like me.”

“Right, Yeah. Falling for a slayer went against my nature, or that part of my nature, right, but once it happened—even without the rest of me in the mix the demon will still see you as mine.”

“So you think I might be safe because I’m like…property.”

“No, more like a mate or family probably, maybe just territory.”

He could see that the thought wasn’t thrilling her. He’d brought up the whole thing because it had comforted him. He was relieved. He realized now that she might have preferred not knowing, that the risk of being attacked was possibly less disturbing for her than being seen as a vamp’s territory. He shrugged. “The Niblet might be safe too, though I’d rather not test that.”

Buffy chuckled. “Me either.” She sighed. “I still think it’s you.”

Frowning, he tilted his head questioningly.

“I think you broke The First’s hold yourself, that you’re stronger than—”

Spike scoffed.

“You’re stronger than you think. If you weren’t then The First wouldn’t be so determined to break you.” She leaned in to kiss his lips gently.

“If you say…” He was mostly just changing the subject, but he knew the words were true; if she said he would be strong, then he would be. The First was right; he had a long history of being a screw-up. But he’d never had her trust before. He’d never had so much to lose.

Spike reached out and tugged her closer. “Don’t suppose you want to help take my mind off of the horrible ordeal?” He glanced suggestively at her breasts.

She fought her immediate urge to cover herself and laughed. “We are both awake…and with the no clothes…” She reached down and ran her hand up his stomach. “How are your ribs?”

“Almost as good as new.” He rubbed his nose up the side of her neck, inhaling her scent and stopped to drop a kiss on her pulse point. Even in the dark he could see the faint blue line of racing blood. His mouth watered, but he didn’t think food. He just thought Buffy. When she leaned her head back, he allowed himself the pleasure of a single leisurely lick. He felt the small raised scars that Angel had left there and the accompanying pang of jealousy in his stomach. He wondered if she had ever fed Angel from her tongue like she had done for him earlier, but knew that he would never ask her. He kissed her neck again and pulled away.

“It was only once.”

Spike looked at her with wide eyes and she smiled, wondering if he really thought that she didn’t know what he was thinking while he had been staring at her scar.

“It was more like an emergency thing than…”

His smile was almost shy. “You don’t have to tell me. It’s none of my business.”

Buffy laughed softly and kissed his cheek. “You’re right. It’s not, but I can’t help it when you get all pouty.”

“Oi! I was not pouting.”

She nodded. “Yeah, you were. You were pouting and thinking I played kinky blood games with Angel but, didn’t play them with you.”

“Was not,” He scoffed. “Can tell that bite was no fun, he must have torn you up to leave a mark like that. “He reached up and laid two fingers over the scar. “I wouldn’t have left a scar at all.”

“Spike, I’m not letting you feed from my neck.”

He pushed her away abruptly. “I wasn’t asking to.” He pushed off the bed and walked across the room. “I’ve never asked for that.”

Buffy sat on the edge of the bed and studied his back. He was so pale; he looked almost blue against the inky black of the basement. Her heart hurt. She wrapped the sheet around herself and followed him across the room. Still considering her words, she wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her cheek against his back. He didn’t pull away and the knot in her stomach loosened.

“I trust you. It’s not that.”

He exhaled softly and laid his hand over hers. “I’ve never asked for your blood, Buffy. I’ve messed up plenty of ways, but not that.”

She sighed. “I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry.”

She kissed the ridge of his spine and tried to figure out how she’d gotten here. She had really meant to reassure him when she’d mentioned Angel. She knew Spike was jealous of the other vampire and she had only wanted to ease that some. She still couldn’t tell him what he wanted to hear, what she knew he deserved to hear, and so she couldn’t really level things for him. She couldn’t say that she loved him and not Angel so she thought telling him the rules had been the same for Angel would help. But he was right. He’d never asked for her blood, telling him Angel couldn’t have it either wasn’t meaningful. That she’d never felt like Angel wanted it only made her stance less powerful, because she knew that Spike did. He never asked for it, but he wanted it. She wasn’t sure whether it was just that he was more accepting of his own nature than Angel was or if Spike simply wanted her more than Angel ever had, but she was sure he wanted her blood. He wanted it, but he wanted her too much to risk asking for it.

Spike’s mind raced. She had told him to taste her earlier. He had tried to stay away but she had told him it was okay. She had even reopened the wound to give him more. He’d been so sure she was opening up to him, but now…now she seemed just as closed off and suspicious as ever. He sighed.

Buffy rubbed her cheek against him. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I’m the one thinking about blood.”

He didn’t turn, but he answered. “Why?”

“It didn’t bother me.”

“Feeding Angel?”

She scoffed. “No, that hurt like hell. I meant earlier tonight, with you. I know it’s not the same, but what we did, it didn’t bother me. I thought it would, but it didn’t. I…I liked it.”

He turned slowly. “And that bothers you.” It wasn’t a question.

She shrugged and gave him a sheepish look. “Kinda.”

“So maybe you put that particular little trick away for a bit?” She frowned and he laughed at her clearly mixed feelings about his suggestion. “You’re gonna be the death of me, pet.”

Buffy shook her head. “Nope, that was your last girlfriend.”

The smirk he made at her joke grew into a full smile as he considered it. “Trying to say you’re my girlfriend now?”

Buffy’s mouth opened and shut twice though she didn’t say a word. Her pulse raced as she tried to remember her words. Had she really just called herself his girlfriend?

