Chapter 1

Her fingers were slick with blood.

Thick and slippery as she relaxed her grip to drop the blade she’d been holding. It met the concrete with a clatter, drops of liquid slid down her nails to hit the floor with an almost inaudible…

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Why was she here? Did she… did she kill someone? She couldn’t remember. A shiver crawled up her spine as she glanced down at her hands covered in crimson, flexing her grip to verify the reality of the situation. But this wasn’t right. It wasn’t her.

Unless she’d somehow transformed into a man overnight and everyone had neglected to point it out. Her legs took a step without her consent as though she was a marionette in the hands of someone else. It was as if she was looking at the darkened confines of a small living room through the eyes of another person. This… man.

It had to be a dream. And if it was, what did it say about her?

A heavy masculine sigh whispered past the lips of a body where she was apparently riding shotgun. He stepped over the motionless body lying at his feet as though it was nothing but a nuisance.

Disappointment.

That’s what she felt even though Buffy was pretty sure the feeling wasn’t her own. His whole body thrummed from the sheer force of dissatisfaction and restlessness, itching for something… It was like a distant thought hovering on the tip of her tongue. His thoughts ran too fast for her to catch them.

Shielded by the cover of darkness, he stumbled a few times as he maneuvered around the unfamiliar room cluttered with kitsch and too many furnishings. The masculine hands reached out to open the drawers, tossing the items to the floor without a care. There was something he needed. Something he had been seeking for a long time and the mounting frustration made his movements jerkier by a second when he couldn’t find it.

Floorboards in the front hall creaked, the sound of it as loud as a gunshot and the man froze, abandoning the search. His eyes spotted a white wooden door few steps away and he slipped through the dark chasm. It was a small closet filled with damp, sickly sweet smell of mould. As silently as he could, he pulled the door slowly towards him without closing it entirely. She could feel his heart pound. Sweat gathered at the base of his neck and slinked down his spine. Still he took a chance and peered into the gap, glimpsing a brief sight of a man.

He was tall and big, kind of had really stupid hair as well. Walked as though the place belonged to him.

Despite never having seen the man in her life, recognition followed by hatred burned its way through the man’s veins and he clenched his jaw so hard it hurt. The violent images of him shoving the door open, grabbing the fallen blade from the floor and slicing the newcomer’s head clean off filled Buffy’s mind.

Screechy sound sliced through the breathy silence, confusing her.

*******

That was when the shrill buzz of the alarm clock dragged her back from the nightmare.

It took her a while to realize she wasn’t dreaming and as the sunlight streamed through the half-closed blinds to warm her face, the remnants of the dream slithered through her fingers.

They always did.

Buffy rolled over onto her stomach and relished the warm covers as she buried her face in the pillow. If there was anything she hated more than mornings, it was Monday mornings.

Knock. Knock.

“Buffy, are you up yet?” called her father through the door and she replied with an intelligible grunt before tossing the covers back.

“Yes, I’m up,” she replied with a voice still hoarse from sleep.

“I’m going to work. Eat some breakfast before you go, would you?”

Buffy muttered in agreement and tucked the dark blond strand of her hair behind her ear as she trudged to the en-suite bathroom.

An unsettling feeling came over her as she brushed her teeth and it followed her all the way as she showered, dressed and walked to school. There was something she should remember but couldn’t quite work out. When did it start? Few weeks ago? It felt a hell of a lot longer than that.

Buffy knew it had something to do with the freaky dreams that faded away with the daylight and she really hated that nagging feeling. Now she’d be thinking about it the whole day. Again.

The senior year of high school began over a week ago and already she couldn’t wait for it to end. It wasn’t that she desperately looked forward to life after graduation. For her, there was no after. She’d be stuck here in Sunnydale until she was all old and wrinkly. She didn’t have the kind of money to afford a college education and she’d probably end up helping her dad work at the grocery store.

Day after day, after day…

Buffy sighed and adjusted the bag strap over her shoulder. She was not a retail girl. Definitely not much of a people’s person. On the other hand, maybe she should enjoy high school while she was still there because just the thought of such monotony made her want to bang her head against the hardest available surface.

Then again, maybe not. Buffy huffed, and desperately tried to ignore the snickers and not so quiet whispers from a couple of people as she neared the school building.

Someone behind her said the popular nickname a handful of the class mates affectionately called her then covered it with a mock cough.

Scarface.

Buffy ground her teeth as she turned on her heel. The mantra ran through her mind. Do not punch him, do not punch him. She so didn’t need to be sent to the principal’s office for violent behaviour again. Because detention? Not as much fun as advertised.

She stopped and said, “And look at you… picking on someone half your size. How very manly.”

Okay, so she wasn’t a poster child for self-control. So what?

“I bet you’d like to know how manly I really am. Too bad I would never touch someone as ugly as you.”

How could he miss the biting sarcasm in her tone boggled Buffy’s mind. And what was up with his leech of a girlfriend glaring daggers at her? Like Buffy would willingly go within hundred feet of a misogynistic narcissist like Parker Abrams, especially after he’d made it his hobby to torment her? Besides, the amount of cheap cologne he used had her shuddering in disgust even if it weren’t for the fact he was a grade A asshole.

“What? No witty repartee?” Buffy asked.

He stared at her dumbly.

She rolled her eyes. “Okay then.”

She turned around, dismissing them both as she continued on her way even though she could hear Parker’s girlfriend whining. The urge to strike back in any way she could was almost too much to resist. For a moment Buffy wished they’d follow her so she could slap him across that smug, girlish face. It would have been worth the detention.

Buffy rummaged through the faded old leather bag slung over her shoulder until she found her phone. She quickened her steps when she saw the school bell was about to ring in two minutes.

The insults didn’t get to her much anymore. Not like they used to when she was younger. For a moment she traced the rough texture of the jagged scars on her face. One on her cheek, the other bisecting her lips and trailing down her chin.

Buffy shook herself out of the stupor as she gathered the books from her locker and hurried to class.

*******

The little bell rang as she pushed the door open and entered the grocery store. Immediately, she spotted her father behind the counter and she sauntered over to greet him.

“Hi, Dad.”

“Hi, pumpkin. How was school?”

Buffy shrugged, dropping her bag to the floor. “Same old, same old.”

He glanced at her and shook his head. “Did you steal my shirt again?”

She patted the lapel of the black and red checkered flannel shirt, grinning. “Yup. Though I prefer the term borrowed. Besides, it’s not like you wear it… much.”

“Buffy—”

“I know what you’re going to say, okay? Buffy Anne, you should dress more like a girl and blah blah.”

“I have no authority here,” he said and Buffy couldn’t help but smirk.

She wasn’t really a girly girl and he knew it. Probably blamed that on the lack of a feminine role model in her life. Not that they ever talked about that big elephant in the room. The elephant being her mother who was a forbidden topic for more than one reason.

“But it’s comfortable,” she argued and looked down at her faded black jeans and scuffed heavy boots.

“I’m giving up.”

“You always say that.”

He reached over and ruffled her long wavy hair. “You know I wouldn’t have you any other way. At least I know I don’t have to worry. You can look after yourself.”

“Who needs to play with dolls when you can learn how to fight instead?”

Dad gazed at her with grey eyes so different from hers and there was regret in them she rarely got to see. “You know, sometimes I wish… never mind.”

Buffy opened her mouth to question him when the bell chimed to announce arrival of a customer.

“Did you eat lunch?” Dad asked her to change the topic and she nodded even though she skipped it to avoid unpleasant snickering. Buffy wasn’t sure what she hated more, people who gawked openly or those that shot her barely concealed looks of pity when they thought she wasn’t looking. Her and Dad moved to Sunnydale a few years ago to start a new life from scratch and escape the bad memories. Except memories had a habit of following you whether you wanted them to or not. And people were the same everywhere.

“I’m feeling a bit hungry though,” she said. “Mind if I take something?”

“No, go on and take whatever you want.”

Buffy smiled and headed into the back where pastries were. If there was one thing that could improve her mood, it was something sweet that would probably eventually rot her teeth. Well, it wasn’t as though she had to worry about that for a while, so she grabbed a chocolate glazed donut and took a huge bite. It felt incredible hitting her empty stomach.

Someone cleared their throat behind her, making her turn around.

“Excuse me, Miss. Are you Hank’s daughter?” asked an elderly lady that the whole town accused of being a bit of a lunatic. Kids called her Old Hag but Buffy recalled her name was Mrs. Baum.

Buffy wiped my mouth with the back of her hand before nodding. “Yup, that would be me.”

She wondered what the woman wanted from her.

“Oh, don’t look so wary, dear. I don’t bite,” Mrs. Baum said and leaned against the wooden cane clutched in her hand as she hobbled over to Buffy, long pink skirt swishing around her bony ankles. “Can you tell me where the ginger roots are?”

“No problemo.” Buffy walked over to the vegetables section and heard her follow behind. She took one that eerily resembled a distorted baby and handed it over to the older woman with a polite smile.

Sparks of electricity tingled up her arm when their fingers brushed. Definitely not sexy tingles. These were more of the creepy variety. Because… ew much?

She found Mrs. Baum staring at her and for a moment she thought the woman’s eyes flashed white. It must have been a trick of light but Buffy dropped her hand nonetheless.

“As I thought,” the elderly woman croaked out, still looking at her. Buffy fought the urge to break the gaze because it felt as though the woman was seeing much more than she was willing to share. Mrs. Baum leaned in and whispered, “You think you know what’s coming. You cannot imagine.”

Buffy frowned and took a step away from her. Doom-y much? “Umm… okay. I’ll… take that into consideration. I guess. Anyway, can I help you with anything else?”

Mrs. Baum’s lips parted to reveal rotten teeth as she grinned. Maybe Buffy should reconsider eating too much candy after all.

“No. There’s nothing you can do.”

Then she left, and Buffy stared after her for a few seconds before Dad called her name, effectively startling her out of the musings.

“Buffy? You can go if you want. Mondays are always slow so you can go do your thing. I’ll see you later tonight.”

“Are you sure? Becaus—”

“I’m sure. Now go before I change my mind.”

Well, when he put it that way… “Okay. See you,” she said and walked over to kiss him on the cheek before snatching her bag and striding out of the store.

*******

Grey clouds rolled across the sky to block out the sun but it was still warm enough to be outside without a jacket. She walked across the town to reach her favorite spot which took her barely ten minutes. Sunnydale was a small town. With its two thousand citizens and unstable wifi signal, it was practically a hole. A true mockery of a modern world.

They didn’t even have a mall.

Not that she’d go there. Because, big crowds? Kind of not her thing. Still the lack of anonymity tended to get on her nerves. Sometimes she felt as if the town would swallow her until she became one of the irritating middle aged women striving for gossip, eager to swap pie recipes. She’d rather get hit by a bus before that happened.

Buffy walked into the woods, occasionally brushing off a stray branch that tried to smack her in the face and soon she was stepping out into a small clearing. It was funny how her legs would memorise the routes she walked daily even when her mind was preoccupied.

Only good thing about small towns? People were ridiculously superstitious.

The vines blanketing the brick walls of the abandoned mansion before her often reminded Buffy of the house from Anne of Green Gables. The weeds twined around the neglected rose bushes, and the unkempt grass brushed her calves as she walked towards the house. It was obvious nobody had stepped in it for over a decade, which was one of the reasons she often came here.

However, the majority of the town believed it was haunted because allegedly, people had died here. Violently.

Buffy scoffed.

There was no such thing as ghosts. She was here almost every day and not once had she seen anything suspicious. Good for her though. Who else but her would hang out at a haunted place? Especially one that was near to the local cemetery?

Buffy climbed a tree she had claimed as hers and straddled its thick branch, leaning her back against the bark before she pulled a small notebook and pencil out of her bag. This was what she really loved doing and sometimes as she drew, she imagined what it would be like to travel around the world and paint strangers.

Buffy chewed on the tip of the pencil and squashed the images that only reminded her of what she couldn’t have. No use to dwell. She was so a no-dwell girl. Positive thinking only.

She tried to empty her mind and concentrate on the sound of pencil skidding across paper. Sketching often took her different ways, depending on her mood and this time the picture started to resemble a human hand. It was a male hand and for some strange reason, it struck her as familiar even though Buffy was sure she’d never seen it before. It wasn’t like she went around socialising with guys.

Just call me Buffy, the social leper.

Swinging her legs back and forth as they hung in the air; she rested against the rough bark and closed her eyes. Just for a second.

Not too long after, she drifted to sleep.

*******

The unfamiliar surroundings barely registered as did the fact she was a sitting duck in the man’s head again. He was running now and Buffy felt like she had hopped on a train barreling down towards an unknown destination.

He was younger though, his steps shorter as he pushed his way through the sea of people littering the sunlit street. They were loud and several of them yelled at him for elbowing them, but he didn’t care. His heart was hammering in his chest and the back of his neck tingled with that crawly feeling of being followed.

He rounded the corner and quickened his steps, nearly tripping as he glanced over his shoulder.

There was nobody there looking particularly suspicious. Still she could tell he felt as though he was prey being chased by a lion and no matter how fast he ran, it was going to leap up and pounce. People looked at him strangely as he ran past them and Buffy thought he might have been embarrassed if it weren’t for the panic expanding in his chest. This all felt so excruciatingly real.

The crowd was thinning the nearer he got to the sanctuary she sensed was at his fingertips. The boy ducked into an alley, sprinting down an uneven pavement until he saw a row of Victorian houses sitting in the distance. Familiarity washed over him the nearer he got to the front door of one of them.

He could make it. He knew it, and for a moment the hope flared up, thick and bittersweet. The shirt stuck to his back under the heavy coat as the sweat dripped down his spine. He gasped for breath and his lungs burned, but the survival instinct was stronger.

The door was within a short distance and a burst of adrenaline shot through his veins and now he knew. He was going to make it. He would be safe.

Just as he fished the keys out of his coat pocket, blinding pain erupted in his lower back as the pursuer kicked him, and he crashed head first into the concrete. His keys flew out of his hand and skidded out of his reach. Pinpricks of black eclipsed the boy’s vision, a hot, sticky torrent of blood pouring from his nose and trickling into his mouth. It tasted like pennies. If Buffy could gag, she would have.

Before she could make sense of what was happening, a cool hand encircled his neck and lifted him up as effortlessly as though he was a rag doll. His vision was blurry and Buffy only saw the vague shape of a man through the broken lenses of the boy’s glasses when the man spun him roughly around. The sudden motion made the boy even dizzier and he struggled to remain conscious.

“Gotcha,” the man said in a rough, cold voice.

Then pain unlike anything she’d ever felt erupted where his neck met his shoulder as the man tore into his vulnerable flesh. He screamed and everything went black.

*******

With a gasp, Buffy started awake and almost fell from the branch. The notebook wasn’t that lucky and she watched it tumble to the ground as she clutched at the bark, the rough texture digging into her palms.

“Crap,” she muttered and squeezed her eyes shut for a second to calm down her rampant emotions, trying to recall the dream she’d had.

No luck there.

Distracted, she climbed down from the tree and bent down to retrieve her sketch book. With an annoyed sigh Buffy glanced up at the sky just in time for a single rain drop to hit her square in the forehead.

Great, it was starting to rain.

The clouds had gathered together, dark and ominous. She quickened her pace as she walked out of the small forest and strode down the empty street. The heavens opened and sheets of rain soaked her within seconds. She tried to blink the water out of her eyes and winced at the feel of soaked clothes glued to her skin.

Out of nowhere, cold hands of uneasiness caressed her spine. Buffy stopped in her tracks, frowning. Nobody was around, probably already couch potato-ing it at their homes, dry and watching crappy reality TV shows. She glanced across the road with defeat.

Then she spotted him and for a moment she thought it was a hallucination.

He was the most… bizarre man she’d ever seen. Unsettling her for a reason she couldn’t quite pinpoint. Kind of looked like he might have walked out of jail, too. Goosebumps erupted on her skin. Was it from the chill? She wasn’t so sure.

He was leaning casually against a lamp post, eyes closed, one of his legs bent at the knee where he’d propped his foot against the pole. The water pelting down on him didn’t seem to affect him at all. Nothing seemed to touch him.

Buffy realised she was staring but couldn’t tear her eyes away as he ran his hand through his soaked hair, ignoring the unpleasant weather and instead looking as though he was bathing in a non-existent sunshine. The wet, unnaturally white strands curled around his ears, somehow softening the razor sharpness of his cheekbones.

His skin was a bit pale, stark against the blackness of his coat and tight, soaked through jeans. He seemed so out of place she wanted to laugh. She wanted to, but she could barely breathe and her eyes shifted back to his face. There was something about him…

A shock of electricity zinged along her nerve endings when he caught her gaze. He arched one dark, thick eyebrow, the corner of his full lips curling up in a smirk and she felt heat rushing into her cheeks. He’d noticed her staring at him. She almost tripped over her own feet even though she was standing still.

He was just a stranger, for God’s sake. So why did a mere look throw her emotions out of whack?

Buffy forced herself to look away and hurried— but definitely not ran—down the street, suddenly frantic to escape. The rich sound of his laughter echoed in her ears all the way home.

TBC

Chapter 2

Two days later, fifteen minutes into her History class Buffy’s eyelids started to drop, not that anyone could blame her. The teacher’s voice was just so lulling and she really tried to resist the call of sleep as much as she could. Needless to say, it was a losing battle.

Images flickered behind her closed lids like a movie put on fast forward. Voices and faces lapped over each other in her head before settling on one single image.

The boy was kneeling and Buffy noticed that he was wearing school uniform pants that had been torn. Soaked with blood. Utterly saturated by fear, he lifted his head even though it felt like someone had stuffed it chock full of steel cotton. The scene before her was horrifying, forcing everything out of her own mind but the devastation settling on the boy like a heavy cloak. A man she vaguely recognised stood in front of him, a mass of muscles and raw strength as he held two trembling women by their throats. Their terrified eyes met the boy’s and Buffy felt helplessness crash on his back, weighing him down.

“Choose,” the man said.

*******

Buffy’s elbow slipped from the table, jolting her awake. Everyone was staring at her and she realised she was panting as though she’d just run a marathon. She must have had one of those dreams again, but as usual, it had dissolved before she could get a hold of it.

The teacher looked at her, both concerned and annoyed at the interruption. “Miss Summers, are you all right?”

Oh yeah, just peachy keen. Awkwardly, she rose to her feet. “I… Can I go to the restroom please?”

“Of course, but you should go see the nurse if you’re not feeling well.”

She picked up her bag. “Thank you, I will.”

As soon as pigs start to fly.

The corridors were empty, her steps echoing off the walls. This whole dream thing was starting to get on her nerves. Absentmindedly, she fingered the chain around her neck, the locket hanging from it hidden beneath her T-shirt.

Even though Buffy knew for a fact that her dad would kill her if he knew she’d been rummaging through the old boxes stored in the basement, she couldn’t help herself. Dad thought he’d concealed them pretty well but he couldn’t hide anything from her. She didn’t even know why she’d searched through them. Perhaps she’d needed to remember. They never talked about what had happened to her mother and she knew better than to bring it up since her mother hadn’t been a good person. Still, Buffy was ashamed for feeling relieved she was dead.

The box had been filled with stuff that belonged mostly to Mom and Buffy didn’t get why Dad had kept it instead of throwing it out. But none of it had mattered once she peeked in and spotted the antique locket. In that moment, when she had first laid eyes on it, she knew she had to have it. It might sound insane, but it had called to her somehow. When she had slipped it around her neck, something had just clicked.

The sun was up, beaming down on Buffy’s face as the autumn wind weaved through her hair. She squinted against the harsh light and headed across the grass field to get home quicker. Apparently, the cheerleaders had just finished their practice and Buffy grimaced, hoping they’d ignore her.

She passed the bleachers when a high pitched voice screeched, “What are you doing here, Summers? Spying, wishing you could be one of us?”

Buffy suppressed her temper and kept walking. The footsteps behind her got closer right before fingers grasped her shoulder as the girl spun her around.

That was exactly what she needed. Talk to Parker’s girlfriend. What was her name again? Melody? Chastity? No, Harmony! She was pretty sure that was it. Only a girl as ditzy could have a name like that. Not that she should throw any stones? Buffy? Seriously? What had her parents been thinking?

“I was talking to you,” Harmony said, her nose high in the air.

“Yeah? See me with the not caring?”

She looked as though she might stomp her foot. Buffy wouldn’t be surprised if she actually did, the spoilt little brat.

“I know why you’re really here.”

Buffy narrowed her eyes. “Do you?”

“You were so hoping to see Parker play football and don’t even try to deny that you have a crush on him. Like… Everyone knows.”

She couldn’t help it. She started laughing. Loudly.

“That’s… oh God… too funny!”

“Don’t even talk to my boyfriend, Scarface!”

Buffy cleared her throat and tried to calm down. “Okay, seriously? Get a life, would you? Or better… a lobotomy.”

A crease appeared between Harmony’s brows as she obviously tried to work out the obscure meaning of the word.

“You think you’re so smart, don’t you?”

“Smarter than you, that’s for sure.”

Her cheeks reddened with anger and her manicured hands closed into fists.

“You’re ugly!”

“What are we, in kindergarten? Why don’t you go back to your hopping around? Stop making an idiot of yourself. Oh, but wait… guess that is a requirement to be in the cheerleading squad.”

Buffy turned around because this conversation was pointless and she had better things to do than standing around behind dilapidated bleachers arguing with someone who had no valid points to make.

Her knees buckled and she staggered as Harmony shoved her from behind. Incredulous, Buffy whirled around and the way the bimbo was suppressing a smile made her want to tackle her. But Buffy was better than this. She was. Wasn’t she?

“What the hell?” Buffy demanded.

Harmony pursed her lips and stepped close enough to invade her personal space before shoving her again. Buffy stumbled back but managed not to fall and gritted her teeth because her patience was wearing thin.

“Do that again and you’re going down.”

Harmony swung her arm back to slap her and that broke the camel’s proverbial back. Buffy caught Harmony’s wrist and twisted it behind her back. She yelped in pain but Buffy couldn’t find it in herself to care and kicked at the back of Harmony’s knees with boot-clad foot. The cheerleader dropped to the ground and Buffy forced her face first into the dirty earth with one arm still behind her back. It gave Buffy an immense satisfaction to see Harmony like this, she had to admit.

She sputtered and coughed as she inhaled the dust swirling up from the ground. “Let me go, you freak!”

Harmony squirmed under her but didn’t have enough leverage to flip around.

“I warned you. You can be happy I didn’t break your nose.”

She couldn’t afford to actually hurt the skanky nuisance, so she settled for rolling her face in the dirt for a bit, enjoying as Harmony squeaked and cursed. After a few seconds, Buffy let her go and stood up. Seeing Harmony’s face covered in dust with the specks of dried mud in her hair… well, it was definitely worth it.

Harmony scrambled to her knees, astonished and enraged. “You may act all tough and stuff, but you’re nothing but a pathetic loser nobody likes.”

Something akin to hurt bit into Buffy’s core but she firmly clamped down it and slapped another layer of bricks to the wall protecting her heart.

“And yet, I’d rather be a loser than be like you.”

Harmony snickered and gave her a haughty look.

As Buffy turned on her heel to head home, she spotted a girl standing not too far away, regarding her. The girl was wearing a cheerleading uniform and resignation settled in the pit of Buffy’s stomach. She was going to get in so much trouble.

*******

She was helping Dad with replacing the sold out items on the shelves when the door bell jingled to announce a customer. Dad went to the front to serve them as she kept doing her job. Only one more hour until they closed the shop and Buffy darted glances at the clock, watching the time slowly trickle by.

“Can I help you?” she heard Dad ask the customer.

“You got one of those chili things? Not the powdered one, but the real thing?”

She shivered against her better judgment. The voice was deep and the accent resonated all the way to her core. This was the second time this week she got all weird due to some guy. One she didn’t even know. Maybe she was the one who needed a lobotomy.

Unable to help herself, she peeked around the shelf to look at the customer. He stood with his back to her, but the casual slouched posture struck her as terribly familiar. If there was a God, the similarities between the man at the bus stop and this one was just a coincidence.

He turned to the side and Buffy quickly darted back behind the shelves.

It’s him!

Someone up there had to hate her. Now if only he left without noticing her, since she had so spectacularly embarrassed herself by gazing at him like she was some kind of ditzy, love struck teenager. She was definitely not one of those.

“Buffy, do you know where we keep the chili?”

Crap.

She was forced to come out of her sanctuary of canned fruit but she avoided the stranger as she addressed her dad, “It’s… umm… next to the vegetables? Can’t remember.”

Dad went in the search of it, calling triumphantly that he’d found it. All that time, Buffy could feel the stranger staring holes into her.

“What would I do without you, pumpkin?” Dad asked and her eyes widened. Normally, she would say something witty and clever, but you see… Common sense seemed to have fled the building kicking and screaming for the moment. Buffy really hoped it would return eventually. And did Dad really have to call her pumpkin?

Someone kill me now.

“I… err… I’ll g-go… to the back.”

Oh my God, did she just stutter? What the hell was wrong with her? Her dad seemed to share that opinion and looked at her as though she’d grown a third eyeball, which only made her blush harder before she dashed to the back room they used as storage. Away from burning stares and incredulous parental figures.

“Is your employee always this shy?” the man said.

She was so not shy! She’d never been shy in her life!

“That’s my daughter, Buffy,” Dad replied. “She’s not usually like this. I don’t know what’s gotten into her.”

“Maybe I make her nervous,” the quirky, hottie of a man said. And she could not believe she had just called him that. Also, what was up with that smug tone in his voice? He made her nervous? Like hell!

“Nah. Must be something else,” Dad said.

Thank you, Dad. Can you please sound any more unconvinced? There had to be something seriously wrong with her. But hey, she was so not nervous. Not because of some guy. She was just embarrassed because he apparently seemed to have misunderstood her stare-fest yesterday.

The completely delusional stranger mumbled something in reply, and they said goodbye before he left the store.

Buffy exhaled.

Heavily.

*******

“So, want to tell me what that was all about?” Dad prodded and she groaned in reply.

It seemed as though relief was going to be short-lived.

“Not really.”

He cleared his throat and leaned against the door jamb of the storage room where she’d been temporarily hiding like a big chicken.

“You acted pretty weird back there. Want to tell me why? Is it true, what the man said? That he made you nervous?”

“Okay, this is beyond ridiculous. Why would he? And anyway, what are we playing… twenty questions?”

“Buffy…”

“That tone is not going to work with me. Seriously, what do you want me to tell you?”

He rubbed a weary hand over his face. “Is there something to tell? Do you know him?”

“No!”

His gaze never wavered from her face and she sighed. “Dad, look… you know me better than anyone. I swear, it was just a momentary brain lapse or something.”

“I don’t like him.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Neither do I.”

“Are you sure? Because we could talk about this. If you have a crush—”

“Now hold on right there, Hank. There is no crush!” She grimaced. “I can’t believe we’re still talking about his.”

“First, don’t call me Hank. You know how much that irritates me. Second, yes we are still talking about this because I want you to know it’s fine to have a crush… but not this one.” Dad frowned. “He looks… older. And I don’t like him. He’s… a heartbreaker. I can tell.”

Talk about being embarrassed by your parent. So far they’d steered clear of these topics pretty successfully, which was why they got along so well. She really didn’t need to be lectured on bees and flowers at the age of seventeen. Once had been enough, and that conversation had sure turned her off the idea for life.

“Do people even say heartbreaker anymore?”

He narrowed his eyes and playfully flung at her a rag he’d had slung over his shoulder. Buffy snatched it from the air and stuck her tongue out at him.

“You kids don’t know what’s good anymore,” he said. “You with your ridiculous shortening of words and crude slang.”

“You only think so because you’re ancient.”

Dad grinned and pulled her into a side hug, ruffling her hair into a tangled mess. “Hardly. Eligible bachelor here.”

“Eww, Dad. Gross. I so don’t need a visual with the town floozies offering you their home-made casseroles.”

“No casseroles. Got it.” He laughed, shaking his head. “What about cherry pies?”

“No!”

He winked at her, enjoying grossing her out way too much.

Still, she was so lucky to have a father like him. What would she ever do without him?

TBC

Chapter 3

“I saw what you did,” she heard someone behind her say. Buffy froze for a second before exhaling and slamming the locker door shut.

She struggled to look indifferent as she turned around to face the owner of the voice. And of course, it was the girl who had seen her push Harmony’s face into the dirt. Not like Buffy’s life could ever be easy.

“Yeah? So?”

She tilted her head, observing. “I’m not going to tell anyone.”

Out of all the things Buffy had expected her to say, this was the last. Was this some kind of ploy? A way for her to… “Is this whole thing leading into some kind of blackmail? What do you want from me?”

She rolled her eyes, but her voice was teasing instead of mocking as she said, “What part of ‘I’m not going to tell’ did you not understand?”

“The part where someone like you would not want to get someone like me into trouble.”

“Has everyone ever told you that you’re very paranoid? And what’s with the ‘someone like you’? It’s not like I have herpes. I support safe sex, you know. With condoms. And birth control.”

Ignoring that strange remark, Buffy shook her head, unable to comprehend the bizarreness of this situation. “So if you’re not going to tell on me—which, jury is still out on that one—why would you even tell me?”

A crease appeared between her brows, disappearing just as quickly. She shrugged. “Just thought you’d like to know, that’s all.”

“I don’t trust you,” Buffy told her, watching as the cheerleader tensed slightly at those words, her lips thinning. Guilt churned in Buffy’s stomach and for a second she regretted her harsh tone. Then she remembered that the girl most probably had an ulterior motive.

“I figured,” the girl said. “Well, I should go. Math class and all.”

She was about to leave when Buffy asked, “What’s your name?”

She tossed Buffy a glance over her shoulder, tucked a strand of shortish, dark brown hair behind her ear.

“Anya.”

*******

After classes were over, Buffy walked over to her sanctuary and climbed onto the low hanging branch of the tree. For some reason she couldn’t get the girl out of her head. Anya. Obviously, the girl was new because Buffy didn’t remember seeing her at school ever before.

Why the hell would Anya talk to her? Had someone put up her up to it? Remembering her words, Buffy reluctantly smiled.

Maybe she really was paranoid. And Anya was most definitely blunt in a weird, sort of refreshing way.

Buffy pulled the sketch book out of her bag and flipped through the pages. The sense of déjà vu she’d been experiencing lately created a recurring theme, she noticed. The male hands. Always the same hands, as though belonging to someone she knew.

Trying to remember when she’d seen them was as easy as swallowing nails. All it did was give her headache. After a while, Buffy gave up. With a groan, she leaned back against the trunk and watched as the wind picked up in speed, the force making the branches around her wheeze in protest. Leaves writhed around on the ground, the skies above darkening.

She stared into the distance as the grey clouds rushed into each other, blanketing the sun. It was going to rain soon. As soon as she thought it, water started to drizzle down. Buffy quickly stuffed her sketch book into her bag and climbed down.

For a moment she hesitated, glancing between the road into the woods and the abandoned mansion. Her mind made up, she took off running towards the old building, not very eager to get soaked again. It would probably pass soon, and then she’d be able to get home all safe and more importantly, dry.

The air was stale and a bit chilly, making her shudder as she let the door bang shut behind her. She folded her arms over her chest in a futile effort to get warmer. If there really were any ghosts, the least they could do is keep the place habitable.

She wandered off into the huge living room then stopped to stare at the big, terribly tacky family portrait above the fireplace. Fascinated in spite of herself, she trudged closer. It looked very old fashioned, definitely from another era. The man in the picture had a big moustache that curled up at the ends and Buffy raised her eyebrow in amusement. Good thing most men avoided such a look these days.

Well, except for the sleazy ones.

Her gaze dropped to smaller photo frames that rested in a thick layer of dust. She took in a deep breath then blew it out. Motes of dust fluttered up in little clouds, flying up her nose and into her eyes. Buffy sneezed twice in a row and rubbed at her sore eyes. Really, what did she expect would happen?

She waved a hand around her face, feeling glad no one was around to witness it. Her nose wrinkled when she noticed flaking dark red-brown smudges on the surface. If she hadn’t known better it would almost look like bloo—

“What are you doing here?”

Buffy jumped, barely registering she’d dropped her bag. Her heart hammered so fast she thought she was going to be sick. She whirled around and her eyes clashed with bright blue. She hadn’t thought she’d see him again after he shopped for chili at her father’s grocery store. Thought he’d be long gone from the town by now.

“Y-you,” she said in a somewhat accusing tone while trying to calm her breath.

His eyes narrowed as he stalked towards her in long confident steps until he was merely inches away. He wasn’t much taller than her, but she still had to tilt her head back a bit to be able to look him in the eye.

“Yeah, me. Missed me, have you?”

He wasn’t touching her but she felt as though his very presence was sucking the oxygen out of the already stuffy room. Buffy tried to back away but her back encountered the iron of the fireplace’s edge. She winced.

“You haven’t answered my question,” he said, pinning her in place with a gaze even more unyielding than the metal digging into her back. “What are you doing here? Did you follow me?”

Now that her mind started to clear a little, she could feel anger surging to the surface. Who was he to go all Alpha male on her?

“Excuse me? Why the hell would I follow you?” she asked with what she hoped sounded like menace. “This is my place. I should be asking you what you’re doing here.”

Clearly, he was unimpressed. “Little girls shouldn’t be sticking their noses where something might bite them off.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Like you’re going to do anything to me.”

The blue of his eyes seemed to melt into black as he stepped even closer to her, his hands closing around her shoulders painfully.

“Love, you know nothing about who I am. And you’d better keep from challenging me or I just might want to prove you wrong.”

It was impossible to wriggle out of his grasp. Instead she settled for glaring daggers at him and hissing, “Let me go.”

“Or what? You gonna scream?” The corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk, and he did relax his hold. Just not enough to grant her freedom.

Her personal space? Very much off limits, especially to him. But it wouldn’t do to let him know of the panic rising in her gut. So she did the only thing she could come up with.

She kneed him in the groin as hard as she could, given the limited space.

“I’ve never been much for screaming,” she said with a defiant lift of her chin.

Even though blood drained from his face, he recuperated much, much sooner than she expected. It was like he absorbed the pain, drank it in and before she could as much as blink, the length of his body pressed hers against the wall beside the fireplace, successfully immobilizing her.

Another attempt at bruising his manhood was swiftly blocked.

“W-what are you doing? Let me go!” She started to wriggle, heat rushing into her cheeks from exertion.

“Stop trying to emasculate me, and I will.”

“You deserve to be emasculated! Who do you think you are? You have no right to—”

“To what?” He tilted his head, just looking at her, his nostrils flaring.

For the first time Buffy noticed how dark and thick his eyelashes were. How the way he bit his full lower lip made her stomach tighten. How completely out of control his proximity made her feel.

At that moment she realised how much she hated this man.

With a passion.

“To what?” he repeated the question in a quiet, raspy voice. It was… almost sensual. The way the syllables slid off his tongue. She opened her mouth to answer when he reached out, his fingertips grazing the jagged scar across her lips. “To touch you?”

She trembled, swallowing heavily as she jerked her head away from his gentle touch. Cold sweat broke out at the back of her neck, and she felt herself succumbing to sheer panic. Nobody touched her scars.

Nobody.

Her whole body recoiled in disgust. Disgust at him for touching her scar. Disgust at herself because she liked the warmth of his fingertips on her skin. Only then she noticed he had stepped away, frowning as he observed her hyperventilating.

Buffy shot him a look full of hatred before she smacked him across the face. The sound echoed in the vast living room, her inability to hit him properly mocking her.

She’d hit him the way she felt at the moment.

Like a girl.

There was a red handprint already forming on his cheek, but he looked more surprised than hurt and her bottom lip quivered. Horrified, Buffy realised she was going to cry. Before he could witness her utter humiliation, she ran past him without a backward glance, only stopping when she finally made it home.

*******

Buffy barged into the house, rain dripping from her tangled hair to soak into the foyer carpet. Her dad ducked out of kitchen, his brows creasing in concern when he noted her distress.

“Are you all right?”

He approached her and the warmth of his hands seeped through her clothes as he clasped her shoulders.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I’m just… memories,” Buffy half-lied and watched him avoid her gaze. He thought she was talking about the time back in LA, and she suddenly felt like she needed to talk about it. Needed it so desperately it was making her shake.

