"Is this dirt and mud or is it flesh and blood?
When I reach my hands in, I don't know where I end ...
Are these roots and leaves, or is this a part of me?
When I reach my hands in, I feel life absorbing.
This will all make sense in the morning ...
Oh, it's a little strange.
It'll all make sense,
It'll all make sense in the morning."
- Halou, "It Will All Make Sense In The Morning"

* * *


"Slayer."

His voice sent a tingle down her spine & stopped her in her tracks as she sank into that delicious shudder which announced his presence as surely as his words. He took advantage of her stillness, coming up behind her to snake his arm around her waist, pulling her flat against him so that they stood back to chest, his cool breath tickling her ear. For a moment she let herself forget all the reasons this was wrong; her eyes fluttering closed as she breathed in the familiar leather-nicotine scent of him, her body softening in his embrace as her heat spread through him, her heartbeat echoing in his chest. And then it was over, the familiar cold rushing through her body as she pushed away from him, her mouth hardening as she spun around and spat out his name.

"Spike."

A ghost of a smirk was ready on his face, a familiar sight which set her instantly at ease despite the tension that flowed between them. She could handle his sarcasm, it was his eyes though, that disturbed her the most; a stormy blue that bored right through her, peeling away her masks and leaving her an exposed & tingling nerve with no recourse. She forced her own eyes to meet him, her breath catching momentarily in her throat as she realized that her brief moment of indulgence had not gone unnoticed.

I can’t do this any more.

Panic skittered through her, followed by another ephemeral emotion that sank swiftly down into her cavernous insides, leaving her with only the pervading bitterness that dogged her every step.

I shouldn't be here.

"You shouldn't be here, Spike."

"Last I checked it was a public cemetery, pet." He tilted his head slightly, his gaze warming as it swept over her body, causing her own skin to flush in response. He paused for a moment when he reached her eyes again and she could almost taste the pleased thrill that ran through him as he absorbed what her body, traitorous thing, was telling him. "Besides, I didn't think there was anything remarkable about me wanting to pay a visit to my girl."

"I'm not your girl." The bitterness rose against her throat and she suddenly felt as brittle and thin as rice paper, "You threw me out."

Spike's shoulders slumped slightly, a familiar defeated look, resigned already as they slipped back into their roles, "I was a right git then, pet." He moved towards her again, his hand coming up to rest lightly on her arms, his cool flesh burning through the cotton of her clothing, infusing the patches beneath with a discordant warmth and light. She could have cried at the feeling of it as her mind willed that light to spread, even as it rejected the fact that it came from a dead man.

He was talking again, his words washing over her like a storm, as she stood within his embrace. But she was already far and away again, retreating into herself, her mind picking through memories and feelings that were wrapped in cotton and soft like gauze. Here and there a word, a scent, an image danced behind her eyes, distracting with their muted brightness. All the while the warmth burned brightly beneath his hands, lulling her further and further into the kaleidoscopic white of her memories, his voice wrapping her deeper into the spell until she thought she just might find that last little spark of Buffy Summers before the dive off that tower.


Deeper and deeper she spiraled before suddenly it all stopped. Silence reigned and she felt herself speeding away, her eyes blinking slowly as she focused on his face, the dark worry now so visible in his eyes. Slowly, she raised one hand to his face, the rough skin abrading her fingers as she sighed softly.


“Buffy.” His voice was ragged as he tightened his grip, pulling her flush against him so that she could feel the hardness of him through their clothing, her breasts tightening against his chest as her breathing quickened. The force of his grip bruised but she barely noticed as he lowered his mouth to hers in an open mouthed kiss which sent her spiraling down through the darkness again before … And there it was: the explosion of heat and light that his touch had only promised.


Yes.

It hurt where he touched her. A deliciously sharp pain that made her mewl in pleasure as they lowered themselves to the grass, his coat spread out beneath them as his hands coasted over her skin. She could her him muttering her name like a mantra against her skin, the pressure in her chest expanding as she ran her hands through his hair, his mouth closing over a darkened nipple as she cried out again and bucked beneath him. Somehow her hands found his zipper and with a shiver and a sigh he was inside her. She could feel him kissing her neck, his lips teasing the point that pulsed and throbbed as she clutched him tighter, pulled him in deeper and felt the warmth in her belly expand until it was almost too much to bear.


With a sharp cry she turned them so she was on top now, her movements slowed from the frenetic coupling of before to something more languid and sweet. Gently, this isn’t right, she bent down to kiss him, the edges of her hair framing his face, their eyes wide open, the intensity in his eyes wrenching from her a gasp and a sigh even as his hands slipped beneath her skirt to bring her to climax again. She could feel him getting closer beneath her as well and she squeezed him beneath her until his eyes rolled back in his head. Without warning he was on top of her again, his face buried in the crook of her neck as they came, her body stretched and taut beneath him as the words she didn’t want to hear began to seep in through the fog.


“I love you, Buffy. I love you so bloody much.”


No. She tried to push him away but his hands caught hers as his mouth came down to steal one more kiss, the words whispered against her lips as he looked at her in wonder and she suddenly found herself falling backwards again too quickly to panic or stop it as the hard, glass thing inside of her cracked and for a beautiful, blinding moment she felt.


I can’t.

"She comes back to tell me she's gone.
As if I didn't know that,
As if I didn't know my own bed,
As if I'd never noticed,
The way she brushed her hair from her forehead.
And she said losing love,
Is like a window in your heart.
Everybody sees you're blown apart,
Everybody sees the wind blow."
- Paul Simon, "Graceland"

It had been too easy to slip back into the heavy thrum of her daily life and ignore what had happened in the cemetery. She had avoided seeing Spike since that night when something in her had split and hot tears had begun to roll down her face to splash on his hands. He'd held her then while his hands, it always goes back to them, had rubbed small soothing circles across her shoulder blades and his voice had begun a soft crooning of comfort in her ear. She'd let him hold her for a long while even after the tears had stopped, taking the selfish comfort which he unflinchingly offered her even as she began shutting down and moving far away from him.