Spike watched as the blood drained from her face. He hadn’t meant to push; the words had simply slipped out. When she dropped her gaze to the floor he forced a small laugh. “Hey, I was just kidding, pet. I wasn’t—”

She took a deep breath and put her hands on her hips. “Are you trying to say I’m not your girlfriend?” She enjoyed the bewildered look on his face for a moment. “I don’t know what kind of girl you think I am, but I don’t just go around heating up blood and hopping into bed with all the vamps in my basement.”

Her heart was still racing. He could hear it. He knew she wasn’t entirely comfortable with the words yet and he knew she had said them anyway. Spike couldn’t help but beam at her.

He had more hope in his eyes than she had ever seen before. It made her stomach churn. She wanted to jump into his arms and promise to be his for always, just so he would keep smiling at her like he was, but a part of her still wanted to turn heel and run as fast as she could. Returning his smile seemed like a fair compromise, so she did.

When she realized he might just continue to stare at her dazedly all night she laughed and rubbed his arm. “Come back to bed. You’re getting all cold.”

Grinning, Spike quickly scooped her up, sheet and all, and carried her back to the cot. He placed her on the mattress, and dropping down on his hands and knees, pinned her in place. “No worries, love. I know lots of ways to warm up my girl.”

Buffy gasped softly at the way he said it. She was his girl. He was right; she already felt warmer. “Spike.”

“Yeah?”

She laughed. She was the girl of a vampire who answered to the name Spike. It had been a long time since she had been forced to accept the reality of demons and vampires, and the even more unbelievable truth that she was the one person in the whole world chosen to face them. Still, she could remember the girl she had been before that day. She knew if someone had sat her down and told her everything that would happen, that she would save the world, gain a sister that had once been a ball of mystical energy, die, be brought back to life. She knew the slayer dreams had prepared her enough to listen to all that. She would have been skeptical, but open-minded. Sure there would have been some smart mouthing, but she would have dealt. But if anyone had tried to tell Buffy Summers, cheerleader and Homecoming Queen of Hemery High, she would be with a guy named Spike, she would have laughed her ass off. Buffy had dated football players, the kind that came from good families and would go to college for business or law and then settle down with a pretty girl. In her most extreme deviation from the norm, she would have considered a guy who wasn’t really popular, but smart enough to become one of those super-rich computer geniuses or maybe a screen writer. At the very least, she figured she would date a guy like that in college. The more she considered it, the harder she laughed.

Spike watched her with an increasing feeling of unease. At first hearing her laugh had been a pleasure. He thought it meant she was happy and that he might have played a part in that happiness was more than he would have asked for a few days earlier. But when she didn’t stop, he got worried. He knew she was under a lot of pressure, and he would never forget the day she had tried to escape into her own head while they ran from Glory. He really hoped he wouldn’t have to smack her again. “Buffy? Pet?”

“Spike. Your name is Spike.”

He frowned. “Right…that’s right. Do you know your name?”

She giggled harder. “No, I mean your name is actually Spike, like a dog or a cartoon pirate. Spike.” She watched as his eyes widened in shock and felt a little guilty. She wrestled a hand free to wipe the tears from her cheek and set her lips sternly. Her shoulders continued quaked, but she tried to look apologetic.

“Cartoon…bloody hell.” He glared down at her. “Your name is Buffy. You’re barely bigger than a bread box, and you run around saving the world with your super powers. Your name is Buffy, and I’m the bloody joke here?”

She snorted in a not entirely girlish manner and pushed herself into a sitting position. “Buffy is a perfectly good name. It’s the name my mother gave me.”

“Yeah, well, all things considered, I’m right sure my mum is thrilled I haven’t been using the name she gave me to wreak havoc all this time.”

She tried to hold back. Thinking about her mother and his should have been enough to bring her down, but it wasn’t. She felt too good. Laughing again, she leaned over and kissed his mouth. She watched the stream of emotions run across his face and her own expression grew more awed. The excess energy that had led to her giggles slid away. She felt calm. Her voice was almost breathless. “You’re…” She reached over and stroked the side of his face tentatively.

Spike forced himself to hold still. She was looking at him like she’d never seen him before. She was looking at him like he was something to be treasured. He wanted to declare his undying love and devotion, but he knew better. Buffy could be spooked all too easily. He watched as she shoved the tangled sheet aside and kneeled in front of him. Her gaze drifted about as though she was studying him, and he had to push down his nerves. He wanted her to see him, but he wasn’t sure he could withstand the scrutiny. He put on a good show, all bluster and bravado, but he knew he wasn’t really her type. She liked her men tall, dark and brooding, and though his recently restored soul had put a bit of a damper on his spirits, Spike knew that he was none of those things. He knew that he could make her want him, no doubts there, but he didn’t really know what she thought when she looked at him. He wondered if she would like him better if he were taller.

Buffy traced his cheekbone with the pad of her thumb and brushed the soft curls just above his ear. She remembered an assignment she had once had for an art class she had hoped would be an easy A. The teacher had told them to do a study on contrasts. She couldn’t remember what she finally handed in but, she was sure it had been something obvious, and she had pulled it together at the last moment. Smiling, she thought she should have handed in Spike; he was all sharp angles covered with soft skin. He was all contrast and contradiction. Buffy wondered whether her teacher would have appreciated her creativity or simply thought she was trying to get out of doing her work. She ran a finger down the bridge of his nose and traced his lips. She loved the shape of his lips.