“You’re shivering. Go change your clothes before you catch pneumonia.”

“Dad…”

“Buffy, please do as I say for once,” he said, tired.

She relented. For now anyway.

Resigned, Buffy went up to her room and slipped out of her soaked clothes before putting on black leggings and a baggy Led Zeppelin T-shirt that had seen better days. In five minutes she walked down the stairs and handed Dad her wet clothes. She followed him to the kitchen where he tossed them into the drier.

“I know you’re angry with me,” she whispered and leaned against the kitchen counter.

Hank ran a hand through his light brown hair and leveled her with steady eyes.

“I’m not angry, Buffy. It’s just… you know how much I don’t like talking about her.”

“I know. Neither do I. She never was a good mother, from what I remember, and I know she hurt you, but… she hurt me too, you know.” She absentmindedly touched the scars on her face. “I’ve got nobody to talk to but you. Except you never want to. Not about this. And I don’t—”

Her breath caught in her throat and she felt everything around her crashing down as tears gathered in her eyes. It had all been too much recently, and she’d bottled it all up without even realising it. All it took was the simple touch of a stranger and she was breaking. She pressed her lips together, determined to push it back. As she always did.

Then Dad was drawing her into his embrace, warm and solid and familiar.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Buffy clutched at his T-shirt, unable to stop the flow of tears. For the moment she allowed herself to be weak, to be comforted, clinging to the solace he was giving her. But how could she ever explain to her dad the reason for her breakdown? How could she possibly tell him that one touch of a stranger made her realise… made her realise how terribly lonely she was.

That she always would be.

“Why have you never said anything before? If I knew how important this was to you…”

“W-why? Why did she do this to me? Did she hate me so much?”

Dad pulled away just enough to be able to look at her, his eyes glazed over. “She wasn’t right in the head, got tangled with all sorts of wrong people, you know that. It wasn’t your fault.” He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. “It was mine. I should hav—”

“No. You couldn’t have known she would go all psycho.”

“But I should have been there. Should have stopped her from hurting you anyway,” he said in a low angry voice. “I loved her, was stupid enough to think I could help her. That you’d be safe from her because she was your mother. But I should have left and taken you with me long before she… you wouldn’t have had to suffer.”

“I’ve never blamed you for what happened.” Buffy wiped the tears from her cheeks, feeling defeated and exhausted. “You’ve always been a great father to me. I just wish I could understand.”

“So do I. God, the day I was told you were taken away in an ambulance… you were so little, lying in that big hospital bed.” He swallowed audibly, haunted by a memory only he could see. “I didn’t understand how she could hurt you that way. I wanted to kill her after I found out she did it.”

Buffy smiled though she was anything but amused. “She did the job done herself, didn’t she?”

The paramedics had found her mother lying on the floor in a pool of her own blood after she’d slit her throat. It was suicide, they had claimed. To be expected from someone as unstable as she had been. They couldn’t have saved her. Buffy and her mother had been the only family Dad had had, so he’d been left to deal with the aftermath. The arrangements. The funeral. All of it. She could still see how it tormented him. The way his world had shattered within a few days.

“Want to watch a movie?” he asked after a while, and Buffy nodded, letting him pull her away from the counter.

They settled down on the couch in the living room, pretending to be immersed in the on-screen plot. But she knew better. Knew that both of them were drowning in memories, kicking and desperate to reach the surface.

However blurry the memory, she would never forget the night when everything went straight to hell.

TBC

Chapter 4

She tossed around in bed later that night, her temples throbbing from the whirlwind of thoughts and images as she teetered on that precarious edge between sleep and wakefulness. Her eyelids felt heavy before she lost the battle, finally succumbing.

In the dream, the front door slammed shut and even though the sound was muffled, it tore Buffy out of sleep with the efficiency of a gun shot. She was eight years old again. The sun was lurking over the horizon, orange and pink spilling across the sky, illuminating her room as she curled into herself.

She could hear noise in the living room below but it was different from the sounds of Dad making breakfast before he went to work. This had a menacing edge and her breath quickened. All she wanted to do was stay burrowed under the warm blankets. All she wanted was to pretend everything was fine. Except she couldn’t, because then her mother’s voice drifted up, calling her name. The sound was sharp and cold, like two knives slashing against each other.

Buffy’s bare feet hit the cold wooden floor and she padded out of her room, even though the deep seated urge of anxiety refused to let her go. It rose and thickened, resting in the pit of her stomach like a heap of lead with every step down the stairs. She stopped at the bottom, clutching the banister until her knuckles turned white as her mother approached her.

“What took you so long?” Anne snapped.

Buffy stared up at her, the way her dark green eyes flashed with anger making Buffy’s chin quiver. “M-mom?”

“Do you know what you did? You ruined everything!” She bent down and gripped Buffy’s forearms, tugging her closer. Her mother was bruising her skin but Buffy didn’t say a word. “Did you think you’d get away with it? With taking everything away from me?”

Mom had been acting differently these last few months. She wasn’t the person Buffy had known. It was like someone had switched off the lights inside and she couldn’t find her way out. Buffy didn’t understand what she was asking of her now, and her mother’s face twisted in rage was scaring her. Hot torrents of tears poured down Buffy’s face as she choked back sobs in an effort to keep from making her mother even madder, from drawing the monster to the fore. Why couldn’t she ever just hold the tears back? Why did she have to enrage her mother further with her inability to be quiet?

She so badly wanted Dad to come home and protect her.

“We’re going to play a game,” Anne said in a deceptively calm voice and pulled her further into the living room.

She wanted to beg and plead and run but she didn’t dare, the words frozen in the back of her throat.

“You were naughty tonight, Buffy. You were supposed to stay and make Mommy happy. Don’t you want me to be happy?”

Buffy nodded jerkily but her mother’s eyes narrowed, glinting with insanity and that strange otherness Buffy didn’t recognise.

“Then why did you run?”

She struggled to find an answer but she didn’t know what Mom was talking about. She had been up in her room all night, sleeping. But she didn’t voice those thoughts. It didn’t matter what she said or did. Somehow, the blame would still be hers.

“We’ll make it better, won’t we? You’ll be good for once and let Mommy do what she needs to so she can be always young and pretty as she is now. You’ll listen now, won’t you, honey?”

Buffy nodded again, drawing in a shuddering breath.

Anne bared her teeth in a vicious grin, reaching for an empty bottle of beer she’d been drinking earlier. When she smashed its bottom against the edge of the table, Buffy’s eyes widened and she tried to back away but Anne’s grip on her wrist tightened.

“Now, now. You promised to stop being a bad girl.”

“No!” Buffy screamed and yanked her hand out of her mother’s as terror crashed over her in spades.

She ran blindly into the hall, but her steps were short and Anne caught up to her quickly. Before Buffy could do anything, Anne spun her around, bursting with rage. Buffy was in a haze, her whole body encased in a shroud no sound could penetrate. Time seemed to slow down to a crawl as she watched her mother lash out, the sharp glass edges glinting as it neared her face. Buffy raised her arms in effort to protect herself but it was too late. All she could do was squeeze her eyes shut before pain slashed through her in vivid red.

The pain was excruciating. It stabbed through her and only got worse as the second wave crashed over her torn nerves. Her screams were a distant echo in her ears as she fell to the floor. The skin of her face was slick as she covered it with her palms. Blackness overwhelmed her and it was the last thing she remembered.

Except, there was something… something fighting to the surface of her consciousness. Quick bursts of voices and glimpses of memories that should not have been there.

The room was suddenly filled with sounds of a scuffle but Buffy was too distracted by flashes of events she wasn’t supposed to remember. Flashes from a night hidden behind a veil that had suddenly been brushed away. Her mother leading her through the darkness earlier that night, with her voice trembling with excitement. A circle of strangers in an empty house, all of them staring at Buffy.

Hungry and expectant.

A man taking her hand, setting her up on a metallic table. So cold. Faces shifting, melting into those of monsters. Gleaming yellow eyes, sharp teeth. Blood of a potential. Then chaos. Shattered windows. Animalistic snarls around her. The pounding of her heart. Nobody was looking. Terrified, Buffy ran. Wind slammed against her skin, adrenaline-filled blood loud in her ears.

Someone snatched her up, covered her mouth with their palm before ducking into a dark corridor. Young masculine voice whispered into her ear, “Shh. Gotta stay quiet, lamb.”

Not one of them. Warm arms held her close, the scent of spice and something sweet filled her nose.

“Where do you live?”

Buffy heard herself stutter the answer. There was another gap where memories seemed to be missing, and she was suddenly back home. Someone passed a thumb over her forehead, murmured in a language she didn’t understand. Sleep tugged at her and she followed, obedient and grateful.

*******

Pain ripped through eight-year-old Buffy’s face, stirring her from unconsciousness but her eyelids were too heavy. She couldn’t seem to stop crying, the muscles in her face pulled taut making it worse. Blood filled her mouth, coppery and bittersweet. Then she heard the familiar voice wash over her again. Was she still dreaming?

Her face clammy with blood and tears jerked under a sudden warm caress. Someone pressed a soft towel against her torn skin, and she whimpered in pain.

“Where’s the fucking ambulance?”

She drifted in and out of consciousness; heard the sounds of an ambulance blaring in the distance at last. She was lying on the couch now, and she sensed the person retreat. The only thing left was his scent.

*******

Buffy woke up, hair sticking to her sweaty skin, her stomach tight with remnants of the memory still fresh in her mind. She hadn’t dreamt of the incident in years. Talking to Dad earlier must have ripped the wound open.

Rolling over onto her back, she reached for a second pillow and hugged it to her chest. Besides the memory, there was something else. Her skin buzzed with a revelation her brain refused to let her grasp. It slipped away as quickly and inevitably as water spilling between her fingers would.

It had been a dream within a dream. Quick flashes of something… of truth. But it was as if there was a barrier, a brick wall climbing up to the heavens. So high she’d never be able to see the end, never mind find her way over it and glimpse what lay behind.

The presence of someone lingered in her subconscious, teasing her. There had been someone else there. Dad had told her it must have been a neighbor who had called the hospital, but now she wondered. Had it been really? If so, why had none of them ever said anything?

*******

It was Saturday when she ransacked her room in search of her sketchbook. It was only when she knelt next to her bed to look under it that she realised… She wouldn’t find her bag there. For one simple reason. It had been left forgotten at the mansion after her mad dash to get away from… him.

God, she didn’t even know the man’s name.

Her stomach threatened to crawl into her mouth at the mere thought of confronting him again. She wasn’t sure whether it was from fear or disgust or just plain nerves. Hopefully, him being there had been a coincidence and a one time occurrence. If she went back, the house would be empty. She’d just grab her stuff and everything would be all right.

Wouldn’t it?

*******

Silently, with bated breath, Buffy sneaked into the vast space of the living room within the house. Her fingers absentmindedly brushed the dust layered linen covering the furniture. The only ghosts this place had.

There was the fireplace and the nearer she got, the more her heart tightened. No sign of the bag, yet she stubbornly took the last few steps and stood there in dismay, staring at the empty spot where it should have been. The only thing staring back at her was the faded, torn up tapestry.

“Well, this can’t be good,” she muttered and her eyes darted around in the hopes of finding her property discarded somewhere else in the room.

It wasn’t.

Was he still here, she wondered? Probably not. But why would he take her stuff? It only held her sketches and a few books. Nothing valuable. Not to anyone but her anyway.

Maybe he just moved it to mess with her. This conviction gave her enough courage to cross the living room to enter a dark corridor where the long staircase twisted up to the upper level. She’d never been there. As much as she snorted at any thoughts of ghosts, this place gave her the wiggins. The cold silence clung to her skin, almost like a living breathing thing warding off unwanted house guests.

Still she put one foot in front of the other and climbed up the stairs, holding on to the gaudy rustic handrail with more force than necessary. After what felt like eons she made it to the top, contemplating which of the numerous doors to open first.

The first room proved to be nothing but a closet full of cobwebs and abandoned bottles of detergent. Wincing every time the old floorboards whined with protest, Buffy tip-toed to the second room. Sudden ridiculous thought of feeling like Alice in Wonderland occurred to her. After all, there were no rabbits and hopefully she wouldn’t tumble down any hole. Although with this place, she wouldn’t be surprised if the floor was eaten through by termites and she’d crash through any minute now. Broken legs were what she needed to make her life complete.

Two rooms opened and checked. Whole lot of nothing.

Her temper flared.

How dare he just take her stuff? If he was still here, she’d give him a piece of her mind.

Buffy’s hand curled around the third doorknob and she twisted. At the sight within, she drew in a sharp wisp of air. So, he hadn’t left after all.

His face was turned away from her as he lay splayed across the double bed, his nude back slowly expanding as he breathed in repose. At least she thought he was asleep since he hadn’t even moved as she crossed the threshold. He still had his boots and jeans on, curiously enough. And it was probably a good thing the owner of this place couldn’t see the dirt on the soles of his boots staining the creamy lace of the bedding.

He looked kind of… not entirely gross. It was probably due to him not being awake to change her mind and she had to mull over the reason why she came up here in the first place.

Right.

Her bag.

With a sigh of relief she spotted it on the floor right next to the bed. Her heart hammered away with every step and she felt her every muscle coil. She was ready to flee or fight at the slightest hint of any movement, so when the mattress creaked—as loud as a siren in her mind—she held her breath. He turned his head in her direction but his eyes remained closed.

Buffy slowly exhaled and renewed her progress. Just three more steps and… Yes! She crouched down, her eyes flickering between his face and her prized possession on the floor.

Her palms were a bit sweaty as she grasped the bag. She was about to rise to her feet when his hand shot out and closed painfully around her upper arm.

TBC

Chapter 5

“Ow!” Buffy yelped and his eyelids slid open, still hazy with sleep as though his body had reacted defensively before his brain could catch up.

His brows creased in confusion and now his grip was really starting to hurt, so she slapped his arm.

“Let me go!”

“What are you doing here?” he asked, slightly loosening his grasp, but obviously not in any rush to release her.

“None of your business.” Buffy lifted her chin and finally managed to shake off his hand.

“Is voyeurism a hobby of yours?” The bleached menace sat up.

“What?”

“You know, playing peeping Tom, lurking about, spying on strangers,” he said in a voice still gritty with sleep as he rose from the bed. And for God’s sake, couldn’t he at least cover his chest? Even if he had a neat tattoo over his heart that she really shouldn’t be staring at.

“I wasn’t lurking.” She somewhat ungracefully clambered to her feet and pointed at her bag. “Maybe I should be the one doing the accusing. You stole my bag.”

He scratched the sharp edge of his cheekbone and glanced at her without a smidgeon of guilt or apology. “Nice drawings.”

Buffy’s jaw dropped open, her chest feeling too tight as the anger stretched its wings wide. “That’s private! You can’t just go around sticking your nose in other people’s belongings!”

She was sure blotches of red sprung up on her cheeks like they did every time she let her temper get the best of her.

The bastard just shrugged. “Then don’t leave it lying around for anyone to find.”

She was too angry to address his reply with anything approaching wit, so she just blurted out, “Are you even going to brush it off?”

His eyebrows drew together. “Huh?”

How very eloquent.

She pointed towards the specks of dirt on the bed linen.

“What, you got OCD on top of that bitch syndrome?”

“Wow, your mother must be so proud of your manners,” she said, not very willing to admit him calling her a bitch had stung a little. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t been called worse. Not like she cared what he thought of her.

His eyes darkened, lips pressed in a tight line as he snatched up a black T-shirt and pulled it over his head with jerky movements. “Not like I can ask her,” he said coldly. “She’s dead.”

Well, that kind of took the wind from her indignant sails. She flailed around for something to say but ‘sorry’ felt somehow inappropriate. It wasn’t as if she wasn’t motherless herself, so she knew how empty those words would sound. People had told her often enough.

“Oh,” she finally said.

Well, there she went with the lack of wit again.

He scoffed, avoiding her gaze and looking for all the world like someone who had just let a secret spill against their better judgment. Let a stranger in on something way too close to his heart.

Unsure and uncomfortable with the sudden tension, Buffy picked at the strap on her bag. “I should go.”

“Nobody’s stopping you,” he muttered

She made her way towards the door and was just stepping over the threshold when he said, “Aren’t you gonna check? Your bag I mean. I might have taken something.”

“Have you?”

The corner of his mouth quirked up. “What would you do to me if I said yes?”

Rolling her eyes, she replied, “It’s not like there’s anything of value in it. But if you did take something, I know where to find you. And I’ll kick your ass.”

He chuckled and hooked his thumbs in the front belt loops of his jeans in a way that had to be designed to draw attention to his crotch. It sure was kind of bulge-y…

“My eyes are up here, pet.”

Damn. Caught.

Her eyes snapped to his face, cheeks growing hot.

“Are you sure you don’t want to spank my ass instead?” he asked curiously, reveling in her embarrassment.

“Pig,” she mumbled and rushed out of his room with his provocative glance flashing though her mind.

*******

As soon as she fell asleep that night, she was him again, whoever he was. It was like a movie put on pause waiting for her to return so she could follow the plot without missing a beat. Except it was all fragmented, scattered puzzle pieces she was only aware of when her subconscious steered the progress of her thoughts.

“Choose,” the monster said, his fingers bruising the delicate throats of two women. The younger seemingly a less frail portrait of the other. A mother and a daughter. For the helpless devastation reflected onto her from the boy, Buffy knew they were his family.

“No!” He clutched at the tear in his neck, getting dizzier as blood trickled down to soak the collar of his school uniform. Crimson blossomed on the white of his shirt, staining his chest. Somewhere in the distance, a clock ticked, the boy’s dread mounting with each second.

“If you don’t, I’m going to have to kill them both. Is that what you want?” The monster tightened his grip. Unperturbed. Almost gleeful. “What’s it going to be, kid? Both or just one?”

The boy opened his mouth, a raspy sound whispering past his chapped lips. “W-who are you? Why are you doing this?”

“Name’s Angelus. And why?” He let out a dark, chilling laugh, shoulders shaking from the mirth. “Because it’s fun. And don’t think you’re going to sidetrack me with questions. So… who’s going to bite it?”

Buffy could feel how hard the boy was shaking, how his spine stiffened as he dredged up every ounce of determination to say, “K-kill… me instead.”

Angelus’ eyes narrowed right before he tittered in amusement, a madman relishing a private joke. “Do you know what happens to martyrs?” He dragged his tongue up the column of the younger girl’s neck and cheek, moaning at the taste of her tears. The scene sent the boy’s heart galloping in vicious anger, his knuckles popping as he clenched his free hand into a fist, the nails cutting into his palm. “They die horribly and… painfully. And I don’t remember offering option C.”

In the next five seconds, hundreds of different ways to kill this man roared through the boy’s mind. Yet he couldn’t do anything but sit there on the floor, wishing for this to be just a nightmare.

“What are you? Ten? Eleven?” Angelus asked as though they were having a polite conversation. As though the boy whose mind Buffy shared wasn’t on the cusp of losing everything.

“T-thirteen,” he stammered through the clenched jaw. Buffy really hated this feeling of déjà vu, the way she stumbled into someone else’s recurring nightmare.

“You’re scrawny for a thirteen-year-old,” Angelus mocked, “Okay, martyr, either you choose in the next five seconds or mummy dearest and sis here are going to kick it both. It’s your choice. And if you move a muscle, I’ll just break their necks where I stand and you’ll know it’s your fault.

“One.”

His breath hitched in his throat and he pleaded and begged the monster in front of him not to do this, but Angelus only laughed.

“Two.”

He frantically looked around, his palms sweating, scream building at the back of his throat.

“Three.”

No, no, no, no… Don’t do this, take me instead!

“Four.”

His eyes locked with theirs, tears blurring his vision. How could he choose between his mother and twin sister? How could he save one only to damn the other? How could he live with himself if he let this happen?

He leapt to his feet just as Angelus said “Five,” only to be kicked backwards so hard it knocked the breath out of his lungs. Even though it wasn’t Buffy’s body, she was forced to gasp for breath as well.

That sound. That horrible snap of bone and cartilage, the thud of a body colliding with the floor, the scream ripping from his throat. Nothing could ever make Buffy forget it.

His mother lay there, her eyes empty and cold. Accusing. Why couldn’t you save me?

“I’m feeling charitable. See? Your sis is alive. So pretty, isn’t she?” Angelus pinched her cheek and grinned at the fallen boy but he could hardly see anything through the haze smothering him. The weight of what happened hadn’t fully registered yet. He could hardly move at all.

Angelus’ lips moved, his voice a slowed down caricature as the world shattered. The sound of it was so loud it drowned out everything else.

His sister fell and knocked her head on the table when Angelus pushed her down.

Buffy could tell that the boy imagined standing up and rushing him, ripping Angelus’ head off with his own hands though he was less than half of the other man’s weight.

His legs shook so hard he couldn’t even kneel.

Angelus approached him then, leisurely, calmly, like a lion stalking its fallen prey, already knowing he’d won.

When Angelus’ hand closed around his upper arm, the rage ignited and flared. The boy screamed. He struggled. The pain from hitting Angelus’ brick wall of a body didn’t even register. Angelus just swatted his hands aside like he was shooing away a mosquito on a hot summer night. Before Buffy knew what happened, Angelus had tied a cord around the boy’s wrists, dragging him behind like an animal carcass then tethered his hands to the radiator pipes.

Angelus’ cool breath prickled his cheek as he whispered, “If there is one thing I love more than torturing martyrs, it’s showing virgins a good time. You think we could kill two birds with one stone?”

The boy’s gaze flew to his sister who was half-unconscious from the head wound. The bile rose at the back of Buffy’s throat as cold sweat broke out on his skin.

Angelus rose fluidly to his feet and stepped over to the girl. With a few quick yanks, he ripped off her clothes and tossed her right next to the boy’s feet. Horrified, he pulled at the cord, silent tears pouring from his eyes.

“Eline,” he said. “Run. You have t—”

“Now, now, lad, that wouldn’t be very wise of her.” Angelus coiled her hair around his hand and pulled her head up. “Unless she wants to see me rip your twiggy legs off and beat you to death with them.”

Her dazed blue eyes met his, mirroring his agony and helplessness. “William…”

Such a gentle name, Buffy thought. If she could, she’d close her eyes to spare both herself and him the sight of what she knew was about to happen.

“Now you,” Angelus shifted his attention to William, “are going to watch. If you look away for as much as a second, she’s dead.”

She screamed as he violated her, gut wrenching sobs that made Buffy sick to her stomach but she couldn’t look away. With each second, she felt a piece of William die.

*******

White.

Everything around him was so blindingly white it filtered through his tightly shut eyelids, the sharpness of it sending pinpricks of pain through Buffy’s aching brain. There were voices, morning light illuminating the dust motes fluttering in the air.

William swallowed the metallic tang of his own blood, his sore stomach heaving again at the smell of his own urine. The reason his bladder had betrayed him came back to Buffy in painful Technicolour.

As though waiting for him to regain full consciousness, the agony lanced through him as he leaned against the radiator, staring blankly at a paramedic cutting him free. His head was spinning. He clutched the woman’s sleeve to steady himself and tried to comprehend what she was asking him. For a moment William wondered if the Earth truly was just a plank sailing across the never ending ocean and he was the only person who noticed it heave on the waves.

“What’s your name?”

His name? Had he ever had one? He didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve to be alive.

“Coward,” he mumbled, repeating the word over and over, testing the new identity in a few breathless exhales.

He’d failed to save them. The idea resonated through his skull with the insistence of an alarm clock when you still wish for five more minutes to sleep.

“There’s a body,” someone said, and for a moment William frowned. There wasn’t any body, he wanted to say. Just him and Mum.

Paramedic poked and prodded at him, shining a sharp light into his eyes after she tended to the tear on his neck. The blood had coagulated hours ago. How long had he been sitting here? It could have been centuries.

“I’m going to disinfect the wounds on your wrists now, okay? It will smart a little,” she informed him in a professional yet compassionate voice. Like he was a frightened bird who’d take flight as soon as she spoke too loud.

His wrists? He glanced down and saw the skin chafed almost to the bone. Must have done it himself, trying to loosen the cord.

She dabbed them with antiseptic but he didn’t flinch.

He couldn’t even feel it.

And he wanted it to hurt. He deserved every ounce of pain that was coming to him. He had been too weak, too slow, too stupid to save the only family he had left. The two people in his pathetic life who had loved him his entire life. And now they were gone.

The monster had taken his sister. Slipped into his true guise and sank his teeth into her delicate throat, gorging himself on her life. She couldn’t even scream anymore, too far gone to react. Not after… not after he’d…

The last thing William had seen before being knocked out was Angelus hauling Eline over his shoulder and into the light outside. Shouldn’t a monster like him be banished to the darkness?

William didn’t get to say he was sorry. He didn’t get to say goodbye. And now he never would.

He couldn’t even bury her.

With his chest constricting, he curled his arms around his legs and hid his face in his knees.

******

Buffy woke up with a start, her throat sore from the crying she must have done while sleeping. Sure enough, when she swept trembling palms over her face, her cheeks were stained with tears. It was still dark outside but she felt too unsettled to sleep. Cool air brushed her feverish skin when she slipped out of the sweat soaked sheets and wandered over to the window, opening it to let in crisp fresh air.

For some reason, she could taste blood on her tongue.

TBC

Chapter 6

Spike started awake, the warm stuffy air licking his goose-bump covered skin. He rolled on his back and stared at the shadows dancing across the ceiling as his heart rate slowed to normal. Twelve years had passed since the day his mum and sister had died but he could still recount every gory detail. Nightmares struck as soon as his head touched the pillow, always waiting there in the darkness to pounce.

He was a sodding failure, wasn’t he?

Eline. Mum. Countless other people he’d buggered up saving.

Swallowing hard, Spike sat up and pressed the heel of his hand to his sweaty brow.

No use even trying to go back to sleep now. There were things to do, informants to stalk, books to retrieve. He wouldn’t stop until he got what he came for and he wasn’t above killing anything that stood in his path.

Wouldn’t be the first time now, would it?

Sometimes he wondered if he even had a soul anymore—or anything that passed for one for religious folk. If he still had it, the wretched thing was probably broken. Just like him. Nothing but a shard of glass, charred at the edges.

It didn’t matter. He was beyond salvation. Didn’t care for redemption either. He’d accepted it the moment he’d escaped that not-so-lovely place called a foster home, doing anything and everything to survive. To protect her. But he’d failed, hadn’t he? The only thing propelling him forward now was the urge to right the wrong, price of it be damned.

Nothing mattered but his mission. And he was going to take it right to the bloody end.

*******

Okay, this was ridiculous.

Just because he probably still stank up the old mansion with his insufferable presence didn’t mean she had to steer clear of her very favourite place, right? Right. This was supposedly a free country and… this just wasn’t fair! She’d been avoiding it for a week now. Damn him, it was her place, she thought sullenly and fidgeted with the strap of her bag.

She’d been staring holes into the forest path leading to the old house for ten minutes, trying to make up her mind. Go home and pout, or claim her tree spot with her chin up.

“Fake bravery it is,” she muttered and squared her shoulders.

First step in, a branch almost poked her eye out.

Go figure.

Heaving a sigh, she waded through the patch of trees until she reached the clearing.

For some reason she’d imagined he would jump from behind a random bush as she took the first step, but that was just silly. Still, she glanced around way too much like a startled rabbit ready to run at the first hint of a wolf. And he was, she thought, very wolf-y.

Two minutes later, she was about to climb her tree, mentally patting herself on the back for her sneakiness. No obnoxious men had to know she was there, see? She was the very definition of sneakiness. Maybe she could be a spy! That would be appropriate, and she could make up a story and say she had acquired her scars in a battle against a formidable enemy. Maybe he’d even have four arms. What? That could totally happen.

Probably.

Okay, maybe not.

“You know, if you keep seeking me out, it might give a bloke the wrong idea.”

Startled, Buffy sprawled down on her butt. Today was so not her day.

“Ow.” She lifted her head and shielded her eyes. The sun was blinding her anyway but she could see his shape illuminated in a misguided mockery of a halo. He was anything but an angel. More like Lucifer’s right hand.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, the teasing edge hardening into something colder. Something not to be toyed with. Well, he could go intimidate someone else with his swagger routine. She wasn’t one to be scared easily.

“Do you always have to pop out of nowhere? It’s really annoying. Maybe you should think of hanging a bell around your neck.”

“Didn’t peg you to be a kinky one, kitten.”

For some reason the way he called her kitten made her tingle in the weirdest way.

And now the asshole was offering her his hand. Like she couldn’t stand up herself? Please, her bruised ego didn’t mean she was crippled. Not even looking at the offending limb, she climbed to her feet and brushed the stray grass blade off the seat of her dark blue jeans. And what was that about kinkiness?

“Well, not like you’d know if I’m… kinky. You don’t know anything about me.”

He dropped his arm. “Ooh, Betty’s got a dark side, has she?” he mocked and fished a crumpled pack of cigarettes out of his jeans’ front pocket.

“It’s Buffy.”

“Gathered that.”

“When?” She frowned. “I didn’t tell you.”

He lifted his eyebrow and stuck a cigarette between his lips. “Pops mentioned it during my grocery run.” That grin on his face was positively sly. “I’m sure you remember. It was a riot and a half to see a little girl like you so… flustered. By yours truly, no less. Gotta say, I’m flattered.”

Her mouth opened to reply, vehement denial of being a little girl ready to spring off her lips. But then he lit up his smoke, took a deep drag and closed his fingers around the cancer stick. The bottom of her stomach plummeted to the soles of her feet.

“What? No smart ass come back? Come on then, show me that sharp tongue of yours.”

But her mind was elsewhere and her legs covered the already short distance in two long strides before she snatched his hand. That made him drop the cigarette and the glowing ashes landed on the skin above his knuckles.

“Fuck!” He jumped and tried to shake off both the burning ash and her hand. She tightened her grasp. His hand.

Oh God…

“Are you bloody insane? Let go of me, you barmy bint!”

He finally managed to dislodge her from his wrist and took a step back. If she wasn’t so hell bent on working through the sudden epiphany, she would have found his wariness amusing.

But she was on a mission, following his every step with her own, her eyes fixed on his hands that were now warding her off as if she was a rabid dog.

“Who are you?” she murmured, the question aimed at no one in particular.

“What are you on about?” He probably realised how silly it was of him to back away from a girl because he stopped, his eyes narrowing. She would have been offended by that sudden dismissal, but…

She knew those hands. Knew them as well as she did her own. Every vein and ridge, every crease in the palm of his hand. She knew them because they were the hands she’d been obsessively drawing for over a month now.

Before she’d even met him.

“Who are you?” she yelled, a touch of hysteria slipping through.

Shutters seemed to have slammed down behind his gaze, a protective gesture as he hunched his shoulders. His every muscle tensed and he subconsciously widened his stance as though preparing for a fight. Buffy wondered how such a simple question could trigger such a protective response. The only thing she was certain of was that he was hiding something.

“I know you,” she said.

Despite his protective shell, she glimpsed surprise flicker on his face before he put on that stone mask again.

“Doubt that,” he replied curtly.

Arguing the opposite wouldn’t get them anywhere but to a back and forth banter, each of them claiming their own truth. No, she’d have to get the confession out of this man in a different way.

“You looked through my drawings,” Buffy said, determined to trick him into a head-on confrontation.

“Yeah,” he drawled, wary and confused.

Good, that was exactly what she wanted him to be.

“Then tell me, why the hands in my sketches are the exact replica of yours?”

Stunned silence.

“Tell me!”

With a snarl, he backed her into the tree with his sheer presence, an inch of thick tension separating their heaving chests. God, he was an enigma. An unstable, unpredictable enigma.

“How the fuck would I know!” When he sucked in his cheeks in irritation, Buffy’s eyes were drawn to the hollows of his cheekbones. “You tell me. Fancy yourself a stalker? Should I get a restraining order against you? This isn’t the first time you’re trespassing my property, too.”

“This isn’t even your house! You’re totally a squatter!”

The vein on his temple started to throb visibly. “I’m bloody well not!” His palms slammed against the wide bark on either side of her head in forceful emphasis, making her jump. “I don’t owe you any explanations, but this house now belongs to me. So yeah, I’ve got every right to call the cops on you.”

Blood drained from her face but she’d be damned if she let him know his words had affected her. That his nearness made her heart skip a panicked beat. Last thing she needed was to get another panic attack and give him leverage. She hadn’t had one of those in years. It was all his fault!

“I’m not leaving until you tell me who you are.” Not even a tremble in her voice. She was driven to make him say it before her emotions burst through the dam.

His eyes bored into hers, raging with anger and something else… something guilty.

“I’ve never met you before,” he hissed through clenched teeth, his eyes flickering away for half a second too long, confirming Buffy’s suspicions. He was hiding something all right.

“I don’t believe you.”

His nose was this close to touching hers. His breath wafted across her lips as he whispered, “Tough luck.”

He was about to push off and Buffy couldn’t believe her hands shot out to hold him in place, clenching around the lapels of the dark blue shirt he wore over a black T-shirt.

With more forcefulness and a lot less of the panic his nearness had stirred up, she said, “At least tell me your name.”

He stared at her hands on his shirt. “Why would I do that?”

“Because it’s only fair since you know mine.” The rough bark was starting to cut into her back.

His eyes shifted to her face and he tilted his head in a way that made him look even more… obnoxious. Not cute or any other gag-worthy adjective.

Why couldn’t he just tell her?

“Spike.”

“Huh?” Did he just British-insult her?

“My name. It’s Spike.”

“No, it’s not,” Buffy countered automatically.

“Yes, it is,” he said with barely repressed annoyance. “You’d think I’d know my own bloody name!”

Yup, there went the two seconds of his patience. Straight down the drain. And what kind of name was Spike anyway? Somehow, she doubted it was the one he’d been given at birth. Unless his parents had confused him with a dog.

“Care to take your paws off now, tiger?”

“What?”

He meaningfully glanced down at her hands.

She let go of him as if burnt.

Now that she’d gotten the answer, the proximity of his body registered full force and she didn’t know where to look. The longer he refused to move away, the more she had trouble controlling her breathing.

Oh, grass pretty. What a sunny day it was. No wonder she was beginning to sweat, right? All because of the stupid sunshin—

“Are we done now?” he asked. “Are you satisfied?” The whisper of his breath tickled Buffy’s ear as he leaned in even closer.

Her hands braced against his chest again, but this time to shove him off. It was like pushing a slab of stone.

“Get off,” she huffed, breath catching in her throat.

“Make me.”

Heat rose to her head, spilling red behind the closed lids of her eyes as she struggled to inhale. Her knees trembled and she felt she was spiraling out of control, her hands uselessly beating against his chest.

But he was still there, the heat of his body burning her like the time she’d held her palm over an open flame for a second too long. She couldn’t open her eyes and the colours swirled and spun together until she didn’t know whether her head and limbs were still attached to her body.

Slowly she could breathe again and realised she was sitting on the grass, someone’s hands gripping her upper arms.

“Come on, snap out of it,” came an urgent voice as if from the depths of a cave.

Inhale. Exhale. Repeat the process. Calm down. Stupid paper bags were never around when she needed them.

Buffy blinked her eyes open. The first thing she saw was Spike’s face, his dark brows furrowed before he loosened the grip on her arms. Great, now he’d really think she was insane-o girl. Why did it always have to be him who witnessed her loss of control? Why did her cool and detached front always seem to crumble in front of him?

The pressure of his touch lifted. “Wanna tell me what was that all about?”

Buffy scrambled back to her feet, “N-nothing.” Steady voice? Un-check.

What she needed was to get out of here as soon as humanly possible, so she retrieved her bag from the ground where she’d dropped it the minute Spike scared the crap out of her with his sudden appearance.

“Didn’t look like nothing to me,” he echoed, observing her as though she was one of those unfortunate rare animals locked in a cage. Look at the freak that is me.

She was too embarrassed to face his mockery or whatever quip he was about to sling her way.

“Dad’s probably waiting for me.”

Why did she even say it? It wasn’t like she owed him any explanation.

She turned on her heel and made it four steps when he called out to her, “Don’t come here again.”

He didn’t have to worry. That was the furthest thing from her mind.

TBC

Chapter 7

A lunch tray landed next to hers with a resounding clank. Startled, Buffy looked up from the sludge of mash potatoes that strongly resembled a yellowish chunk of mud.