A moment of weakness.

She'd never have let him say the words to her again otherwise. She never would have remained in what she suspected he deemed silent acceptance as he pressed another kiss to her lips, her mouth parting in a suspiciously sweet gasp to take him in one more time before reality came rushing back in a deafening echo and the beauty faded from the night. Her body had gone limp as a rag doll before hardening into angles as she pushed him off her roughly, the memory of who she was supposed to be shuttering her gaze from his as she turned and ran off down the street before she forgot again.

What I'm not any more.

So she endeavored to forget him instead. And it was easy during the day, when she could slip into the rotting sticky cotton candy sugariness of the life her friends had made for her where there was no need to think or feel or be in any real way. She only had to trust in their guidance and her feet would move accordingly down that graying placid road to where another grave awaited her. It was as close to oblivion as she could get here on earth, an unceasing extension of nothingness that would whittle down the years into starkness. There was only death that way and she embraced it willingly.

Safe as houses.

Yes, she was safe then. Listening to her friends laugh and joke as if nothing had changed, watching Willow spiral deeper into darkness as she spent her nights strung out in a psychedelic whirl and her days pale and drawn in the shadows, and then there was Dawn. Dawn. The only one who suspected that not everything was right, that looked past the half-hearted smiles and job search and frozen pizza dinners to sense the emptiness that lurked within her. And shouldn’t she know? She was the Eve to her Adam, a shining glowing piece of Buffy which stomped and pouted and slammed doors in an emotional teenage rollercoaster that Buffy could no longer relate to.

For her sake Buffy tried. She suggested movie nights and window shopping trips that should have re-forged the bonds of sisterly closeness but which only served to thicken the wall between them. She tried anyway, ignoring the flat look in Dawn’s eyes when she insisted they stay in that night and “hang”. She chose instead to focus on the moments when the teenager let her guard down long enough to rest her head against Buffy’s shoulder for her sister to stroke her hair as she’d done when she was still small enough to really believe Buffy was a hero.

But they both knew better now.

Heroes didn’t come back from the dead just to go on living as if they were still six feet under. They didn’t neglect their responsibilities or let their little sister befriend vampires and live with out of control witches. They didn’t lie with every smile or sleep with aforementioned vampires in order to feel anything that was real in a world that felt stuffed with gauze. Heroes didn’t forget who they where and what their purpose was. And, most importantly, heroes knew how to love. No, she wasn’t anybody’s hero any more.

I came back wrong.

If only they could see.

But still it was easier during the day; when she could pretend that she was well beyond temptation, secure in her bubblegum plastic world. Nightfall was inevitable however and she was aware of it now as she had never been before, her entire body flushing in anticipation until finally the sun dipped below the horizon. She’d leave without a second thought; more than ready to hunt, to kill, to complete the one task that she knew she could still excel at. Her ferocity frightened her yet her desires, which seeped sluggishly through her veins, so much darker now than she ever wanted to admit even to herself, scared her more.

* * *

She could almost pretend everything was alright as she spun, kicked, punched, tore into the Lilliad demon who had wandered into her path. The light of the full moon turning his pasty face into a luminescent beacon which transfixed her as she shoved her hands through its rib cage and removed what passed for its heart. It fell to the ground with a strange gurgling noise and then went still and silent. The calm stretched out around her as she stood over her kill, eyes still glued to the demon’s face which was now slack-jawed in the throes of death. Before she knew what she was doing she found herself lying belly down in the wet grass beside the demon, her body trying to mimic the tranquility of the body alongside her.

The ground was cool beneath her flesh. Tentatively, she stretched out one hand to tough the congealing flesh but pulled it back at the sight of the demon’s blood on her palm. Wiping it on the grass she tucked it under her cheek as if to hide the tool of her adversary’s demise from the uncaring sky. She counted her breaths. Tried to slow her heart beat. Imagined for a moment that she could feel her body sinking back into the earth where she had come from. But when her eyes re-opened and her gaze focused she was still there, the bright moon beaming down on her, the buzz of crickets in the back ground, and a back inky wave rolling through her as she pushed herself up from the ground and away from the scene of her crime.

She shivered uncontrollably, her teeth practically chattering as her feet fumbled and pushed her on a mad weave through the cemetery. All around her darkness closed in on the edge of her vision and for a moment the world tilted wildly to the side before righting itself and leaving her deposited in front of the familiar mausoleum. He was home, she could sense him.

This is wrong.

Her disclaimer ran on loop in her mind and for a moment she considered leaving before her tilt-a-whirl returned and tumbled her through the front door with a bang and into his arms. She didn’t give him a chance to speak before her mouth found his hungrily, hands tearing at his clothes as she threw herself at him wildly in a search for something indefatigable, that strange new spark that seemed to flare inside her at his every touch.

There.

He whispered her name against her mouth and she felt the dark sluggish thing inside her retreat beneath the flame.

Spike.

"Well, I could sleep forever,
But it's of her I dream.
If I could sleep forever,
I could forget about everything"
- The Dandy Warhols, "Sleep"

The memory came to her while she slept; a pale, pathetic little thing dusty with disuse and half-forgotten like everything else before the fall. But as it nestled between the half images of her dreams it began to grow in size and color, tempting her subconscious until she reached out and fell in.

* * *

I am sixteen going onto seventeen …

The inane song circled through her head, belying the blatantly obvious seriousness of their situation. Despite her attempts to control it her mind had its own agenda and refused to cooperate, just like her body couldn’t stop shivering or her heart from burning so brightly that she was surprised it didn’t immediately go up in flames and turn her into a pillar of cinder. They had come so close tonight to losing each other forever. As the realization washed over her, she felt her chest tighten as pain mixed in with the exuberance of her love and tears filled her throat as she pressed closer to him, “You almost went away today.”

“We both did.”