When she reached up to touch his eyebrow, Spike couldn’t hold back his questions anymore. “Do you wish I looked differently, more…” He couldn’t believe he was asking. He’d spent a century pushing aside William’s insecurities, but it seemed the new soul brought more than William’s conscience to the forefront.

Buffy placed two fingers on his mouth and shook her head. “You are,” she paused to give him a wry grin, “ridiculously hot.”

He smiled and ducked his head. “Sure, but I—”

She took a deep breath and wondered at her own dark of night boldness. “You give me weak knees. Just looking at you gives me weak knees.”

He kissed her hungrily and pressed her back down against the pillow. “Say you’re my girl.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck. “I am.”

He slid his hand down her side, felt the soft skin of her hips and groaned at the pleasure. “Say you’re my girl.” He pushed his knee between hers and settled himself between her thighs. “Please.”

Reeling at the force of her arousal, Buffy nodded and whispered. “I’m your girl.”

Spike squeezed her hip and pressed his erection against her. “Again.”

“I’m really not big on the talking. Oh!” She gasped and arched up to push against him.

His lips brushed her ear. “Say that you’re my girl. My gorgeous, amazing girl, just say that you’re mine.”

She felt the tip of his tongue tracing the top of her ear and moaned. When he started dropping tiny chaste kisses along her collarbone she tried to flip them both over so that she could be on top. She met resistance. It wasn’t that she couldn’t do it; he was strong, but she was stronger. He simply held tight enough to make it clear that he didn’t want her too. Buffy knew that a year earlier it wouldn’t have mattered to her what he wanted. She would have forced the issue; she would have had to take control. This time she could back down; she could let Spike take the lead. The thought was both discomforting and highly sexy. She decided to focus her energy on the latter.

Spike felt her fingers squeezing his shoulders and knew she was probably leaving bruises. He didn’t mind. He’d never minded a little roughness. He wanted her to forget herself, to forget all the rules she tried to live by. For just a few moments, now and again, he wanted to be the one that could make her forget everything. Not in an ‘I want to escape the world’ kind of way, just in that ‘I can get lost in your eyes and your cock feels heavenly’ kind of way. Spike figured everyone wanted to be that for someone. He considered his ability to admit it more a sign of honesty than weakness; though he knew a lot of people would disagree. When she tried to flip them, he pressed them both down against the mattress. He knew that she would try to rush things. She had never really let him take his time. When she didn’t immediately try again he smiled and brought his mouth back up beside her ear. “Gotta worship my girl properly. Gonna kiss every inch of you, love.” He felt shivers run through her body at his words and grinned. She hadn’t been teasing, Buffy didn’t talk much, but he knew she liked it when he did. “Should I start here?” He cupped her breast gently and rubbed his palm against her already hardened nipple. He dropped down to place his mouth there instead. “So pretty.”

Buffy let her head drop back and tried to surrender to the pleasure of his kisses and caresses. He left no part of her ignored. His lips brushed across her breasts, down her stomach, and over to the inside of her elbow. He’d bragged more than once during their previous relations that he knew exactly how to make her body purr. She’d never been willing to admit he was right, but she’d never really denied it either. She always figured that some lies were too big to even sell yourself. He used his blunt teeth to nip at her hip bone, sending her into a series of nearly climactic quakes, and she promised herself that she would find a way to tell him that no one in the history of the world had ever been as good at this stuff as he was. She also decided that she’d had enough of the opening act. “Spike. Please.” She reached down and guided his body back up and over hers. “Now.” Her hips arched towards his.

Spike moaned. The mixture of begging and bossing in her tone made his already hard cock ache. He rubbed himself against her. “What? This?” He almost laughed when she groaned in response. “Tell me what my girl wants.”

She dragged her hands down his back and grabbed his hips. The frustration made her shake and she wondered why he always had to try and make her talk. She was trying to let him lead; she had fought back the impulse to take over and ride him until they both lost consciousness, had let him march out his parade of never-ending foreplay tricks designed to make her whimper in a decidedly unslayer-like fashion. But enough was enough, she wasn’t going beg. “Want you. Please. Fuck! Spike, please.” Or maybe she was.



He cupped the back of her head and met her gaze with his own. “I love you, pet.” He moved himself into position and stopped. He trembled from the effort, but he held himself just outside of her warmth. “Now, tell me you’re my girl.” His voice shook, but his eyes stayed on hers.

“I’m your girl, Spike. I’m your girl.” She kissed him hard as he finally pushed in and had to hold back tears when she finally realized why he was so determined to make her talk. “I’m your girl.”

Spike woke first, which no longer surprised him. He tried to remember when he’d started sleeping at night. It was damned unnatural for a vampire, but he figured it was normal for him.



He’d always loved breaking the rules. Something in him had shifted the night he’d been turned, when he realized he was finally free. He’d been determined not to let anything hold him back again. He’d pissed Angelus off countless times by inciting mobs or attracting the attention of older, more powerful vampires. Spike had loved it. He’d loved being his own man. He’d loved Drusilla too, for what she’d given him, if not for her unique grasp on reality. He’d thought that she had made him a man. He’d only recently realized that it didn’t work like that. No one could make someone else a man, good or bad. Buffy could inspire him; she could give him inhuman strength by simply believing in him, but he would still have to do the work himself. People talk about someone being a self-made man; Spike knew that was really the only kind of man.