So not edible.

“Are you always this mope-y?” Anya sat down at the small table only occupied by Buffy.

“What?” She frowned, slanting the brunette a confused glance.

“You know, if you keep up the frowning thing, it will give you premature wrinkles.”

Buffy blinked. “We wouldn’t want that,” she finally replied dryly.

“Was that sarcasm? I’m not good with sarcasm.” She stuck a soggy fry in her mouth. “I’d rather get to the point.”

“Don’t take this personally, but why are you here?”

Now it was Anya’s turn to frown. “I’m eating lunch. Even if it’s disgusting. I think the cooking lady might be a Knolob demon. It would explain the sock-like smell around the kitchens.”

What the hell was a Knob demon? “No, what I meant was… well, shouldn’t you be sitting at the table with Harmony and other cheerleaders?”

Anya shrugged. “They’re boring. All they talk about is where they’re going to buy their prom dress. And none of them seems to be aware that America is on the brink of financial collapse.”

Anya was definitely strange. But since Buffy wasn’t all that kosher herself, she really didn’t mind. It was kind of nice to talk to someone.

“Yup, heard about the whole recession thingy. Dad’s always talking about it,” Buffy said. “He owns the grocery store.”

Anya nodded. “Small businesses fall down like rotten apples.”

“Gee, that’s encouraging.”

“Oh, but you see, Sunnydale offers no interest to the big chains of supermarkets since there’s like… fifty people here. Plus, small town people prefer family values and all that crap. I think your dad will be okay.”

“That’s… actually strangely comforting.”

Anya beamed.

Buffy chewed, deciding whether she’d swallow or spit it out into a napkin. “And this definitely tastes like socks. Think you might be right about the demon thing.”

“I do love open-minded people,” Anya said at Buffy’s approval of the demon theory and pushed her tray away. “So, are you going to tell me why you were moping?”

“I wasn’t! That’s my normal Buffy face,” she said. “I think.”

“Now that’s just unfortunate,” Anya commented seriously and Buffy didn’t know whether she should be offended or amused.

*******

He was such a wanker, Spike thought as he made his way through a nearby cemetery.

How could he not have put two and two together? No, instead the fact that the fiery slip of a girl was the same he’d saved had flown right over his head. In his defense, it was what… nine years ago? It was only after he’d seen the drawings that the proverbial light bulb flickered over his head, and it fully ignited as soon as she confronted him.

So yeah, he’d lied to her.

They had met before. But what was he supposed to tell her? Oh yeah, by the way, remember that time your mum tried to sacrifice you to a bunch of vampires so she could join their ranks? Right, you can’t because I’d used a bloody forgetting spell on you!

That would go over well. He’d probably get kneed in the balls. Again.

And why she remembered his hands of all things… Hell, she shouldn’t remember anything.

Fucking magic never works when you need it. Always got to have a price tag attached.

Spike kicked a pebble in his path and watched them skip ahead of him on the pavement. God, the look on her face… stubborn little bird like her wasn’t supposed to make him feel. Least of all sympathy. Watching her slide right into a panic attack when he wouldn’t back down reminded him too much of his stay back at the foster home. He and panic attacks were old chums, though he hadn’t had one in years, but seeing a reflection of William in her stricken eyes had hit close to home. Too close.

“Sod this,” Spike muttered with a self-deprecating snicker and stuck his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. That wasn’t who he was anymore.

The fact he had to quell the urge to apologise to her was enough to cement his belief he ought to keep some distance. Not just from her but from everyone. None of the folk in sleepy little Sunnydale would know the first thing about the real world, especially since they considered it to be a work of fantasy. After all, spells and vampires weren’t real, now were they? The monsters under the bed weren’t supposed to be literal to the point where they munched off your foot as if it was crème brulée.

And if she knew the things he’d done, she’d think he was a monster too. Wouldn’t be wrong either.

Did he want to protect her from it?

Nah. That couldn’t be it. He’d stopped caring a long time ago.

Probably long before he’d killed his first human being.

Yeah, I’m a real hero.

*******

Nine Years Before

“You’re guarding the side entrance. Kill any vampire that tries to cross,” said Rupert Giles, the man who had given him a home when he’d lost everything for the second time. William owed him his life.

They stood facing each other, hidden in the shadows of a deserted alley nearby an abandoned district warehouse in LA.

“What about the crazy wannabes?” William asked, absentmindedly drawing the stake from the waistband of his jeans. He’d seen what vampires were capable of first hand. Could hardly believe anyone would worship at their murderous feet. Bunch of ignorant children who probably found vampirism awfully romantic. He really couldn’t find it in himself to care if they got eaten. They volunteered, didn’t they?

He may have been sixteen but he felt as though decades had piled up on top of him with the shit he’d been through in the last three years. It felt as if he was fighting every second of every day even if he was sitting alone in his room. Maybe especially then.

Giles looked decidedly flustered as he pushed his glasses further up his nose, a move that could be seen even with the moon their only source of light. “W-well, they’re still human…”

William rolled his eyes. “I know that. Not like I’m going to drive a stake through their hearts. Just figured I’d ask what to do about them.”

“Ah… perhaps you could help anyone injured?”

“Are you asking me?”

Giles let out a short exasperated exhale. “I’m telling you.”

“No need to get grumpy,” William said with a snicker he couldn’t quite hide and bounced on his feet, his fingers drumming against the rusty spike strapped to his thigh.

Slowly others started to trickle in to the meeting point. About ten men dressed mostly in dark colours, scruffy and armed. Rogue demon hunters, some of them ex-council members just like Rupert, most of them just men who’d seen the real face of the world and couldn’t stand idly by while people got slaughtered. Some of them probably got into the gig same way he did, he figured.

By losing someone beloved.

Main reason he was here, stalking towards the side entrance, stake a rough weight in his palm. Dust a few vamps, get in some nasty jibes towards those who hadn’t managed to turn themselves into main course, perhaps get a lead on Angelus. This, after all, had the wanker’s stink all over it.

That was what his life had become and he wouldn’t let himself be fooled that happiness was in store for him. That he could have something worth fighting for beside vengeance and bloodshed. Not this time.

Then again he’d never expected to see the little girl served up on a steel table that looked like it had been stolen from a morgue. A sacrificial lamb offered to be torn apart by a pack of hungry wolves.

Christ, she was so young. He probably had about ten years on her.

God knew he shouldn’t give a buggering fuck, but his heart wasn’t nearly as cold as he’d like it to be. Damn thing just wouldn’t clue in to the fact that he didn’t want it to feel.

Still, as soon as they barged through the thick metal door, William’s feet pounded towards the makeshift altar. Bugger the plan, the strategy of guarding the side entrance. This was more important.

Chaos reigned, people screamed. Somewhere to his right, flames burst to life and flared up the heavy black curtains that covered the windows. There were snarls, the sound of bodies hitting the floor, the whiz of arrows. To him it melted into background noise. He pushed forward, carelessly shoved aside anything or anyone in his way to get to her. Managed to dust a couple of vamps during his mad dash.

Just a few seconds was all it took. Just a bloody flick of his eyes away from the goal as a body tumbled right down at his feet, tripping him. The stake flew out of his grasp and by the time he leaped back to his feet, she was gone.

“Fuck,” he muttered and wildly searched the room in hopes of catching a glimpse of her golden hair.

Ah, there she was, scrambling through the battling hunters and vampires. He saw her run through a side door that would only lead her deeper into the warehouse. A vampire jumped into his way, fangs gleaming, inhuman growl rumbling out.

Without breaking his stride, he pulled out the spike and stabbed the vampire straight between its eyes, deep enough that he could hear the squelch of its brains when he pulled the spike out. Brain damage wouldn’t kill it, but it would slow the vampire down enough for someone else to finish the job.

William jumped over the body, sheathed the spike back in its place and jogged through the same door. Cold air replaced the inferno in the room he had left behind, the cement walls of the corridor muffling the sounds of the scuffle. His feet pounded, cool air stretched his lungs. God, he hoped she hadn’t dashed in the completely opposite direction.

Another set of feet padded somewhere ahead and he quickened his steps. Soon he could see the little mite stumbling over the ground littered with decade old debris. His own steps were loud enough. She glanced over her shoulder but seemingly stared right through him, gave no indication that she saw him at all. She probably didn’t spot him right away due to his dark clothes that melted into the shadows. That, or utter panic.

He figured it was a bit of both.

He took a few long strides and was within reaching distance. He lifted her up and covered her mouth right as she opened it to let out a scream.

“Shh, gotta stay quite, lamb.”

She struggled and kicked, so he banded his arms around her tighter, murmuring into her ear, “Not gonna hurt you. Just here to help. I’m not one of those nasty buggers.”

When she calmed down and nodded, he took his hand away. With how hard she was shaking, he figured the poor girl wouldn’t be up to standing on her own feet so he heaved her higher in his arms, turning her to face him as he did. She panted, her big green eyes glistening with tears as they met his. It felt strange when she wrapped her limbs around him so tightly it almost hurt. Tugged at his heart, it did.

“Where do you live? ‘M going to take you home.”

Her brows drew together in confusion before she stammered out an address.

Rupert would have to manage on his own.

He carried her all the way home even though it was far and she was heavy. The walk was that much longer since he had to avoid populated areas. Wouldn’t do to hail a taxi and raise suspicions either. He could only imagine what it would look like if someone spotted them. Him, a teenage delinquent with knife tucked in his boot and a bloodied spike covered in the remnants of a vampire’s brains strapped to his thigh. And her?

God, she trembled so hard it vibrated off his skin, her silent tears hot against his throat. Not to mention her hands and knees were smeared with blood. She must have fallen and scraped them on a pavement at some point.

Yeah, he’d be accused of kidnapping or worse before he could blink.

The long journey was spent in silence as she clung to him as if he was her lifeline. That made him feel vaguely uncomfortable. He wasn’t a selfless white hat, though she probably thought so. He was in it for revenge, not to help damsels in distress, no matter what age.

Still, he couldn’t not help her.

She was still dressed in her nightie. This oversized violet thing with tiny daises on it that made her look even more vulnerable. With her honey blond hair, those big eyes and pouty lips, he knew she’d be a real looker one day. Break some hearts once she got a thorough therapy.

Her parents had to be scared witless right about now. Then he wondered if they’d noticed she was missing yet, as deep in the night as it was.

When he finally reached her house, all the lights were off. He rang and rang again but nobody answered.

Strange.

“You sure this is your house, kitten?”

“Yes.”

“But nobody’s home.”

“Dad’s working tonight,” she whispered, her voice rough.

“What about mum?”

Her lips thinned and she drew in a shuddering breath. “The key should be in the pot,” she said instead and he knew better than to pry.

He bent over to let her down though it took her a few seconds to let go completely. Sure enough, the key was in the cheery yellow pot with some kind of hideous plant in it.

Bloody Americans.

Once he’d unlocked the door, with silent pleading eyes, she looked up at him and stretched out her arms.

“Manipulative little bint,” he muttered but lifted her into his tired arms anyway. “Aren’t you a tad big to be carried around?”

She pathetically sniffled and said, “Nope.”

“Cheeky.”

She patted her cheeks and frowned. “Is that a bad thing?”

William smiled ruefully and shook his head.

He asked her name but she only told him she liked the way he called her kitten better, so he went along with that.

She refused to let him contact her father, saying he couldn’t afford to miss work because of her. His attempts to find her dad’s phone number proved to be fruitless and she stubbornly kept silent about it. After giving up on it for now, he took her up to her room, then called Rupert to let him know where to bring that infernal book of handy spells. Though that was the last resort in William’s mind. Magic was unpredictable and only to be used sparingly.

“Kitten?” he asked, kneeling down next to her bed.

“Yeah?” her eyes peeked at him from under the mountain of blankets he’d thrown over her.

“If you could, would you want to forget what happened tonight?”

She fell silent, the base of her little nose crinkled as she mulled it over. “Yes.”

“What if I told you I could do that? Make you forget.”

She rolled from her side onto her belly and wriggled out of her blankets far enough so that she could look him fully in the eye. A bit strange to be stared at with such intensity by an eight-year-old.

“But I don’t want to forget you. Only the bad parts.”

He sighed. “I’m not some knight in shining armor. I’ve done my fair share of bad things. Awful, terrible things.”

“I don’t think you’re terrible,” she said seriously.

“Well, what do you know? You’re a child.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You’re not terrible, but you’re stupid, you know that?”

He almost laughed, so surprised he was by that swift retaliation. The bit sure had a sharp wit.

“Nobody likes a smartass,” he remarked, a reluctant grin tugging at his mouth.

She stuck her tongue out at him. “You don’t look that much older than me anyway.”

“Don’t I?”

“No. I could totally marry you when I’m all grown up.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle. Been a while since anyone had a crush on him, if ever. Even if it was a short lived one that she would undoubtedly forget about the very next day even if he didn’t use the forgetting spell.

“But I don’t want to marry anyone,” she said with a faraway look.

“So you don’t fancy having a big house with little kids and a yapping dog running about?”

“No.”

William folded his arms on the mattress and propped his chin there. “Why not?”

She shrugged. “I want to be happy.”

Right, kid from a broken home. That would explain a few things. She’d probably taken a hike on the dear old dad.

“Not all married people are unhappy,” he countered even though he wasn’t sure whether he sounded even half convincing. After all, his father had left his mum before him and Eline were born. A real stand up bloke, that one.

“I’d rather buy a car,” she said, making him laugh more genuinely than he had in a long time.

“So you’d rather buy a car than marry me?” He gave her a wounded look.

Her cheeks turned pink and she ducked her head. “Well, you’re kinda okay.”

William winked at her, amused that it made her blush even harder.

The moment of camaraderie was interrupted by the door bell chiming.

Rupert and his spell book.

The rest was up to her.

TBC

Chapter 8

Spike had done the forgetting spell, feeling surprisingly uneasy about breaking his promise to allow her to remember him. Spells were volatile when in their original form; he didn’t want to risk tampering with the forces and accidentally wipe out the girl’s entire memory. Instead he had erased the traumatising part of the evening. Once she woke up, she’d be convinced she’d been asleep all night, tucked in her beddy bye.

After she’d nodded off, he and Rupert gathered their stuff and with one last glance over his shoulder, he was off.

They were about a mile away from LA when Rupert let slip that the bit’s mum was one of the wannabes. Good old Samaritan that Rupert was, he’d wanted to help her. But all she’d kept yammering about was how they had ruined her chances of eternal life.

Bloody hell, women like her should never have kids.

He wondered about the girl’s dad and why he hadn’t done anything. Did he even know what his wife was doing while he was off working? It left a bitter taste in William’s mouth.

“So what did you do about her? Please tell me you gave her a one way ticket to Bedlam.”

Giles shifted in his seat and fiddled with the seatbelt. “Ah, well… she somehow managed to evade me.”

William’s fingers gripped the steering wheel, an uneasy feeling swarming in his stomach. “Evade you? How exactly did she manage to evade you? Last time I checked, she was still human enough for you to deal with her without much trouble.”

“She ran,” he admitted, his cheeks tinted pink.

“Where?”

“How would I know?” Giles asked, his embarrassment quickly turning into barely repressed ire.

“You should have checked! Didn’t it happen to occur to you that this daft woman who offered her own bloody daughter as a midnight snack would… oh, I don’t know… feel a tad resentful?”

William gritted his teeth, not feeling very sympathetic when Giles turned pale.

“I-I… it did not occur to m—”

Tuning out Giles’ stuttered excuses, William stomped down on the brake and turned the car around 180 degrees with a screech of tires and billows of road dust.

He’d never be able to live with himself if he didn’t make sure the girl was all right.

He had to go back.

*******

Present Day

Great. This was just bloody great.

The most promising lead turned out to be an old lady who allegedly had about as much sense as a sack of hammers. He was starting to wonder whether the whole universe was conspiring against him.

Spike clicked off his phone and tucked it into the back pocket of his jeans. Apparently, one Mrs. Melinda Baum was in possession of Valley of the Sun. A book that should shine a light on getting the weapon he needed to level up the fighting field between him and Angelus. Not that the bastard knew he was being tailed. As Spike had learned, the vampire’s ego was so overblown he’d never consider anyone could pose a threat to him. Least of all a human.

He’d be in for a nasty surprise then.

But to do that, Spike needed the old witch to give him the book first. If she really had it, that was. His informant had told him she was somewhat of a joke, one too many spells having scrambled her brains and got her kicked out of the Coven.

Determined, Spike headed to the suburban area.

Crazy bint can’t even have decent digs.

There was something fundamentally wrong with living in these look-a-like houses with manicured lawns and shiny happy people. He glared at a little boy racing down the street on his bike.

He found the house of one Mrs. Baum about a minute later. It stuck out like a sore thumb with its peeling paint and porch that creaked dangerously beneath his boots. The grass on the front lawn was more than a little overgrown and Spike figured the neighbors had to be pretty pissed at the eye-sore of their perfect little community.

He was starting to like the old witch.

The door opened just as he raised his finger to ring the bell.

She certainly looked the part of being nutty. Her white frizzy hair probably hadn’t seen a comb for one year too many. And her clothes suggested Woodstock was the favourite phase of her life.

He let his hand drop. “Uh… hi. Name’s Spike. A friend told me that you might have something I’m looking for,” he said directly. He wasn’t one to beat around the bush, especially one with such creepy smile.

“Come on in then,” she replied and stepped aside to let him in. “I don’t get that many guests nowadays.”

Unsurprisingly, the house smelled like cats. And incense.

“So what can I do for you, young man?” She gestured for him to sit on a sofa in a cluttered living room.

The pink flower print kind of clashed with his black-on-black but he didn’t come here for home decorating.

“I’m looking for a book.”

She sat down next to him way too close, a glint in her eye that Spike didn’t much care for.

“And you think I can help you with that?” she croaked and inspected him from head to toe as though he was a piece of fine chocolate.

“Err… it’s called Valley of the Sun. Ever heard of it?”

Mrs. Baum inclined her head. “I might have.”

His patience was wearing thin and he didn’t fancy being ogled and objectified by this old hag. “Do you have it or not?”

“So impatient.” She inched closer, prompting him to inch away in response. “What would you give me in return if I said yes?”

Spike’s eyes met hers warily. “What do you want?”

She caressed the collar of her loose fitting blouse. “I’m a lonely woman. I’m sure you could… ease it for a little while.”

What was he? A bleeding gigolo? “I’m not shagging you.”

The old bird shrugged. “Can’t blame an old lady for trying.”

“Yeah, not my kind of kink, pet. Sorry,” he said in a way that would let her know he wasn’t sorry at all.

“Pity. I heard the book contained all kind of helpful information.”

She heaved a sigh and her wrinkled hand covered in liver spots landed on his thigh way too close to his dangly bits for comfort. Spike leapt to his feet and away from the unwanted advances.

“Hey now. That’s quite enough.” Disturbed or not, he was getting impatient. “If you have it, I’m going to get it. One way or another. And it’s not going to be pleasant. So stop feeling me up and tell me where it is before this turns really ugly.”

He let the darkness hidden within seep into his gaze as he stared down at her withered face. He’d be damned if the games of a bored, retired ex-witch would interfere with something he needed. Either she’d give it to him willingly, or he’d take it by force. Oh, he’d feel guilt. He just wouldn’t give a damn about it.

“I do have it,” Witch confirmed with a nod of her head. “But I’m not giving it to you. Not until you deserve it.”

Spike scoffed.

“Not that kind of deserving, though that would be nice. Very nice,” she said with a rotten grin, making Spike’s stomach lurch. “You’re not ready to face Angelus yet. Not even with the answer you’re looking for. Fate must play out the way it’s intended to. Everything’s got to follow its path and you’ve still got to grow into your role to fully appreciate its conclusion.”

How did she know what he wanted the book for? How did she know about Angelus? Spike took a step forward, ready to strangle the truth out of her only to be halted by an invisible force. A barrier.

Fucking witches.

“You’re no match for me, boy,” she said with a dismissal wave of her bony hand. “I’ll give you the book myself once the time is right. Don’t come back here… unless you change your mind about the other thing.” She leered.

Spike blinked and… found himself standing in the middle of a street?

Dizzy and feeling as if someone scrambled his intestines with a dull knife, Spike fell to his knees, clutching at his unsettled stomach. The last thing he needed was to throw up the food he’d so painstakingly acquired the money to buy.

And would the bloody ground stop rumbling beneath him already?

“Are you okay?” sounded a girly voice.

What a stupid fucking question. “Do I look okay to you?” he rasped without looking up at the newcomer.

There was a moment of tense silence as the girl obviously noted the malice in his voice. “Are you always this mean?”

He finally glanced up and fought to focus. It took a moment for him to stop seeing as though he was standing behind a window smeared with dirt. “Oh, it’s you.”

“Small town,” she said curtly, eyes liquid with hurt. God, she wasn’t supposed to care if someone like him was being nasty to her. She shouldn’t care. Just like he shouldn’t regret being that way when it came to her.

“Where am I?”

“Besides sitting on the sidewalk, you mean?” There was an edge of mocking to her voice, the cheeky little bint. “About a block away from my dad’s store.”

A wave of black nausea wrapped around his brain when he tried to stand up. Needless to say, he didn’t make it very far.

“Here,” she said and offered her hand.

After a few beats of hesitation, he slid his hand into hers and let her pull him up. Their fingers lingered, wrapped together. So warm. God, the heat of her spilled on his skin and melted into his flesh with a force of a tidal wave. Their eyes met, confused and aching for something…

It was wrong. The way he had to physically force himself to let go, teeth gritted, palm tingling with the memory of her touch.

He wanted that warmth back.

He wanted to say he was sorry for being a right bugger to her before, for not coming back sooner to save her from the scars all those years ago. Most of all, he was sorry for wanting to grasp her hand again. She didn’t need to sully herself with the likes of him.

“Thanks,” he mumbled instead, rubbing the back of his head just so he’d have something to do with the hand that still burned.

“Umm… welcome,” she said equally awkwardly. They glanced up at each other at the same time, their eyes immediately flickering away like startled rabbits hounded by a fox.

This was bloody ridiculous. He was twenty-five for hell’s sake. And here he was acting like a school boy on a first date.

“Well, I’ve got better things to do than stand here all day chatting, so I’m off,” slipped from his lips with a practiced ease of someone used to putting up fronts.

Only the words made her look like someone had slapped her, making him irrationally wish he hadn’t said anything at all. Oh, she was good at masking it, but he was nothing if not observant. Not many people could hide their reactions from him.

“Of course. I sure wouldn’t want to intrude on your being nearly unconscious time. Sorry,” she said with a healthy dose of sarcasm and pushed past him.

The scent of wild flowers invaded his nose, stirring a reaction in him that he shouldn’t have towards someone that was probably still in high school.

This girl would be the death of him.

Or worse, he would be hers.

TBC

Chapter 9

The sun had fallen below the horizon, the air had gone cold but thirteen year old William wasn’t wearing a jacket. Buffy stared down at the fresh heap of dirt through his eyes, knew he felt the chill but didn’t give a damn. His eyes were fixed on his mother’s grave. The muscles of his legs were strained and cramping and she knew he must have been standing there since the service. The world around him had hurried on but he’d been left behind.

Now he was truly invisible.

I’m the only one left, he thought.

His mother had been so compassionate, so kind, a much better and stronger person that he could ever hope to be. She’d always told him she would be there. But she wasn’t here now, was she? Now all that was left was just dirt, a slab of stone and flowers that would wither away in a day or two.

It was as if she’d never lived at all. As if she hadn’t woken up every morning to brew a fresh pot of coffee, hadn’t put her hair up into an elegant coif. As if she hadn’t smiled and cried and loved. God, she’d had so much love, and bestowed it so freely on everyone around her. The sparkle of it had always been present in her light blue eyes even when he and Eline… William’s hands clenched into fists.

Never been strong enough to handle it when the going got tough, had he?

He let out a shuddering breath, little puffs of it condensing in the night air. He’d refused to see his mother before… before they closed the lid on the brown shiny coffin and put her in the earth. Everything in him had recoiled at the thought of seeing her stiff waxy skin so utterly devoid of life. Those closed eyes deceivingly telling him she was merely asleep.

William, wake up and get dressed. It’s your first day of school!

Tears fell down his cheeks as William stood there, refusing to think that a stranger had touched his mother’s body when they were getting her dressed. Like she was just a mannequin, just someone’s job.

He was really alone, wasn’t he?

When he was six, him, Eline and Mum had all been at a mall and he’d stayed behind to admire a collection of trains behind the window of a toy store. Then he’d glanced up and his mother hadn’t been there. Everyone around had been so tall, rushing past him, the crowd swallowing him. The fear of never seeing his family again had made him dizzy. But then she was suddenly there, arms wrapping around him and ending his panic.

Her embrace had smelled like jasmine and home.

You’ll be missed, read the message on a funeral wreath.

Missed. Was that what they called it when someone ripped out a part of your heart?

People said that when someone you loved died, they would always be with you. Wasn’t that a load of bollocks? He didn’t want to have just memories of her. He wanted to hug her, kiss her on the cheek, hear her laugh. All those things he’d taken for granted.

Mum, stop kissing me in front of school. Everyone will think I’m a nancyboy.

Was it selfish of him to be terrified for what would happen to him now? Would someone just melt out of the darkness and take him away?

Suddenly, he needed to move. The quicksand of grief and fear was sucking him in and he was clutching a straw, desperate to keep his head above the surface. The grass was still slippery from afternoon rain and he faltered a few times as he ran past the cemetery gate.

There was one last person that could keep him from drowning, that may care. The only lifeline he had left.

Soon he was standing in front of a two story house, wiping sweat and tears off his face. He was a mess, knew he must look a fright so he stayed partially hidden by shadows as he bent down to pick up a handful of pebbles. His heart in his throat, William threw a couple of small stones at a window pane upstairs. They rebounded with a small clank.

After a few beats of choking silence, the light went on and Buffy could hear the window latch being undone. The round, plain face of a girl with curly hair appeared.

“Who is it?” The girl patted her poodle like hair.

“It’s me. William.”

“Oh.” She had a pinched look about her mouth that Buffy didn’t like. “What are you doing here? It’s two am! If my dad finds you here, I’m going to get in trouble,” she whispered loudly, with annoyance that William didn’t notice. Or perhaps, didn’t want to.

“I’m sorry, Cecily. I just… I had to see you.” He ducked his head, pushing his frozen hands into the front pockets of his pants.

After a while, Cecily asked, “You’ve been to school today, haven’t you?”

“I haven’t been to school for three days,” William said, hurt that she hadn’t noticed his absence.

He’d had the biggest crush on her for over a year. The poems he’d written for her had become an instrument of public humiliation and her friends called him William the Bloody Awful Poet. But he didn’t care because she never made fun of him for it. She even talked to him, acted like they were friends. Like they could be more.

“I wanted to ask you something,” she said with an excited grin. Hope ignited in his chest. It felt so foreign.

“Oh my God, Todd asked me for a date! Can you believe it?” The squeal in her voice broke Buffy’s heart, made the hope in William’s heart shrivel up and die. “Anyway, we’ve got that stupid math assignment, so I’m going to copy yours. I need time to prepare for the date, not to do the stupid homework.”

“Of course,” he whispered, letting the tears fall.

“You’re a babe, Will. Is there anything you wanted or are you going to go now?” she said in a way that told Buffy Cecily had gotten what she wanted and had no more use for William.

“N-no, there’s nothing…”

“Cool. See you tomorrow then.” Cecily closed the window without waiting for him to wave back at her.

The room plunged into darkness, and just like that the lifeline was yanked from William’s hands. He could feel himself sinking.

*******

Light was just beginning to suffuse the sky when Buffy woke up. Her pillow was soaked through as if she’d been crying all night. Or drooling all over it. She wasn’t sure which option would be less disturbing. Not only that, but the chain of her necklace was strangling her and it took her a few minutes to untangle it.

She couldn’t believe she’d forgotten to take the locket off before going to bed. Again. She absentmindedly rubbed the green gem etched into its center.

Also, she really had to go pee.

“That’s what I get for drinking three glasses of water before going to bed.” She threw the damp pillow to the floor. “I get all leaky.”

To go pee or to not go pee. Now that was the question. She was still so sleepy but the idea of waking up to peeing in her bed at the age of seventeen was a good enough incentive to send her crawling out of the warm blankets.

When she entered the bathroom, her gaze darted to the small window. The weather was turning all autumn-y and getting steadily colder, by Californiastandards anyway. She wondered what it was like to sleep at a supposedly haunted house that lacked electricity and heating.

Not that she cared!

“I am so not thinking of that asshole.” Buffy glared at the toilet as though it had insulted her. “And I’m definitely stopping talking to myself right now.”

Oh yeah, she was a poster child for sanity.

*******

This sucked. Majorly.

Buffy couldn’t believe Spike was still in town. She’d seen him from distance near the suburban area, lurking about like a big… lurky thing. A week after she’d lost her senses and offered him help when he looked like death warmed over sitting on the sidewalk. All she’d gotten in return had been snark. Go figure.

Was he moving into the old mansion permanently? And no. She wasn’t all pissed just because it was him. What irked her the most was that she’d lost the only place in this godforsaken town she liked. The fact he was the one living there now, and that he coincidentally irritated the hell out of her to the point it made her skin itch, was just a Buffy Summers bonus. Not.

“Are you going to be here all day?” her father asked as he replaced the sold out items on the shelves. “I thought you’d be going out to draw.”

“I can’t,” she muttered angrily, which made her dad give her a perplexed look.

“Well, don’t bite my nose off for asking.”

“Sorry,” she said with a pout that she knew was hardly mature but she just couldn’t care less. “Everything just sucks.”

“It always does when you’re a teenager.” Dad pointed out and bent down to sort through a box of canned fruits.

“Way to stereotype me, Hank. It’s got nothing to do with my supposed increased hormone level.”

“Sure it doesn’t,” he answered with a badly hidden grin.

Well, that just pissed her off even more. “This is serious! You don’t understand!” Buffy frowned. “I can’t believe I just sounded so teenager-y.”

Dad chuckled and walked over to where she was sitting on top of the counter. “So wanna tell me what’s troubling you then?” He went from teasing to a concerned parent in two seconds flat, squinting at her. “It’s not PMS, is it?”

“Eww! Gross!” She rolled her eyes. “Men. You know, not everything is connected to a girl’s period.”

“Let’s not say that word again, please.” He shuddered.

“You mean period? Why not? You said PMS first. Why get all squeamish now?”

“Believe me I’m now officially regretting saying that.” With a shake of his head, he headed to the back room to pick up another box. Probably to avoid further talk about feminine biological processes as well.

“Well, the point is that I can’t go to my place anymore. That new guy moved into the house there and he told me I was trespassing.” Buffy drummed her heels against the counter, assuaged by letting her aggression out through the noise.

“Would you please stop that racket, Buffy?” He dragged out a few boxes and started opening them up with his pocket knife. “Did you ask him nicely if you could be there? I mean, if he’s living there now he probably doesn’t want kids running about on his property.”

Buffy let out an exasperated breath. “I’m not a kid.”

“You’re my kid, therefore, you will always be a kid in my eyes. Besides, you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She resumed her pouting.

Dad looked up from the boxes. “So did you? Ask nicely? And I stress the word nicely.”

“I can be nice!” She hadn’t been mean to Spike, had she? Nope, he was definitely the poophead in the scenario. “It’s not like I was bothering him! I just wanted to sit in my tree and draw but he had to go and be a jerk.”

Dad stopped his unpacking and glanced over at her. “Who is it anyway? Do you mean that man that made you stutter?”

“I did not stutter!”

Hank raised one eyebrow, the teasing glint in his eye telling her he was deliberately making her uncomfortable.

“Okay fine. It’s him,” she finally said and hopped off the counter to escape Dad’s silent—but very obvious—amusement. The bell in the front jingled to announce a new customer.

“You know, he’s been in the store a few times. I could have a word with him. Ask on your behalf.”

Her eyes widened. “Don’t you dare!” Oh god, that would be embarrassing. She’d have to start living in the woods and eat insects just so she’d never have to face people—or him— again. “I can speak for myself.”

“Not very well, apparently,” Dad mumbled.

“Hey! I can totally be diplomatic. And nice. Just not to him. He… rubs me the wrong way.”

The back of her neck tingled right before she felt a presence behind her. It felt as though she stood a foot away from an electric fence. A high voltage one.

“You wouldn’t happen to be talking about me, would you?”

Crap.

TBC

Chapter 10

Were they talking about him? While that happened to be true, that didn’t mean the world rotated around him. How egoistic can you get?

Buffy spun on her heel and blinked when she encountered a cotton-clad chest. He really had a problem with personal space, didn’t he? She would have told him so if it weren’t for her father looking at them curiously from a distance. That look was eerily reminiscent of the one he got when puzzling out the crossword in the Sunday paper. Never a good sign.

“Nope. We were not talking about you,” she said with her chin up. “There’s a buttload of other people in this town that rub me the wrong way, so don’t get all excited.”

She ignored Dad reprimanding her on her choice of language.

“Maybe I could get you all excited if I rubbed you the right way?” he whispered quietly enough so that her dad wouldn’t overhear. And that damn wink made her blood boil.

If she were a kettle, steam would be rolling out of her ears. “Pig!”

“Buffy!” Dad gave her a disapproving glance before rising to his feet from where he was unloading new groceries and approached them.

“I’m sorry, I swear this isn’t how I raised her,” he told Spike.

“Um hello? I’m still here,” she said with a scowl directed at both men. “And he totally deserved to be called that.”

“Buffy here wanted to ask you a favour, didn’t you, sweetheart?” Dad said with mock sweetness.

“No I didn’t.”

Dad rolled his eyes. Was that how she looked when she did it? Boy, did he look aggravated.

“You see, ever since her mom died and after the…. After the accident…” His eyes flitted to the scars on her face. “Well, drawing has become a sort of a refuge for her, if you will,” he continued despite her efforts to shut him up. “And the tree on your property has been sort of her place for years. She loves it, spends most of her time there. It’s one of a few things that make her happy.” Buffy stared at him, aghast at the overabundance of information about her personal life, but Dad apparently didn’t seem to get a clue. “So if you could let her be there, I’m sure she won’t bother you.”

How could Dad do that to her? In front of him? To practically call her a pariah with no friends who hides out at abandoned haunted places? It made her hands shake, made her flame burn with humiliation.

Why did she even care what Spike thought of her?

“You won’t bother him, Buffy, right?” Dad turned to her for affirmation, obviously thinking he was doing right by her. Helping her, even.

Stepping away, she pressed her lips together and gave him a hurt look before walking out of the store without a word.

For the hundredth time she wished she was normal. That she didn’t carry that brand of being a freak for everyone to see. As she rounded the store and slid down the wall to sit on the ground, she wished they had never moved here.

Or that she could let go of that pesky habit of caring what people thought. She told herself countless times that she didn’t, yet every pitiful glance anyone tossed her way hurt her deeply. Everything would be so much easier if she could become the tough front she presented to the world.

“There you are,” sounded a male voice tinged with an accent. “Thought you’d be long gone by now. What with your penchant for running away from me all the time.”

“You’re special like that,” she answered dryly.

Spike sat down next to her, the sleeve of his coat brushing against her arm. His presence was like a yell into the silence. The first instinct was to seek the source. Still, she was determined to ignore him and instead stared stubbornly straight ahead. “Go away.”

“Your dad didn’t mean it like that, you know.”

“I know,” she said, hoping he would just leave her alone to sulk in peace.

“If it means that much to you, I won’t mind you coming over.” He rubbed the back of his neck. Stupid peripheral vision. Who needed it anyway? “As long as you don’t snoop around the house.”

She finally looked at him then, affronted. “I wasn’t snooping. I didn’t know you were still there.”

Spike shrugged and leaned his head against the brick wall. The desire to look at him was like a panther prowling around a cage, a barely restrained sort of hunger. Before she could catch herself, her eyes strayed to the arch of his throat. Unbidden images of caressing the skin there with her lips flashed through her mind.

“I know I’ve been a right berk to you.” He slanted her a glance, breaking her out of the trance. “Didn’t really mean to. Just not much of a people’s person, I suppose.”

“Is this some strange way of apologising?”

He looked almost sheepish when he said, “Yeah. Guess so.”

“You don’t do that much, do you?”

He snorted a laugh and shook his head. “Not really, no.”