She shivered at the sound of his voice. Even bedraggled and in full on retreat mode he retained the power to set her skin on fire just by speaking. It was almost too much to bear, his nearness painful yet as necessary as breathing. She couldn’t stop the sob when it finally released itself on the syllables of his name, “Angel. I feel like I lost you.”

Panic began to claw at her as the truth of her words echoed back in the silent room, “You’re right, though. We can’t be sure of anything.”

He made a small comforting sound in the back of his throat, his hands cool on her skin as he tried to soothe her with his touch, “Sh. I …”

She turned abruptly to face him, their faces inches apart as her eyes searched his, so dark and mysterious, a stark contrast to the open need and fear that she knew must be reflected in hers. She needed to hear him say it, there was no comfort to be found elsewhere, “You what?”

“I love you.” Her heart stopped as her universe narrowed down to those three little words, “I try not to, but I can’t stop.”
Her heart began to beat again, it’s thumping so loud she was sure they could hear it all the way back at the factory, “Me, me, too. I can’t either.”

She didn’t know who had begun kissing whom first. It wasn’t important though, everything vital had already been gone over and all the reassurance she needed could be found in his embrace. A frisson of pleasure ran through her as she deepened their kiss, her pulse a staccato drumming as their interaction shifted instinctively to the next level.

Unexpectedly, he broke the kiss and she barely pushed back her moan of discontent as he rested his forehead against hers, “Buffy, maybe we shouldn’t.”

“Don’t.” Her voice was harsh and she softened it immediately, “Just kiss me.”

And then there wasn’t a need for more words. What was speech compared to the lingering touches and deepening kisses which seared the certainty of their love into her brain? Beneath him her skin hummed and sang for more, drowning beneath a wave of tenderness as gently, oh god, he entered her. She gasped as he began to move, her body instinctively fitting with his as she learned the rhythm of his movements, her breath coming hard and fast against his shoulder as she whispered her love into his skin. It didn’t matter whether he heard her or not. He knew it already.

How could he not?

A glow washed over her at the thought and she was sure beyond belief that she was the luckiest girl in the entire world; that tonight would be the beginning of all her happiness.

A moan tore from her throat as she felt her her climax approaching, a sweet building that started in her belly before spreading throughout her body. She pulled at him, wanting to look into his eyes when it happened, to finally see the love reflected there that he guarded so closely. But when she glanced up at him his eyes were no longer brown but a stormy blue so deep that it took her breath away and pushed her over the edge.

* * *

“Buffy, love, wake up. You’re dreaming.”

Her eyes fluttered open, hazel meeting blue. She frowned at him, an unfamiliar feeling licking its way across her skin as she stared.

“Are you all right, pet?”

His voice sparked her back into reality and she exhaled the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. The feeling, though, did not go away, “I’m fine, Spike.”

She tasted the lie before the words left her mouth. Hurriedly, she pulled away from him and began gathering her clothes, studiously avoiding looking at him as she dressed. She could feel him watching her though, his gaze traveling slowly over her body as if she were a particularly difficult puzzle to be solved. Fully dressed she turned and pressed her lips to his in an abrupt goodbye kiss which left them both surprised.

“Buffy …”

She ignored the question in his voice as she ascended to the second level of the crypt. Even in the harsh light of day the ember burning inside her stomach refused to vanish and despite its warmth she wrapped her arms around herself and shivered. She had been cold for so long that she no longer knew what to make of the heat.

When she got home she could hear Willow retching in the bathroom.

Despite her promises she’d been back to Rack’s.

Looks like I’m not the only one with a problem.

It was only as she crawled beneath the cool sheets, grateful that it was a Saturday and she could sleep in, that she realized that there was a huge difference between their situations. Her involvement with Spike wasn’t going to get anyone hurt. Willow’s affair already had.

Strange Fruit Part Four

"I haven't felt this way I feel,
Since many a year ago.
But in those years and the lifetimes past,
I did not deal with the road.
And I did not deal with you, I know.
Tho the love has always been.
So I search to find an answer there,
So I can truly win.
Every hour of fear I spend,
My body tries to cry,
Living through each empty night,
A deadly calm inside."
- Fleetwood Mac, "Storms"

* * *

I never want this to end.

It was not a realization she wanted to have. Particularly not when she lay naked beneath her vampire lover whose mouth was doing all kinds of wonderful things to her nether regions which caused her to thrash about like a wild thing on the soft grass. At times like this, she didn’t want to be thinking at all. Which had sort of been the point when she’d started this thing with Spike in the first place. She got the sex, with all its illusions of intimacy and very definite mind blowing pleasure, and he got …

Nothing.

The small part of Buffy that could still feel shame flared to life. She ignored it.

But she couldn’t ignore him as he pressed his mouth to hers; letting her taste her own juices on her tongue as he began to work himself inside her. He whispered her name reverently and she shuddered, her eyes closing tightly as she focused on the feel of him sliding softly in and out of her. He no longer told her he loved her, not since that one night in the park last month when she’d broken. He didn’t need to though, she could feel it every sweep of his tongue across her fevered flesh, in the rough way he gripped her to him, in the kisses that made her wish she didn’t have to breathe any more so that they would never have to stop. Actions, she knew, spoke louder than words.

It made her long for something she knew was out of her reach now. Something she was certain she shouldn’t want anyway.

He twisted inside her suddenly, shifting their angle as he bent downwards to tease her breasts, wrenching a moan from her as his hand went between them to push her over into oblivion. He didn’t wait long to follow.

“Someday, love, we’re going to start and finish this in a bed.” The intimacy of the moment struck her abruptly, keeping her still as he rose up on his elbows to smile down at her and one hand cupped her face softly. Already, he was semi-hard within her, his hips making slow half-thrusts as he bent down to kiss her.

Too late.

“Spike.” He paused above her, his eyes looking into hers questioningly, once again rendering her speechless at the expression on his features. She swallowed and the protest died in her throat before it had even really started. She kissed him instead.