Buffy woke to find him watching her with a distant expression, just looking at him made her stomach warm. The bruises on his face were almost completely gone. She smiled shyly. “Hey.”



“Morning, love.”



She slid her hand around his neck and pulled him down for a kiss. “You should have woken me up. We could have been…” She rubbed against him suggestively.



He groaned; the sound came from deep in his throat like a growl. He felt the bones in his face start to shift and pulled away. His control was not what it should have been. He could hear her heart pumping blood through her veins and hated that it made his mouth water.



Buffy frowned. “Spike?”



“They bled me for a week and then all the healing--”



“You’re hurt. Spike, I—”



“That’s not—you smell like breakfast. Normally wouldn’t be an issue, but—” He looked away, embarrassed.



“You’re hungry. We can fix that. There’s plenty of blood in the fridge.” She kissed his cheek, pushed off the bed and started gathering her clothes.



He watched her for a moment, surprised by her casual reaction. She was a mystery to him, but he knew he’d be glad to spend a lifetime trying to figure her out. “I love you.”



Buffy finished pulling her shirt on, walked over to the bed and leaned down to kiss him gently. “Get dressed. I’ll go stick your breakfast in the microwave.” She spoke gently, not responding to his words exactly, but not ignoring them either.



Spike dressed in the same cast-offs he’d worn the day before and followed her up the stairs. Once again, they had the house to themselves. He wondered how that happened, but didn’t ask. Leaning against the counter by the microwave, he noticed Buffy was also pulling out breakfast for herself and he was glad. He saw her eying a carton of milk with a suspicious glare. When she reached for the cap, he stopped her. “Sorry love, that’s turned. Best use the new one.”



She laughed as she placed the milk in the sink and reached for the unopened jug. “So many unexpected around-the-house uses for a vampire.”



They settled down at the table in companionable silence. Spike drank two full mugs before he started to feel more like himself again.



Buffy waited until he finished the second mug. “More?”



He shook his head. “I’m better.”



“I shouldn’t have left you there.”



He frowned. “You came when you could. I saw the monster he sent to keep you busy.”



“No, before that. When I found you—when you first came back-I knew you needed help, but…”



“I know I don’t deserve your help, Buffy. You had every reason to want me gone.”



“I was happy, when I saw you that first time, I was relieved—I was also scared and in the middle of trying to save a bunch of high school kids from ghosts that didn’t know they weren’t supposed to be corporeal, but my first thought was, you were back, and I was glad.” She sighed. “I thought I was dreaming, but just looking at you hurt and—and then when I knew about your soul, I should have…” She squared her shoulders and looked up at him with wet eyes. “I should have brought you here, figured out what was going on. If I had, maybe The First wouldn’t have been able to get to you. Maybe those people would still be alive.”



“That is not on you, Buffy.”



“Isn’t it? I’m the Slayer, Spike; crazy vampires are my responsibility. You were talking to invisible people and sleeping on the Hellmouth, and I didn’t do anything about it because looking at you made me uncomfortable. Everyone thinks that I let my—our past—affect my decisions, and they’re right. I wouldn’t have left anyone else there.”



“You can’t know that my being here would have made a difference. Could be The First was hoping you’d bring me here so I could hurt you or the Nibblet. You did your best, like you always do.”



“Wasn’t good enough.”



“Hey-you look at me.” He waited for her to meet his gaze before continuing in a quiet and serious tone. “You’ve got too much on your plate to be adding anything else. You leave the blame and the guilt for those of us who’ve earned it. You’ve got to stay focused. The First wants you to be distracted. That’s how it can beat you. You stay here, in the present, and you get the job done. That’s what you do, Buffy. It’s what you always do.”



“I need help.”



“You’ve got it.”



She smiled at him gently. “I know.”



Spike watched her study the tabletop, wondering what she wasn’t saying and why she wasn’t saying it. “What is it?”



Buffy squared her shoulders before speaking in a determined voice. “You’re a distraction.”



His brow furrowed. It wasn’t the answer he was expecting. He opened his mouth to argue, but she started again before he had the chance.



“You’re a distraction—this thing between us—Giles is going to say it’s a distraction, and he’s going to be right. You are the best help I have. I mean it should be Willow, but she can’t be and so it’s you, only now…”



“I’m a distraction.”



She nodded solemnly.



He tipped his head to the side as he considered her words. “You want me to leave?”



She answered with a shake of her head. “No. Or yes. Both. For the wrong reasons.”



“You lost me a bend or two back.”



“I need you in this with me. I need you to be my best fighter, but it’s what I want too. I want you here.” She shrugged and smiled slightly. “Kind of like lookin’ at you.” She didn’t pull away when he reached for her hand. “And I want to send you away. I don’t want to risk you. I don’t want to let The First have another chance to take you out of yourself. I don’t know if I’m ready for this. It would be easier if you left.”



Spike had been waiting for her to pull away or to push him away since she’d first dragged him out of the cave, so he wasn’t surprised by her words. They still hurt. “Buffy, I…”



“Will you help me train the girls? Most of them have never even seen a vampire. I need them to have an idea of what they are up against.”



“I thought you wanted—that it would be easier if I left.”



“Would you leave? Not just hide out on the other side of town, but actually leave?”