Neither did she and the fact they had something in common should have disturbed her much more than it did.

“Does that mean I can go to my spot?” She hated the yearning in her voice. Sure, she could find another place to hang out after school but this was the only place where the outside world didn’t intrude. She needed that. Needed to shrug off that mask and just be. To just breathe.

“Yeah, I won’t mind.”

“Even though you told me to never come near the house again?”

His eyes flicked to the ground, almost as if he felt guilty. “I was… I didn’t mean that, all right? But that doesn’t mean you can poke your nose into my business, got it? The house is off limits.”

“My nose will stay away from your… business. See?” She tapped the tip of her nose. “Firmly attached to my face and all.”

Oh, she saw the way his lips twitched. The way he couldn’t keep a smile at bay.

“Good,” he said in what was probably supposed to be a stern voice. She might have believed it if she hadn’t seen the crack in his tough guy armor.

“Thanks.” The words felt foreign falling off her lips.

“What your Da’ said back there—”

“Don’t.” It wasn’t until Spike said that, that she realised her own walls had inched down. Not until she felt them instinctively slam back into place.

“Look—”

“No.”

“You think you’re the only one who’s had it bad?” His voice was tight, low. As if her denial struck a chord inside him, making him lash out. “You’re not. The way I see it, you’ve got it better than most of us poor buggers. Your old man loves you. You’ve got a place to live. You can eat whenever you’re hungry without fearing someone will take it away if you don’t shovel it in quick enough. So you’ve got a few scars? Who hasn’t?”

His words stirred a violent response, dug right into her flesh and sank in its sharp teeth. “A few scars? You think this is what it’s all about, don’t you? That I’m so vain? That I’m miserable because I can’t be a Prom queen or get a boyfriend?” She let out a choked sound, unsure whether she should cry or laugh or do both as she swallowed the lump in her throat. “You know what? Maybe I am shallow. Maybe I hate the way people look at me and whisper behind my back, that that have a special nickname just for me. Maybe I hate that every time I see myself in a mirror all I can see is her! And how she…”

She made a move to jump to her feet but he clutched her arm and yanked her back down so that she sat right in front of him, their faces so close she could count his eyelashes. Before she could flinch away, he gripped her chin with strong fingers, and for a moment she could see he understood her better than she did herself.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said in a quiet rumble. “You know what I see when I look at you? I see someone scared of letting another person in, hiding behind the excuse of her scars just so she won’t get hurt again.”

Why was it that every time he gazed at her so intensely it felt as if he was staring right into her soul? How did he manage to make her feel so self-conscious? So completely off kilter? The scars on her face practically burned with awareness and it was all she could do not to cover her face and run away.

“That’s not true,” she protested weakly but didn’t fight his hold.

“Oh, I think it is. Because you and me, kitten?” He exhaled a short bitter laugh. “We could be bloody twins.”

She barely registered he’d let go of her and then he was rising to his feet and giving her one last glance. Words flooded the tip of her tongue but her mouth wouldn’t open to give them voice and she could only watch as he passed her by and walked away.

*******

Spike stomped into the old mansion and shrugged off his coat, uncaring where it landed. And he loved that coat. One time he’d punched a bloke’s face so hard he spat out his teeth, all just because he’d splashed beer all over Spike’s coat.

Fucking hell, what had that girl done to him?

Spilling his guts to a stranger, letting his temper flare when she wouldn’t see how brilliant she could be? How well off she was despite everything that had happened. Yeah, he’d told her they could be twins. Too messed up to trust anyone, used to clinging to the shadows and keeping people at arms’ length.

He headed straight towards the drinks cabinet and started pouring whiskey into a glass when he realised one glass wouldn’t cut it. Instead he lifted the bottle to his mouth and drank. Rejoiced in the slow burn. If only he could erase that restless feeling, that thing inside him yawning awake and spreading its wings.

No matter how similar they were, the truth was, she was so much better than him. Despite almost being slaughtered by her own mother—the one person she was supposed to trust to keep her safe—this girl… she was so innocent. She radiated goodness and light without even knowing it and that spark of it within his own dead heart ignited every time he came close enough to touch her.

He hadn’t felt this for anyone… ever. He used to think he did, but now he realised it had never been like this. Not this deep seated urge to wrap himself around her and let her warmth consume him. He took another swig from the bottle and leaned his forehead against the peeling tapestry on the wall.

Fuck, fuck, fuck…

This was wrong. He knew it. Tailing a murderous vampire meant leaving people behind. The life he led, he couldn’t offer her anything even if she could ever want him. But she never would, which was just as well.

He would only get her killed, he thought as he tipped the bottle against his lips again and swallowed another mouthful.

All that life within her would drain out, the fluttering wings coming to a halt like those of a butterfly pinned with a nail. He couldn’t stand actually caring for a human being just to see them die in front of his eyes again. Because he knew that would happen if he didn’t push her away. He knew it. Yet he’d gone and told her she could bloody visit.

And why? Because he couldn’t stand the thought of another thing being taken away from her? Or was he merely being a selfish bastard for wanting her near?

Fuck, he didn’t even know her! And the worst thing? He didn’t need to know what colour she liked or what food made her sick. Not when he’d been a witness to her life going straight down the drain. Not when he couldn’t shake off this strange connection to her, no matter how hard he tried. It was like she was a void and no matter how tight he held on not to be sucked in, he wasn’t strong enough to fight it.

This could only end in disaster.

Spike threw the empty bottle against the wall where it shattered, bringing momentary relief to his fucked up existence.

TBC

Chapter 11

She was so tired.

No.

Tired wasn’t a strong enough word for the bone rattling exhaustion that weighed down her entire body. Her eyelids kept fluttering shut, her arms were too heavy and she stubbed her toe on the door sill of her room when she stumbled in half-blind, heading straight towards the bed.

This is the stuff.

The mattress, the comforter, the pillows were all soft and comfy, tempting her brain to shut off as her every muscle relaxed. She was worn out from wandering around town all day to avoid talking to her father because she was still mad at him for running interference. But they had still talked and talked and talked with no end in sight and now it was way past midnight.

Buffy let out a whoosh of breath and snuggled into her pillow. She should probably change into pajamas. And wash her face. But God, she was so tired she didn’t even have enough energy to yawn.

It wasn’t long before she dropped off to sleep.

*******

Rain rattled against the window, the fat heavy drops the only source of sound in an otherwise silent room. William lay unmoving on the twin bed pushed against the wall and drew his knees up to his chest.

His wrists still bore marks of the cord that had cut into his flesh, though the scabs were now chipping off and the only thing left would be scars. The other kids in the foster home thought he’d done it to himself and he didn’t care enough to correct their assumptions. Nobody needed to know the wounds were the sign of his failure.

He hated it here.

Hated the foreign smell of cheap detergent on his equally cheap comforter and pillow that was too flat. Hated all the noise the other kids created just by existing. Hated that it would always be this way from now on. His life stretched ahead, a bleak empty road heading nowhere. Then they would throw him out once he reached eighteen, with no prospects and no money, left to fend for himself.

He wasn’t strong enough to survive.

Maybe it was better if he just lay here, staying passive aggressive with his refusal to eat or move even though his stomach was cramping with hunger.

Someone outside his room shouted and laughed, feet stomping like those of an enraged elephant right before the door to the room was flung open and a heavy-boned, dark haired boy about William’s age lumbered in.

“Mate, he still hasn’t moved. This must be a new record,” the boy said to someone outside in the corridor.

“Are we sure he isn’t dead?” the other boy replied.

“Hmm… let’s try.”

William didn’t even flinch as the boy ventured forward and bent over to pinch him on the arm hard enough to leave a bruise. He’d learned it was easier if he ignored those that took it upon themselves to beat him and take advantage of his unwillingness to talk. If he failed to react, they would eventually grow bored and leave. He just didn’t know how much longer he could keep this up before something inside him broke, and all that rage, all that anger and uncertainty would boil over to burn someone’s skin clear off.

“You know, Willy, I bet you’d like to go outside right now, right?” The boy guffawed as though amused by his own cleverness right before something wet trickled on William’s face. “Just makes you want to feel all that rain, doesn’t it?”

William squeezed his eyes shut as what seemed like gallons of water were dumped on his head, soaking into his pillow and mattress. At least this time it wasn’t piss. He could still feel the stench of it even after they had replaced the mattress.

“Come on, Ed, that’s enough,” called the other voice. “We’ll get in trouble.”

Ed pushed at William’s shoulder with a sneer. “It’s not like he’s gonna say anything.”

After a few insults and pushes, William was left alone. He stomped down the urge to cry as he sat up and ran a hand through his soaked hair. Tears were a sign of weakness and that was something he couldn’t afford. Day after day he felt his skin thicken, laid another brick in the wall protecting his heart.

He couldn’t survive here—he knew that—which was why he was going to run.

Soon, William thought and straightened his spine. Soon, he would escape.

*******

Buffy rolled over with a groan, waking up to the feeling that something was off.

Her head felt weird, all warm and cold at the same time, her hair sticking to the sweaty back of her neck.

Blearily, she sat up and blinked a few times to adjust to the rays of sun streaming into her room and flowing across the floor. Her hand tangled in her hair.

What the…

Her hair was damp.

Buffy’s eyes shot wide open as her fingers tunneled through drying wet strands. Even knowing Dad would never prank her by dumping a bucket of cold water over her head, she still scanned the room in an effort to find a rational explanation.

There was nobody there but her.

Okay, okay, calm down and stop freaking out.

Had she been sleepwalking? Oh God, she hadn’t dunked her head in the toilet, had she? How gross would that be? Except, if she’d sleepwalked, wouldn’t she have woken up someplace weird? Certainly not in the same position she’d fallen asleep in last night. This didn’t feel like sleepwalking at all, the truth of it reverberated through her gut. She didn’t know how it worked exactly, but she just knew.

Something was very wrong here.

*******

It was nearing sundown when Buffy made her way down her newly reclaimed tree with her sketchbook rolled up and precariously tucked in the back pocket of her jeans. As per usual, she’d lost track of the time and now the sun had dimmed enough to make the path through the woods difficult for her to follow.

She hadn’t caught a glimpse of Spike all day. As she made her way towards the patch of trees, she wondered whether he was at the house at all. Probably out and about doing his weird lurky thing.

Sure enough, a dark figure emerged from the woods nearby, shrouded in twilight shadows and she almost jumped out of her skin.

The girly yell she let out? So not proud of that. But hey, a girl was allowed to be startled, wasn’t she?

The shadows shimmered away to reveal a very grumpy Spike who faltered in his purposeful stride and glanced towards the source of the sound in surprise. The way his thick eyebrows shot up and almost met his hairline was kind of funny.

“Buffy? What are you doing here? And why the hell are you scaring all the squirrels away with that holler of yours?” He sauntered close towards her and it was then that she noticed the tips of his hair looked kind of singed and that he sported a dark smudge on his face.

“There are no squirrels in Sunnydale,” she said and squinted at his countenance. “Were you experimenting with home-made bombs?”

“What?”

“Your…” She pointed to her own cheek with a smile. “You’ve got a little… dirt right here.”

He rubbed at his cheek with vigour that didn’t help at all. The smudge was on the other cheek.

Doofus.

With a roll of her eyes, Buffy closed the distance and touched the dirty spot on his face. Just a gentle graze of her fingertips, yet it made her quiver. “Here.”

His skin was warm despite the cool autumn air. The contact seemed to have startled him almost as much as his sudden appearance had her. He just blinked, rousing her from her own fascination and she let her hand fall.

“Thanks,” he said and rubbed at the place she’d touched with a strange expression on his face. She wished she knew what he was thinking right now, whether he was silently berating her for touching him or didn’t find it worth thinking about at all.

“No problem.” The scuffed toes of his boots were so much more interesting, she told herself when she dropped her gaze. Maybe now that she wasn’t looking him in the eye, her silly heart would stop pounding as if she’d run a mile.

“So, you came here to do a bit of artsy stuff then?” he asked and she remembered that yes, he was still there and apparently still talking to her.

“Uh huh.” She went to wave her sketchbook in his face but realised it was in her back pocket. It took her about five awkward seconds to find out which pocket it was in and by the time she finally closed her fingers around it and showed it to him, his eyes were sparkling with mirth.

“So I see,” he drawled and even despite his dirty face, he somehow managed to pull off the seductive-makes-you-blush-embarrassingly effect.

The bastard.

She hated it when he made her feel so… girly.

“Yeah, but… what about you? What’s with the fire fighter look?”

He tilted his head to the side and sucked in his cheeks. “Was saving kiddies from a burning building. And puppies. Can’t forget those furry bastards.”

“Shyeah. As if.”

“What? I could have.” He smiled with a bitter edge and said with a healthy dose of self-depreciation, “I’m all heroic-like, aren’t I?”

“It’s not like I’d know, actually,” she said with a shrug, gauging his responses carefully. “I don’t really know you, do I?”

He straightened up and tore his gaze away to look into distance instead. “No, I don’t suppose you do.”

Oh, she hadn’t forgotten about the hands thingy. And there was obviously something he wasn’t telling her. He’d just have to find out the hard way how stubborn and insistent she could be.

“So, me drawing you was just a… a fluke. Some incredibly weird, not to mention accurate, coincidence.”

He kicked at the ground absentmindedly, his hands sliding into his pockets. “I don’t know what’s happening here, honest. I’m as curious as you are.”

“But you know something. Something you’re not telling me.” Her jaw hurt from grinding her teeth together in sheer frustration.

He closed the few inches of distance and stared her down with a dangerous glimmer in his eyes.

“I’m not obligated to spill my every secret to you. Even if I knew what in the bloody hell was going on here, why I would I tell you?”

Despite the I’m-going-to-bite your-head-off vibes, Buffy stood her ground. Pulled up the courage from somewhere deep in her gut. “Your intimidating crap isn’t going to work on me.”

“Oh, is that right, Buffy?” His nostrils flared as they faced off, neither willing to back down. Her skin felt too tight and she felt that if a pin dropped, it would set her off to do something…. She wasn’t sure what. All she knew was that this mounting tension made her pulse thunder, her mouth run dry.

“That’s right,” she whispered with steel in her voice, licking her lips to chase off the dryness.

Spike caught the small movement with narrowed eyes, his pupils dilating so wide they almost swallowed up the ocean blue. She wasn’t sure why, but seeing that look in his eyes made her heart clench.

But then he stepped back, the muscles in his cheeks ticking before he let out a harsh exhale.

“It’s getting dark,” he said and she could hear the rasp in his voice telling her he had felt it too. That strange… whatever it was.

“So?”

“So, it’s the time for all little girls to be going home right about now.” He looked pointedly at her. “Come on now, I’ll walk you home.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t need you to walk me home. I’m capable of doing that myself, thank you very much.”

With a roll of his eyes, Spike slid one hand out of the pocket to put it between her shoulder blades, putting a gentle pressure to get her moving. The heat of his warmth seeped into her flesh even through the fabric of her shirt.

“Please, cut the girl power crap and let’s go.”

“I’m not a little girl,” she muttered.

The feel of his hand disappeared and he whispered, “No, no you’re not.”

“Then why does everybody keep calling me that? It’s starting to get really old.”

Spike slanted her a glance. She had to be so bloody cute, didn’t she? Make it even more difficult for him to keep his mitts off. Although if she licked her lips like that one more time, all bets would be off.

“Everybody?” he asked, watching her sullen expression.

“You. Dad.”

“That’s not everybody, that’s just two people,” he couldn’t help but tease as they trudged through the woods.

Oh, she was aggravated now. This should be fun.

“Nobody likes a smartass.”

Hadn’t he told her the very same thing nine years ago? And why did he even remember that? Balls. “How old are you anyway?”

“Seventeen,” she said then hurried to add, “But I’ll be eighteen in a couple of months. Why are you asking?”

Good, so he wouldn’t exactly be cradle robbing if he... Which he would not. “No reason. Curious, is all.”

“So, how old are you?”

“Twenty-five.”

“Huh.”

He frowned. “What? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” She ducked her head but he still caught the smile she tried to hide. “Just, you’re really not much older than me.”

“Yeah? So?” Their hands brushed and he trembled like he was a fifteen-year-old girl on her first date. Disgrace, that’s what he was. A bloody disgrace to all things male.

“Just an observation. No need to get all prickly.”

He wasn’t being prickly, just nervous as hell. When they made it out of the woods and started to walk down the pavement, he exhaled a sigh of relief. The sooner he’d be rid of her, the sooner he could start chain smoking and working off the unwanted tension. She’d wheedled herself under his skin but good.

“Have you moved in here for good?” she asked suddenly.

“Why? Will you miss me when I’m gone?”

She evaded answering and asked, “So you are going away then? You’re not staying here.”

“Not forever, no. Just until I get what I came here for.”

“And that would be?”

Without thinking about it, he looped his arm around her waist and leaned in to whisper in her ear, “Stuff.”

“What stuff?” Her voice was threadbare and coming apart all because of him. Because he was touching her and the animal in him scented the weakness, the attraction, like a shark scented blood. Yeah, he wanted to hunt down this prey. He wanted to pounce. Bury his hands in her hair and mold her body to his, sup from her sweet, heart-shaped lips.

“What stuff?” she repeated and turned her head to face him. It would take minimal effort to lean and take what he wanted.

He put distance between them again and said teasingly, “I collect stamps. SunnyD has the best of them.”

“You’re a sucky liar.” Her voice was steadier now but he could still see the rosy tint in her cheeks. He’d never been more unworthy of someone and he suspected it was one of the reasons he couldn’t help but want her.

“And you’re a nosy cow.”

“Hey!”

He chuckled. Unable to keep from touching her when she was so close, he wrapped a strand of her hair around his fingers. It slipped through like water spilling down a fall.

“Don’t think I won’t get it out of you eventually,” she said.

“Oh, I wager you will.” Despite berating himself endlessly, reminding himself of the implications her knowing him could have, he couldn’t bloody stay away. This was hopeless. He was hopeless. “But I won’t go down without a fight.”

“I like a good fight.”

Bloody hell, could she be any more perfect?

TBC

Chapter 12

Spike was acting strange. As in really strange.

Buffy hadn’t talked to him much in over a week. Not after he’d walked her home and left her staring after him dubiously when he’d opened his mouth to say something then abruptly turned on his heel to hurry away.

But now as she sat for the eighth day on the branch of her tree and observed him coming across the clearing looking a bit worse for wear, she couldn’t help but wonder what the hell he was doing every day that resulted in him getting injured.

Jumping down, Buffy ran after him.

“Spike!”

“Not now,” he actually growled at her.

Well, let him, she’d still get her answers. “Gee, someone’s cranky.”

He threw his arms in the air and grunted in what she supposed was exasperation. “Don’t you ever give up?”

She imagined what his grunting would sound like under other circumstances. Where he would be all naked, muscles straining, barely holding onto his control… At that thought, she stumbled and had to grasp his upper arm to keep from falling.

He slowed down and threw her a mocking glance. “Forgot how to walk properly, have you?”

“Shut up,” she muttered, jerking her hands off as if burned. “What happened to you?”

“So do I shut up or answer then?” he said with a pleasant smile and fished out a key to unlock the front door. “Besides, ‘s none of your business either way.”

“Why won’t you just tell me and make this easier on yourself?” She entered, hot on his heels.

“Yeah, come in. Make yourself at home,” he said dryly and shut the door. Ignoring her, he shed his duster and draped it over the opulent burgundy sofa in the living room. She’d noticed that the house had acquired a somewhat lived in feel since the last time she was here. The sheets covering some of the furniture were gone, for once.

“What!” he asked.

She folded her arms across her chest. “You really love being all mysterious and stuff, don’t you?”

He lifted his eyebrow and swaggered over to her. “Mysterious, am I? Never been called that before, that’s for sure. So, what is it that’s got you all wide-eyed and panting, kitten?”

God, the way he said it. Like she was naked and splayed across his bed. It was damn distracting. “W-why… why do you keep calling me that?”

“Kitten, you mean?” he purred and ran his knuckles down her hair. “Do you still like it?”

Did he ask her something? Probably. But her knees were weak and she swayed on her feet as if she stood in the eye of a hurricane, about to lean into the shelter of his touch.

Her half-closed eyes snapped open when his words cut through the fog and she slapped his caress away. “Still? Do I still like it? What’s that supposed to mean?”

He sputtered some sort of excuse that made no sense, so she advanced on him. Funnily enough, Spike backed away from her, his glance shifting to the sofa in surprise when the back of his knees hit the cushions.

She pushed him down. “Explain. Now.”

When he moved to stand up, she pushed him back down again. “You’re not going anywhere, pal. Not until you answer me. And believe me, I’m not leaving until you do.”

“Well, look who’s getting all mistress-like on me.” He slouched back, his thumbs hooking in the belt loops of his tight jeans. “Gets me all hot, that does.”

Blushing but resolute to not give in to his game of let’s-avoid-Buffy’s-questions, she gave him a firm look. “Stop getting all twisty and answer.”

He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees as he regarded her with dangerous, troubled eyes. Before she could react, he yanked her down where she gracelessly sprawled half across him. His strong arms banded around her waist and pulled her tight against him to put a stop to her wriggling.

Straddling Spike? Not the best way to have a serious conversation. “What are yo—”

“You want to know so bad? Want to know why you draw me like you’ve seen me hundred times before?” He saw her gulp at the harshness of his tone but he couldn’t help it. The bint just couldn’t stop poking her nose where she shouldn’t and he neared the already limited reserves of his patience. “I don’t know. I told you!”

He could see the outrage in her eyes, the urge to fight flaring up in them as she struggled to break his grip. “But yo—”

He put his palm over her mouth to muffle her indignant reply. “Would you let me talk before you pull out the blazing torches and pitchforks? I said I didn’t know why and I wasn’t lying. But I do know something and I suppose it might be related.” A sigh of defeat. “We’ve met before.”

He slid his hand away, settling it on her hip and preparing himself for pretty much anything. She was a right spitfire. Wouldn’t really surprise him if she popped him on the nose before the yelling commenced. And he was a sick bastard for being slightly turned on by the idea. If she slid forward a bit, she’d find out for herself.

“Huh?”

Okay, maybe that would come after the initial shock. “We’ve met before. A long time ago. You were a kid then. Hell, so was I.” A kid that had killed her mother, he thought with a twinge of guilt. Not for killing the crazy bitch, only for being too late to spare little Buffy from the trauma.

“What? When? I mean, how do you know? I… I’m so confused.”

He ducked his head, his fingers playing with the hem of her black top that she wore under the unbuttoned shirt a couple sizes too big.

“It was… in LA. About nine years ago. I was walking by a house and heard a scream and I didn’t think… I just…”

Their eyes met and he saw the spark of understanding before his fingertips caressed her scarred cheek, his thumb slipping along the curve of her bottom lip. Oh, she recoiled fast. Just not fast enough for him to miss the shadow of longing in her eyes.

“You… it was… but I don’t remember you. No, you’re wrong, it was the neighbours. Dad told me…”

“Buffy, listen to me.” He swallowed hard at the sheen of unshed tears she tried to keep at bay. “It was me. Why would I lie about something like that? How would I even know? I’m just… I’m sorry. Sorry that I wasn’t fast enough to stop it.” He looked away from her. “That’s all I know. I don’t know what your drawings mean or how you… I can’t tell you how it’s possible.”

He wondered if it had something to do with the forgetting spell. Magic, after all, always came back later to bite you in the ass. It was the only explanation that made sense. The only explanation he couldn’t give her because she’d think him insane.

“Okay,” she whispered, her slight frame becoming somewhat heavier on top of his. As though the newfound knowledge had added weight on her shoulders rather than taken it away.

She didn’t ask about her mother and he was grateful. Evil or not, she’d been Buffy’s mum and he couldn’t stand the disgust on her face if she ever found out.

“I hate that you saw it,” she whispered almost too quietly for him to catch it.

He knew how she felt. He’d felt it too, once upon a time. That all consuming need to hide, to turn away from the devastation that had brought him to his knees. It was a strange kind of shame. Despite not being able to influence the event, he didn’t want others to witness the devastation of it personally. The fact he hadn’t been able to stop it.

Rationally, he knew he’d been too young and too weak to stop the slaughter of his family but that didn’t stop him from blaming himself.

“It wasn’t your fault, you know,” he said, wishing he could believe it as well.

She shook her head and inhaled a trembling breath. “Maybe if I’d done something different. If I’d locked myself in my room and never come out. I wouldn’t… look like this. And she wouldn’t have had to die. You know, sometimes I hate her so much… I hate her for what she did to me. I don’t feel guilty about it and then I feel guilty for not feeling guilty. And I blame myself because what if I’d done something different? I think she’d still be alive.

“I think… I think she killed herself because she felt guilty for doing that to me. That there still was some part of my mom in there. And maybe she could have gotten better, you know.”

Was that what she thought? Did she honestly believe her mother had killed herself out of remorse? Had Buffy been carrying the burden of that since she was a kid? It hurt him to think he held the power to dispel that notion but he was too much of a coward to admit the truth.

“She was sick in the head,” Spike instead. “You couldn’t have stopped it. And I know you won’t believe a word I’m saying, but… it’s true.”

She sniffed and tried to smile but failed. “Thanks.”

That word cut him deeply. He didn’t deserve her gratitude. And he most certainly didn’t deserve it when she leaned into him, her arms circling his neck as she sought comfort. He didn’t deserve it, but he couldn’t help but return her embrace anyway.

*******

Buffy’s mind was reeling all the way home.

Ever since she’d met Spike her emotions constantly veered off track. It was as if she had no control over what she did anymore. Hugging a virtual stranger sure ranked at the top of her list of things she’d never thought she’d do.

He was way too talented at smashing her carefully constructed composure to pieces with a few words and touches. God, his touch. She’d never let herself get close to any man this way even if they’d actually been interested. Which they hadn’t been. It felt… good. Strange and exhilarating and she was still trying to calm down her heartbeat when she entered her home.

She was so out of it her dad had to call her name twice to get her attention.

“Come into kitchen and get some food in you, will you? I just heated it.”

“Uh huh.” She walked into kitchen and slid onto a chair. “Hi.”

He gave her a puzzled glance and put a plate in front of her that was piled with something smelling way delicious. “Yum. What’s this? It looks good.”

Dad scratched his ear and sat down next to her with his own plate. “It’s lasagna, I think. A new neighbour brought it over.”

“Oh? We have a new neighbour? Since when?”

Dad shrugged and spoke with a mouth full of food. Guess she knew who to blame for her lack of table manners. “Since yesterday, apparently.”

“Why would anyone want to move in here of all places?”

“Beats me.”

Well, whatever the reason, Buffy was glad because that lasagna was probably the best thing she’d ever had in her mouth. “This is really, really good.”

“It is, isn’t it? Ellen said cooking was her hobby. Guess she was telling the truth.”

The fork dangled in front of her open mouth. “Ellen?”

Did her father just blush? Eww.

“Yeah, she’s a real nice lady.”

“Oh. That’s nice. I guess.” Weird was more like it. He better not have a crush on some married woman.

“Come on, stop pulling that face.”

“What face?” She innocently met his eyes. “I’m definitely not pulling anything. But you are, Hank. What’s up with the blushing?”

“I’m not blushing!”

“Right,” Buffy drawled and kept eating. Because she was hungry, not because it tasted good. Not when some flirty, skimpy Ellen the homemaker cooked it to make her father act like a lame teenager with a crush. Uber-gross.

“Don’t look at me with those judging eyes. I saw the way you looked when you came in. Where were you anyway?”

Her eyes widened. “Way I looked? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You had a dopey smile on your face. I know that smile. It leads to being pregnant and you’re way too young to make me a grandfather, young lady.”

She almost choked. “What! T-that’s so completely off it makes vampires look real!”

“Right,” he echoed with a wink that made her cheeks flush.

“Shut up.”

“So who is it?” He squinted at her while chewing. “It’s that punk, isn’t it? I knew he’d be trouble. He better keeps his hands to himself or I’ll pull my shotgun out of the shed. I haven’t used it in a while but I’m sure I haven’t got too rusty.”

Buffy dropped her forehead on the kitchen table with a sigh of defeat. “It’s not like that, believe me.” She lifted her head to look at him. “No need for any pregnancy scare or getting all shoot-happy. I barely even know him.”

“I still don’t like this.” He pointed his fork at her to underline the seriousness of his tone. “If he pushes you into things you feel uncomfortable doin—”

“Dad! Please, stop right there.” Talk about excruciating embarrassment. “If you start discussing methods of protection, I’m so out of here.”

“Well, you had to go and remind me, didn’t you?”

She gave him a horrified glance and promptly bolted out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

“This conversation isn’t over!” he called out.

Maybe she’d find that shotgun and shoot herself with it to avoid that particular talking to. And here she thought things couldn’t get any more awkward after he’d talked to her about becoming a woman.

Guess I was wrong. Yay.

TBC

Chapter 13

The PE classes were pointless. The teacher had a habit of leaving the students to their own devices and Buffy suspected he went to play hookey with their biology teacher Miss Johnson. While it was better than sitting through a lecture on the American Revolution, it also meant one hour of being bored to tears with nothing to do but jumping rope and generally trying to ignore Parker snickering at her.

The muscles in her legs burned, so she stopped jumping and sat down to stretch. That was when Anya joined her on the gym floor and kind of loudly proclaimed, “I need a man.”

“You’re really not into the whole ‘hi’ thing, are you?”

“Why waste my time?” Anya slumped against the wall. “So let’s get back to my problem.”

Buffy smiled and wiped the sweat from her forehead. “I don’t think I’m qualified to help with guy troubles.”

“Why not? You’re a girl. I’m a girl. Therefore it’s customary to have a girl talk, which includes complaining about the lousy opposite sex.”

The way Anya could simplify things in a matter of a few seconds boggled Buffy’s mind. “Okay, I’ll bite.”

Anya huffed. “You know, a girl can only take so much time without a steady orgasm donor. This is getting tiresome.”

“Oh. Umm… well. That’s… interesting.” She could feel herself blushing.

Anya scanned the gym. “I mean look around. There isn’t even one decent… well, that’s actually nice.”

“What’s nice? I mean, who?” Buffy followed Anya’s line of vision but failed to see anyone worthy of the drool gathering at the corner of Anya’s mouth.

“Who’s that brunette guy in blue shorts?”

The only person Buffy could see was Alexander Harris who was currently running in a goofy manner with his arms sort of resembling a flailing chicken as he tried to evade being passed the ball in a ruthless game of basketball. “You mean Alex Harris?”

“Oh, is that his name?” Anya tilted her head. “Gotta thank the Chinese child labourers for making those shorts. I mean, look at him. All sweaty and muscular, running around with that firm ass.”

“Uhh, I guess.” Buffy was starting to learn Anya never filtered her thoughts, which was peculiar and really amusing if not a little embarrassing. “Maybe you should ask him out. If you like him, I mean.”

Anya nodded, still observing Alex like he was a piece of steak with barbecue sauce on the side.

“Good point. I think I will.” A beat later. “Alex Harris!” she yelled as he was running past them.

Poor Alex jumped up and turned on his heel to face them right when his team mate decided to pass the ball of doom and it hit Alex so hard on the shoulder that he sprawled across the floor.

“Hi, I’m Anya.” She looked at him imploringly and Buffy muffled her laughter behind her hand.

“I’m… currently feeling like I’ve been hit by a car. Also, I’m Alex. I mean, Xander. Friends call me Xander.” He picked himself up and couldn’t decide what to do with his hands so they flopped around him like laundry in the breeze until he decided to tuck them into the pockets of his shorts.

“What are you doing on Friday?”

His ears turned pink. “Um, nothing muc—”

“Good. You’ll pick me up at seven and take me out. Bring a car because I’m not walking around in heels. I’ll give you my address during lunch break.”

He blinked then blinked again before he finally regained the power of speech. “Like, on a date?”

“Yes.”

“With me?”

“Yes.”

“Wow.” Then he puffed up and tried to act manly but the effect was somewhat spoiled by the silly smile on his face. “I mean… sure. I’ll be there.”

“It’s settled then. Don’t be late.”

“I won’t.” He gave her an awkward wave and headed away before he remembered he was walking in the wrong direction.

“I wish I could be as brave as you are,” Buffy admitted. “He’s already wrapped around your little finger and he’s talked to you for barely a minute.”

Anya shot her a self-satisfied, teasing grin. “So who’s your crush then?”

“What! No crush. No, sir.” Buffy shifted her attention to her nails.

“Men aren’t that difficult to deal with, you know. Just take what you want and tell him how it is. Chance is he says yes. If not, then you can move on to someone smarter.”

“It sounds really easy when you say it like that, but I’m afraid I’m not the ‘take what you want’ kind of girl. Besides, men usually go for the Miss America type, which I’m not.” And was she really admitting she actually wanted someone to want her? That was just stupid. She’d always been fine being on her own. Then Spike had to come and… This blows.

“Don’t listen to what people say,” Anya said in a soft voice. “I think you’re pretty. And I never lie. Truth hurts more.” She shrugged. “Honestly, if I was a lesbian I’d totally hit on you.”

Buffy glanced at her self-consciously. “Thanks.”

“I like sex with men but I’m up for some girl kisses if you want. Your lips are nicely shaped.”

“Like a girl make-out session?”

“Sure. Why not?”

Okay, she was so not even considering this. That would be way too weird. “I’ll get back to you on that.” Needing to change the subject, Buffy noticed Harmony and her two lackeys were glowering at them. “I don’t think your cheerleader buddies are happy that you’re talking to me.”

Anya slanted them a careless glance. “Those three are a bunch of morons, Harmony being the biggest one. Parker cheats on her all the time, you know. Usually, I’d sweep in to help but I don’t think I could listen to an hour of her whining.”

“So you’re not all buddy buddy then?”

Anya grimaced. “Definitely not. I joined the squad to keep in shape. It’s like zumba, only I don’t have to pay for it. I’m not all that good at making friends, to be honest. I travel a lot so I don’t see the point. But I like you, Buffy. I totally wouldn’t mind listening to you whine.”

It was strange to think of Anya as mature, but she kind of was. Maybe being so outspoken was just her, maybe she honestly didn’t give a damn about what people thought of her. Buffy could respect that. “I don’t really have anything I could whine about, but the same goes for you. You need help, I’m your gal.”

Anya smiled before focusing on Parker with a glint in her eyes that slightly unnerved Buffy, for some reason. “He’s such a jerk. He’d deserve to get boils on his penis, don’t you think?”

“I wouldn’t say no to that.”

“Don’t you just wish that he’d—”

The teacher chose that moment to rejoin them and yell at them to get their asses up and pair up to do stretches.

*******

This was just plain wrong. While she was being a good employee and going over the inventory, her father was flirting with a customer. Wasn’t that against the rules or something? And as soon as she spotted the woman holding a plastic container filled with food, she knew who this was. It had to be the lasagna goddess herself—Hank’s words, not hers—Ellen.

Buffy sneaked a few glances at the older woman.

She didn’t like her. There was something shifty about the way she fluttered her eyelashes and the way she played with her long black hair, which was in no way lustrous. Apparently, subtlety was not one of Ellen’s qualities. And she looked way too Spanish for Buffy’s peace of mind. Weren’t they like… sex maniacs?

That would explain that deep cleavage, which was way inappropriate for a woman that was probably thirty-five or so. And how big were her boobs anyway? They totally had to be implants.

“Buffy!”

“I didn’t say anything,” immediately sprang from her lips. “I mean… yes?”

Hank looked at her, puzzled, while she returned his gaze with as much innocence as she could muster as she approached him.

“Right. Anyway… Buffy, this is Ellen.” He looked at the other woman in a way that made Buffy want to gag. “And this is my daughter, Buffy.”

“Hi,” Buffy said neutrally. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise, Buffy. I hope you liked the lasagna?” She gave her a hesitant smile and Buffy refrained from saying it had given her an intense case of diarrhea. Not that it was true but Ellen wouldn’t know that.

“It was okay.”

Hank gave a short laugh and threw his arm around Buffy’s shoulders. “She’s such a kidder. It was phenomenal.”

Buffy mouthed the word phenomenal at him with a quirk of her eyebrow. Since when did he use words like that?

“Ellen here is a librarian.” Ah, now it made sense. Trying to impress her with his extensive vocabulary, was he?