She knew that her preference for Spike’s company only confirmed the kernel of doubt that plagued her mind. She was different now and not in the good way she’d always hoped she’d be; she was more demon than human these days. After all, why else would she prefer to whittle away the hours in his company?

Because he doesn’t treat me like I have horns growing out of my head. Or like I’m a problem to be fixed as soon as possible.

“What’s wrong with me, Spike?”

The blond vampire sighed and rolled off of her, pulling her with him so that they lay facing each other, “Aside from your ability to interrupt a perfectly good shag, I can’t say that there’s much wrong with you, pet.”

She sighed, the silence of the night folding around them as they lay underneath the moon. She spread her hand on his chest, her fingers exploring his cool flesh, marveling as he took in air he didn’t need so that it rose and fell steadily. She could feel him watching her expectantly, his eyes half hooded as he contemplated her. In effort to avoid him she pressed a kiss to his chest before placing her head against it as if listening to the heart beat she knew she wouldn’t find there.

“What did I come back as, Spike?”

She heard him draw in a breath, “Does it matter, Slayer? You’re still you where it counts.”

“Am I?” She sat up abruptly, suddenly flush with anger as her hand now dug into his flesh so that his breath exited in a hiss of pain, “Why am I here with you then, Spike? Why aren’t I patrolling or bronzing or hanging out with my sister?”

“I can’t rightly answer that, love.”

The softness of the endearment deflated her and for a moment she just felt numb, drifting on an empty sea, before once again the despair, thick and sluggish, returned to fill her up. Her grip softened but her grabbed it before she could pull away from him, pressing a kiss to her palm and then each of her fingers in turn, “Nothing feels real to me anymore. I try and I try to fit in again, but it’s like the pieces won’t go together any more. Everything seems so far away and I can’t feel the way I’m supposed to about anything except …”

She stopped on a long sob. Her teeth chattering against the truth she swallowed, “Why am I choosing to stay here in the shadows with you instead of in the day with my friends?”

“Maybe because here in the shadows is where you belong now, love.”

“No …” Panic flared inside her at his words and she jerked free.

Clothes. I need clothes.

He reached out for her but she pushed him away roughly, anger mixing with the panic as she scrambled into her clothing. He was angry too now, she could feel it radiating from him in waves as he shrugged into his shirt and duster, “Running away from me, pet? Too bad I didn’t know that the secret to getting you out of my hair was to fuck you or I might have tried it way back when.”

She swallowed back the lump in her throat, ignoring the regret that threaded through her at the ruined evening. She began walking away from him.

“What is it that Angel told me? Oh yeah, I remember now, to kill this girl you have to love her first.”

She took off in a run.

His bitter laugh echoing behind her in the night.

* * *

It was near dawn when he slipped in through her bedroom window. She could feel him watching her even as she refused to turn and face him. Dimly, she was aware of his apology spilling forth in a bubbling brook of words which she let pass around and through her into nothingness.

It wasn’t until he touched her arm that she broke the silence, her voice harsh in the darkness, “Go away, Spike. I have to work in the morning.”

He didn’t even attempt to hide his derisiveness as he settled on the bed, “You’re worried about that sorry excuse for a job? You shouldn’t be working there, Slayer. You’re better than that.”

Not anymore.

“I need the money, Spike. It’s not like mortgage payments and food grows on trees.”

“Oh.” There was a long pause and she imagined she could feel him carefully considering his words, weighing all the pros and cons before finally saying, “I have money.”

“Good for you.”

“I could give you some.”

And there it was: the help she’d been craving for the past few months offered not by her friends or her Watcher or even, long shot as it was, her father. Only this monster, my lover, extended a hand while everyone else looked away. She could feel the bitterness rising in her, the unrelenting anger at being brought back into a like fraught with problems that she’d barely had time to process before they’d been dumped onto her shoulders and she’d been left to fix them. In that moment she hated Spike for being what everyone else couldn’t, for acting so much like the kind of man who could be by her side while all the while he wasn’t, “I can’t take your money, Spike. Everything you touch is tainted.”

Just like me.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Slayer. It’s completely legitimate –“

She cut him off with a shove, “Get out of here, Spike. Just leave me alone.”

She could hear him muttering under his breath as he moved back to the window, “I don’t know why I even bloody try anymore.”

I don’t either.

"If I were a mocking bird,
would you chain me in view of the endless sky world?
From the window wind reaches,
desperate, through the cage bars, to seize me.
And I'd die in your arms, but not your heart,
if it please you.
Fire flies and so do I.
I fly high to hide in flight.
Why, I delight in blue sky it's almost like dying ...
If I were a mocking bird,
I'd give you feathers, and my very own blood,
and other treasures,
which you keep on your dresser at night,
in corner darkness,
by the candle that you never light,
though it be moonless."
- the Megan Slankard band, "Mockingbird"

* * *

He’d always known that dancing with this Slayer was going to be akin to playing with fire; he was certain to get burned. That’s not to say he didn’t think he’d lose if it ever came down to it. He hadn’t taken down two Slayers before her just too fall before this tiny slip of a girl. No, he’d been sure that he’d be her last dance partner and just as sure that he wouldn’t walk away from her death unscathed. In some respects, he’d been right. In others, painfully wrong.

Loving her had side swiped him.

It had been a gradual thing, surprisingly serene considering the turbulent nature of their relationship. It had been years percolating, settling around him like a fine mist until finally it covered him completely and he had to face it with a jolt. He hadn’t loved her willingly. Not at first, when he was as disgusted with her for bewitching him and himself for falling so hard. It wasn’t until later, when the initial shock faded away that he realized loving her wasn’t the worst thing he could do. Besides that it was a challenge. He’d always thrived on those.

Halfway through his campaign though he’d suddenly remembered what it was like to want to be a man. It was unfortunate that he was as terrible at it now as he’d been the first time around. The impossible had quickly also become insurmountable. Her death had changed all that.

Changed her.