Spike frowned. He wasn’t sure what the right answer was, which answer would please her, so he went with the truth. “No. I’ll give you space if you want, but I’m in this too. The First wants to hurt me and mine. I can’t just leave.”



“Help me train the girls?”



His frown deepened. “You’re only letting me stay because I won’t leave.”



Buffy gave Spike the smile that he still wasn’t used to seeing directed towards himself. Warring emotions made the blood in his stomach settle uneasily, and the long-forgotten memory of vomiting from nerves before an important exam came to the forefront of his mind.



Leaning closer, Buffy kissed the corner of his scowling mouth. “No. I want you to stay because I know you wouldn’t leave.”



He followed her into the living room a few moments later and shrugged when she asked what he wanted to watch. Spike figured he had passed another one of the tests she’d said she wouldn’t give him.

Buffy just wasn’t designed for relaxing. She’d spent the whole day before watching television and chatting with Spike. She’d even had two decent nights of sleep in a row. She suspected it was telling that a night with Spike interrupted by The First was still better than most nights without him, though she wasn’t quite ready to accept all the ramifications of that thought. The point was she was all rested up. What she needed was some action, not ubervamp action, but a couple of good honest slays to warm up and stretch her muscles. She wondered if Willow would hang with Spike that evening so that she could patrol. Giles would be back as well, but she couldn’t really see asking him to Spike sit. Thoughts of her Watcher and his inevitable disapproval made her anxious. As usual, she pushed those feelings into a little ball and buried them.



Spike watched Buffy shift her feet for the third time since the last commercial break and smiled. He knew she wasn’t one for sitting still. “Feelin’ a bit restless, love?”



“What? No. I’m fine.”



He looked skeptical. “Buffy?”



She gave him a sheepish grin. “Sorry. It’s not—I mean this is nice.” Buffy gestured back and forth between them and pressed her shoulder more firmly against his side. She wasn’t lying; being able to simply sit comfortably resting against Spike was an unexpected pleasure. Still, she was the Slayer. Action was in her blood. “I guess I’m a little antsy.”



Spike laughed. “I could do with a touch of violence myself.”



Her grin became a frown. She didn’t like his phrasing. She didn’t want violence. Did she? She just wanted to slay…to protect. It was her duty. Another reading of his words had her paling slightly. He wasn’t suggesting he was ready to patrol, was he? “You’re still healing. You can’t—j”



“I’m a vampire—may not be a hundred percent just yet, but I’m ready for a little rough and tumble. I get restless, same as you, pet.” He grinned at her disapproving frown because he knew it meant she was actually worried about him. The thought made his stomach warm and his eyes sting from the threat of tears. Buffy was worried about him. It bolstered his courage, and he pressed forward. “Come on. I’m just sayin’ we could both do with a bit of sparring—get the kinks out.”



“Kinks—wait you mean each other?”



“You got another sparring partner around here I don’t know about?” He played it up like a jealous lover. It was only partly an act.



“I don’t know, Spike.”



He pushed himself up from the couch and held out his hand to help her up. “I do.”



Letting him pull her up, Buffy glanced uneasily around the living room. “I really don’t want to break all the furniture and we can’t go outside for hours, maybe—”



“Basement. Plenty of room, once we move a few things out of the way.”



She wanted to argue more, to point out that she could hurt him and that he should be resting. She couldn’t, not while he was bouncing from foot to foot and grinning like a little boy on his way to the circus. She sighed and nodded.



They made quick work of clearing a space in the basement. It wasn’t difficult since Buffy had thrown away almost all of the basement’s contents after the previous year’s flood. She gave her surroundings a final survey to check for things she wouldn’t want damaged and didn’t find any. The floor was hard and she wished that she had mats for it like she’d had in her training space at the Magic Box. There was nothing she could do about it now. She looked up at Spike. “Anything I should try to avoid? How are your ribs doing?”



He laughed. “Nice try, love. I’m not gonna just spell out my weak spots for you.”



The first few blows and blocks were slow and tentative as they both fought to push past the nerves brought on by what both thought should be a comfortable exercise between them. The truth, they were both realizing, was that this was yet again new territory for them. They’d fought more times than either could remember. They were well matched; Buffy was stronger, but Spike was trickier and just as quick. They had fought while trying to kill each other and later without any real intent past the venting of anger but, despite Spike’s claim that dancing was all they had ever done, they had never simply sparred. Or at least, they’d never called it that.



Still, if anyone could really be her training partner, Buffy knew it was Spike. Finding her focus, she began to move a little faster, to attack with a touch more intent. She returned Spike’s grin as he followed suit.



A half an hour later she wore a light sheen of sweat and a bright smile. She pivoted to avoid Spike’s kick and giggled when he hit the ground. Her amusement distracted her from the quick swing of his arm around her knees. Her mouth made an ‘O’ of surprise as her ass met with the cold cement of the basement floor.



“Jerk.”



Spike smirked in response and leaned in to surprise her with a quick kiss before jumping to his feet. He offered her his arm but wasn’t surprised that she didn’t take it. The match was still on. His gut clenched with a mixture of lust and admiration as he watched her leap up. He’d spent a century fighting, paired off against countless warriors, and he’d never seen anyone move like she did. He’d felt it immediately. The first time he’d watched her he known that she wasn’t just a slayer; she was The Slayer. Capital T. Capital S. She was legend. He’d always considered fighting her an honor. It was also hot. He wanted to blame that on his demon. Surely getting off on fighting should be a demon trait, only he suspected it was William who got turned on by a strong woman.