Well, Ellen apparently hadn’t gotten the memo of librarian dress code. “Aren’t you guys supposed to wear tweed and stuff?”

Ellen laughed heartily, pressing one dainty hand to her generously exposed bosom. When Buffy noticed her father’s attention had strayed there, she elbowed him in the ribs.

“I do own a tweed skirt actually but I prefer not to dress like an old maid.” Obviously, Buffy thought. “I love shopping.”

“Then you’re going to hate living here. We don’t even have a mall,” Buffy said.

“I noticed,” she said with a nod. “That’s why I was thinking of opening a fashion store here. If it doesn’t work out, I’ll just work at a local library.”

“I’m sure your fashion thing will work out. It’s a brilliant idea! We could use a decent clothes store around here,” her father said. “Right, Buffy?”

“I… guess? I’m not really into the whole girly stuff. Are you sure you don’t want to open a martial arts shop instead? Or one with weaponry. I could use a new katana, the one I have is kind of worn.” She did feel bad for about a second for taunting their new neighbour but then again, it was fun seeing Ellen flustered.

“She’s just kidding,” Hank said. “She doesn’t really have a katana.”

The only reason for that was Dad’s reluctance to buy her one. What, did he think she’d start mauling the town puppies and kittens? Geez.

Ellen smiled nervously. “I don’t even know what katana is, I’m afraid. Is that some kind of… well, what is it?”

“Well it’s—”

Ellen interrupted him with a wink, “Of course I know what it is. I was just yanking your chain. It’s a Japanese sword. They’re things of beauty, really. My ex used to collect ancient weapons. I took half of them after we divorced. I thought he was going to pop a blood vessel,” she finished with a wicked smile.

There was no way in hell Buffy was going to admit that this woman was kind of cool. No way.

She was saved by the obnoxious jingling that announced a customer. One of these days, she’d rip that bell off and throw it out of the window.

Seeing the bleached head making its way through the aisle, Buffy wondered why she was being punished. Avoiding him for the last few days had worked really well for her. He just… being around him made her lose her head. She’d thrown herself into his arms, for God’s sake. After having a Lifetime moment! He’d been actually very nice about it, but it made her feel even more awkward. She’d prefer it if he’d made fun of her. That way she’d be on familiar ground. If he kept acting like a decent human being, she’d be forced to like him.

That would without a doubt result in an apocalypse.

But no, he had to come buy groceries and put a stop to her avoidance. Couldn’t he just… hunt himself a dinner? Wasn’t that considered more manly than buying half-prepared food?

“Buffy!” her dad yelled. “Where’s your head at?”

“Huh?”

Dad narrowed his eyes at Spike who was currently staring at frozen pizzas as though they held the universe’s secrets. “Should I take out my shotgun?”

“Very funny.”

“Well, you don’t see me laughing, do you?”

Ellen ducked her head to hide her smile as she apparently caught the line of Buffy’s vision. It wasn’t like she’d been staring. God, people should just get off her back.

“You two… keep doing…. Whatever it was you were doing,” she said and gave Dad a meaningful look. “No joking about shooting anyone, please.”

Hank shrugged before patting her on the back. “Sorry.”

She just bet he was, the liar. “I gotta go… help the customer.”

“Don’t be too helpful,” Dad muttered.

She made her way towards a frowning Spike.

“What do you figure tastes less nasty? Pepperoni or salami?” he asked without looking away from the pizzas.

“Now there’s a dilemma.”

“Don’t get cute with me. This is a serious matter.”

Since he wasn’t looking at her, she grinned. “Why don’t you just cook yourself something? Or are you one of those men that can burn water?”

He opened the refrigerator to grab the pepperoni one. “Oh, I can cook, blondie. Just been a bit busy recently.”

“Doing what?”

He finally turned to her, smirking like a devil. “Cuddling with you.”

Ah, there he was. Making her blush again. “There wasn’t any… cuddling,” she whispered. “Just a momentary comfort giving, which I’m starting to regret. I knew you’d make fun of me eventually.”

His smirk relaxed into a boyish smile. “I’m just playing with you. Don’t mean any harm. If you need a shoulder to cry on, I’m your bloke.”

She regarded him warily. “You know, sometimes it’s hard to tell if you’re being sarcastic or serious.”

“Serious as a heart attack.”

“You’re doing it again! God, you’re… insufferable.”

Spike waggled his eyebrows in a way that should have been funny but it sent her heart galloping instead. “It’s a part of my charm, wouldn’t you agree?”

“No.”

Was he pouting? Yes, yes he was. It was so not adorable.

“I don’t think my ego can’t take that snide reply.”

“I don’t think it could take any stroking either.” Wait, that sounded kind of wrong.

“Oh, I assure you I can take a lot of stroking. The longer the better. If there’s one thing I’ve got in spades, it’s stamina.”

“I walked right into that one, didn’t I?” she grumbled.

He laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a way that made her insanely want to make him do it again and again.

“Yeah, you did. Sorry.”

“Your pizza will get all melty. Better go pay for it.” Even though Dad was sending him murder-y looks.

“Are you trying to get rid of me?”

Was she? Maybe. The way he was stirring warmth within her chest was making her uneasy. “Just trying to save your pizza.”

He nodded, his smile fading a bit as though something inside him had switched off and for a moment she regretted her words. Maybe she could have said something different.

“Going to get outta your hair then. Before the pizza… yeah.” He brushed past her then hesitated before he turned around to face her again. “You know, I’ve got these flowering onion things at the house. They’re bloody brilliant. You could...” he stopped then, shaking his head with a bitter smile. “Never mind. Forget I said anything.”

She didn’t know what compelled her to do it. It was just… the way his shoulders slumped. She touched his sleeve to stop him from going.

There was something in his gaze… For all the swagger and self-confidence, none of it reflected in his eyes. The way he looked at her in that moment was anything but sure or snarky. It was so human. For a fraction of a second she wondered whether he was even aware of the loneliness that seemed to burn deeply and project outward once a person got close enough to notice. The harder she tried to look away, the more she couldn’t. He was expecting her to say something but she couldn’t get her tongue to work.

Was this what it felt like to be a fly tangled in a spider’s web?

Then why wasn’t she afraid of being devoured?

TBC

Chapter 14

Spike grew self-conscious the longer Buffy stared at him. Although he couldn’t really call it staring. It was as if she was looking straight into the heart of him. As though she could see every nook and cranny of his numerous insecurities. He couldn’t dare break the contact though. Not when she held on to his coat to keep him from fleeing.

“I’ve never had flowering onion before,” she finally said softly. “Is it good?”

“Best junk food I’ve ever tasted. Probably the only good thing this sodding town has going for it.”

She blinked and let go of his sleeve, her knuckles grazing his. “Maybe I could stop by sometimes. If I won’t be intruding, that is.”

He must have looked really desperate and he hated that she had caught him off guard. “I don’t need a pity visit, you know.”

“Good. Because I don’t intend to pity-visit you. But I can’t guarantee not asking nosy questions.”

She smiled and just like that the tension he hadn’t noticed building in his body gradually dissolved. “Duly noted.”

“That’s that then,” she said and they both looked away at the same time. Spike all of a sudden felt the urge to toe the ground and blush like… like he was William again. What had this girl done to him?

“I’m gonna pay for this.”

“Yes. That’s probably a good idea.”

So he did, all the while pointedly ignoring the glare Buffy’s father was directing his way as he slapped change into Spike’s palm hard enough for it to sting. He had a good reason to be wary of a man like Spike being around his daughter. Didn’t mean Spike would be easily intimidated.

On his way to the house, he wondered whether she would come and why the hell was he so starved for company after being fine scourging around on his own for years.

*******

This daily routine was becoming stale.

Every single day he woke up to a chilly room vaguely smelling of rose oil. No matter how many times he’d aired the room, the scent remained the same. Then he’d drag his weary body to the shower and relish the water’s warm embrace for ten precious minutes before he brushed his teeth.

Brush your teeth William or you’ll end up looking like a pirate, his mum’s voice echoed in his mind like a mantra carved into flesh.

“See, Mum? I’m a good little boy. Brushing my teeth and making my bed. You’d be real proud,” he mumbled as he walked back to the bedroom to do the second chore.

Today had to be the day his bad luck finally broke. It fucking had to. The restlessness had slowly expanded after being in Sunnydale for the third month and having accomplished nothing other than getting burned and beaten blue by the Old Witch’s defensive magic. People had better run for cover once his patience had run its course.

Spike bounded down the stairs and into the old fashioned kitchen to make a fresh pot of coffee. Caffeine got him hyper, sometimes frighteningly so, but he liked the zing of it. The dark, bitter taste. No milk, just probably enough sugar to give him a heart attack one of these days.

How can you drink this, Mum? It’s awful.

His mother had just smiled, patted him on the head and said, “Wait a few years, love. Then you’ll like it, I swear.”

Well, she’d been right.

He’d made himself scrambled eggs and managed to burn it only slightly when his thoughts diverted his focus. Still, he ate it and shrugged into his coat. Not the leather one though, because even in California, the November weather warranted slightly more.

At least it was black, he thought as he fastened the two rows of buttons on his thicker, military styled coat.

The witch had put a barrier around her house. He’d tried every counter spell he knew of and a few he’d only discovered recently. He needed that book. The sooner he got it the sooner he could leave.

Sometimes he had to push himself to try harder, to keep seeking new solutions. He did it because he feared he wasn’t trying hard enough. That he was getting distracted by feelings he shouldn’t be having in the first place.

Giving up wasn’t an option.

Not for anyone.

*******

Buffy was waiting in front of the house when he returned, the tip of her nose slightly red.

Failing once again at bringing the witch’s barrier down meant he wasn’t in the most sociable of moods.

“Shouldn’t you be at school, love?” He fished out his keys and unlocked the front door. She flounced inside and he followed her.

“I skipped gym class.”

“And you’re here because—”

Her eyes brightened with hurt and he had to bite down on his tongue to stop the apology ready to spill forth.

“Can I just be here for a while? You don’t even have to talk to me or anything. I just don’t want to risk going home and have Dad know I skipped, but I don’t want to stay outside and catch a cold. This was the only place I… maybe I should just go.”

She looked so vulnerable when she moved to walk out that his body reacted before his brain. He caught her wrist and drew her back inside before closing the door.

“Stay. I don’t mind.” He could never say no to her, could he? Bloody hell. He should have let her leave.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Now go sit.” He watched her actually listen to what he said for once, and frowned. There was something going on with her and he intended to find out what. Maybe admitting he really cared about her would make things easier but he still clung to the denial he’d come out of this unscathed.

He made two mugs of hot chocolate and put a handful of tiny marshmallows in each just because he was a sugar-addicted bastard.

When he returned to the living room, she sat there still dressed in her winter regalia, her posture stiff.

“Are you cold?” He handed her one of the steaming cups, putting his on the cherry wood table. “Here… Drink this while I throw some logs in the fireplace.”

“Thanks.”

Her eyes burned into his back as he stoked the fire and took off his coat when the warm glow spread in the room.

And there it was. Just a fleeting wince anyone but him would have missed as she slipped out of her own coat. She collapsed back on the sofa again with a trembling inhale. As though she was repressing pain.

With a frown, Spike walked over to her and tilted his head. “Are you hurt?”

Her surprised gaze flew up from the mug to look at him. “Why would you say that?”

“What happened? And don’t say nothing because I saw that wince, kitten.”

The urge to lie was a clear intent in her face. But she must have seen something in his before she admitted, “My ribs are sore.”

“Why?”

She shrugged, her hands cupping the hot mug. “I woke up and they just were. I think I might have been sleepwalking.”

She forced a laugh, as if the matter was trivial and nothing to worry about but he saw the shadow of fear dancing in her eyes.

“It’s nothing,” she assured herself and took a sip of the hot chocolate. “This is really good by the way.”

“Told you I could cook. And before you get smart on me, I count making hot cocoa as cooking.” He sat down and stole one soaked marshmallow from her mug, popped it into his mouth. “How long have you been sleepwalking then?”

“I don’t know if I am. It’s not like I find myself in any weird places. It’s just… like when I woke up and my hair was damp. Or today, I woke up and my ribs hurt like hell. That’s why I skipped PE.”

“Did you check your feet?”

“What?”

“Your feet. Were they dirty? Because that would mean you were out and about.”

She mulled it over before shaking her head. “No.”

Call it instinct, a hunch, but he had a bad feeling about this. “Let me check.”

“You mean my ribs?”

“Yeah.”

Now she looked at him suspiciously. “Why?”

“Just to make sure they’re not broken or cracked at least.”

A flicker of hesitation.

“Do you want to go to a doctor instead?”

“It’s not that bad…”

The harder he’d press the issue, the more reluctant she’d become, he knew. So he did the only thing he thought would work. “Well, if one of your ribs breaks off and pierces your lungs don’t come crying to me. It’ll be your funeral. Literally.”

That got her attention, though he felt bad for how pale she’d gone.

“Okay. I guess you should check it then.”

Their fingers brushed as he took the mug from her hands, put it on the table and scooted closer. Her eyes were wide, her breath coming quicker out of fear and nerves, he suspected.

“Relax, I won’t hurt you.”

She gulped. “I know.”

The heat of her skin tickled his fingers as he gripped the hem of her sweater and pulled it up and over her head. The only thing she wore beneath was a thin tight tank top that didn’t conceal the fact she wasn’t wearing a bra. Forcing his thoughts off the adult rated track, he slowly rolled up the fabric until he reached her breasts.

“Hold it,” he said in a voice that was too raspy even to his own ears.

She obeyed, her stomach quivering when his fingers splayed over her ribs. The faint blue of her bruise that eerily resembled a big shoe print made him internally cringe. He’d gotten similar bruises more than once. But how did she get them if she’d never left her bed? Unlike him, Spike doubted she was out hunting vampires.

“A-are they… broken?”

He probed gently, apologizing with his gaze when he pushed too hard. “I don’t think so. Just one hell of a bruise.”

Their eyes met, his touch stilling, lingering on the softness of her skin, trapped by the uncertain desire in her eyes. He wondered how fast she’d run if she knew he was imagining leaning down to kiss the sensitive skin beneath her cute belly button.

“My chocolate is getting cold,” she said quietly but leaned into his touch. It was her wince that made him let go, had him straining for control.

The tank top slid back down again, followed by the sweater. All the while he tried to chase the memory of her smooth skin out of his head because he didn’t fancy her catching an eyeful of what that did to him.

Despite her scars, she was still bloody gorgeous. Smart, witty, stubborn as all hell, a right spitfire she was… and wait up! Was she stealing his marshmallows?

He snagged his mug out of her reach, glaring at her over the rim as he took a sip. “Watch it.”

“You took one of mine. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

“I think there are two things you should know about me. First, no kneeing me in the goodies. Second, hands off my sweets. And you’ve already done both.”

Buffy pressed her lips together in an obvious effort to stave off her smile. “Sorry, not much for following rules.”

“Oh, you will be sorry.” He bit his bottom lip, slowly caressed her from head to toe with a sloe-eyed gaze. “Next time, I’ll bend you over my knee and spank your arse ‘til it’s red.”

It took her a few seconds to process the visual he’d painted. Being the bad rude man he was, he enjoyed the way the blush crept up her cheeks.

“I’m not a five-year old.”

The corner of his mouth tipped in a smirk. How innocently cute could this girl get? “Oh, kitten, the kind of spanking I’m talking about? You’d beg me to hurt you just a little bit more.”

“Is this some weird sex thing? Like the whole slave mistress deal?” she asked in a nonchalant manner, but he could see the slight tremor in her hands, the almost inaudible hitch in her breathing.

He must have been staring at her because she said with a pout, “What? I may be a bit naïve but I’m not stupid. I’ve got internet.”

Well, how could he resist that? “Have you now? Just what kind of X-rated websites have you been looking at?”

Buffy’s jaw dropped. Why the hell had she said the word sex in the first place? “I so do not! Everybody knows about the… you know. The whole pain with your pleasure, latex wearing…” Someone please shut my mouth! “But I don’t watch those kinds of videos, like the naked ones with all the grunting and… nakedness. A-and fake boobs and scary penises. Would you please stop laughing at me?” She leaned her elbows on her knees, hid her face in the palms of her hands. Was it just her or were her cheeks really flaming? Why had she said all that stuff?

Not only was Spike laughing like crazy, she felt the mirth bubbling in her own chest. This was ridiculous! One minute he was sniping at her then the next he was making her stomach flutter with those strong sure hands caressing her ribs and now he was laughing at her expense!

“You’re just too good to be true,” he said with amusement clear in his voice and she had to look then. Had to see if his eyes wrinkled in the way she liked.

Yup, they did.

She was doomed. And she couldn’t stop the giggle even if she tried to muffle the sound with her hand. He made her giggle! Had she entered the Twilight zone? What would come next? Twirling her hair around her pointer finger while sucking on a lollipop?

“I said penises,” she said miserably, to which Spike burst into a fresh gale of laughter.

It was contagious and she couldn’t help but join in. Her ribs protested but she just didn’t care because it felt so incredibly good. They were both near the point of tears, probably looking like a pair of patients that had escaped from a mental hospital.

It took them several tries to start calming down and it was only then that Buffy noticed how close they were. That Spike’s knee was pressed against hers as they both sat sideways on the couch, opposite each other.

Spike chuckled. “You are a riot, love.”

“I don’t even remember why we started laughing so much.”

“Don’t even try because I’ll just start all over again if you tell me.” He threw his arm on the back of the couch, his forearm a torturous inch away from her shoulder. But then his other hand casually touched her side. “Your ribs okay? Must have been quite a strain.”

She was still tingly and exhilarated, and there was such warmth in his eyes eclipsed with concern that it wiped out any rational thought from her brain. In that moment he looked so completely different, so young and familiar rather than guarded and cocky that she could almost believe they were friends. That they were two completely different people who had known each other their whole lives and shared laughter as naturally as they drew breath.

Her brain was so flooded with that sudden imagery that it completely obliterated reason and common sense, which was probably why she did what she did next.

Before she could stop herself from making the mistake, she closed her eyes and leaned in to press her lips to his in a chaste kiss. The shock of that intimate contact, the softness, the tiniest rasp of day old stubble against her chin and cheek, the fresh scent of his skin…

But now she didn’t know what to do as his lack of reaction filled her with shame.

Oh God, what had she done?

She drew back, swamped by sheer panic. His hand still rested on her waist, now slowly falling away as he looked at her in stunned disbelief. His mouth parted and she knew she couldn’t let him speak because he’d say something to shatter her heart into million pieces. And why had she done it?

Buffy jumped to her feet, on the brink of hyperventilating, her lips throbbing, his taste still imprinted on them and all she could think of was how addicted she could become to him. How she could never face him again for the same reason.

“I’m s-so… I’m sorry! I didn’t mean... I-I—”

He rose from the couch. “Buffy…”

She was shaking now, backing away and determined to flee because what other choice did she have? She’d rather run than stay to face his mockery. “I’m s-sorry.”

She couldn’t see his face through the sheen of tears welling up, which was just as well. She could barely see anything, barely registered curling her fingers around the doorknob, ready to run out.

Before she could, he grasped her upper arm and pulled her away with enough force to make her stumble.

“Let me go.” She struggled, refusing to even glance at him, to see his anger. For all his flirting she’d always known he never really meant to follow through. The mere sight of her face had to disgust him and now she’d truly proved just how pathetic she was.

“I will, but not until we hash this out.”

“Spike, please.” She was going to cry, she could feel the lump in her throat grow thicker when she realised she wouldn’t be able to break his hold.

“Buffy, damn it. Would you stop?”

“I don’t know why I did it. It won’t happen again and I—”

He gripped her shoulders and gave her a shake. “Bloody hell, Buffy, I’m not going to bite your head off. I just want to talk. Will you look at me?”

She slowly raised her eyes, thankful her vision was blurred and she didn’t have to see his expression clearly.

“You can’t just run out of here like that. You’re not even wearing your coat, you silly bint. Or did you forget it was December and your house is about fifteen minutes away?”

She started to cry.

“Oh come on, don’t… I can’t handle it if you’re crying. Fuck.”

He couldn’t handle what? Telling her she should keep her gross lips away from his? This only made her want to cry even harder but she dragged in a few deep breaths to calm down.

“Look, I’m not gonna yell at you or whatever it is you’ve convinced yourself I’ll do. You just caught me by surprise, that’s all.”

Spike had no idea how to deal with this. All he wanted to do was sweep in to kiss her breathless, to taste her deeply, properly, not just a graze of her lips he hadn’t even had time to relish. But then he’d be crossing a line he told himself he’d never cross with her. She was eight years younger than him, way too innocent and good for the likes of him.

Terrified, that’s what he was.

Terrified that he’d break her heart once he got what he came for and left. She didn’t deserve that. But in the smallest corner of his heart, he knew, he admitted that maybe that was an excuse and he was protecting himself. He’d lost too many people, had been hurt one too many times to give her what she wanted. Couldn’t she see that he was broken?

“Where’s my coat?” she asked quietly but he could sense the underlying steel in her voice. A spark of anger.

“We need to talk,” he said though he had no idea what to say. His hold had fallen slack and she stepped away, reclaiming her coat.

“Buffy, wait. Don’t go.” He just needed to… he couldn’t stand the look on her face, not knowing how to fix this mess without hurting her feelings any more than he already had.

“I need to go. I c-can’t… not right now.”

He sighed. Maybe he should just let her go. Let her be angry at him.

“This isn’t over.”

She didn’t even look at him as she opened the door and walked out.

TBC

Chapter 15

Buffy was dreaming again. Disoriented. In pain.

The only thing she could see was darkness, the world hidden by William’s tightly closed eyelids although he wasn’t sleeping. He was sitting on a wooden chair, hiding his face in the palms of his hands, breathing shallowly through the pain throbbing in his ribs.

“I waited for you and you didn’t come.” The voice dripped with hurt, with accusation. “Are you angry with me?”

“I didn’t mean to keep you waiting,” he said, quietly, like a wounded animal. “Just got a bit… held back.”

Soft steps approached him. “What happened?”

He swallowed back the urge to tell her everything, but the pride he so desperately clung to wouldn’t let him. It was the only thing he had left. “Nothing. I’m okay.”

“I know you’re lying, William,” a girl said. “I can feel it in my heart.”

William finally opened his eyes. They were in a small room, the one where he’d had a bucket of water dumped on his head the year before. His room. It looked the same, sparse and functional, without a trace of affection. The lights were off and it took him a moment to focus on the girl concealed in the shadows.

“I’m sorry,” he said, a strand of unruly hair falling into his eyes when he ducked his head. The girl touched his cheek then and he looked up to see a sliver of hesitation in her haunting blue eyes.

“It was Ed, wasn’t it?”

Shame flared in his veins, hot and crushing. “I’d rather not say.”

She sighed, a heavy troubled sound that told Buffy that William’s unwillingness to talk was not unusual. “You have to tell someone. You can’t keep letting them—”

He leapt from the chair in his anger, unable to suppress a wince as the move jarred his bruised ribs. “Letting them? You think I enjoy getting shit beaten out of me on a daily basis? Yeah, I just love it. It’s a real nice treat for me, Dru.”

She recoiled, her thin arms falling to her sides.

William swallowed hard, wishing he could take the words back. She didn’t deserve his anger. Tentatively, he reached out to graze her shoulder with his fingertips. Sometimes she appeared to be so fragile he was afraid to touch her for fear she’d crumble. “I’m sorry. I’m a berk.”

Her eyes flickered to his, her voice taut with sudden desperation. “Something’s going to happen if we don’t leave. The walls… I can see the devil painting them red.”

Chills raced over his scalp. At times, Drusilla would say the strangest things. She’d get headaches and shake and he would hold her then because what else could he do? He couldn’t leave her to fend for herself. Not after she’d pulled him out of the darkness and forced him to eat when he was so determined to starve to death after he came here.

He caught her before she sank to the floor and sat her down on his bed and wrapped his arm around her. “We can’t run away, Dru. You’re safer here.” But even Buffy could hear the remorse swelling in his voice.

“You’re not listening to me. We will die if we stay.”

The conviction shone clear in her eyes and it made him falter. It made his heart ache because he knew her mind wasn’t all there after the things she’d been through.

“What about those nice folks that came by last week? They seemed to like you. You could still have a family. A life.”

She laughed and the sound of it was so heartbreaking that William fought the urge to apologise all over again. Even if it wasn’t his fault.

“I’m fifteen, sweet William. I’ve been in foster care since I was born, you know that. Daddies and mommies don’t want me. They want a small baby that they can coddle and coo at. One that isn’t dirty and damaged.” She gazed into the distance with empty eyes. “I feel like I’m a puppy in a pet store but nobody wants me because I’ve grown too big. Everybody just stares and stares but never chooses me.”

William tightened his embrace, rubbing her back. “You’re not damaged.”

“Yes, I am.”

“You’re not!” he said forcefully and stroked the black silk of her hair. “I… I’d always choose you.”

“I’ve got nobody but you. You’re my knight.” She gave him a wistful smile. “Will you protect me? Like I’m a princess trapped in a tower?”

William smiled sadly and kissed her on the temple. “Always.”

“Even against a dragon?”

He nodded. “Against a bloody troll too if it came to it.”

“But what if he owns the sun as well as the moon?”

William’s brows furrowed. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“I’m tired.” She leaned into his side and closed her eyes. “Can I stay here tonight?”

“Of course.” They needed each other. It frightened him how much he’d come to depend on her to keep the loneliness at bay, to wake him up when the nightmares struck. He did the same for her.

The urge to protect her rose in his gut as she slipped under the covers to lie beside him. Her small hand covered his as she faced him.

“I love you,” he whispered.

“You shouldn’t.” She traced the length of his fingers, those shadows that never fully retreated dancing in her eyes. “Love hurts. It tears you apart, turns you inside out and leaves you to bleed. Like poppies blooming on the ground.”

He sucked in a breath and squeezed his eyes shut. He hated how broken she was. That there was nothing he could do to glue the pieces back together and give Dru her innocence back. But he couldn’t help but love her. She was everything he had. And he knew she’d never love him back.

*******

The next day, Buffy stood in the locker room, changing and ignoring the other girls who were too busy gossiping to notice her anyway. Well, everyone but Anya who dropped her stuff on the floor next to Buffy’s feet.

“Xander’s nice,” she said in a tone one would use to say they’d witnessed a murder.

“And that’s bad because…?”

Anya took her shirt off and wildly gesticulated. “I only wanted to have sex! He wasn’t supposed to be so… funny and sweet and so nicely shaped. What am I going to do?”

Buffy stared at her, brows furrowed. “Isn’t that kind of the point? I mean… plenty of girls would kill for a guy like that. One that’s not… secretive and moody and wears ugly big black boots.” Also, Anya was regarding her with a questioning look. “Never mind.”

“No crush, hm? If I meet him, I’ll give him piece of my mind. That’s what girl friends do, right?”

A thing to remember? Keep Anya away from Spike at all costs. “Yes, which is why you’re going to tell me why nice Xander is a bad thing.”

Yup, she was a master at diverting attention.

“It’s just… I don’t want to get attached. It could never work.” She sounded forlorn, but Buffy couldn’t understand what the problem was. Then again, she sucked at the whole relationships thingie.

Remembering she was supposed to be changing into something more exercise-y, she took her own shirt off, “But wh—”

“What’s that?” Anya’s eyes sharpened as they zeroed in on Buffy’s pendant. It was a strange, intense kind of stare.

“Umm… just my locket.”

“Where did you get it?” Anya never took her eyes off it and now her fingertips hovered above it as though she was afraid to touch.

Buffy laughed to diffuse the tension. It didn’t work. “In my basement. It belonged to my mother. Why?”

“I don’t know. It looks… familiar. I’m sure I’ve seen it somewhere before.”

“Well, I bet there are hundreds of them on sale somewhere, right?” Although it looked antique, Buffy didn’t believe it actually was. It was probably just really good costume jewelry.

Anya seemed to have shaken herself out of the stupor and gave her a confused smile. “I guess.”

Buffy filed it away as quirky Anya behaviour and forgot about it by the time they started doing laps around the gym.

*******

This was a bloody stupid idea.

Spike knew that even as he trudged up the front porch to a small modest house and knocked on the front door.

His eyes darted around. If he ran fast enough, maybe he’d make it without being seen.

Get a grip, mate. ‘S not like she’s going to rip your balls off. Well, probably not.

The door swung open to reveal a flushed Buffy with what looked like flour on her cheek. Her surprise quickly shifted to barely contained wariness.

“What are you doing here?”

He dropped his gaze and cleared his throat to get rid of the dryness. Fuck, his hands were shaking.

“That’s a bloody good question.”

She tapped her fingers on the door jamb. “Spill or I’m slamming this door in your face.”

And she’d do it too. He could see it in her eyes. “Look, can we talk? Preferably inside since I’m freezing my ass off here.”

Not really but she didn’t need to know that.

He expected a snarky reply but she stepped away with a weary sigh instead and opened the door wider. “Come in.”

The smell of something delicious wafted to his nose as soon as he entered the house and followed Buffy’s sashaying hips to the kitchen. “Are you cooking something?”

“Baking cookies,” she said over her shoulder and went straight to the oven.

The ones she took out were baked to perfection, steaming and smelling exactly like the ones his mother used to make. It smelled like home. Like happiness and safety and love. Like the things he no longer had. He rubbed his chest but the ache that had settled there wouldn’t leave.

“Are they chocolate chip?” he asked quietly, feeling like a right ponce for feeling emotional over something as trivial as cookies and hoping she wouldn’t notice.

She gave him a crooked grin. “Yeah. I’m kind of addicted to chocolate.” The corners of her mouth dropped then. Her hands fidgeted with the spatula before she started to place the treats on a plate. “If you’re here because of… I’d rather not talk about what happened.”

Buffy felt utterly humiliated. If she looked at him now she’d probably spontaneously combust. She actually wished she would. It was just her luck that the ground refused to open and gobble her up.

“I came to apologise,” he mumbled and she had to give him a glance to gauge his sincerity. Especially since that was the last thing she’d expected to hear.

“Why? I was the one that screwed up, not you.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t handle it very well, did I? My social skills are a bit rusty, I have to admit. As I said then, you just took me by surprise and I didn’t mean to come off as… fuck, this is hard. Look, I’m no good, yeah? Some might say I’m a right bastard and they wouldn’t be wrong. And you’re just so… I’m not your type, believe me.” He fell silent, his gaze falling to the table.

Not her type? What did that even mean? Was he a criminal or something? Oh god, maybe he liked men and she’d thrown herself at him like a clueless floozie!

“Are you gay?”

His eyes widened. “What? No!”

What she felt was definitely not relief. That wouldn’t even make any sense. He didn’t want her and she was fine with that. Better than fine. She was awesome!

He lifted his eyebrow suspiciously. “Are you telling me I look like one?”

“Well, no, not exactly. I mean, the hair is kind of… and the painted nails…”

“It’s called punk!”

She hid her grin behind a cookie. “Sorry.”

He glared and leaned back. “Gay,” he muttered. “I’ll give you gay.”

“I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to offend your male pride or whatever. Look, can you just forget the… stuff ever happened? I don’t even know why I did it.” Only, she did. He’d been so close and smelled so good and the look in his eyes had ensnared her, pulled her in. She was just human. “It had to be the hot chocolate! Too much sugar makes me act all wonky. So… there.”

Spike gave her a dubious glance but didn’t comment on the obvious excuse. “Right, it’s my fault then.”

“Now you get it.”

He rose to his feet and approached her with a swagger in his step. “If you feel too bad about it, you could offer me some… cookies.”

Oh, he pulled the seduction so well he could have honed the skill for centuries. But she caught the tremor in his voice, noticed the raw longing in his eyes as he looked at the cookies. A confused smile pushed at her lips but she held it back. There was something vulnerable about him, something so young that she couldn’t help but nod.

“Sure, I made lots of them. It’s the only thing I can manage without burning the house down.”

But Spike was no longer listening to her. Instead his eyes had slid closed as he took a bite. And he moaned! How was she supposed to control herself around him when he went and did things that spun her head around?

He pushed the remaining half of the cookie into his mouth, his cheeks pouched.

“You look like a hamster,” she said, watching him with amusement. She probably shouldn’t be so pleased that he liked them.

Spike’s hand already reached for another one as he finished chewing before he flicked her an embarrassed glance. “Umm… can I have more?”

Was he asking her? And here she thought he was the kind of a man who took what he wanted when he wanted it, but this shy version was… well, endearing.

“Yup.”

“Cheers, kitten,” he said and ate the next cookie as if someone would come any moment to snatch it out of his hand.

“If you eat like that, you’re going to choke,” Buffy said. “You look like you’ve never had cookies in your life.”

He swallowed and brushed stray crumbs away from his chest. “Of course I have, just… not in a long while.”

He looked so sad she wanted to reach out and touch him. “Well, take as many as you want. Dad is on a diet to become healthier, apparently. At least that’s what he told me yesterday. But between you and me, he’s just trying to impress our neighbour.” She was still grossed out by the mere idea that her father liked someone. It was icky.

“Was it the bird from the shop? They looked cozy,” Spike said as he sneaked an extra cookie into his coat pocket. Like she wouldn’t notice? Please. “Got to say your old man’s got good taste. The bird has nice,” he cupped his palms at the chest level, “eyes.”

“You’re disgusting.” Great, every guy had to like big boobs. She glanced at hers with dismay.

“It comes with the XY chromosome,” he said with a shrug.

“Well, go and marry her, why don’t you.” She cringed at the jealousy in her voice. Great, now he was smirking and giving her that look that made all kind of wicked thoughts race through her mind.

“I prefer women that can make cookies like these.”

“See? You’re always doing this! Getting all flirty innuendo guy. Would you please stop doing that? It’s driving me insane.” Insane and all kinds of angry. Did he tease her deliberately, cruelly? Was he that much of a jerk?

Spike could tell he’d somehow hurt her feelings. And here he thought he’d be paying her a compliment. “What did I do?”

“You know what? Forget it. Just… go. Dad should be here soon and I so don’t want to have to explain why you’re here.”

The barrier she pulled around herself to ward him off was icy enough to make the temperature of the kitchen drop a few degrees. “I’m not leaving until you tell me what I did to make you look at me like I killed your puppy.”

If she thought avoiding his gaze and busying herself with washing the dishes would make him leave, she was in for a big surprise.

“Please go.”

“No.” He leaned on the counter where she was washing the dishes and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Spike…”

“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me, so you might as well get it over with.”

She threw her soapy hands in the air in irritated. At least they were getting somewhere. Better to rile her up than have her in full control and cold as a winter’s storm. No, he’d prefer to be burned by her fire any day.

“Fine,” she said. “You always make fun of me and I’m sick of it! I’m sick of the taunting, and I know you’re thinking, ‘Oh look at that poor ugly girl. I think I’ll—”

“When have I ever said you were ugly? That’s a load of bollocks.” He gripped her shoulder and turned her to face him, almost crippled by the insecurity in her eyes. “I like you, all right? God knows why because you’re more trouble than anyone I’ve ever met. You’re stubborn and nosy, not to mention you kicked me in the balls, but you’re far from ugly.” He gazed at her without blinking, willing her to see his words for the truth they were as he cupped her face in his palms. “You’re bloody gorgeous.”

Hesitation tinged the green of her eyes, the thick lashes flickering to her cheeks as she ducked her gaze.

“And no, I’m not just saying it.”

Everything in him screamed to get closer, to sit her up on the counter and pull her legs around his hips so he’d be cradled by her warmth. He was too selfish to keep away. Too selfish and starved not to take what he wanted. Her breath tickled his chin and he licked his lips, feeling her hair tickle his hands, her breasts pressed against his chest in a way that made him curse the tightness of his jeans.

The need to kiss her, to possess her mouth flared up and consumed his every cell one by one. Their lips barely grazed when the front door opened and shut, followed by Hank’s voice.

“I’m home, pumpkin!”

TBC

Chapter 16

As soon as her father’s voice rang from the foyer, Buffy leaped away from Spike.

“You have to go,” she hissed urgently and pushed him towards the back door of the kitchen, all the while determined to ignore the firm chest under her palms. He was evil. He had to be. There was no other explanation for the tingle that radiated from her hands to the tips of her toes.

“Buffy are you in the kitchen?”

“Yes!” she called, glaring at the infuriating wink Spike sent her way before making himself scarce.