Honed her like a blade so that she shone sharp and deadly in the starlight. She scared the others; they made no secret of that. He watched, the predator in him cultivating patience, as one by one they abandoned her; chased off by her long silences, the stilted responses, the faraway look in her eyes. They scampered like the prey they were back to their bright sunshine lives, unable to stomach the creature they had created.

Fools.

They left him free to love her.

He’d jumped in with both feet, been pleasantly surprised when she took the initiative that first night, had his heart broken when she walked away. It didn’t deter him. She was his girl. His Buffy. His Slayer. He would be whatever she needed him to be, make any sacrifice, if it could alleviate the pain that lurked in her eyes. But for all he loved her, he couldn’t fix what was wrong. Bitterness clung to her skin like an acrid perfume and he knew there was a very good chance that she would destroy them both before it was over.

There were times though when she softened, when she loved him in such a deliciously tender way that he felt happiness as he never had in the last century of living. They were cherished, stolen moments; little more than the flicker of a smile, the sounds of his name from her lips, the touch of her hands against his face. Best of all though was the look she would get in her eyes from time to time, when the coldness leaked from her body the shutters lifted from her eyes and he could see that she loved him.

Didn’t mean much though. She had forgotten long ago what it meant to love in that way, if she had ever had time to learn in the first place. It wasn’t worth holding against her anyhow, not when that secret knowledge was his to keep. He would even keep it from her.

And now, he was paying the price he always knew he’d pay for it someday.

He’d known right away that something was wrong. There had been the same desperate horrible look on her face as the first night she’d come back and she’d vibrated with barely suppressed violence. It had been folly to attract her attention, not worth the trouble of the stupid quip that he’d only half finished before she looked at him and he saw his own death written clearly on the face of the woman he loved. His last thought, before the beating began, was that his death at her hands would at least have an element of poetry to it.

She’d been screaming from the start, spewing vitriol at them both as she descended; actions complementing words as she attacked. His heart broke when the words changed to the incoherent keen of a wounded animal, an endless haunting sound that he never wanted to hear again. Briefly, he’d considered trying to stop her, knowing that killing him would destroy something inside of her, but a roundhouse kick to the throat left him incapable of speech and more than a little grateful that his head had managed to stay attached.

He let her hit him, though he could have stopped it he hadn’t the energy anymore to fight against the force that was her. One by one the punches rained down like nails to break his flesh. At some point he hit the ground and she was on him like the furies, pinning his arms to his side as she continued her assault. He couldn’t stop her now if he wanted too. Dimly, he was aware of the smell of blood and realized it was his.

Doesn’t matter.

And it didn’t. His girl needed him; he only ever lived for his girl.

The pain stopped abruptly and through the fog he was aware of her flinging herself off of him. He could hear her voice now, thick with tears, as she sobbed out her regrets. He managed a gurgle in response, felt her hands on his face and her tears in his mouth.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god, Spike. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I can’t do it any more I can’t. Please say you forgive me, please …”

Stupid girl. Didn’t she know that there was nothing he wouldn’t do for her? No crime too great for her to be absolved in his eyes? He’d forgiven her before the first blow even fell.

The silence stretched think between them and he let himself drift on the edge of consciousness, sure that she would see him safe before sunrise. He almost missed it when she whispered, “I love you. “

Buffy. My Buffy.

"Well some say life will beat you down,
Break your heart, steal your crown.
So I've started out, for God knows where
I guess I'll know when I get there
I'm learning to fly, around the clouds,
But what goes up must come down
I'm learning to fly, but I ain't got wings
Coming down is the hardest thing."
- Tom Petty, "Learning to Fly"

* * *

"So are you going to tell me what set you off on me this time or are we just going to act like it never happened?"

Buffy flinched at his question, her hands buried in her sleeves as she sat next to him on her back porch. All around them the night was still, the scent of dew and clean air mixing with the bitter tang of Spike's cigarettes. The tone of his voice was soft, his touch softer, as he closed the gap between them. Guilt flared brightly in her and she tasted sourness as her mind wandered back to that scene in the alley, her palms pressing tightly against her eyes.

She still couldn't look at him; couldn't bear to see the damage that she had wrought upon his face. The sharp cheekbones, the sapphire eyes, the alluring softness of his mouth were all marred now, a sick parody of bruises and small tears that had yet to heal. Tears burned behind her eyes but she swallowed them back, determined to get through the encounter without dissolving into sobs.

"Don't you get it? Don't you see? You came back wrong."*

"You were right."

Amy laughed, a jittery hard sound as she turned towards Willow, her eyes bright at the look of horror on both faces, "Congratulations, Wills, you've made your very own Frankenstein's monster."

Shame had spread through her then, slick and oily with fear and anger. She could hear Willow's muttered 'oh god', a pathetic tinny sound, as she backed away from the Slayer. The witch looked sick, babbling incoherently to herself, "I can fix it. I can fix it. I can make it all better.”
Time seemed to stretch as Buffy half listened to Amy’s laughter and Willow’s moans. Inside she felt still despite her fear. They knew now; she was discovered.
“I can bring back Buffy." The sentiment hovered in the air for a moment. Amy, mercifully, had ceased her laughter and now looked at her with a calculating gleam in her eye; there would be trouble there.

"Get out."

Willow shook her head in dissent, moving towards Buffy slowly, her face set in a grim mask, "You don't know what you're saying. I can make things right. You're not Buffy, I don't know what you are, but you're not going to stop me from bringing her back."

There had been a flash of anger and fear and then Willow lay flat on the ground and Buffy stood over her, her voice chilly when she spoke.

"I'm all that's left."

“Came back a little less human than you were.”*

Spike sat silent beside her after the telling. Mercifully he didn't flinch away from her; his hand remained on her back, a solid beacon of comfort. She leaned into him a little, inhaled the scent of him deeply as he turned to look down at her. Even through the horrific swelling his eyes were piercing, seeing her as no one else had ever done. Gently, she placed her fingers on his face, skimming over the bruises she had inflicted before tracing the cut on his mouth. He kissed her then; a soft meeting of lips that she knew had to hurt him as much as it gave him pleasure.