As sorry as he was for all the harm he’d done since his turning, he couldn’t help but think it had been a good thing for William. His sad Victorian former self would likely have died from consumption while still a tightly wound virgin. He wondered if he’d be strong enough to do the right thing if he was ever given the choice to take it all back. Knowing that he’d never meet Buffy, could he choose to have never been turned? The stirring of his cock suggested that he was a selfish bastard and that he should be glad such a choice was unlikely to ever be given to him. Still, Spike wanted to believe that he’d do it. Surely, he’d do nearly anything to take back the hurt he’d brought her.



Buffy could tell he was distracted, and she wasn’t above taking advantage. She faked to the right before coming at him head on and tackling him to the floor. Careful so as not to slam his head against the concrete, she took him down hard and climbed on top of him. Flourishing an imaginary stake, she teased “And another vamp bites the dust.”



He bucked his hips, knocking her off, and pounced before she had a chance to get up. “Sorry love, looks like I’ll be biting something other than dust after all.” He kissed her neck chastely before pressing her hands to the floor. “Admit defeat, Slayer.”



She nearly laughed at his dramatic tone. “Not a chance.” Using a little more strength than she considered strictly fair given the playful tone of their sparring, she shoved him off and bolted up the stairs. The plan was simple. She would hide just out of sight behind the doorjamb in the living room and take him down as he came prowling by.



Only Spike took longer than she expected, so she came out of hiding to find him and ended up being the one on the floor.



“Bested again, pet. Say it!”



“No.” She was struggling half-heartedly when Xander ran out of the kitchen and slammed a cast iron pan down on Spike’s head.



Shivers ran through Xander’s body. He’d always known that Spike was a monster, he’d never been able to really trust him, but he’d still been shocked by the scene he’d walked in on. After all she’d done for him Xander thought, Spike had attacked Buffy again. He was raising his arms to get in a second swing with the pan when Buffy knocked him across the room.



“What the hell are you doing?”



Xander blinked confusedly. Buffy was cradling Spike’s head against her chest and glaring at him as though he was the demon. What was she thinking? “He was attacking you!”



Their yelling drew the crowd that had gone to collect Giles from the airport inside. Willow surveyed the scene with wide eyes.



“He wouldn’t do that.” Buffy yelled, turning to glare at the man who considered himself her best friend.



Xander used a chair to pull himself up. “He did do that, Buffy. He tried to rape you. Am I the only one here who remembers that?”



Buffy’s eyes went ice cold. “Get the hell out of my house.”



“Buffy!” Xander didn’t bother to hide the shock and hurt from his face.



“Now.” Speaking her final word on the subject, Buffy shot a warning glare in Willow’s direction then turned her attention back to Spike. She spoke quietly. “Are you okay?”



Spike nodded dazedly. “No worries. I’ve got a hard head. Take more than the boy’s got to crack it.” He could feel her shaking, knew Buffy was barely containing her rage, and he wondered where the hell it had come from. He let her push around his hair and check for blood for a few seconds before gently pulling her hands down. “I’m fine, love.”



“May I ask what the bloody hell is going on around here?” Giles didn’t need to speak loudly to command attention.



Three heads immediately turned to look in his direction.



His expression of disapproval was too much for Buffy. She stood up angrily. “Xander attacked Spike with a pot—from behind.”



Giles’ confusion grew. He shot a glance toward Willow and knew that she was nearly as confused as he was.



Spike accepted Buffy’s hand up. “It was an accident. The boy thought I was hurtin’ The Slayer.”



“And what, pray tell, gave him that impression?” Giles narrowed his eyes in suspicion.



Buffy stepped between her lover and her Watcher in an unconscious protective move. She was still shaking with anger. She couldn’t believe Xander’s stupidity. He hadn’t even taken a second before he’d just assumed the worst. Now she saw the same assumption working its way through Giles’ mind. She saw red. She was The Slayer. She was supposed to be the one in charge, and she’d been letting them make the decisions for far too long. “We were sparring, training, and if any of you would put your judgments and ignorance aside for even a moment you would see that.” If they’d just look, she thought, they would see that Spike was different, that he was incredible.



Willow’s brow furrowed. “I’m sure Xander wasn’t—”



“Wasn’t just watching, hoping that Spike would screw up so that he could be right—so he could rush in and be the hero? I’m sick of it!” The camel’s back was well and truly broken and the whole bale of hay was falling about her feet. Every thought, hurt, frustration she had been holding in wanted out. The Slayer was the one with the power, but only if she kept it. Being The Slayer might well mean that she would have a short and violent life, but it was still her life. She had a duty to protect the world from the forces of darkness not to do whatever her friends thought was best. All of them were so ready to judge her: to tell her what she was doing wrong, what she should think, whom she should love. Them! Like they were perfect! They’d pulled her from heaven and thought that she should be happy to be their puppet. “I want you all out of my house.”



Spike looked just as surprised as Willow and Giles. He placed a tentative hand on her shoulder. “It was just an accident, love.”



She turned to him and shook her head. “No. It wasn’t.” Without another word, Buffy stalked out of the kitchen.


Giles gave his slayer fifteen minutes alone before he followed her upstairs and knocked on her bedroom door. She didn’t answer, but he hadn’t expected her to. He cautiously opened the door. “I’d like to have a word with you.”