“Ah, there you are,” her father said.

She twirled around with guilt written all over her face. “I made cookies!”

“All right.” He gave her a dubious glance. “You’re acting strange. You haven’t made the oven explode, have you?”

“Haha, very funny.”

A shrug. “Wouldn’t be the first time, pumpkin.” Hank’s eyes narrowed at the door, which made her heart double its already increased beat. “I’d swear I heard the door close.”

Think Buffy, think! “Oh… that was me. Just… getting some fresh air, you know. It’s gotten all hot what with the oven and… baking.”

And the almost smoochies with the hot—no, evil—possible criminal whose lips turned her to a puddle of mush. Damn him.

“Hmm… these are yummy,” Hank said with his mouth full and ruffled her hair.

Buffy sat down and finally let out the breath she’d been holding. That had been close. Way too close.

“Shouldn’t you be on a diet?”

“I’ll only have one,” Dad said with his mouth full.

Why couldn’t he have arrived a few minutes later?

“Why are you pouting?”

Buffy rested her forehead against the table surface with a groan she couldn’t quite hold back.

*******

When she went to bed that night, Buffy was determined to find out if she really had been sleepwalking as she suspected. She had a plan. A good one.

She just hoped her dad wouldn’t walk in on her as she poured flour all over the floor around her bed. He’d blow a gasket. Messy or not, this was the only way she could think of that would show if she walked around at night. It would show her footprints.

And there had to be footprints because if there weren’t any in the morning, she didn’t know what she’d do. Didn’t even want to think of the possibility that she might be going insane. As insane as her mother had been. That was one fear that had plagued her since she was a child and she couldn’t handle the thought of losing her grip on reality.

It was bad enough to look into the mirror every day and see her mother’s eyes and lips reflected back at her. Sometimes she wished she’d look lot more like Dad.

*******

They were laughing. Laughing and dancing in the streets under the pale sheen of the moon, William’s heart racing as the adrenaline surged through his veins.

They had done it. They had run away, tossed away the shackles of misery looming in the corners of the foster home.

This was freedom.

Holding Drusilla in his arms, seeing the stars reflect in the depth of her eyes. The world lay at their feet in all its terrifyingly splendid glory.

Finding a place to live didn’t prove to be that difficult. Sure, it wasn’t glamorous but he’d managed to find out how tap the city’s power lines to gain electricity. The man who fixed it for him had been more than a little shifty. It was illegal and would give William plenty of trouble if the authorities found out. Not that he cared. What could they do to him? He had nothing to lose, nothing they could take away that he couldn’t survive without.

He had nothing but her.

William gripped Drusilla’s hand as they ran through the alleys, her giggles warming his heart. With her at his side, he felt alive for the first time since he’d buried his mother. The only thing that mattered was to make Dru smile, to be allowed to hold her when things got rough.

It should have scared him.

The life he led at the age of fifteen was so removed from normal he might as well have been a clown at a circus that traveled a different galaxy. Stealing money to buy food and clothes should have shamed him, but he found himself not caring at all. Everything had been taken away from them both, so who cared if those who had everything unwillingly donated to keep them alive?

“My skin tingles,” Drusilla said breathlessly as they came to a halt in the deep recesses of a dirty alley, facing the entrance to their studio flat. It had been abandoned when they‘d stumbled upon it. The location wasn’t known for its safety and it looked like it had been a part of a now abandoned factory. In William’s mind, it was perfect.

“Feel me, William, feel how warm I am,” she said dreamily and laid his hand above her breast. Her heartbeat pounded against his palm.

They had managed to steal the money without getting caught again. The drunken rich kids leaving clubs were always easy pickings.

“You’re beautiful is what you are,” he whispered against her cheek and unlocked the door.

They stumbled in, drunk on success and the feeling of being alive.

The door closed, the only light filtered from the narrow horizontal windows from above. Drusilla’s face was half concealed by shadows, her slender fingers pushing into his hair.

“You say the sweetest things to me,” she said and swayed away from him, moving to the music only she could hear as she twirled through the open space of the studio.

“You’re my princess, aren’t you? How could I say anything else?” The hunger for her increased from to day to day. When he lay awake at night with her warmth so close he could almost touch it, all he imagined was pressing kisses into her milky skin, tasting her soft lips, losing himself inside her.

Drusilla stopped and sank down on the king sized mattress they used as a bed, her arms stretched above her head. She wore a long white dress they’d bought at a vintage store. He’d never seen anyone more beautiful, more magnetic.

“Come here,” she said with her eyes half closed and extended one leg. “Take off my shoes?”

He was her dog, ready to come to her side at a moment’s notice, eager and desperate to be as close as she allowed. In a world where he had nothing, he’d made Dru the center of his universe.

William knelt down, caressed her calf as he slipped her feet out of the ballerina shoes she so loved to wear. Her skin was smoother than the silk of her dress and he longed to lean down and taste it with his lips.

“Have you had fun today?” he asked, stroking her calves.

“Oh yes. I do love to dance. Can we go tomorrow as well?”

“We can do whatever you wish to do.” He loved to watch her dance. They would slip in through the back door, and she’d move with grace no other girl could hope to match. In the sea of skimpily clad teenagers, Dru looked like a rose amongst weeds. And he wasn’t the only one to notice. She often used her charms to pick the pockets of those narrow minded fools who thought they could seduce her, not knowing or caring she was just sixteen. The pangs of jealousy would always prick at him even when he knew she’d never leave him. Not for any of them.

Dru sat up and stroked the unruly curls away from his forehead. “You’re always so good to me, William. Taking care of me.”

He leaned into her hand. “You’re all I’ve got.”

She cupped his chin and leaned down to kiss him. She did that sometimes, gave him chaste kisses that never crossed the line of friendship but the fleeting contact was always agonizing. It only made the hunger worse.

Except she wasn’t leaning away this time and her tongue parted his lips, leaving him breathless, flushed with desire when he returned the caress.

“Dru, what are you—”

“Hush,” she murmured against his parted lips. “Let me show you.”

“Wait, we shouldn’t,” he offered the protest but it was feeble at best. His brain wouldn’t work properly when she touched him.

“I know you want to.” She lay back against the mattress and his gaze devoured every inch of exposed skin as she slid her dress up to her thighs.

Her eyes were haunted, containing a century’s worth of pain that no one could erase. But maybe he could. Maybe if he loved her, if showed her he cared, that he cherished her…

His hands shook as he knelt between her legs, hesitation battling need.

He’d imagined this so many times, hundreds of different scenarios. The only recurring theme was the softness in her eyes, the words ‘I love you’ rolling off her tongue. The reality was different and a just the tiniest bit terrifying. William had no idea what to do, didn’t want to disappoint her, so he leaned down to trail kisses along her jaw. The skin of her neck was smooth yet cool from the chill in the studio. But maybe it was his lips that were burning.

“Take off your shirt,” Dru said and he obeyed.

Before he could resume kissing every inch of her, William found himself pushed to his back with Dru straddling his hips, her dress still on. The pain raced down his chest in the wake of her nails. Blood welled up.

“Dru, what are you—”

“Shh, I’m playing.”

Fear and excitement and nerves nearly overwhelmed him to the point where he felt almost sick. Something inside him protested that this wasn’t like he imagined, that she didn’t want to be loved. She did. He just needed to prove her wrong.

Tentatively, he reached out to slide his fingertips up her thighs. When he reached her hips, he realised she wasn’t wearing any underwear. “Dru?”

“Hmm?” She lifted up and unzipped his pants. Did he want to ask something? He couldn’t remember.

She gazed at him then, her eyes dark and almost… empty. “You know what my stepfather used to say?” She was touching him, deftly and expertly and all he could think about was, ‘What if she’ll never love me?’

“He and I used to play a game.” Her fingers curled around his length tightly, and she shrugged off his hand when he caressed her arm. William tried to ignore the pangs in his chest. “If I was really quiet, it wouldn’t hurt much, he said. But I was a good girl and I didn’t say a thing even when it did. Because he was my daddy and it was all right. He said he loved me.”

Dru pushed her hips down and the heat of her enveloping him was so sudden, so blistering it took everything in him not to surrender. But how could he when she was breaking his heart even as she was stealing his senses? He gripped her sides to still her movements, wishing she’d take off her dress but unable to ask.

“W-wait, slow down… I don’t want to hurt you.”

Her eyes slid shut and she ignored his words. Even being one with her, he’d never felt more distant.

“Do you love me, William? Like my Daddy did?”

Jerking his eyes to her face with expanding horror, he knew now. Knew why she couldn’t—or wouldn’t—love him. In her mind, the sentiment was laced with darkness, the demons that wrapped around her every second of every day. It left him nauseous. Did she think she had to do this? How could he forgive himself if she got worse?

He never should have let her…

“Stop, Dru. We have to—”

But she wouldn’t listen so he banded his arms around her, rolled them over and carefully pulled out of her body. With her eyes still closed, he felt like she was million miles away. His knuckles grazed her inner thighs when he shifted the silk of the dress to cover her legs but she didn’t even move. She just lay there limply and finally opened her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered hoarsely and curled against her side. “I’m so sorry.”

“Love always hurts.” The conviction of it shone in her eyes. It was as if her view of the world had been distorted and she saw it reflected in a puddle of murky water. “I told you I don’t want you to love me. Tell me you won’t.”

Even as William nodded, he knew he was lying. And the realization that he could never heal her, that he couldn’t make her better made him feel like he failed all over again.

So he did the only thing he could, he rested his forehead against her cheek and cried. For her. For both of them.

TBC

Chapter 17

Spike had almost forgotten.

It wasn’t until he went out for a walk that the subtle transformation of the town registered. It had been happening around him for almost a month now. How had he not noticed the tacky décor at the local stores, the rising anticipation in the air?

It was bloody Christmas in one week.

Tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans, Spike stopped and scanned what passed for the main street in this God forsaken town. A shoddy Santa Claus ho-ho-ho’d at him from a nearby window. Spike shot him a glare.

He resumed his pace as well as his brooding. Wait, not brooding. Only nancy boys did that. Pondering sounded much manlier.

Not really his fault he hadn’t noticed. What kind of Christmas could California have anyway? It didn’t even snow here.

The sun would be setting soon, the colours of the sky stuck between day and night. He could sympathise on the being stuck part all too well. When he stopped near the door to the grocery store, he had to wonder whether not getting the damned book was just an excuse for his lingering presence. He could be hunting down more clues, following his other leads and instead here he was: a sitting duck.

Through the glass he watched Buffy laugh at something her father said, a strand of hair falling free from her ponytail and whispering against her cheek. His fingers clenched at the sudden urge to walk in and brush it away.

What was he doing here? Making friends with her, almost snogging her in her own kitchen? He’d barely survived losing Dru after losing his family. He could never allow himself to feel love for another person. It was like signing their death warrant.

Sometimes he was convinced he’d been cursed. That for some reason a higher power looked down at him and thought, ‘William Pratt? Oh yeah, let’s have fun making his life a living hell and see how much more he can take.’

Buffy was supposed to be inside wrapped in the warmth, laughing, just like she was now. Him?

Spike snorted and tore his gaze away from her face, squinted his eyes against the gust of cold wind as he walked away.

He’d be lucky if he survived the inevitable clash with Angelus. But even if he didn’t, he’d make sure to drag the monster right down to the pits of hell with him.

*******

Buffy glanced out of the window in time to see Spike turn around and head off. Not knowing what possessed her she said, “I’ll be right back. Just going to get some fresh air.”

“Take your coat!” Dad called when she was almost out of the door. “And hat. And gloves. And shawl too.”

Buffy rolled her eyes and ran back towards the counter to retrieve her coat. “I’m not taking anything else. It’s not Siberia, Dad.”

“If you catch a cold, I’m not taking care of you,” he grunted.

“Yes, you are,” she said with a sweet smile and strode out before he could reply.

Besides, she wasn’t the whiny patient in their family. Sneezing more than once and Hank would convince himself he was dying of flu. She wondered if that was just him or all men.

Probably all men.

Spike’s shoulders were hunched as he trudged down the street as if someone had shot his puppy. An older woman Buffy recognised as Parker’s mother passed him by with a barely repressed look of terror on her face, clutching her purse closer to her body. Buffy snickered as she sneaked closer behind him. Was she the only one who saw just a lonely man rather than a potential mugger?

Right as she stretched her hand out to touch his shoulder, Spike whirled around and caught her wrist in a vice like grip.

“Ow,” she said with a pout. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re way too twitchy?”

Confused Spike was kind of cute.

“My wrist? Let go please?” she demanded with a shake of said wrist.

He let go. “Right. Sorry. It’s a reflex.” He glanced over her shoulder before focusing back on her. “What are you doing out here?”

“Fresh air.” Like she’d admit she saw him and had irresistible urge to talk to him? No, thank you.

He nodded and patted his pockets before retrieving a pack of cigarettes.

“You know these are bad for you, right? You could get lung cancer,” she said

Spike lit up with a snick of his lighter and sucked in the poisonous air with obvious relish. Her eyes zeroed in on the purse of his lips before she realised what she was doing and looked away, her cheeks hot.

“Love, when I die it won’t be cancer, trust me.” His grin didn’t quite reflect in his eyes. Whatever was so funny, she didn’t get it.

“You’re in a weird mood,” she remarked and followed him to the narrow alley between the pharmacy and the hardware store where they were at least partially shielded from the wind.

“Oh, sorry. Want a taste?” He offered her the cigarette.

“Eww.”

“Suit yourself,” he said with a shrug and pushed it back between his lips.

Was he even listening to her? Geez. “What? No smart comeback on my ‘you’re acting weird’ comment?”

“What’s there to say? I’ve got the pre-Christmas jitters.”

“Are you staying here for the holidays?” she asked. “You’re not going to be alone, are you?”

Spike gave her a disgruntled look and leaned against the wall, the smoke he exhaled shrouding his expression before it dispersed.

“You can lose that pity look you’re giving me right now,” he said.

She was not giving him pity looks! Was she?

“I’ve been Scrooging it for as long as I can remember. Just because the telly says you ought to spend it arguing and stuffing yourself until you feel sick doesn’t mean I have to do it too,” he said defensively and flicked the stub to the ground. “I’d rather spend it watching porn. If you feel so sorry for me you can always join me.”

He smirked, probably at her flustered fish-out-of-the-water look.

“That’s just… gross.” And wait! He always did this. Deflecting her question with innuendo and saying stuff he knew would throw her off track. Well, she was onto him now. “But you’ve got to have someone you could spend Christmas with. If you don’t, you could—”

He inched his way closer to her. “I could what? Would you invite me in? Let me eat your cookies?”

Why did she have the feeling that by cookies he meant something entirely different? And just how much more could her cheeks flame before her head exploded?

“You’re trying to distract me,” she said, watching as he caressed the lapel of her coat.

“Is it working?”

“Uhh…”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he said way too smugly for her piece of mind.

“Spike!” She slapped his hand away.

He slumped into the wall. “Spoilsport.”

“I meant what I said… or would have said if you didn’t get all distract-y. You could come by my house. There will be food… and eggnog! I’m sure Dad wouldn’t mind.” Well, not much anyway. She hoped.

“Yeah, he’d be real happy. What with the death glares he keeps shooting at me every time I enter the store.”

“You noticed that, huh?”

Spike gave her a look. “He hasn’t been exactly hiding his dislike.”

“He’s just… overbearing. But he doesn’t bite, I think.”

Tilting his head, Spike regarded the girl in front of him. Something in him really wished he could say yes. He imagined sitting next to her, seeing the decorative lights reflect in her eyes, even watching bloody Charlie Brown with her curled against his side.

“I can’t. Got work to do.” She looked ready to argue and he knew if he let her pin him with that gaze he lately found himself incapable of resisting, she’d make him agree. “I might go to Cleveland to see my… umm… uncle Rupert. If I get a flight ticket, that is.”

She didn’t look convinced but seemed willing to drop the subject. “Okay. But if you don’t, you can come by.”

Yeah, he could see the joy in her father’s face if he did.

“Got it.”

She shivered and folded her arms over her chest.

“You should get back inside. We wouldn’t want your cute little ass to freeze, now would we?”

Teasing her and making her blush was fast becoming his favourite past time.

“Fine. I’m going, but not because you told me to but because I’m getting cold.”

He chuckled and gave her a wink as she lifted her nose haughtily.

“See you soon, kitten.”

The smile on her face was reluctant but he couldn’t help but smile in return.

As he made his way back to the house, he regretted lying to her. Rupert would probably call him, but after the first year he spent Christmas with him and his wife Joyce, he realised it only made him miss his old life even more. Since then he’d always disappear around Christmas. So yeah, he was a coward. He couldn’t handle being a part of that when pulling away was much easier. At least that way, he wouldn’t make them share his misery.

Not to mention, if Joyce took one good look at him she’d have him spilling his guts over a cup of hot cocoa. The woman had an uncanny ability to bludgeon right past his every defense just with a kind smile. Much like Buffy did.

Come to think of it, he’d probably steer clear of trouble if he avoided the entire female race.

*******

Hank wasn’t an idiot. Not nearly as clueless as Buffy seemed to think he was. Or maybe not as clueless as her, he thought with amusement bordering on concern.

Unlike her, he’d noticed the punk kid watching her through the window, seen the look on his face. Surely he wouldn’t be overreacting if he shot the kid in the leg? Just to gently scare him off?

No? Damn it.

Hank managed a responding smile when Buffy bounded back into the store, shedding the coat and rubbing her arms.

“You should have taken the hat,” he reprimanded her as he wiped the counter.

She rolled her eyes like she was so prone to do every time he acted too fatherly. But God damn it, he couldn’t help it. She was his little pumpkin.

“I’m fine, Dad.” She gave him a peck on the cheek and patted his shoulder reassuringly.

Well, how could he stay mad at her when she got all cute?

“At least eat something. I saved you a couple of chocolate doughnuts. They’re in the back.”

Her eyes lit up as she dashed to the storage. “You’re the best!”

“Of course I am,” he agreed with a grin. “Gotta take care of my little girl, right?” Maybe if he fattened her up, the punk would lose interest. Nah, she’d still be beautiful. It was his fault for making such pretty babies, he thought dismally.

Buffy strode over to his side, chewing on a doughnut. “I’m going to be eighteen soon, you know,” she said as if that meant she’d have all the experience of the world. Not that she hadn’t already matured far past her age. But if he could help it, he’d protect the innocence she’d still had left.

“I know, pumpkin,” he said with a smile and reached out to ruffle her hair. Mostly because he knew it irritated her and antagonising others ran in the family genes.

She poked his cheek with mischief glinting in her eyes and he just knew she’d smeared chocolate there.

“You’re a nuisance,” he said and wiped the chocolate stain off as she laughed.

Hell, how was he supposed to not want to protect her? To not want only the best for her and keep her heart safe? It was why he forced her to go through therapy after she got those scars. Why he fought the urge to rip everyone to pieces when she came home from school one day and asked him if she was a monster. She’d been only nine then.

Buffy leaned against him with a satisfied smile and said, “I love you.”

His heart clenched. What was he supposed to do to keep her from getting hurt? Could he ground her until she was old and wrinkly?

“You better. Those doughnuts are delicious,” he said and she pinched his side. “Ow!”

She gave him a look.

“All right, all right. I give up,” Hank said. “Love you too, you troublemaker.”

TBC

Chapter 18

It was Christmas Eve.

Rupert had called as expected, even pitted Joyce at him in hopes it would play on Spike’s heart strings. It did but he had been determined to refuse. After all, nothing could top sitting alone on the couch in the empty living room and staring at the distant ceiling. So far he had counted 578 black dots.

“Merry fucking…” He snorted and shifted his gaze away from the ceiling so he could take a sip from his half empty glass of whiskey. Flames in the fireplace crackled, wind wheezed outside, struggling to be let in through the cracks around the old windows.

It was almost funny.

People said good things happened at Christmas. Bloody wishes coming true and all, right? Yeah, not him. It was around Christmas that Drusilla had disappeared out of his life as well. Since then, he’d avoided the holidays like a vampire avoided holy water.

He could hardly remember what it had been like before. It felt like someone else’s life entirely. When he’d been a child, eager and excited for old Saint Nick to wheedle his way down their chimney and bring him toys. Always a good boy, William had been. Sitting and listening, minding his elders. Being good had got him a fat load of nothing, hadn’t it?

Spike drank again, squeezing his eyes shut at the burn sliding down his throat.

Someone knocked on the back door.

His eyes snapped open as he held his breath, every muscle in his body tensing. The only person that ever came around was Buffy and he was fairly certain she was at home. Without making a sound, Spike carefully put the glass on the table and pulled a dagger out of his boot. He’d never even go to sleep without his boots on. He never knew when he’d be forced to run or fight to survive another day.

Silently, he slowly rose to his feet and stealthily moved to the window next to the door, brushing aside the curtain enough to allow him a peek outside.

The shadows shifted and danced but revealed nothing.

The tingle of awareness tickled his spine and he knew then. Someone or something was out there but they weren’t looking to have a nice chat with him. The air around him thickened with malicious intent, that vague presence he’d long ago learned to interpret as danger.

Spike opened the door.

Light steps, a flowery dress shimmering around slim calves met his gaze right before the rest of her body emerged from the shadows as if she was shedding a light coat. His own fingers trembled so hard he almost lost the grip on his weapon.

And then that face. The face that haunted him every single night as he tried and failed to find rest.

“William,” she said, the big blue eyes staring at him from the face that hadn’t changed since the day he last saw her. Since the day she destroyed the last part of him that was good and innocent.

The girl stopped, halted by the barrier. “Aren’t you going to say hello?”

“How did you find me?” he forced off his lips, refraining from checking the tattoo over his heart. He knew for a fact it was still there.

“That’s a no then.” Her eyes flickered to the dagger he was gripping and she had the nerve to look amused. “Surely you wouldn’t hurt your own sister?”

“You’re not my sister.” He tightened his fingers to assure himself he could. That dagger was like a deadly extension of his arm.

“Aren’t I?” Her dirty blonde hair tumbled to her waist. She didn’t look a day over thirteen. She was like a photograph come to life but the darkness in her eyes betrayed her true self. It showed just how dead she was inside. He wouldn’t be fooled ever again. “I remember teaching you how to swim. Do you remember that? You almost drowned once. I saved you then. I swam towards you and gave you my safety jacket. And you’d kill me now?”

Her eyes gleamed with hurt he knew was fake. She was an abomination. A monster. He’d repeat it like a mantra if he had to.

“You’d kill me if I gave you half a chance,” he said, cold air sweeping in through the open doorway.

“Don’t you know you’re a part of me? I could never kill you, Will. I could torture you, but I could never kill you.”

He let out a humourless laugh. “That’s sibling love right there.”

Eline’s eyes clouded with confusion and he had to grit his teeth against her familiarity. Not his sister. Just a monster.

“But it is, you know. You hurt the ones you love. Isn’t that what Mum used to say?”

Anger burst inside him. “Don’t you dare speak of her!”

She floated even closer, rested her palms on the invisible barrier as she looked up at him. “You’re angry with me.”

Was she serious? Did she have any idea just how much it hurt just to look at her? How he had to force himself not to drop the dagger? To stop himself from inviting her in? “Sod off. If you don’t, I’ll cut your head off.”

“Why don’t you show me what you got then?” Eline backed away and crooked one slim finger in challenge.

With a growl and no regard for the danger, he stepped over the threshold. If she tried anything, he knew how to fight dirty.

“You shouldn’t have come here. I’ve changed.”

“Let’s test that theory,” she said and before he could blink she was in front of him, clutching his wrist with strength even he would struggle to overpower. She yanked his hand up and rested the blade against her slender throat. Spike clamped his teeth together to repress the nausea bubbling in his stomach.

“You haven’t changed at all, William.”

Just do it. Do it and have it over with.

“You killed Dru,” he said, unable to still the rage brewing in his gut.

“Do it then.” She pressed the blade closer to her flesh, drawing blood. Insanity flared up in her eyes, the dilated pupils chasing off the blue. “Do it!”

Spike pressed deeper, swallowing back the bile and breathing harshly through his nose. “You killed her.”

“It was never about you,” she said. “She was a psychic Angelus sent me to get. You were never supposed to be there.”

He threw the dagger away with a roar, slicing a shallow cut across Eline’s throat as he did. Even seeing her lick the blood off her fingers, all he wanted to do was find a cloth and press it against her wound.

“Why are you here?” he screamed and closed his hands into fists. “How did you find me?”

“I’ll always know where to find you. You’re my twin. You’re a part of me.” The blood on her hand stained the pale skin of her chest when she pressed her palm above her heart. “Our DNA is almost identical and no concealing spell could hide you from me.”

“Lucky me,” he said bitterly. “So you decided to pay me a family visit then? Thought we’d have a good laugh and reminisce? Maybe have a cup of hot cocoa?”

She shot him a glare. “You hate me. I get it. No need to be sarcastic.” She stared over his shoulder, her eyes gleaming wistfully. “Invite me in?”

“No.” He might be rash but he sure as hell hadn’t lost all his marbles yet.

“He turned her, you know,” she said without any trace of emotion. As though she was merely talking about weather. She turned her back on him and surveyed the woods. “Dru.”

Spike froze. “What?”

“We kept her alive for about two years, chained in the basement. Angelus wasn’t sure if she’d lose her mojo if he turned her, but she got ill so he risked it. Looks like she’s still psychic after all. Psychic and batty.”

Cold sweat broke out on his skin. Two years. She’d been alive two years.

Spike moved to the fallen dagger. “You’ve got hell of a nerve coming here. I’ve killed vamps much older than you, sis.” He bent down and picked up the dagger. “But I never hated any of them nearly as much.”

With deadly accuracy he sent it hurling towards her just as she turned around to face him. It embedded in her chest, her face twisted in pain. He wanted to crash to his knees and cry, beg her to forgive him but instead he stood his ground and watched as she drew it out of her chest with a breathless whimper.

“This won’t kill me.”

“No, it won’t. But I bet it hurts a hell of a lot.”

“I told you. You always hurt the ones you love, William.” Her lips stretched into a cold smile then as she dropped the dagger. “I’ll see you soon.”

The night swallowed her and with a blink, Eline was gone.

*******

10 Years Before

William had found the best gift for her. Even if money was tight, he’d been saving every penny so he could buy Dru the necklace she’d admired every time they passed the jewelry shop on Oxford Street. It was made of tiny butterflies and she liked it because it reminded her of freedom.

The velvet case had been weighing down his pocket for a few days now. As he walked back to their flat his fingers itched to pull it out and finally show it to her. He couldn’t wait to see the look on her face.

The sun set much sooner these days and he had a bit of a trouble fitting the key into the lock. Except he didn’t have to because the door was already ajar.

Although his gut heaved with awareness that something had to be wrong, he shook it off. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him with a loud click.

Inside, soft music wafted from the radio.

“You’re back,” Dru said as she appeared at his side.

William breathed a sigh of relief. “Sorry it took me so long. Everyone’s gone stark raving mad shopping for last minutes presents.” He grinned. “Good for us though. I’ve nicked enough to buy food for a week.”

Dru kissed his cheek, excitement gleaming in her eyes. “We’ve got a guest. She says she knows you.”

William frowned, his heart beat speeding up. “What?”

“William?” came a voice from behind him and William almost tripped over his feet in the hurry to spin around.

It was her. God, it was really her, in flesh and blood and looking exactly the same as he remembered her. “Eline, I thought…” he whispered roughly, taking in her wide, almost surprised gaze. Without a second thought, he closed the distance between them with a few quick strides, his arms enfolding her smaller frame. She smelled the same. Like lilies and caramel she always loved to sneak behind their mother’s back. “I thought you were… you’re alive.”

Her hands clutched at his back, the chilliness of her flesh seeping into his own. He pulled back and rubbed at her bare arms, wondering why she’d wear something so thin in December. “You must be freezing. Come on, let me warm you up. Make you some tea.”

He’d never noticed the calculation simmering in those deep eyes, never questioned the unnatural pallor or the essence of danger clinging to her skin. How could he when his heart was soaring at the knowledge his sister was alive?

“She looks just like you,” Drusilla said dreamily before her brows drew together in a deep frown. “It’s like looking in a mirror… but it’s been broken, William.” Drusilla’s voice quivered with sudden fear. “The shards are dripping with blood.”

The sound of kettle crashing to the floor rang in his ears. All he saw was the bones of Eline’s face shifting to reveal a demon as she rushed at him and landed a debilitating blow to the side of his head.

Blackness spilled into his vision, like a bottle of ink tipping over.

The first thing he felt when he stirred awake was pain. Dull throbbing within his skull and the protest of his spine from having lain on the cold floor for what felt like hours. When William opened his eyes, the sun was blazing through the windows. Beneath his cheek, the blood on the floor had turned to dried specks of brown.

Sweat beaded on his brow as he coughed, his arms too weak to support himself as he knelt up, his stomach heaving in protest. It took him a few moments to realise the sound assaulting his ears was Christmas carols coming from the radio rather than actual people.

There was no one there but him.

TBC

Chapter 19

It was laughable how many times Buffy nearly turned around to march right back home. This was stupid. Spike would take one look at her holding a box of cookies and laugh in her face. And he’d be there. If he thought that excuse about leaving for Cleveland would fly with her, he’d underestimated her ability to sniff out a lie.

She faltered again but reminded herself that Ellen had paid them an unexpected post-Christmas Day visit while wearing a reindeer patterned sweater with a neckline far too low. The last thing Buffy wanted to see was drool gathering at the corner of Hank’s mouth. No, but thanks no. She’d had enough traumas in her life to add seeing her father flirt again to the collection. Needless to say, Buffy had grabbed the cookies and ran.

Her hands started fidgeting the closer she got to Spike’s house. She was just about to pat her hair when she realised just how ridiculous that would be. It wasn’t as if she craved his approval. So what if she had ratty hair? Who cared?

Shoot, she should at least have brushed it.

No! No brushing. And no hoping that Spike would open the door without his T-shirt on. Wait, where did that pervy thought come from?

She raised her fist to knock when she accidentally knocked over some package with a blood red bow wrapped around it lying on the doormat. Buffy cringed, hoping it didn’t contain anything breakable.

Picking it up, she knocked.

Nothing.

She waited for about a minute and knocked again.

The door opened to reveal a disheveled Spike.

“Buffy? What’re you doing here?” He leaned against the doorframe and wait… did he hiccup?

“I bring cookies.” She smiled cheerfully and showed him the box.

His eyes were bloodshot when he met her gaze as though he hadn’t slept all night. “Are they home made?” he asked hopefully.

“Yup.”

He scratched his chest and moved away. “Come on in then.”

As soon as she entered, she noticed the house seemed to have turned into a war zone. “I found a box on your doorstep.” But he wasn’t listening to her and immediately headed into the living room where it looked as though bomb had fallen down right in the middle.

“Isn’t it a bit early for spring cleaning?” she asked and hesitantly followed him, taking off her coat.

“The furniture was looking at me shiftily,” he answered and dropped down on the couch, which was the only thing not smashed or overturned.

Buffy’s gaze swept the room in disbelief before she dropped both packages on the floor next to the couch. Her foot accidentally kicked an empty bottle. Wait. Was he…? “Are you drunk?”

He saluted her with a bottle of something that reminded her of ice-tea. Although she’d bet that was the last thing he was currently about to drink. How had she not noticed him retrieving it?

“Bloody right I am. I’m hammered.” He frowned. “But I’m sobering up. Time to fix that.”

Did he giggle? Now that was just plain wrong.

“Give it to me,” she said and swiped it from him right as he was about to take a gulp. His lips were still puckered and he slowly blinked at her.

“You know, this is just pathetic.” She sat down next to him. “Not to mention that you stink to high heavens.”

He pouted and sniffed at his T-shirt. “It’s not that bad.”

“You smell like a brewery!”

His head dropped against her shoulder and he inhaled loudly. “Hmm… flowery.”

“Would you please stop sniffing me?” She stood up, put the bottle of not-ice-tea down and gripped his wrist to pull him along. “Come on, tell me where your bathroom is.”

He was staring at their joined hands.

“Spike!”

His eyes slowly lifted to hers before he stepped closer and buried his face in her neck. Damn him and his distractions. Luckily, the stink of alcohol quickly penetrated her haze. “Your bathroom? Where is it?”

He pulled away and gave her a wicked smile. “Are you going to bathe me, love?”

She’d tell him whatever would make him show her. “Yup.”

Before she could protest, he bent his knees and hauled her over his shoulder. All of a sudden she was staring at his butt and he was patting hers and this was so not good. Definitely of the bad. Especially when he swayed on his feet.

“Spike! You’re going to drop me!”

“Who do you think I am? I’m steady as a … whoa!” Buffy held her breath as he almost tripped over an overturned chair. “See? Safe and… safe,” he said with triumph and resumed his unsteady walk.

“I am so gonna kick your ass once you’re sober,” she muttered.

“What’s that?”

“Nothing,” she said, this time loud enough for him to hear.

“Here we are,” he said and finally let her down. Now it was her turn to sway as the blood rushed from her head. No matter what romance books said, getting carried like this was anything but romantic. It only made her dizzy.

When her vision cleared she found herself face to face with a shirtless Spike ready to unzip his jeans. “Wait!”

He glanced up from the task and tilted his head.

“Pants on.” Definitely on, because she had a feeling handling a man with barely anything on was something she was unequipped to handle.

“But—”

“No buts! Of any kind. Especially not the naked kind.”

She ushered him into the shower stall before he could protest and turned the cold tap on full blast. The comical expression on his face as it hit him was enough to make her giggle.

“Bloody hell!” he tried to jump out but she was faster and pushed him right back in. His hair was plastered to his skull and he sputtered, searching blindly for the tap and failing to find it. He probably couldn’t find his own nose right now.

“That’s what you get for getting drunk.” She snickered.

Then he shook his head like a dog and leveled her with a wicked intent clear in the smirk settling on his lips. Her eyes widened. “Oh no… Don’t you dare!”

“Eye for an eye,” he said with a shrug and yanked her into the shower before she could escape.

Cold water blasted against her head and soaked every stitch of her clothes. “You bastard.”

He laughed and banded his arms around her waist to prevent her from escaping. She still had her shoes on!

“How do you like it now? Not so tough now, are you? Drenching a poor man and thinking you can get away with it.” He made a clucking, disapproving sound.

She reached behind and managed to turn the water off. Gasping and shivering she said, “You are so dead.”

“And you… look like a drowned rat.” His eyes had cleared though it would take him longer to snap out of his drunken state completely. It was when he rubbed her back that she noticed just how little he was wearing and how her clothes clung to her like second skin.

“I’m all wet,” she said dismally.

Spike licked his lips and slid his hand to her lower back. “Are you now?”

“Well… yes. So are you, genius.”

“Hmm… I don’t think so.” He bit his smiling lip. “Not the kind I had in mind.”

His eyes raked over her with naked intensity, and she probably shouldn’t be thinking of the word naked right now. That just led to all kinds of inappropriate—

“You’re not wearing a bra,” he said, his eyes focused on a place where he had no business focusing.

“Yes I am!” She blushed. “It’s just lacy, not the padded kind.” The question was, why was she telling him this again?

One naughty hand slipped beneath her tank top and slid up to caress her stomach.

That felt sort of nice. Her eyes fluttered shut when he leaned in to kiss her neck, the tip of his tongue flicking out to catch droplets of water. Then she regained her common sense.

Spike grunted in protest when she pushed him away and dashed out of the shower stall, water dripping down to puddle around her feet. “We need dry clothes!” Yes, that sounded plausible. Right? “Because who would want to catch a cold? Not me!”

Also, wearing soggy shoes was in no way comfortable. The water squelched beneath her toes in a way that made her cringe, so she sat on the floor to take her boots off.

“I think you’d be more prone to catch hypothermia than cold, kitten.”

Focusing on getting her socks off her feet next, she said, “Hypothermia? Isn’t that a big word for someone so dru—“

She looked up and squeaked. That embarrassing, choked sound actually came from her mouth! Also, she had a bit of a problem closing it. But he was naked! Oh God, those jeans were being pushed down his thighs and dropping to his ankles and apparently, he didn’t wear any underpants. And wait. Wasn’t cold water supposed to shrink stuff? Someone had obviously misinformed her.