“What are we going to do now, pet?”

She shrugged, attempted to smile, “There’s nothing left to do now but deal with it. Now that it’s been confirmed …” She trailed off, lost in thought as she stared at the stars above them.

“I still don’t know what I am and Willow,” she took a deep breath, “Willow’s gone.”

Spike nodded, “Kicked her out then? About bloody time, girl was just a giant leech at this point and no good for the Niblet to be around.”

Buffy sighed, “Dawn will be thrilled at least when she gets back from Janice’s tomorrow to find Willow gone and you here.”

He stiffened, surprise and caution mingling on his face. She felt him begin to pull away from her, no small surprise considering her treatment of him, but a reaction that speared her with a sense of her own regret and sadness. She grasped his hand tightly, interlacing her fingers with his as she rose, pulling him with her towards the back door. She paused on the threshold, turning to look up at him, forcing herself to examine her handiwork once again.

“I can’t take back what I did, Spike, and I know that I can’t make it right.” His mouth opened to cut her off but she signaled to him for silence, “All I can do is try to make what’s left between us into something good.” She grinned wryly, “Well, as good as a Potentially-Demon-Buffy can make something any way.”

He kissed her again, pushing her against the doorframe as he leaned into her body, his hands at her throat and shoulder. She could feel the blood pounding in her veins, her heart thumping wildly in order to keep up with her pulse. She glowed from the touch of him, a pleasant warmth that spread throughout her limbs until it finally took residence in her heart. He broke from her slowly, his forehead resting against hers as she struggled to control her breathing, her arms wrapped tightly around his waist.

“I love you,” his voice was rough, his eyes catching hers as the reactionary panic reared its head, “I don’t expect you to say it back to me, pet. But I want you to know, demon or not. I don’t care about what happened between us in the alley, all I want is you, Buffy.”

He buried his face in the crook of her neck, a gesture which should have raised her hackles but didn’t. Instead she felt a sense of serenity pervade her, as she held him to her and the glow in her chest brightened.

Looks like there’s going to be some upsides to non-humaness after all.

The guilt was gone.

"No, I don't want to battle
From beginning to end.
I don't want to cycle,
Recycle revenge.
I don't want to follow
Death and all his friends."
- Coldplay, "Death & All His Friends"

* * *

It was a strange thing, this promise of happiness that began to flower within her. A week had passed since she'd taken Spike into her home and it had done so as slowly as a delicious summer dream. It was too good to last; experience had taught her that she would be wise to distance herself from this, but buoyed by the unfamiliar emotion she ignored her better sense and threw herself headfirst into it. She had made a promise, after all, that things would be different this time.

I am different.

She was tired of not feeling like herself; tired, finally, of the depression and the regret, sickened on recrimination and rage. Most of all she was disgusted with the person she had finally become that night in the alley. She had lived steeped in violence and death for so long that she had almost forgotten that she was more, that she had more to offer. She had been teetering on the brink, so close to destroying the one person who had stood by her, determined to destroy herself in the process. Only chance had saved her, caused the veil to be lifted at that crucial moment long enough for her to see the blood that stained her hands, to finally hear and comprehend the broken moans of her name. It had snapped her back into herself in a jarring instant.

She might not be human any more, but she had realized in that moment that she didn't have to be a monster either.

Next to her on the couch Dawn sighed, a sound replete with happiness, as she snuggled in closer between Buffy and Spike. She had taken it all much better than Buffy had thought, happiness quickly replacing the confusion and worry she had first felt when she discovered them sleeping on the couch. She'd immediately latched onto the idea of them, becoming sly and self-satisfied as only a teenager could as she proudly proclaimed that of course she knew that they were perfect for each other all along. Neither of them felt the need to correct her.

Instead, they concentrated on enduring her knowing looks and innuendos. She was as determined to give them time to themselves as she was to spend time with them, delighting in having a semblance of a family again. Unsurprisingly to Buffy, Spike was her clear favorite and Dawn sided with him in every matter. For his part, Spike treated her with a friendliness and consideration which surprised Buffy despite herself. She had known that they had become close during the past summer, but it had always been a thought which existed in the abstract. Now, presented with a living tableau she found herself more than a little amused with how good naturedly Spike was managed by, and subsequently managed, her little sister.

The sullen teenage ball of hormones who Buffy could barely get to go to school, let alone do her homework or even talk to her was more than willing to do what she was told, as long as it was Spike doing the telling. True, she never obeyed without engaging a snarky back talk which smacked more of sisterly affection than any real insolence, but there was a distinctive lack of foot stomping, door slamming and icy silences. It was a technique Buffy couldn’t seem to similarly master and she was beginning to suspect that it had something to do with actually being Dawn’s sister and not a centuries older vampire.

It doesn’t help that he’s all kinds of yummy.

For the first time since her return she felt softened enough to begin to make peace with her new existence. It helped that he was there for her to watch him, to finally fully observe and absorb the myriad little things that made Spike human despite his demonic nature. He, who had always been an alluring and strange puzzle to her, one which was never to be much thought of or resolved, was finally becoming a clear picture in her mind. It was a discovery which delighted her, surprising her at times and disappointing her at others, but always drawing her into a little deeper into his complication. She knew that by observing Spike blend both his selves together she would gain an insight in how to do the same.

She could be whole again.

I could be me.

She awoke with a start. The movie had ended some time again and she found herself alone on the couch covered in one of her mother’s afghans. The house had settled into a deep contented stillness around her and for a moment she considered snuggling deeper into the couch and sleep. No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than she began to extricate herself from the softness, determined to find her missing lover.