She was turned away, but he could tell she was crying. The shaking of her too thin shoulders brought a searing pain to his gut. He wanted to be frustrated with her, to remind her of her duty to protect the potential slayers and the world, but, as always, he was torn. The Council had been archaic, sexist, and cruel. Still, they hadn’t exactly been wrong when they’d warned that he needed to maintain an appropriate emotional distance in order to do his job. All too quickly he’d come to love his charge. Buffy was the daughter he’d never had and most days he was glad of it. She’d brought far more than professional success into his life. She brought light and love; she’d given him a family. It was more than he’d ever expected, more than he thought he deserved. He knew that loving her brought pain too. Far too many times Giles had to ask the one person who mattered most to him, the girl whose tears burned his soul, to take on suffering and responsibility he’d have not wished upon an enemy. No one should have to ask so much of their daughter. He knew that having to do so, having to make the choices that no one should have to make, had twisted him. He’d wanted her to stay light and righteous; it meant that he’d had to take on the darkness. The Slayer couldn’t kill a human, couldn’t take an innocent life, but a Watcher could and did. A Watcher did what he had to do and silently thanked whatever powers may be that he was not The Slayer.



He placed his hand gently on her shoulder. “Buffy, I cannot imagine the pressure you must be feeling. I do not know what has happened to build this trench between you and Xander, though I can well guess that it is Spike at the center, and I know that too much is demanded of you. If you truly wish, I will find another location to house the girls, and we shall do our best to keep them safe.” His shoulders stooped as he decided upon his next words. They were harsh, manipulative even, but true. “We will fail. Fair or not, you are the only hope they have.”



“It’s not Spike’s fault. We were just sparring.”



Giles sighed heavily. “And Xander misread the situation. He was obtuse perhaps, but you know that his intentions were not—he was concerned that your feelings had blinded you to the risks that having Spike here presents. I cannot say that I disagree.”



“He’s different now, Giles. He has his soul.”



“Yes, and that’s very well, but—”



“No, Giles!” Buffy stood up and looked at him intently. “He chose to have his soul. He fought for it. How can you just brush that aside?”



Giles rose wearily. He wanted to remind her that The First still had plans for Spike, that even unwittingly, he was a danger, but he found himself telling her the deeper truth. “I want more for you. Your feelings for him—you deserve more than this.”



Buffy’s eyes widened as she watched him remove his glasses. She recognized the movement for what it was--Giles’ method of looking away when things became uncomfortably emotional. She’d never told him that it didn’t work. If anything, his removing his glasses only made the emotions in his eyes easier to see. This time the concern she saw there helped her regain her temper. “You think I’m settling.”



“In a word: yes. I am sure that you find Spike’s…persistence quite comforting.” He left unspoken the reason she would be so susceptible to such charms. He knew she had lost far too many people.



She surprised them both by chuckling softly. “You’re right. I do. I absolutely like knowing that he isn’t going anywhere.”



“Understandable, especially given the circumstances, but hardly enough, you deserve…”



“What Giles? What are you expecting for me? A nice guy with a nine to five job and a mom who criticizes my cooking? I’m The Slayer. I don’t get normal. I get friends who are sometimes demons or who try to destroy the world and full custody of a teenage girl that didn’t exist three years ago. I don’t get to settle, Giles. This—with Spike—it’s not about settling. It’s—Spike get this, me—what I am, what I do. Spike is a part of this.”



“Yes. Spike is a vampire. You are a vampire slayer.” Giles watched Buffy roll her eyes before continuing. “We have been down this road before. It leads to pain, Buffy. I don’t want that for you.”



“Spike isn’t Angel.”



“No, he’s not. Angel saw the damage your relationship was causing and left. Spike lacks such a—”



“Spike trusts me and my judgment. He’s here because I want him here. My decision.” She knew that none of her friends could really understand how important that was to her. When Angel left it had nearly destroyed her. Not only because she missed him, though she had, but because his leaving had colored everything they’d ever had. He’d treated her like a child; he’d done what he’d thought was best for her regardless of her desires. Buffy didn’t doubt that he believed it was for the best or even that he loved her. She just wondered if he had ever really considered her a partner. She realized that Tara would have understood that and she missed her as much in that moment as she had since she’d died.



Giles shook his head sadly. “Perhaps, but the consequences will not be yours to suffer alone.”



Blinking to hold back tears, she raised her gaze up to meet his. “So I shouldn’t have love? I should stay alone forever so that none of you have to deal with my choices?”



“Buffy, no. That is not—”



Buffy stopped him abruptly with a hand in the air and an intent expression. Her head turned slightly to the side and she listened carefully for the noise she’d heard. She relaxed after a second and shook her head. “Come in, Spike.” Her tone was a mixture of annoyance and amusement.



Spike entered with a sheepish expression. “I wasn’t tryin’ to sneak. I just wanted to make sure you were all right and thought it best to let you and Rupert finish up your talk first.”



Raising an eyebrow, Buffy took a moment to enjoy his squirming. “Well that’s good. I mean if you were actually trying to sneak, I’d have to tell you that you suck at it.”



“Oi! I told you I wasn’t. I was just waiting my turn.”



She shrugged. “You might as well come in, I’m sure there are no secrets around here anyway. Giles was just telling me that dating vampires is a bad idea.”