“You were saying?” he asked smugly and toed off his boots before kicking off the jeans and she was still staring, unable to do anything but sit there on the floor with one heart-dotted soaked through sock in her grip. She squeezed it so hard water trickled down her wrist to her elbow.

“Guh…” Wait, that was not a word.

Being the arrogant male that he was, he chuckled and swaggered over to a small cabinet. Her gaze helplessly glued to the flexing muscles in his butt as he opened the cabinet and reached inside to retrieve a fluffy white towel.

“Didn’t your father to teach you it’s not nice to stare?” he asked teasingly and wrapped that damned towel low around his hips.

“I wasn’t staring!” slipped from her lips. Denying was instinctive and now a bolt of lightning would probably strike down to punish her for that obvious lie.

Spike’s mockingly quirked eyebrow clearly said he was onto her before he offered her his hand. The only reason she actually took it had to be the fact her brain was just beginning to reboot. She hated allowing anyone to help her even if the reason for it was as small as pulling her to her feet.

His fingers enfolded hers as he yanked her up and close to him. Close enough for her to notice a ragged scar marring the place where his neck met his shoulder. How had she not seen it before? Curiosity was stronger than her sense of diplomacy and she opened her mouth to ask when Spike leaned in to whisper, “Liar, liar, pants on fire.”

His breath tickled her cheek in a way she didn’t entirely dislike.

Buffy freed herself from his grasp. “My pants are fine, thank you,” she said with as much dignity as she could muster, which at the moment wasn’t a lot considering she stood there awkwardly with one whimsical sock on her foot and the other in her hand. “But I could use some dry clothes, if you don’t mind.”

Well, it was hardly fair that he’d shucked off his and she stood here, beginning to shiver.

Spike blinked. “Right. Of course. Err… the towels are there.” He pointed to the cabinet. “Just take one. I’ll go up to get you something of mine.”

Then being quicker than a man wearing only a small towel had any right to be, Spike was gone. Buffy shook her head. One minute he was tormenting her with sly looks and… other stuff, and then he skedaddled like… well, like she would.

And men thought women were moody and hard to figure out.

*******

His head was beginning to clear. One would think that would beat some bloody sense into him, but no. He’d been seconds away from saying to hell with it all and snogging the breath out of her and that urge refused to go away even now. The way she’d devoured him with that wide-eyed gaze had spun his head around.

“Spike?” sounded from the other side of his bedroom door. “Are you in there?”

“Yeah!”

Buffy walked in. “Please tell me you have a drier.”

Spike clenched his jaw and breathed through his nostrils as she walked in, all that luscious bronzed skin on display. He tried hard to resist coming up to her and yanking that towel off her body before throwing her on the bed. “Afraid not. We’ll have to make do with the fireplace,” he said, contemplating accidentally putting her clothes too close to the fire. Oh, he was a bad, rude man. “Here, take this.” He handed her a button down dark blue shirt and a pair of red boxers with polar bears on them that Rupert had given him for Christmas last year.

Buffy gave him a nervous grin and took the stuff from his hands. “Polar bears?”

“I just like them,” he said with a shrug and sat down on his bed, leaning his weight on his elbows. He wondered if she’d be willing to change in front of him.

“A little privacy?”

“You know, I wouldn’t mind watching.”

Buffy crossed her arms over her chest. “And I wouldn’t mind practicing my kickbox moves.”

“Well, this just isn’t fair,” he grumbled but stood up anyway. “You got to see my goodies but I don’t get to see yours?”

“It’s not my fault you’re shameless.”

Well, she had a point there. “Not even a peek?” He deliberately fluttered his eyelashes and stuck his bottom lip out in a pout.

“No,” she said resolutely but he could see the smile tugging at her lips.

“Heartless, that’s what you are,” he complained good-naturedly and took the damp clothes from her arms.

She almost tugged them back so he gave her a questioning look. “What?”

“Nothing. It’s just… uhh… my… I’ll hang them up myself.”

“I’ll do it,” he said, confused why she was getting all out of shape over a heap of wet clothes. Maybe she suspected he’d thought of burning them.

He was out and headed down the stairs before she could take them back.

Jeans. Tank top. Oversized flannel shirt. Socks. And… Spike’s face lit up with a devilish grin as he fingered her lacy bra and mismatched knickers. He’d put them carefully on display and wait for her face to turn red.

What could he say? He loved making her blush.

TBC

Chapter 20

Tugging on the shirt that hung loosely on her frame, Buffy made her way down the stairs and into the living room. It was still utter wreckage. The only thing different was the clothes drying rack in front of the fireplace.

“I like your knickers. Much more pink than I expected, though I do like a girl that’s a fan of Sponge Bob,” he said, making her blood boil in embarrassment. “But as I suspected, they were very wet.”

“From the water!”

“Have I suggested anything else?” He waggled his eyebrows and stretched his legs in front of him as though he was a king sprawled upon his throne.

“The tone of your voice did.” She felt entirely too naked as she sat down next to him and folded her arms across her chest.

“That shirt looks better on you than it does on me.” The prowling hunger in his eyes so unerringly focused on her had her heart stammering.

“It’s too big on me,” she said softly. Right now he reminded her of a lion lazily lying in the sun, deceptively calm but dangerous nonetheless. “Spike?”

“Hmm?”

“Could you please stop looking at me as if I’m dinner?”

He tilted his head, the tip of his tongue wetting his bottom lip. She just hoped he didn’t hear her whimper.

“I see you more as a dessert, actually.”

Oh damn him and that smile that made the corners of his eyes crinkle. “You know this is all your fault, right? Me wearing your clothes and stuff.”

“As I see it, you’re the one who dragged me into the shower to begin with.”

“That was for your own good.” She tucked her legs underneath her and settled back against the cushions. “Why were you drinking anyway? If you don’t mind me asking.”

Spike slid further down on the cushions and propped his feet on the overturned table. He turned his face away and she was left looking at his profile as he said, “Family trouble. Can’t kill them…” He shrugged the rest of the sentence off and flicked her a glance. “Speaking of families, you might want to call your Dad to let him know you’ll be late. It’ll take a while for your jeans to dry off.”

“How long?” Oh boy, she had a bad feeling about this.

“Well, more than two hours, I suspect.”

“Hours?” Okay, she might have shrieked a little. But hours? She could not be in such close vicinity of Spike for that long. It was against the natural order! It would no doubt result in something… violent. And that would be bad. Very bad.

“You could always borrow my jeans, though I imagine your Dad wouldn’t be too happy to see you wearing my kit,” he said in a way too nonchalant manner.

“You’re so helpful today, aren’t you?”

Spike laced his fingers on his stomach and hummed in agreement. “It would be a vast improvement, by the way. What kind of seventeen-year-old wears flannel shirts?”

“It’s comfortable!” If she had enough will to unfold her legs from beneath her butt to kick him in the thigh, she would. “Like you’re one to speak anyway, Mister I-only-wear-black.”

“Didn’t you hear? Black is the new black. Besides, I wear grey and dark blue too.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “You know, if your shirt caught fire, I’d be doing you a favour.”

“I stole it from Dad, so you’d be burning his stuff, not mine.” Ha! Take that, smart ass.

“Why the bloody hell would you do that? Don’t they sell girly stuff in SunnyD?”

Did she look like some Barbie fashionista to him? “I steal it from him because he refuses to buy me men’s clothing… for some really irrational reason. Besides, why are you criticising my fashion choices again?” She shook her head. “And you wonder why I thought you were gay.”

“Hey! That’s just nasty. Why would I want to cuddle some bloke’s hairy arse when I can cuddle with a soft, sweet…” He coughed. “Right. Not gay.”

She wished he was. At least she would stop having those wrong lusty feelings. “Got it. You’re a manwhore.”

“I’ll have you know I’ve only slept with… yeah, all right. But I only had feelings for one.” His brows drew together in a frown. “Well, that turned out just brilliantly.”

She didn’t like the somber expression on Spike’s face, didn’t really want to see him as a man who’d had his heart broken. “I’m sure you’ll get it right next time.” Wow, that sounded really—

“Oh, don’t patronize me,” he said.

Yup, it’d sounded really patronizing. “Sorry, I really suck at the whole advice thing.”

“I’m beyond help anyway,” he said with a sigh.

“You know, I had to go to shrink when I was little.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wondered why her tongue disobeyed her the second he was near.

Spike turned his head to face her. “Did it help?”

“I don’t know. Maybe,” she said. “I learned how to lie better.”

He chuckled. “That’s a valuable skill right there.”

She swallowed nervously before asking, “So, what happened to you? I mean…. You know, not there’s anything wrong with you. I just…” There were so many questions she wanted to ask him. Personal questions about who he really was and what had happened to made him so cynical and guarded. It seemed wrong to demand the answers though. “Forget it. It’s none of my business.”

Spike blinked. “Did you just say something was none of your business? Have I entered the Twilight zone? Because you’ve never been shy of sticking that cute little sniffer into my business before.”

She pursed her lips in irritation at being the target of his sarcasm. “You’re an ass. I was just being polite.”

“And calling people an ass is so very polite too,” he said with a teasing glint in his eyes. “But I must still be a bit drunk since I’ll answer your question. Short version? Mum and sister were killed when I was thirteen. I ran away from foster care when I was fifteen with a girl I loved and who didn’t love me back. She disappeared some time after. Since then, I guess you could say I’ve been hunting for a reason to come to terms with it all.” He snorted though she could see the hurt tightening the muscles around his mouth. The hurt he was trying to downplay with blasé attitude. “I get in trouble a lot, which is why you should be steering clear of me rather than sitting here.”

“What kind of trouble?” She shuffled closer and touched the scar on his neck that was partially hidden by his black T-shirt. “Like this?”

Spike inhaled sharply and leaned away from her touch, rubbing at the spot she’d grazed.

“How did you get it?” she pressed on.

“Animal managed to get a bite of me,” he muttered.

“Like an angry puppy?” she said with a frown. Good thing Dad hadn’t allowed her any animals if this was how pets behaved.

“Something like that, yeah.”

Buffy regarded his closed off expression, the slightest tick in his jaw and wondered if he’d ever tell her the whole truth. His muscles were tense though he tried to appear relaxed and unconcerned. She got it though. It seemed like he’d been alone for the better part of his life, on his own since thirteen. She couldn’t even imagine what that would be like and for a moment she could almost see him. Younger, more vulnerable with sandy curls falling into his bespectacled eyes.

Huh. What a strange visual.

“Spike?”

“Yeah?”

“What is your natural hair colour?”

He looked at her as if she’d asked him to dance naked to YMCA. “Light brown. Why?”

“Have you ever worn glasses?”

The corner of his lips pulled into a puzzled smile. “I wear contacts. What’s with the twenty questions?”

“Just curious,” she said, though there was something within her skull raging to get free.

“There seems to be a lot of that going around today.” His eyes were fixed on hers with that strange intensity. As though he was trying to delve deep into her soul to pull out her every secret.

She broke the connection and glanced over his shoulder to the big window. Better change the subject and dilute his focus. “Great. By the time my stuff dries off, I’ll have to trudge through the woods in the dark. I hate when that happens. Stupid branches always smack me in the face,” she said sullenly.

“You can’t!” Spike tried to tone down the panic at the thought yet it seeped through anyway. There was no way he’d let her traipse around on her own, not after sunset. Eline might still be in town.

“Of course I can. I’ve still got feet, last time I looked.”

“There was a …uh… a bear. And raccoons. They come out at night, the savage little bastards. It’s not safe.” And bloody hell, he couldn’t even walk her home because if Eline saw her by his side, there would be bloodshed. It would be Dru all over again.

“Spike, I’ve walked through there at night lots of times. I mean sure, it’s not very pleasant, but it’s not dangerous. And there aren’t any bears in Sunnydale.”

“Come on, we could have fun,” he said. “Keep me company?”

She shook her head and he saw the way she looked at him. As if he’d lost his marbles.

“I can see Dad would be really happy about that,” she said, her voice oozing sarcasm.

Spike slammed the lid on his panic and shifted closer to her, his eyelashes dipping. “Tell him you’re doing a school project. That you’re having a girly sleepover. Anything.”

He knew he affected her and he felt vaguely guilty about exploiting it to keep her at the house. Then he remembered the reason for it and shrugged the guilt off.

“I mean, he knows about Anya, but…” She shook off the daze and narrowed her eyes. “Why would you even want me to stay?”

His heart thumped in his chest in anxiety that he couldn’t keep her here. That he’d fail to keep her safe. Without thinking, his fingers delved into her damp hair to tug her closer as he pressed his lips to hers. She gasped in surprise and he used the moment to deepen the kiss, to caress the softness of her mouth with his tongue. The second her taste hit him, his senses spun out of control. There was a reason he was doing this but as Buffy tentatively returned his caress, he stopped caring.

Her fingernails scratched the back of his neck, making him groan and pull her tightly against his chest as his free hand sneaked beneath the borrowed shirt to stroke the silk of her back. Kissing her felt like being caught in the middle of a brewing storm, overwhelming and heady and making adrenaline soar through his veins. His lips slanted against hers before his teeth nipped at her bottom lip.

Her hands braced against his chest and suddenly the exhilaration of her kiss was gone and he was left dazed when she pushed him off and jumped to her feet.

“Why did you do that?” she asked with wide eyes, her chest heaving with rapid breaths.

Why had he done that? He couldn’t remember. How was he supposed to concentrate when she wasn’t wearing any bra?

“I should go home now. Before…”

“No, wait.” He leapt to his feet and caught a hold of her arm. “You can’t go outside in damp clothes. You’ll get ill.”

“I can’t stay here.”

“Why not?”

“Because…” Her gaze darted around the room as though searching for a plausible reason. “Because you make me lose control and I don’t like that,” she said quietly, not looking at him.

“Please stay.”

Refusing even to glance at him, Buffy backed away and all but ran towards the drying rack to retrieve her kit. He caught up with in few short strides and gripped the other leg of her jeans. They were drier than he’d expected but certainly not fit to be worn for a December stroll.

“Spike, let go.”

“No.”

“If you don’t, I’ll kick you.” Her eyes blazed. It made him raise his eyebrow in challenge.

“Give it your best try,” he said.

She gave him an almost murderous glare but the effect was somewhat spoilt by her swollen lips. Swollen from his kisses. Hell, he wanted her to kick him. Maybe it would get the images of stripping her naked out of his mind.

She did kick him. Hard. His shin throbbed but he was used to pain and never loosened his grasp on those bloody pants. They ended up in a tug-of-war, each yanking with all their might. For such a tiny girl, she was unexpectedly strong.

“You’re insane,” Buffy accused, her cheeks flushed. Perhaps it was the residual alcohol racing through his system but he saw her bite back a grin.

“I’m not giving up,” he warned her breathily. “You should give up before we tear them in half.”

“It’s quality stitching,” she replied, her eyes shooting daggers, trying to intimidate him into letting go.

Well, if she didn’t look bloody hot dressed only in his shirt and those bear boxers. And her chest heaved in the most delectable way.

Buffy yanked hard and he stumbled forward, stepping on her toe. With a yell she jumped up and they both let go of the jeans in surprise. They fell to the floor and Spike accidentally kicked them into the fireplace.

Buffy’s jaw dropped as she stared at the flames devouring her jeans and he waited for an imminent explosion.

“You burned my jeans!” She slapped him on the chest hard enough to leave a mighty sting. “I can’t believe you did that!”

“I didn’t mean to!”

They faced off as he waited for the other shoe to drop. Her eyes practically gleamed with a fanatic need for revenge, making him tense in preparation to deflect any punch she might throw at him.

Her lips curled in a vicious smile before she twirled on her heel and walked towards the couch. What the hell was she up to?

She bent over to pick something up.

“I think these cookies will have to be thrown out,” she said and tossed off the lid.

Not the cookies!

“Wait. I’m sorry,” he said desperately. “Don’t be hasty and do something you might regret.”

A second ticked by and then she was off, sliding on the polished wooden floor in the oversized socks he’d lend her. Like he’d let her get away and destroy those delicious cookies? Spike raced after her and reached her right as she entered the kitchen. It took her few precious seconds to locate the bin. Just enough time for him to wrap his arms around her waist and yank her towards him.

He expected her to bite him or stomp on his foot, but instead she stilled. Should he let her go? It was probably a trick to lull him into a false sense of security.

“Buffy?”

“You burned my pants,” she said. And promptly burst into laughter.

His hold slackened as he fought the giggle rising in the back of his throat. Men did not giggle.

“You should have seen the look on your face when I threatened the cookies,” she sputtered through laughter and he couldn’t help but join her.

Dropping his forehead on her shoulder, he chuckled and said, “Can I have them then?”

Buffy turned around in his arms. “I haven’t decided yet.”

He tilted is head to the side and gave her his best pitiful expression.

“Stop that,” she chided him with a mock severe look. “You got me in so much trouble it’s not even funny.”

No, he just kept her from the possibility of being a vampire happy meal. Not that she’d believe that.

“I should have burned that atrocious shirt instead,” he mumbled under his breath.

“I heard that.” The instant she stepped away from him, he had to restrain the urge to pull her back, to let her warmth wrap around him again.

Luckily, she relinquished the cookie box to him, which he immediately took advantage of and stuffed his mouth so full he could barely chew.

Meanwhile Buffy called her father and made up some excuse of staying over at her new friend’s house to do a school project. He wondered if she’d have worn tiny frilly shorts and engaged in a pillow fight if it had been true. Probably not.

“Can you believe he didn’t even question me? It was all weird. Like he was in a hurry,” Buffy said with a wrinkled nose. “Good thing school’s out, since I’ll have to sneak in when Dad’s at the store. Seeing me wearing your clothes would probably give him a heart attack.”

Buffy’s father wasn’t the only one that could get a heart attack. Bloody hell, but that girl didn’t realise what it did to him to see her sitting Indian style. Just one more shift and…

“Zoning out much?” she said and stole a cookie from the box he was clutching to his chest.

This would be a long, long night.

TBC

Chapter 21

Buffy tossed around in the unfamiliar bed for the hundredth time, failing to find a comfortable spot. Somewhere within the house, pipes whined and she wondered whether Spike could hear it as well or if he had already gone to sleep.

She’d bet he had, probably sprawled across the mattress like a starfish too. And to her annoyance, her every sense was focused on the connecting door.

As she forced herself to roll onto her back, she stared up at the ceiling through the darkness. It wasn’t long before she felt sleep stealing over her.

A haunted face stared back at her from a mirror.

A light bulb hanging on a rusty chain swung back and forth in a miniscule bathroom as William gripped the sides of the sink and stared at himself with an intensity that slightly unnerved her. But what unnerved her even more were those eyes. The icy blue eyes, the fringe of charcoal lashes dipping to shield them, the very familiar shape of those lips and the curve of his sharp cheekbones even if they were less prominent now. The hair was a bit different; messier, darker and a bit longer, but it was undeniable.

It was Spike.

William was Spike.

In that second, every single image she’d dreamt bombarded her mind with such force she could hardly see him punch the mirror and push himself away.

God, all those things… they couldn’t have actually happened. Monsters weren’t real. This wasn’t real. It was all just in her head. A truly elaborate, detailed, violent nightmare that she was sure had nothing in common with Spike’s real life.

So what if he’d told her just a few hours earlier that he had run away from a foster home, that his mother and sister got killed? It didn’t mean anything. It didn’t.

Time seemed to have stretched into a long blur as William walked down the streets. He didn’t run or cry. He never faltered. The rage, the pain, the helplessness were all contained within a dam he’d constructed out of self-preservation. All he could feel was numbness and Buffy was glad. Because if he could feel the grief, she feared it would rip him apart and nobody would ever glue the pieces back together.

A mockery of a human voice drawled past the buzz in his ears but he didn’t stop. When a hand closed around his shoulder and spun him around, William wasn’t afraid.

“Give me your money,” the man said, a knife’s sharp blade tickling William’s abdomen.

When he refused to answer, the mugger sneered and backed William into a wall. “Give me your money!”

But he didn’t have any. Couldn’t anyone tell that he’d lost everything there was to lose?

The moment the mugger’s hand started to search his pockets and seized the velvet case within—the present he’d meant to give Dru—something inside William roared to life. It spilled into every cell of his body, destructive and out of control. He barely felt the bite of the blade against his skin before he pushed himself off the wall with enough strength to send them both tumbling to the littered ground. The knife skidded out of his reach, but William didn’t need it. A red haze fell over his eyes, his knuckles bruising with every flesh-jarring impact of his fists with the mugger’s face. He was barely aware of the scream tearing out of his throat. The thirst to kill, to carve his rage into this stranger’s body overpowered anything else.

In this dirty alley, he was reborn. Everything he had been all his life, the weak, sentimental fool was gone. In that moment, William shed that identity like a skin that didn’t fit anymore. He’d reshape himself into someone who didn’t care or hesitate to kill, who didn’t love anything or anyone other than the feel of blood sluicing down his hands.

The mugger finally stopped struggling, his breath fogging in the cold air. It would take so little to off him and William feared he wouldn’t feel a thing. But as the adrenaline wore off, pain sliced through his abdomen.

He crawled off the unconscious man and managed to drag himself to the mouth of the alley, his hand pressed to the wound. Blood spilled out, staining his hand. For a moment he contemplated doing nothing, just sitting there waiting for death to claim him, but he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. Death was easy; it was living that took strength.

Getting up onto his bare feet was excruciating and the movement made the world darken at the edges. He’d forgotten to put his shoes on and he was only wearing a plain cotton T-shirt, trousers and socks. The cold bit his skin as he made his way down an empty street.

The next few minutes passed in a spinning haze. Someone was striding towards him, gripped his shoulders. William nearly collapsed against the body holding him still and the man was saying something but he couldn’t focus. He found himself dragged off and loaded into a car, concerned blue eyes staring back at him from behind spectacles.

“Stop moving about. Unless you want to bleed to death,” the stranger said. “What’s your name, lad?”

“William,” he rasped and wondered what the man wanted, and whether he hadn’t jumped from the frying pan into the fire.

“Nice to meet you, William. I’m Rupert Giles.”

Buffy’s vision swam in and out of focus before she plunged into darkness, the world around her quaking.

*******

Her eyes snapped open and for a moment she couldn’t move. Hands were clutching her shoulders, shaking her awake.

A face stared down at her, brows drawn together in a concerned frown.

“Buffy?”

“Spike? W-what are you doing here?” What was he doing in her room? How did he get inside her house? She usually locked her window.

She tried to sit up and winced in pain. Why did she feel as if a truck had run her over?

“I heard you scream. Nearly fell out of bed, I did. Are you all right?”

Nearly fell out of… Oh. She was staying over at his house. Buffy shook her head and whipped off the duvet, touched her aching abdomen. The damp spot on her shirt stuck to her skin and she stared at her hand.

Even in the room’s darkness she could see it. The blood.

“Spike?” She hated the fear in her voice. “I think I’m bleeding.”

He pushed her back against the mattress and the light came on. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to burst into hysterics.

“Bloody hell, what did you do?” His large palm covered her hand to pull it away before he rolled up her shirt to expose her midriff. “I don’t see any cut,” he said with confusion.

“It hurts.”

“Give me a sec,” he said and hurried out.

She fought down nausea as she glanced down. Spike soon returned with a first aid kit and a large ceramic bowl.

“I’m going to clean you up, yeah? Don’t move.”

Don’t move? She could barely breathe.

He pulled a soaked rag out of the bowl, drops of water twinkling on the surface as he wrung it out and swiftly cleaned her skin. It hurt but there was only a faint line that seemed to be fading rather quickly. It looked more like a scratch.

“Do you remember anything?” he asked, his hand resting on her abdomen lightly.

“I… there’s something. I dreamt and…” A headache pulsed behind her eyes as she looked at him. For a second she saw him with darker, messier hair, his face paler and constricted in pain. She blinked and the image was gone. “I don’t know what’s going on.”

His lips tightened. “This isn’t normal. Something’s wrong.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

His touch vanished. “No need to get smart. I’m just trying to help.”

She was too upset to apologise or to take into consideration the hurt his voice. “What if you’re not real?”

He sat back on his haunches and watched her warily. “Come again?”

Buffy knew he thought she was crazy, but what if she was right? “These things that keep happening to me… the strange injuries that appear while I’m asleep. It doesn’t make any sense! I don’t sleepwalk because I’ve been pouring flour all over my floor every night and not once have I found footprints. How can I just wake up and be covered in blood?” Hysteria crept into her voice but she couldn’t stop it even if she wanted to. Not when puzzle pieces fell into place in a way that made her clutch at the duvet, made her consider she was going insane. “And you!”

“Wha—”

“You’re not real. I made you up, don’t you see? A hero that saved me and miraculously popped back into my life years later. If this was real, you’d never have given me a second thought. I’m not sweet or funny or beautiful. I’m just… me. This all just makes horrible sense,” she whispered, forgetting he was even there. “What if I’m in coma after my mother… what if I never woke up?”

He moved so fast words stuck in her throat and he gripped her arms with bruising force. “You’re being ridiculous.”

She swallowed heavily and refused to look into his eyes. He was just a figment of her imagination. Nothing more.

“Buffy, look at me,” he said in a commanding voice then gripped her chin when she refused. “I am real. If I wasn’t, could you feel this?” He planted her palm above his pounding heart and narrowed his eyes.

“That doesn’t prove anything.”

His lips tightened. “If it’s true and if you’re dreaming all of this, how old would you be then? Eight or so? So tell me, how would an eight-year-old know what this would feel like?”

Spike sat on the bed, tangled his fingers in her hair and dragged her closer to cover her lips with his. It was hunger and she was being consumed. Driven. His grip on her hair bordered on pain and it sent tingles racing over her scalp as he nipped at her lips and parted them with his tongue to slip inside. The faint taste of toothpaste, the feel of his bare chest under her palms, the growling noise he made in the back of his throat, all of it sent Buffy into a tailspin of so many sensations she could barely stay upright.

But then he leaned away with a final chaste peck on her still parted lips and he said in a deep gritty voice, “I’m not a hero, love. And if I was a figment of your imagination, I’d have to be angry you gave me so much baggage.”

The urge to laugh startled her. “But—”

“Look, we could argue our points until one of us starved to death, but the point is… none of us can tell if this is real. Reality is what we choose to believe, isn’t it?”

“But how do you explain what happened?”

“I might have a theory,” Spike said, avoiding her eyes now. “Do you trust me?”

Did she?

*******

There were many things Angelus enjoyed in this world. Luxury and refined clothes ranked in the top five. But what he loved the most was the scent of fear. Just like the scent that filled his every pore as he approached the girl chained to the ceiling. Her big round eyes tracked his every move like the terrified animal that she was. Uncertain. Scared. Hanging on to what he’d do next. Her every thought revolving around him as the Earth rotated around the Sun.

Her arms hung from the ceiling, her knees trembling with the effort to hold up her naked body. She looked like a true form of art in the small, blindingly white room, her blood splattering the ground like a modern painting.

Angelus slipped behind her, close enough to let her sense his presence, to wrap her up in the horror of expectation but not quite close enough to touch.

“Do you know why you’re here?” he asked, his fingertips hovering above the canvas of her back streaked with blood and sweat and dirt.

“You’re the devil,” she whimpered as he stroked the length of her tangled red hair.

“Not quite. Not yet,” he said and inhaled the scent of her misery. “You’re here because you’re special. God hates you and he sent me to punish you.”

“N-no.”

Angelus licked his lips. So faithful. So righteous. He’d been enjoying breaking her faith, showing her the true face of God.

“You’re one of many He chose. Why do you think He’d let me catch you, to let me do all those things to you? Wouldn’t He save you if you deserved to be saved?”

He rounded her body to see the look on her face. Tears rolled down those cute freckled cheeks as she fought to cling to her beliefs. To deny the truth that God didn’t exist. It made him hard.

“What if I could let you go?”

The hope awakened in those deep green eyes for just a second. One second enough for him to pounce on the weakness.

“You could see your family again, your cute little sister. How old is she?” Angelus tapped his chin. “Five?” He closed his eyes and deeply inhaled. “Hmm… Maybe I should go say hello? Introduce myself. What do you think?”

The girl’s face paled even further, barely audible pleas falling from her lips.

“But you could save her. You could be free. All you have to do to save yourself and your family is…” He stepped away and sauntered towards a door where he hid things he didn’t want Drusilla to eat. Punching in a quick code, the door opened with a snick. “All you have to do is kill.”

He came out with his arms full of a five-year-old little boy and tapped the tip of his nose. “So, who is going to live? This little guy here or your sister?”

She shook her head in refusal, her eyes wide. Ah, people. They thought they were so noble and deserving. In the end, he knew she’d do it. And that moment when he’d let her go, let her think she was free, he’d strike.

Because after all, he wasn’t stupid enough to release a Potential. Not when he only needed fifteen more to gain true invincibility.

The lovely red headed teenager would become his 86th. Just fifteen more rituals to draw Potentials’ energy into his body and he’d become the most powerful entity in the world. He’d become God.

TBC

Chapter 22

The sun was still hiding below the horizon when Buffy made her way to the back porch dressed in Spike’s jeans that insisted on sliding off her hips. He’d walked her as far as the fence though she’d told him he didn’t have to. Then he’d waved her off with a brief ‘I’m off’, which had been the only thing he said from the moment they’d stepped out of his house.

The silence hadn’t really been awkward but Buffy felt he hadn’t even been aware of her presence. He’d kept scanning their surroundings, never sparing her a second glance. Was he giving her the silent treatment because he regretted kissing her?

Men sucked.

It had been his idea to begin with and although the urge to ask him what he really wanted from her grew stronger by day, ignoring that particular elephant was so much easier. Talking things out was nice on paper but people rarely actually did it. At least not her.

Clutching the borrowed jeans, she turned the doorknob with her free hand.

“Buffy?”

She instantly froze and wondered if one could have a coronary at the age of almost-eighteen.

Her fingers slipped from the knob as she turned around to face her father. Where had he come from? He was supposed to be sleeping right now!

They stood there facing each other, his eyes as wide as hers.

“What are you doing up so early?” he asked in a shrill voice then coughed and walked inside the house.

She gulped and followed him, her brain curiously blank as to how she’d explain sneaking into the house before dawn. Then she remembered calling him to say she was staying at Anya’s.

They stood awkwardly in the kitchen and only then she noticed he wasn’t really wearing much more than a shirt that was buttoned up askew and his hair looked like a flock of birds had attacked it.

“So,” he said and leaned against the counter, not quite meeting her eyes. “Shouldn’t you be at your friend’s house right now?”

“Why aren’t you asleep? It’s barely six am.” And wait, what was that on his neck? Was it… a hickey? Oh. Gross!

“I’m the father here,” he muttered like a sullen child. “I don’t have to answer to you.”

“You know what? Please don’t.” She had a pretty good idea what he’d been up to and just the thought of that made her skin itch. “I’m pretty sure you’re… tired. And actually,” she said and faked a yawn, “Anya and I stayed up late talking and stuff… because that’s what girls do. I’m kind of tired myself. You know how it is with strange beds, you just can’t fall asleep. That’s why I came home early.” She felt bad for lying to her father but it was preferable to telling him the truth. He’d probably pop a blood vessel. “As did you, obviously.”

“I was just… taking out trash!”

“Of course you were,” she said. “Which is why you have a huge hickey on your neck.”

His hand flew up to cover the side of his neck.

“It’s…” She pointed to her own neck. “On the other side.” she said with a snicker, to which his ears turned pink. Adults could be so juvenile.

“That’s umm… it’s not a hickey.”

She looked at him expectantly as his eyes darted around and she was thankful that he was too embarrassed to give her his full attention. Otherwise he might have noticed the oversized pants and she’d be knee deep in shit creek with no paddle in sight. She was glad she’d put on the coat that reached mid-thigh.

“Then it had to be a raccoon. It probably jumped out of a trash can and sucked on your neck,” she said dryly.

“Well, there are still a couple of hours before I have to open the shop, so…”

Ah, avoidance. Something she’d apparently inherited from the Summers gene pool. Hank adjusted his shirt in a way he probably thought looked dignified and not at all guilty before he walked up the stairs.

Should she be amused or disturbed? Because she kind of felt both. Like any educated, self-respected seventeen-year-old, she believed hers was an immaculate conception and that her father was a eunuch.

Something that Spike definitely wasn’t, she thought as she made her way upstairs. And therein lay the problem, didn’t it? Damn those bedroom eyes and large, slightly calloused hands. As obnoxious as he could get, he was hard to resist. And he’d asked her if she trusted him. What did he want her to say? Trust couldn’t be just given, it had to be earned. Then again, what other choice did she have? If she wanted to find out what was going on, she had to take the leap.

She just hoped she’d survive the fall.

*******

“Well, would you look at that?” Spike mumbled and placed a present on his lap. It had to have been Buffy who had brought it in though he didn’t remember a thing. The downside of getting drunk, he figured.

Soon the big red bow lay crumpled on the floor as he tore the box open and peeked inside. All he could see were heaps of packing paper and as he delved inside and threw it all around him, his patience started to run its course.

Was this some kind of sick joke? There was nothing insid—

Wait a second. There was a note.

He squinted at it.

I have your book. You can get it now, sweet cheeks. But if you ring later than 4pm, I’ll singe your tight hide again. I have reruns to watch.

I better get some damned gratitude for this.

XOXO

Melissa Baum

“Sweet cheeks?” he said with a shake of his head and balled the note up in his fist.

The answer was within his reach. The answer he’d been searching for was up for the taking and yet… And yet he was still sitting here instead of rushing to put on his coat.

Getting the book meant he could finally leave this God forsaken town. So why did it feel as if someone had poured hot lead into his stomach?

*******

The Witch was wearing a festive poncho with snowmen on it, Spike noticed as she flung the door open and ushered him inside, never missing the chance to pinch his arse.

He sent her a glare over his shoulder. “So, about the book…”

“Yes, yes, I’ve got the damn book. Now go sit in the living room while I bring you eggnog,” she said with a creepy grin. “Christmas is just wonderful, isn’t it?”

“It’s a bloody wonder,” he said and sullenly perched on the flowery sofa.

Mrs. Baum flounced into the room with a tray and handed him an oversized mug full of eggnog. “Bottoms up.”

He gave the mug a dubious glance and covertly sniffed it. Just in case she’d slipped some roofies into it, he pretended to take a sip though he kept his lips tightly pressed together.

“Oh, please, young man. As if I needed to drug you.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Save it. I can sniff a lie from a hundred feet.” She sat down uncomfortably close to him and took a healthy gulp out of her own mug. “You know, I had a mind to keep the book all to myself after you tried to break my barriers. But I had a good laugh out of your silly attempts, so I figured I’d give it to you.”

“Hey! Those counter spells I found were bloody brilliant.”

She patted his head like she would a stray puppy. “You don’t have the juice to pull them off, honey. Words are only the focus of your energy, but it’s the energy itself that sets the spell in motion. It’s a lot like driving. Not everyone that has legs necessarily knows how to drive. My ex-husband couldn’t drive worth shit, Goddess bless his soul. Good thing he had other, big qualities,” she said with a leer.

Spike inched away and crossed his legs though it squished his balls together. Then again, better his legs squashing them than her hands. “Right. So… what about other spells? Memory spells for example. What consequences could they have? Theoretically speaking?” So yeah, he was too impatient to be subtle. Why waste time?

The Witch tilted her head and stared straight into his eyes in a way that made him want to glance away. She might as well put her hand up his arse for the sensation it stirred in his gut.

“You’re finally getting it, aren’t you? That magic has consequences.”

“I always knew that,” he said defensively.

“If you knew, really knew, you’d never have used it to begin with.” She suddenly stood up. “Come on, dance with me and I’ll give you all the answers you need. That, and the book.”

He flicked her a tortured glance before standing up and praying to whoever might listen to give him strength. For a second she closed her eyes and he felt the pressure in the air around them increase slightly before music started to pour out of no visible source. It was a bit slow but rhythmic, something that was probably composed in the thirties.

“How do I know you’re not lying to me?” he asked and put his hand on her waist, the other reaching to clasp hers.

“Because I’m going to tell you right now that using magic that involves anyone’s mind is a minefield not to be toyed with. It’s unpredictable, it’s volatile and… Oh my, your butt is really fit.”

With a roll of his eyes, Spike reached behind to put her wandering hand higher up on his back again.

“For someone so young, you’re not much fun.”