He stood on the back porch, smoking silently as he stared up at the stars above. She paused in the doorway, taking a moment to let her eyes rove over the clean lines of his back and neck, his pale skin taking an unearthly cast in the cool moonlight. She closed the distance between them on silent feet, coming to stand beside him in the night air. He was extraordinarily beautiful for a man; she might have even described him as unearthly if it wouldn’t have been a horrible cliché. Everything about him was deceptively delicate, a fine boned alabaster covering for steel. He dropped his cigarette to the ground, the red tip a glowing bud for a brief moment before he callously snuffed it.

He turned to face her, his eyes meeting hers easily, unreadable as always. She had always thought it unfair that he was able to see through her with so little trouble while she had to carefully peel back the layers of his character. Despite their growing closeness she had very limited knowledge of him, just innuendo and half-truths which made much of his legend and little of the actual man. In moments like this though, wrapped in companionable silence, the air thick with mutual desire, she felt that the minutiae mattered very little. The important thing, the only thing, was the wonderful feeling that flowed between them. Past experience had taught her that knowledge of her partner’s past didn’t negate the depths of her feeling. She had known Angel even less and had still tumbled head long into love with him once upon a time.

All that mattered was the man she was faced with in the here and now. And she thought very much that she could love him and the way he pulled her roughly against him only to kiss her tenderly. She could love the look in his eyes afterwards, the half-smirk that ghosted across his mouth, the fear which warred with the certainty in his eyes. She would be a fool if she didn’t fall for the sharp azure eyes, the full mouth, the angles of his face. She was a fool who saw both the demon and the man and couldn’t care any more about which aspect of him was the predominant one.

She loved him already, too much and to assuredly to care.

He pulled away from her in a burst of energy, bounding down the stairs before turning to smile up at her. He extended one hand in a graceful invitation, the smile back on his lips as he guided her away from the house and out towards the street, “Ready for the hunt?”

"You've got the cool water,
When the fever runs high.
You've got the look of lovelight in your eyes.
And I was in crazy motion,
'til you calmed me down.
It took a little time,
But you calmed me down."
- Paul Simon, "Something So Right"

* * *

"So that's it then, you've got it all figured out."

She sighed impatiently, before turning to face him. He lay close to her, one hand busy propping up his head while his other hand traced delicate patterns over her skin. This discussion was not exactly her idea of pillow talk but she was more than aware that letting Spike into her life was never going to be convenient, particularly when it came to hashing out the details of her new life. She had told him that she wanted him to be a part of it, to give them a try as a legitimate couple, and he had jumped right in with both feet. She'd never had a relationship like this before, one that was more truly a partnership than either Riley or Angel had been. Always she'd managed to keep a distance between her and her former lovers, a protective barrier that would sustain her when things inevitably turned ugly. Spike, however, would have none of that and had barreled through any lingering reserves with a single-mindedness that would have scared her if she wasn't so sure that he had earned it.

"Of course I don't have it all figured out. Money is still a big issue, Doublemeat Palace barely pays enough for me to pay the mortgage and make sure that Dawn gets a meal that doesn't come in a paper bag with a toy. Not to mention the fact that I'll never be able to go to school between the hours there and my slaying which means I'll never get a better job and I'll be doomed to work there until I have my soul sucked out of me by the fry-cook."

"Look at it this way, love, you might not have a soul any more for the fry-cook to be interested in."

She pushed him lightly, causing him to fall back on the mattress as she curled into his side, letting her irritation fade beneath a brief flair of satisfaction at his embrace, "That's so not of the helpful. Besides, I totally have a soul still."

He chuckled, his arm wrapping around her waist to pull her closer, "Of course you do, kitten."

"Hmph," she was too comfortable to properly glare at him so decided to let his snarkiness pass, "Which brings us back to the whole Demon-Buffy thing, which so far is the only thing on my plate that I'm beginning to get a handle on." She paused for a moment, a slight furrow appearing between her brows as she pondered over her last statement, "It's not as bad actually as I thought it might be. I mean, it's not like I got a tail or a horn or something disfiguring like that. Aside from you being able to hit me and a boost to my Slayerness there doesn't seem to be too much more going on."

"You've just acquired yourself another vampire lover, pet. And one without a soul to boot." He began to pull away from her but she stopped him, throwing one leg over his lap as she wrapped her arms around him. She could feel him relax by some small degrees in her arms but she was still aware of the conflict brewing within him. When he spoke again his voice was so quiet she had to strain to hear him, "It's not exactly a fairytale ending."

"Says who?" She didn't both to try and hide her irritation. "Maybe you could be my happy ending."

She smiled at the amusement that suddenly blossomed across his face before peppering a series of light kisses down the column of his neck. She nipped at the juncture where his neck and shoulder met and was rewarded with a sharp intake of breath and a low growl before he tumbled them over so that he pinned her beneath him. Desire now tempered the amusement on his features and as his mouth descended to capture a nipple it was her turn to gasp and moan beneath his ministrations. He paused to look at her, his eyes suddenly serious, "I'd make a poor prince, love."

She shrugged, "I'm not exactly princess material myself." She could see the tension building behind his eyes and so, rather than deal with whatever complications he was sure to devise, she kissed him. It was a tentative embrace, she was aware of him holding back from her, his displeasure at her tactics overriding any pleasure. She ignored his reluctance, eager to recapture the earlier mood, not wanting to have to face the problems that she knew would plague them down the line. There would be time enough for all the drama later. For now she just wanted him, uncomplicated and simple as nothing in her life ever would be. And so, when he pulled away from her, an edge of seriousness still tinting his features she merely wound herself tighter around him, murmuring her entreaty against the cool of his skin, "Later, Spike. We'll deal with it later."

He gave in with little further convincing on her part and soon his ardor matched her own. Despite their growing closeness over the past few weeks, it was still in the arena of the physical in which she felt most comfortable communicating with him. It was like this that she could soothe away his worries, coax his tension from one of worry to pleasure, and, most importantly, tell him with every kiss and caress how she felt about him while her words still failed her. He understood her, she was more than sure of it. He dissected her character too easily not to know that she was a woman of action, not speech.

And just a little bit of a coward.