Spike nodded. “Well that’s true.” He turned towards Giles. “Of course you should probably have had that talk back in beginning. You know-Sorry, love. You’re the new slayer. This here’s a stake-you’ll want to stick it in the vampires. Oh yes, while we’re talkin’ about stickin’ it-you must remember to avoid shagging the vampires no matter how handsome and charming they are. Vampires are bad and Slayers aren’t meant to have any fun.” He smirked. “After all, Rupes, once they go vamp they never go back.”



“Spike.” Buffy glared at him for a second. “Not helping.”



Giles pursed his lips as he once again tried to determine the appeal Spike held for Buffy. Spike reminded him of the delinquents he’d chummed around with as a teenager, only without the excuse of youth and ignorance. “It doesn’t matter. You have clearly already made your decision.”



Buffy nodded. “I have.”



The Watcher gave her a sad little nod before heading towards the door. “Very well.”



“Anyone who can accept my choice, or at least accept that it is my choice to make, is welcome to stay here and help me—us—protect the girls.”



Giles paused in the doorway. “Thank you.” He walked out without looking back at them.



Buffy sighed as she dropped down on her bed. “You really didn’t help there.”



“Rupert just rubs me the wrong way.” He sat down beside her. “Come on then. No offer to rub me the right way?”



Buffy considered trying to explain to Spike that he needed to try to get along with the others. His dirty jokes and dark humor gave off the wrong impression, made people think that he didn’t take his past seriously or that he wasn’t haunted by what he’d done and who he’d been. Only she knew that was exactly why he did it. It had taken her a long time to see it, but she knew now that the whole Spike persona was a cover, always had been. It was a good cover, she figured that he even believed it most of the time, but it was still just a cover. Once upon a time she’d been surprised when Spike behaved in a sensitive or chivalrous manner, she knew now that those had been glimpses at the truth. Spike was, at heart, a gentleman, and he was determined not to let anyone know it. She supposed too, that he had his reasons. So, she knew that she couldn’t ask him to make himself any more vulnerable in front her friends. He’d already changed far more than anyone could be expected to change. He deserved whatever protection his cover provided. It was her friends’ turn to change.



She shifted to the side and rested against him. It was nearly dark, but her earlier inclination to go patrolling had worn off. Now, she just felt tired. Her bed felt deliciously comfortable beneath her and she decided on the spot that she and Spike were done sleeping on the crappy cot in the basement. It was her house, she had a perfectly lovely bed with high thread count sheets and a three season down alternative comforter and, she would share that bed and those coverings with whomever she chose. Her eyes narrowed as she considered her bedroom window. She would need to cover it with something, but that didn’t seem too hard. “We need to find something to cover the window.”



It took Spike a moment to process her words. He followed her gaze across the room. “This window?” He tried to keep the question casual to hide his surprise.



She nodded.



“Oh.” He wanted her to say the words. If she was actually inviting him into her bed, he wanted to hear her say it. A part of him felt silly for wanting it so badly; she had already said that she was his girl, she’d let him make love to her twice the night before, and she had just kicked her best friend out because she thought he’d hurt him. He still wanted it. Being in her room was different. This was her real life, her regular human girl space; it was a world away from secret trysts in his crypt.



“It’s more comfortable if that’s okay with you.”



The word okay was so far from the elation he was feeling that Spike nearly laughed. He gave her a quick nod instead. “Sure, pet. Whatever you like.”



Buffy was about to tell him that she wanted to know what he’d like too when she heard a rustle of bags and stomping feet in the hallway. Scowling, she turned toward the door as her sister rushed in. “Dawn, this really isn’t the best—”



“We went to the mall with Anya.” She held up two full looking shopping bags and grinned.



Buffy took a deep breath and reminded herself that when you shoplifted you didn’t get bags and so whatever trouble her sister had gotten into it had to be a step up from the previous year’s drama. “And how did you afford this venture?”



“Oh. We put it on Anya’s credit card. She says you can pay her back…with interest.”



“Dawn—” Buffy’s irritation was erased as her sister dumped the contents of the first bag on the bed beside them.



“A couple of the girls thought it would be fun to get like a suit or a tweed jacket, but I thought it was best to stick with the classics.”



Buffy surveyed the small sea of black clothing on her bed and blinked back tears. Dawn had brought home a package of men’s black t-shirts in size small, two pairs of men’s black jeans, several pairs of black socks and a black leather belt. “Dawn.”



“Ooh! And…” Dawn rummaged through the other bag for a moment before triumphantly pulling out a black leather wristband with silver studs. “Look. We went to Hot Topic.” She held the bracelet out towards Spike. “I figure its stylish and a deadly weapon. Cool, huh?”



Spike’s hand nearly shook as he accepted the unexpected gift. “Very cool, niblet. It’s all…umm…”



“Thank you.” Buffy stood up and pulled her sister into a quick hug. “You did good, Dawnie.”



Dawn blushed slightly as she shrugged. “No biggie.”



Spike snorted. “No biggie for you maybe. Me, I’ll consider getting into a pair of jeans plenty big.” He gave her a shy smile, which broadened dramatically when she returned it. “Thanks, love.”



Dawn bounced anxiously on her toes for a couple of moments before walking over to him. “I still promise to burn you if you hurt my sister.”



“Give you the matches myself.” He opened his arms in quiet invitation and only waited a second before they were filled with the little girl he thought was growing up far too quickly.