She pushed the thought away guiltily. Now was not the time for recriminations. She chose to concentrate instead on the feeling of Spike's skin under her hands, the way he gripped her to him possessively as the sheets tangled against their limbs. Outside their window the night slowly began to fade away; soon enough it would be daylight and against their inclinations they would be forced from bed to face the world once again. Awareness of their limited time caused them to slow their movements, prompting them into a gentle love-making which still retained its novelty for them. In the end though, their attempt to slow time to match their own desires was futile. Despite this she was still left with a feeling of awe at the broad expanse of extended hours which stretched out before them. If she wanted she could have this forever, an odyssey of days counted in kisses and touches and stolen golden moments which would make the days pass fast and the nights at a lover's pace. Time stretched before her, a shining gift instead of the curse she had initially thought it.

There would still be another day for her to put into words how she felt about him.

No need to rush.

"Looking out for love
In the night so still
Oh I'll build you a kingdom
In that house on the hill
Looking out for love
Big, big love
You said that you love me
And that you always will
Oh, you begged me to keep ya
In that house on the hill
Looking out for love
Big, big love."
- Fleetwood Mac, "Big Love"

* * *

She didn't know what to say.

She could feel him watching her expectantly as she turned the letter over in her hands, folding and unfolding the thick stationary. Beside her, Dawn was practically jumping up and down in her excitement, smiling as if Christmas, Easter and her Birthday had all fallen on the same day. In a way, Buffy mused, it sort of has. Still though, she couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that had settled upon her as she'd read the letter. It was too much. What she would've said as so far out of the realm of possibility that she didn't even bother to dream of it's like. Despite all that though the proof of its reality sat between her hands. If she didn't think it would sound like an assent she would've asked Dawn to pinch her.

Instead she tried to gather her fractured thoughts and, turning to Dawn slowly asked if she would give her and Spike a moment together. Alone. The teen's face instantly took on a painfully crestfallen look and Buffy was tempted to reassure her despite her own misgivings. She said nothing however until Dawn had left the kitchen. Then, bracing herself, forced herself to meet Spike's eyes, "I can't accept this."

"Yes you bloody well can."

"No, Spike." She shook her head, letting her eyes drop and the paper fall uselessly to the counter top, "It's too much."

"It's not nearly that much, pet. I've always taken care of what's mine."

The possession in his voice irked her even as she felt a tell-tale warmth spread throughout her body. Inwardly she grimaced, berating herself for the mixed signals it was giving off. It was impossible to deny that some part of her welcomed Spike's words and was in fact desperate to be cared for despite her calling. It was, she suspected, the same part of her that had driven her into the arms fo Riley because of his bland normality. He had been a security blanket which had promised to take her from the darkness into the light. It had also, ultimately, been a lie and Buffy was loathe to have that part of her reassert itself in anyway. It was easy however to push that voice back when she contemplated the other side of Spike's magnanimity. It was almost too much like admitting defeat for Buffy to truly relish the prospect of Spike helping her financially. She had been the one her mother had left in charge of Dawn. It was her responsibility to take care of them both, nobody else's. Taking Spike's money seemed very much to say that she hadn't been able to hack it, that she had failed her sister and herself, "It's my job, Spike, to look after me and Dawn."

"Look, you want to work for a living, love, that's more than fine by me. I'm not trying to trade you in for some Stepford model, pet. But what you're doing now at Doublemeat Palace is barely a real job."

"It is too a real job, Spike. It's the only one I have."

"Right, pet, it's the only one you have now." He sighed and settled against the counter and for one brief moment Buffy caught him looking as she never thought to: haggard and old, world-weary as he raised his suddenly ancient eyes to hers, "Take the money, Buffy. Go to school, get a job doing something you love that pays above $7.50 an hour. That's not nearly enough money to pay for the house and take care of yourself and the Bit and you know it."

Buffy deflated, all the fight gone from her, "I'll never be able to repay you, Spike. No matter what job I get. If I even live long enough this time around to get a good one." She watched dispassionately as he flexed his hands against the tile, took in the long-limbed beauty of his fingers as she wrapped her hand in his.

When he spoke his voice was rough and low, "You'll live long enough, Buffy. I don't care what it takes but next time some beastie comes after you I'm going to stop it whether it throws me off a tower or not."

Buffy smiled, "Fine. But as soon as I start getting a real paycheck you're taking the money back."

"Deal."

Buffy smiled again and despite her earlier trepidation she felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders. As much as it galled her to admit that Spike was right, she felt an immense sense of relief that she no longer had to pretend that any sort of extreme economy would keep her and Dawn long at Revello Drive. She had known, though she hadn't wanted to admit it, that it would have been a miracle if they finished the rest of the year without the bank and hospital finally losing patience with her and foreclosing on the house. Their impending financial ruin had been a demon which plagued her every dream and whispered threats in her ear during the day. And suddenly it was gone, driven away for good by Spike's unexpected generosity.

Somewhere in the background the phone began to ring but Buffy ignored it, choosing instead to settle herself in Spike’s embrace. She knew that her kiss was poor payment for his help but at the moment there was little else she had to give him. He didn’t seem to mind the disparity however and deepened the embrace. If not for the sudden return of Dawn to the kitchen at that particular moment Buffy was sure that the teen would have received an impromptu sex-education lesson. She blushed as they pulled apart but instead of meeting Dawn’s amused and unmercifully teasing eyes she found the teen as white as a sheet.

"We've got trouble."

"What?" Buffy tensed instinctively, going still as she mentally prepared for battle. The horrified look on Dawn's face alerting her to the fact that whatever the trouble was it was more than run-of-the mill slaying. Spike still held her hand tightly and she could feel the anticipation of a good fight rolling off him in waves. Despite the inconvenient timing of the trouble he was more than game for any decent fight.

"It's Willow."

"Did somebody say my name?"

It happened in a suspended moment. She'd barely had the time to turn and meet Willow's ebony eyes before the witch raised her hands and everything went black.