“I am too. I have fun spilling out of my orifices,” he said. “Now tell me more.”

“Fine,” she said with a put-upon sigh as they slowly moved to the beat of the music. “If you had the superior sight I do, you’d know magic leaves threads you can trace to the origin, meaning, to the one who cast the spell. And you, my dear boy, are tangled in it.”

“What?” he stopped moving but she urged him to resume his motion.

“I can tell it’s a spell you cast on someone a long time ago. On Hank’s daughter. What is her name again? Buffy? What a silly name. Anyway, it connects you to her. I knew the moment I first saw you.”

His mind reeled. So he’d been right after all. In some way, the spell had something to do with her drawings of him. Was it connected to the nightmares she had as well? “I used a forgetting spell on her years ago,” he admitted, because he needed answers and he wouldn’t get them by withholding the truth. “She’s been drawing my hands.”

“Hmm, that’s the thing about a memory spell. She probably subconsciously rejected the idea of forgetting, and that’s why the event still lives on, although buried in the layers of her mind.”

“She’s having these dreams too,” he said, his grip instinctively tightening at the memory of Buffy’s skin covered with blood. “Physical manifestation of abuse while she’s asleep, but it fades quickly. More quickly than a normal bruise would. Do you think it’s connected to the spell?”

Mrs. Baum frowned. “Does she remember the dreams?”

“No.”

“Then I’d say it’s connected,” she said. “Break the original spell and it should stop. I’ll give you a recipe for noobs like you.”

Did she just call him a noob?

She patted his chest and the music slowly faded into nothing. With a quiet murmur, a stack of papers materialised in her hands, as if quickly being constructed molecule by molecule. “Here’s the Valley of the Sun.”

Spike took it from her and stepped away. “It’s photocopied.”

She lifted one grey eyebrow and snorted. “You didn’t think I’d give you the original copy, did you?”

She laughed at his startled look and once again, he found himself in the middle of a street, fighting back the nausea.

The drawings. The dreams she couldn’t remember. The injuries she got while sleeping. It was all connected, and as soon as his head stopped pounding, he’d pull all the loose ends together.

TBC

Chapter 23

She staggered to her feet and away from the stranger kneeling on the ground. Sickly sweet smoke was filling her lungs and she was coughing, knocking over a thick candle in her haste. The wax spilled to the floor, locking the grains of sand in its thickening mass.

Her back crashed into a dresser she hadn’t noticed, the unexpected jolt of pain in her vertebrae loosening her tongue. “What did you do to me?”

The stranger sat back on his haunches, his gaze sliding from the circle of sand to her face and when his eyes met hers all she could do was drown in them. “Who are you?” The question slipped off her numb tongue as she pressed her palms to her pounding temples.

“I don’t know.”

*******

Eight Hours Earlier, 10:00 am

So far, her birthday sucked.

She’d slept through the alarm clock and had to forego a morning shower, and what was even worse—her daily cup of coffee which was the only thing that managed to carry her through the first classes of the morning. So now her brain was fuzzy, demanding the bitter caffeine intake to fully function.

During the first class, the teacher had called on her while she was dozing off and reprimanded her on her lack of attention. But apparently, it wasn’t nearly enough excitement for the day. Between the first two classes, Parker had found it amusing to try to pour glue on her hair, but luckily, she’d spun around just in time to notice. Then she’d proceeded to yank the glue out of his hand, slide her fingers behind the band of his jeans and underpants and squeeze a generous amount of the glue right inside before he’d even blinked.

Good luck getting the glue out, she thought with a grin. But hey, at least he wouldn’t have to pay for waxing.

All would be nice and dandy if it hadn’t been for the stuck-up math teacher catching her in the act and sending her to the principal’s office. Mr. Wood had only sighed upon seeing her again and issued her a week’s detention in the library.

So that’s why she was currently slaving her lunch break and next free period away by helping the school librarian sort books alphabetically. Who cared anyway? Nobody ever came in here as far as she knew. Personally, Buffy thought they should replace it with an IT center. Her and books? Not very mixy.

“Psst,” came from the other side of the bookcase. Buffy frowned and pulled a thick War and Peace out of the shelf. Giddy brown eyes stared back at her.

“Anya?”

“I heard you glued Parker’s balls,” she said with an appreciative smile. “Good job.”

Buffy flicked a glance over her shoulder to see what the librarian was up to. He was nowhere to be seen, probably off somewhere brewing tea. As bored as she’d been, she counted that he cleared his throat in a show of self-importance exactly 35 times and drank six cups of tea in the last hour and a half.

“He deserved it,” Buffy commented on the Parker debacle. “Besides, he started it.”

“Did you know it was super glue?” Anya chuckled. “He had to go home for the rest of the day to get rid of the stuff.”

Buffy pushed the book back into its rightful place and rounded the stack to get to Anya who was now making herself comfortable on the floor.

“Karma is a bitch,” Buffy said and sat down next to her.

“And I’m proud to say, so are you.”

She took it for the compliment it was intended to be and rested her elbows on her bent knees. “So, what’s up with Xander?”

The corners of Anya’s mouth dropped just the tiniest bit and even though she shrugged, Buffy could tell something had happened that affected her deeply.

“He’s umm… he told me he was in love with me,” Anya said finally.

She gave her a puzzled glance. “I assume that’s bad?”

“Of course it’s bad,” Anya whispered urgently. “I eat men like him for breakfast! And then he just looks at me with those sad puppy eyes and it actually bothers me that I didn’t say the words back.”

“It feels weird that I’m the one saying this, but you have issues with men.”

Anya shifted and dropped her hands in her lap, inspecting them rather than looking at her. “Buffy? Can I tell you something personal?”

The tone of her friend’s voice was so somber, her gaze so serious when she finally lifted it to meets hers that Buffy turned on her side to face her fully. “Of course.”

“I’m a vengeance demon.”

Her brain was curiously blank right before the words wheedled themselves past the initial shock and Buffy let out a startled laugh. Although by the look of Anya’s face, she realised it wasn’t a joke. That she’d actually meant it.

“Is that some kind of euphemism?”

Anya rolled her eyes. “No. I’m a demon. As in, not fully human. My gig is to punish men. I don’t fall in love with them, I rip off their balls and make accessories out of their intestines. Literally. I even had a poster of Kali above my bed but I was much younger then.”

Silence.

“Buffy?” Anya waved her fingers in front of her face and Buffy irrationally noticed that Anya had re-painted her nails from pink to red. “You heard me, didn’t you? Because I could repea—”

“Please don’t!” She blinked several times and gave her a dubious glance. “Kali?”

“A goddess from Indian lore, all with the dismemberment of men. She’s my idol. ”

“You’re joking, right?” Buffy shook her head. “I mean, about the whole… demon thing.”

“I’m not joking.” Her eyes lit up. “I’ve got pictures. I could show them to you.”

Oh God. What if Anya was some kind of deluded serial killer and now she wanted to show her the evidence? It was the only explanation! That or Anya had gone insane.

“Forget the pictures, I can show you what I really look like instead.”

Buffy’s heart almost tore out of her chest when Anya’s face rippled and shifted. The skinless flesh, the sharp incisors, the darkness huddled within her gaze. Buffy’s fingers went numb as she tried to grab something to hold onto as the increasing blood pressure filled her ears with a loud buzz. The last thing she saw before she fainted was Anya reaching out to her.

*******

When she woke up, the round friendly face of the school nurse was peering down at her, her fingers putting a slight pressure on Buffy’s wrist as she monitored her pulse.

“Your friend brought you in. She was very worried about you,” the nurse said and helped Buffy sit up then handed her a glass of water. “She’s a rather strange girl, isn’t she?”

Somehow, Buffy thought that ‘strange’ wasn’t a strong enough word.

The next few minutes passed in a sluggish drawl as she took a sip to wash the dryness out of her mouth. The nurse said she was going to be fine but should go home to rest just in case. The more strange things happened to her, the more convinced she became that this couldn’t possibly be real. Perhaps she really was locked within her own mind, her greasy hair sprawled around her pale face as she remained stuck in a dream, a child driven by her own imagination.

When Hank came to pick her up, Anya was nowhere to be seen and for a wild moment Buffy considered screaming out so loud her own eardrums would hurt. Just so she’d see if anyone would hear and take notice that the world was spinning off its axis and the fabric of reality was ripping apart.

She grunted monosyllabic answers when Dad asked her questions, though after a few minutes he seemed to realise he wouldn’t get much else out of her and fell silent as he steered the car.

Her fingertips smeared the car window, the glass sleek and cold, and she wondered if she made that up as well. If the ghost of her touch was just that. Just a mirage.

By the time they drove into the garage, Buffy had stiffened her spine and tried to push it all into the back of her mind. Dad looped his arm around her shoulders and said he’d baked her a birthday cake, even if it was little lopsided.

She mustered up enough energy to give him a reassuring smile and whispered, “I’m fine.” After all that he’d done for her, being selfish left her feeling as though she’d crushed a newborn bird under her heel.

The day flew fast then, and soon it was four o’clock when she sat at the table in the kitchen and stared into the bright flames announcing she was eighteen. Mature. An adult.

Yet she’d never felt more lost.

“Make a wish,” Hank urged her with a rakish grin and licked his lips as he stared at the cake. She knew he couldn’t wait to get a piece—or three—and she refrained from saying he was supposed to be on a diet.

Buffy closed her eyes and wished that all of this was real.

Reality is what we choose to believe.

And she did want to believe this was real because what point was there to it if it weren’t? If all the pain and happiness and living was for nothing?

She filled her lungs with the air and blew the candles out.

*******

Half an hour later, Ellen came knocking with a neatly wrapped present and the smile of a Hollywood star.

“I considered giving you this cute scarf but I figured I’d get you something you’d actually like,” Ellen said and handed her the rectangular box while Hank took her coat with an infatuated look on his face.

“Thank you,” Buffy said because it was the polite thing to do though she suddenly felt like a third wheel.

She tore the wrapping paper more slowly than she normally would, just so she wouldn’t seem too eager. Within the narrow box, nestled in tissue paper, lay the shiniest, most intricate dagger she’d ever seen. The handle melded to her palm just so and the blade shimmered under the foyer light.

Lifting her gaze, she met Ellen’s warm brown eyes and said with a more heartfelt tone, “I love it.”

“Don’t mention it,” Ellen said with a wave of her hand, as though it was nothing. “It’s a bit of a relic as well. It’s from my ex-husband’s collection.”

Buffy didn’t miss the scowl on her father’s face at the mention of the ex and she couldn’t help the amused smile at his expense. He had it bad.

They sat down in the living room and she didn’t miss the exchanged glances and the casual touches between Hank and Ellen. It was as if for the first time in her life there was something in her dad’s life she wasn’t a part of. All those years it had been just the two of them and suddenly it was all changing and she was left stumbling in the dark without anyone to hold onto and almost feeling like she was… a burden.

Her gaze dropped to their interlaced hands.

“I think I’ll go out for a while,” she said and they both tore their gazes off each other to look at her as if only now realizing she was there.

Hank stood up and followed her out of the living room with a concerned frown. “You’re not leaving because of Ellen, are you? Because I could tell her you want it to be just the two of us.”

“No, Dad. It’s okay,” she said steadily and put on a smile. “I’m just being a bit nostalgic. Just feeling a bit old and stuff. Call it a pre-post-teenager crisis.”

Hank squeezed her shoulder then pinched her nose. “If you’re old then what am I supposed to be?”

“You’re pretty much a pensioner,” she said with a more convincing grin.

He gave her a quick hug and kissed her on the forehead. “Cheeky monkey. All right then, go. But don’t be late, got it? Or I’ll take out that shotgun and go looking for you.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “You don’t even know how to shoot.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised, pumpkin.” He followed her to the foyer and planted a hat on her head while she was lacing up her boots. “Take gloves too.”

“Yes, sir.”

With a wave, she walked out of the door and headed down the street. The wind whipped her cheeks and she wished there was snow so it would feel like a real winter rather than the imitation of one.

She didn’t feel any different, being eighteen and all. But growing up didn’t just happen, did it? One had to acknowledge the weight of it and start making decisions that weren’t always the easiest. She could do it. She could face her fear head on and trust. Put that fragile piece of her soul into Spike’s large hands.

All she had to do was believe he knew how to help her, that he’d help still the shifting ground beneath her feet.

*******

He didn’t know what to do.

Even working his frustrations out on the punching bag hanging from the ceiling failed to clear his mind as it usually did. His muscles bunched and burned, the sweat trickled down his spine, yet he was no closer to the solution.

The fucking Valley of the Sun was in ancient Latin. That wouldn’t be such an issue if the words didn’t remind him of a Dadaistic poem. All ramblings with zero substance and it gave him a headache just trying to translate some of it.

Spike punched the bag with enough force that the impact reverberated up his bare arms, and he wished it was the face of the pissant idiot that had written the book.

All he had to go on was a picture of the weapon that was probably the one capable of ridding the world of Angelus. If he’d got it right, the weapon was a thing of beauty. A sleek, sophisticated axe that had been forged by goblins to kill the invincible. That was Angelus all right.

The plonker was the only vampire rumored to walk in the sun. Only it wasn’t a rumor. Spike had seen it with his own two eyeballs and there was only one thing that could allow the undead to break the rules. The Gem of Amara.

With a roar that was barely audible through the Clash blasting from his notebook, Spike braced himself and gave the punching bag a powerful roundhouse kick. It swung back and forth like a pig in a slaughterhouse, the chain whining in protest.

There was supposed to be the gem’s opposite too. A gem that would derail its effect the same way an electromagnetic pulse disrupted all that fancy modern technology. Sadly, he’d never been able to find out more than its name. The Gem of Icarus.

It would be easier if there was a bloody picture of the thing, he thought with dismay and crossed the basement to snatch a bottle of beer from the mini fridge. But it didn’t matter now. He had found his plan B in the axe, if he hadn’t buggered up the translation, that was. His best bet would be to go pay old Rupert a visit. And Spike really didn’t want to. Not now. Not when he’d sworn to help Buffy.

He took a sip then pressed the chilled bottle to the fevered skin of his throat and hoped he’d figured it out. The only reason for her dreamscape forays was that her mind was stuck on the event he’d wiped from her mind. Perhaps they deviated from the original memory and that was why she got hurt. So all he had to do was reverse the forgetting spell and the problem would be fixed, right?

With his gauze wrapped hands, he put the bottle on the table and shut the music off only to find someone was rather insistently ringing the doorbell.

“Hold your bloody horses,” he muttered and climbed out of the basement to answer the door.

*******

“Buffy?”

Oh wow, her day just got a whole lot better. She opened her mouth to speak but the sight of that sweaty muscular chest distracted her. Right now, staring seemed crucial. Wait. Words. Sentences. She should be talking right now.

“Your T-shirt is not… on.” Well, that was genius.

“Do tell,” he said with a quirk of his eyebrow as he ushered her in. “With those observation skills, you should have been a cop.”

She stuttered out some half-assed insult but he didn’t seem to be paying her much mind because he was staring at her lips instead. He wouldn’t try to kiss her, would he? She wasn’t so sure she’d want to stop him if he did. It was unfair that even sweaty, he smelled so freaking good. Like a summer storm and rain soaked earth.

“Eaten something sweet, have you?”

“Huh?” Her eyes jerked up from his chest to his face.

Instead of answering, he stepped closer and brushed her bottom lip with his thumb. His fingertip was a bit rough, calloused and the contrast in texture made her tingle all the way down to her toes.

“Chocolate,” he said and she searched her mind for something that would give her a clue what he was talking about but then she finally caught on. Lips, finger, chocolate. Right. She was going to kill Hank for not telling her she had frosting on her mouth! He’d done it on purpose, she just knew it.

“It was a… umm… birthday cake. Right. Because it’s my birthday today, so… yeah. It was very chocolate-y,” she finished lamely and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand just to err on the side of caution.

Spike lowered his lashes and his long elegant fingers unwrapped her shawl and he let it drop to the floor before he cupped the back of her neck. And the sound he made. As if he’d finally found contentment upon touching her skin. She hated how weak he could make her with just one simple touch.

“I didn’t know,” he said in a low voice, almost apologetic. “I would have got you something.”

“You’re not wearing a shirt. That’s good enough for me,” slipped from her mouth and her eyes widened. Oh crap. She’d said that out loud, hadn’t she?

He laughed and that deep velvety sound that sank all the way to her marrow. Her eyes fluttered closed when he leaned his forehead against her temple.

“You’re fucking adorable,” he said and she wanted to be offended. She really did, because for the first time in her life she wanted to be called hot and irresistible. Not just adorable like a puppy or a baby otter.

“Besides,” he said. “Think I should go take a shower. I’m in a rather disgusting state at the moment.”

Well, that was a matter of opinion, wasn’t it? But this time she clamped her traitorous mouth shut and watched with a pang of regret as he leaned away and that lovely large hand that had been caressing her neck went with him.

“You know, I brought a piece of cake with me. I thought you might like it,” she admitted, feeling a bit awkward. Now her brain urged her to take the words back and she almost blurted out that it was no big deal and she hadn’t thought of him when she’d been wrapping it in tinfoil. That she hadn’t set a piece aside just for him when Dad wasn’t paying attention. Just for good measure she should say that she carried cakes around in her bag every day and that he wasn’t so special. But then his gaze searched her face with a boyish eagerness and she gave him a tentative smile instead.

What was it with this man and sweets?

“I love cake,” he said and licked his lips.

“I figured,” she said and suddenly felt she had a leverage to make him beg. Oh, she was bad. “But you’re not getting any until you shower.” She wanted to see his hair curl at the ends, to find if he’d still smell like summer rain. Not that she’d ever tell him that.

He disappeared faster than she thought possible and she had to restrain the urge to be jealous of a piece of cake.

*******

While Spike devoured the chocolate treat, Buffy gathered up the courage to say why she was really here.

“We should do the thing,” she said and he stopped mid-chew to look at her with wide gaze.

“What?”

“You know… the thing.” She raised her eyebrows.

“Now?” he asked and his eyes had pinned her with intensity that left her slightly breathless. “Are you sure?”

“Y-yes. I mean, you said you knew what to do. That I could… trust you.”

He sucked his fingers into his mouth, his cheekbones standing out even more as he licked the stray chocolate off. “Oh, I know what to do all right.”

Was it her or did that sound like an innuendo? Wait, it was Spike. Of course it was an innuendo. And that left her more than irritated. Didn’t he realise how hard it was for her to admit she trusted him? “Spike, I’m being serious.”

“So am I,” he said and suddenly she was drawn against his hard body, his arm banded around her waist.

His lips caressed the line of her jaw in a way that had her breath catching in her throat like a butterfly trapped in a glass. Whatever had gotten into him, she didn’t really mind because now his lips were slanting over hers achingly lightly. She really should ask him, but God, the sweet taste of him fogged her mind and she found herself gripping his still damp hair to pull him closer. To taste him deeper.

“Hmm,” he purred into her and nipped her upper lip with his teeth before he rested his brow against hers. “Want you.”

Now that she struggled to catch her breath it occurred to her that things had veered off a bit. “Spike? What are we doing?”

He frowned at her. “What do you mean what are we doing? You said you wanted to do the thing. You know… the nasty, sweaty, ecstatic—”

“No!” she jumped in to keep him from continuing that train of thought. “I meant… the helping with my wiggy night problem thing.”

He suddenly leaned away with a stunned expression. “Oh.”

“You thought I meant…” She fell silent, suddenly feeling awkward still sitting there within kissing distance of him. Apparently, that had a debilitating effect on her brain cells.

His arm fell away as he scratched the back of his neck, and wait… Was he blushing?

Spike had never felt like more of an idiot than he did right now. Of course she’d meant the bloody spell! Hell, he’d been thinking about it not too long ago himself. But the sugar rush combined with the infuriatingly distracting smell of wildflowers that seemed to follow her everywhere had driven common sense right out of his gourd.

“Well, this isn’t awkward at all,” he muttered and to his surprise, Buffy laughed.

“Just a bit.”

“Sorry about the whole… jumping you thing.” He seemed to do that a lot, didn’t he? He ought to reclaim some self-control around her.

“I didn’t exactly mind,” she said with a quick smile and he felt like groaning. Women with their mixed signals. They’d be sure to drive him completely bonkers one day.

“So,” he said a bit louder and clapped his hands. “Let’s get to it, shall we?”

*******

“You’re going to do a spell,” Buffy said skeptically after he’d asked her to plant her arse on the floor while he poured a circle of sand big enough to include them both.

“Yes.”

“A spell. As in, you’re a witch.” She gave him a look that let him know she thought this was an utter waste of time.

“I’m not a bloody witch,” he said irately and stepped within the circle to distribute five thick candles evenly so they would form a pentagram. “Just know a thing or two, and believe me, I’m not too happy about this scenario either.” Something was bound to explode in his face, though he hoped it wouldn’t be literally. “Besides, I wouldn’t be a witch, but a warlock.”

“Why are we doing this again?” She gave him a distrustful glance and slouched forward to rest her elbows on her knees as she sat Indian style. So elegant, this girl.

“The question is; why are you not freaking out on me?” He lit the candles and sat down, mirroring her position.

She gave a small shrug, the corner of her lips quirking briefly. “I don’t think anything can surprise me anymore.”

He seriously doubted that, but he was glad her attention was diverted and she wasn’t asking him why exactly he was doing this. The wise thing to do would probably be to prepare her by telling her that he was doing a reversal spell on the forgetting spell he’d cast the night he’d rescued her. Then again, he’d never been too wise and the possibility this might not work kept his tongue tied. And if it did work, he’d answer her questions then and save them an hour of pointless chatter.

“Ready?” he asked, and laid the incantation next to his leg.

“Yes, Glinda,” she said with a serious face and he resisted the urge to shake that blasé attitude right out of her. Or even better; snog it out of her.

With a withering glance in her direction, he picked up a small dagger and reached for her hand.

“What are you doing?”

He detected a hint of fear in her voice and despite being impatient to get this whole thing going, he gave her a reassuring look. “I just need a few drops. I’ll try not to hurt you much, I promise. Now give me your finger.”

She shook her head, as though arguing with herself on the wisdom of her decision before she put her hand in his palm. He loved her hands. So soft and feminine and he experienced a sudden urge to pull away, for his were stained with blood.

Before she could change her mind, he held her forefinger steady and flicked the blade over it. The blood welled up and he had to give her credit. She barely even flinched.

“You’re not going to wave a chicken foot at me now, are you?”

Three drops of blood dripped into the small coppery bowl as he put the dagger down. “Would you like me to?”

“Ew. Definitely not.” She stuck her bleeding finger into her mouth.

“Good, because there will be none. Now shut it, I need to concentrate.”

Buffy muttered something that sounded awfully close to ‘You’re not the boss of me,’ but luckily fell silent after that.

It took him a few minutes to empty his mind and when he felt the connection to nature suffuse his entire being, he started adding other ingredients into the bowl.

Ground leaves of angelica to help remove the original curse. Agrimony and curry plant to repel the nightmares, to create a barrier from their negative consequences. As the last natural ingredient Spike threw in calamus to bring the spell full circle, and then sliced his palm with the dagger. It was all about the blood. None of the other ingredients would have a meaning if it weren’t for a piece each of Buffy and himself to steer the magic in the right direction. To act as a sacrifice as well. With magic, there was always a price to be paid.

“Give me your hands,” he said and felt more than saw Buffy’s slightly trembling hands slide into his. He started to read the incantation.

They were one. An enclosed never-ending source of energy. He could feel it working as the pressure in the air thickened to the point his ears started to buzz. The flow of magic crackled and whipped around them within the circle. Inside their veins.

In his mind, he saw the web of the forgetting spell tangled around them both and he imagined the magic as a dagger that would sever the ties. His heart hammered as he pressed on, feeling as if the dagger was made of lead and his grip wouldn’t be strong enough to wield it. But he wasn’t giving up and the moment the reversal magic touched upon the original spell, he felt it cut through. His temples threatened to explode right before the pressure cumulated and swirled and he had to let go of Buffy’s hands to clutch at his ears.

He accidentally knocked over the bowl as he leaned forward to find purchase on the ground. To assure himself that he hadn’t been flung into space, suffocated by the nothingness.

The pressure finally eased then, and light slashed at his aching eyelids. When he finally opened his eyes, he found himself kneeling in the middle of a large living room with what smelled like burnt soup filling his nostrils.

The crashing noise made him lift his head up and he saw a young girl looking at him with large, accusing eyes. “What did you do to me?”

Do? What did he do? He sat back and ran a hand through his hair. How the hell was he supposed to know that when he didn’t even know his own name? Had no idea where he was or why it looked as if they’d been having a girly séance.

“Who are you?” she asked and he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her.

“I don’t know.”

TBC

Chapter 24

“You don’t know who you are,” she repeated, her brows drawn together in suspicion as she stepped away from the dresser.

“Do you?” Had they drunk too much? An ocean of liquor to blur unwanted memories? He couldn’t spot any bottles. There was nothing but the bowl full of burnt herbs, tendrils of smoke still curling up into the air.

“No,” she said quietly, but was no longer looking at him as she took one bold step forward. “What the hell is this?”

He rose to his feet and took in their surroundings. The scattered grains of sand formed a circle with five thick candles drawing an impromptu pentagram. Were they witches? Because if they were, their skills left a lot to be desired.

“I may not know who I am, but I’m sure this is your fault,” she said, and crossed her arms over her chest.

The urge to throttle her had him gritting his teeth and for a moment he wondered why that compulsion felt so familiar. “Well… you don’t know that. As far as I know, it’s you who bollixed this all up and tabula rasa’d our noggins!”

“What does that even mean?” She pursed her lips in self-righteous anger and toed the sand littering the floor. “Stupid, foreign guy.”

“Foreig—” He started out, incensed then stopped short. Wait a second.

Bollixed. Wanker. Sod. Knickers.

“I’m English!”

She rolled her eyes. “Wow, you’re a regular genius, aren’t you?”

“No need to be snide,” he said distractedly and scanned the room. “What do you think happened here?”

She let out a begrudging sigh and uncrossed her arms. “No clue. But it smells really, really bad.”

He sniffed, shrugging. “Could be worse.”

Her nose wrinkled at the offensive burnt smell and he couldn’t help but notice it was kind of cute. Sure, she had those scars on her face, but for some reason, it didn’t exactly bother him. Then it occurred to him that he had no idea what he looked like. She probably wouldn’t either, and the idea of telling her about the scars made his stomach clench. It was almost as though he cared about her. As though he couldn’t bear to see horror on her face once she saw them. Because he suspected she wouldn’t see herself the way he saw her. Women were just silly that way.

“You do realise you’re staring at me, right?”

That shook him out of his stupor really quickly and he gave her an apologetic smile. “Sorry. Was just taking in the view.”

She tucked her hair behind her ear in a nervous gesture and glanced away like a startled prey. It made him want to growl and pounce.

“Well, it’s rude to stare at people.”

Oh, she was probably going for offended but he could see the faintest blush on her cheeks and it made him want to do everything to unsettle her again. Why, he had no idea.

“Then I’m a bad, rude man.”

“Bad, rude man with no name.”

“Not if I make one up,” he told her, lifting his chin defiantly.

“Or, we could just check to see if we have any ID.”

Well, if she wanted to be smart about it, he thought sullenly as she patted her pockets.

They had nothing on them, but they soon found a bag that contained a debit card belonging to one Buffy Summers.

The name sparked an image of wind weaving though a field of wild flowers, his taste buds throbbing with the taste of… her?

“What a stupid name,” he said just to spite her, contemplating the sudden knowledge of what her tongue felt like against his.

“At least I have one, Mr. English Guy,” she retorted and actually dared to stick her tongue out at him like an obstinate child who had just been scolded.

“I have one too. Just don’t know it yet.”

They proceeded to comb through the house. They were bickering like a couple of elementary school rivals when he wandered into a lived in bedroom upstairs and opened a drawer. What he found within gave him a pause.

“Do you own any bright colours at all?” A muffled voice came from somewhere behind him where Buffy was rummaging through a closet.

“Wouldn’t know, would I?” he said and stared down at the dozen or so fake IDs.

“It was a rhetorical question, you know.”

“Uh huh.”

All the IDs had his picture and he had to admit that he was a bloody handsome devil. The only problem was that every ID carried a different name. He figured Buffy didn’t need to know about this. Not when even he didn’t want to know what that was all about.

“Did you find anything?” Her voice was closer and he quickly picked a random ID before he shut the drawer containing the scam evidence away from her curious eyes.

“So?” She peeked over his shoulder and giggled. “Is that really your name?”

He actually read the ID he’d picked and grimaced. Couldn’t he have chosen a different one? Any other would have been better. Bloody hell.

“Randy Johnson? I can’t believe your name is Randy Johns—”

He turned on his heel and pressed his hand over her mouth. “No smart arse remarks.”

She opened her mouth under his palm which prompted him to give her a warning look. “I will spank you.”

She pushed his hand away. “I wasn’t going to say a word.” She pretended to zip her lips but he still saw the glint of amusement in her green eyes.

“You better not.”

“Of course not, Randy.”

The belligerent little bird was just waiting to tick him off. The little jabs, the insolent glances. As though she was challenging him to retaliate, to give as good as he got. Oh, and he’d love to. If she wasn’t careful, she’d find herself bent over his knee and—

“You’re doing that staring thing again.”

“It’s not like I’m the only one.” He slowly stepped closer, unable to resist the pull, loving the way she watched him as though prepared to flee. The effect he had on her could be a drug better than the cigarettes he’d found tossed on top of his bedside table. “You know, I have the strangest feeling.” Lifting his hand almost absentmindedly, he twirled the silk of her hair around his fingers. All the while he pretended not to soak up every expression that crossed her face, how her eyelashes dipped just a little bit lower and her teeth sank into her full lower lip. How her own fingers twitched as if with the urge to touch him in return.

“W-what feeling?”

“It’s too naughty for your lovely ears,” he whispered against her cheek and gave her hair a last caress before dropping his hand.

“Maybe you’re not the only one with naughty thoughts,” she said and his gaze dropped to devour the sight of her hands caressing the front of his T-shirt. “Isn’t it weird though? That I have no idea who I am but I know that the sky is blue and what year it is? Touching you feels so familiar too,” she murmured as though she wasn’t even talking to him and pulled away before he could stop her. His chest burned even after her touch was gone.

“Yeah, suppose it’s only affected our personal memories, whatever it was.” His hands slid into the pockets of his jeans as he forced himself to step away. It occurred to him that for all he knew, they could be related. Although that option was highly unlikely considering he imagined nibbling the curve of her belly above the low waistband of her jeans. That strip of bare skin was driving him insane.

“That makes sense,” she said. “We should probably check parts of the house we haven’t checked yet. Look for any other clues on how to fix this. This house is freaking huge, so I think we should split up. I’ll go downstairs.”

Clues, huh? It would have been nice if there was a letter saying, ‘Dear Randy, in case you cock up, this is what you do,’ followed by an instruction manual on how to get out of this mess. He doubted they would find anything of the sort.

“Got it. I’ll search this floor while you do.”

Buffy nodded. “Okay. Meet you downstairs after you’re done? I’ll look for some food as well because I’m starting to get hungry.”

Yeah, so was he. Just not for food.

“Sure, kitten.”

She stopped in the doorway and turned around with a strange look on her face.

“What?” he asked.

She shook her head and gave him a confused smile. “Nothing. Just… a weird feeling.” With that she left.

Women, he thought with a shake of his head.

*******

All right. He had weapons. No big deal. What regular bloke wouldn’t have a gun or two under his bed? Or blades. Or wooden stakes that were slightly too phallic for his peace of mind. He was probably a collector.

Sure, let’s go with that one.

It probably wouldn’t do to tell Buffy though. No need to freak her out.

When he ventured down in search of her, the last thing he’d expected was to find her huddled on the couch looking pale and shell shocked. What in hell could have possibly happened to her in twenty minutes? He scratched the side of his cheek in thought.

“Buffy? What’s wrong?” He approached the couch, hovering over her shoulder when she refused to answer.

All he could see was the back of her head, her slumped posture.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked quietly, her hands twisting around in her lap.

Sighing, he rounded the couch and sat down heavily. “What are you on about? Tell you what?” She hadn’t seen the weapons, had she? Nah. Would have made a hasty exit if she had.

“That I look like…” Her lips thinned as she wiped her eyes with an impatient swipe of her fingers. “That I have those scars on my face.”

Ah, he should have known. “Does it matter?”

“Well, yes,” she said. “I bet you’d like to know if there was an extra arm growing out of your head.”

“That would have been right handy, actually. It could hold a beer can for me.”

She snorted a laugh and the sound made the warmth expand in his chest. Although she still wouldn’t look at him, she was no longer crying and that filled him with a sense of accomplishment. He knew then. Memories or not, caring about her was something that was rooted deep within.

“I didn’t tell you because I thought it wouldn’t make a difference.” Because he hadn’t felt like hurting her. “You’re still… you’re still lovely.” Saying that made him feel strangely vulnerable, as though he was admitting something profound and for a moment he wished he could take the words back. That he’d said it without revealing so much emotion. But then she cast him a surprised glance, the corner of her lips being teased into a tentative smile and he knew it had been worth it.

“Are you as scared as I am?” Buffy asked and he was glad she hadn’t called him on the softness of his heart. “That we won’t get our memories back?”

He should say he wasn’t, that men were never scared of anything and he’d find a way to work it out. Instead he found himself nodding and wishing he could overcome the shyness she’d inspired, just so he could reach out and feel the solidity of her presence to assure himself neither of them was in this mess alone.

“We’ll go through the books I saw piled up upstairs, yeah? We’re bound to find something useful,” he said, mustering up as much confidence as he could. For both their sakes. “But I’m not working on an empty stomach. Come on.”

He rose to his feet and held out his hand. For a second he feared she wouldn’t take it.

It turned out his fears had been unfounded as she slid her hand into his. At the first contact, tendrils of heat raced up his arm. Just her palm rubbing against his, their fingers tangled together as she led him to the kitchen. Knowing she hadn’t let go the first chance she got made him want to smile, but the contact was so comforting in its intimacy he feared he wouldn’t be able to let go.

*******

The wind outside raged with enough force to rattle the window frames as they sat side by side on the couch in the living room again. The food hunt had revealed Randy had somewhat of a sweet tooth and that he was equally determined to turn her frown upside down. She had no idea why he cared, or why the thought of it sent her heart galloping. Here she was with a stranger and all she could think of was how much she knew him without knowing anything at all. How she trusted him without any proof he wouldn’t let her fall.

“I think you should watch your sugar intake,” Buffy said and watched amusedly as he took a last bite of his third waffle and sprayed a generous amount of whipped cream straight into his mouth. “Okay, that’s just gross.” And totally yummy looking.

“You’re just jealous,” he taunted with his mouth full, his knee bouncing up and down. This man definitely didn’t need any more sweets. And damn him, of course she was jealous.

So she pouted at him. “Can I have some?”

With a wink, he slid closer to her and shook the whipped cream can in her face. “Come and get it then.”

What, did he think she wouldn’t? She was plenty daring and refusing a challenge wasn’t in her nature.

She pounced just as he lifted his arm high above his head. They toppled backwards and she straddled him in order to reach up to confiscate the can from him. Just a little bit further and… Yes! Now to wrestle it out of his hand.

The playful grin froze on her face when she felt his breath graze her neck. Their grip on the can fell slack and it fell to the cushions above their head with a silent thump. Their eyes met. Slowly, Randy pulled her lower so they were almost nose to nose.

She swallowed heavily, knowing she should sit up and make a hasty excuse to get away, but his arm had sneaked around her waist and all she wanted to do was crawl inside his skin. To taste the whipped cream off his lips.

“You’ve got a bit left,” she whispered and licked her lips, her gaze fixed on the tiniest bit of cream beckoning her from the corner of his mouth.

“Maybe you could help a fella out,” he said huskily, the sound making her blood turn to simmering fire.

“I should,” she said and leaned in to brush her lips against his. She half expected him to sweep in and take over but he only tightened his hold and exhaled a moan into her mouth.

“Sweet,” she said as her tongue flicked out to taste his lower lip. It wasn’t a kiss filled with clashing teeth and desperate touches, but the intensity of the light, exploring brushes of their lips had her thighs clench tighter around his hips.

Randy’s hand snuck under her shirt to caress her spine, her ribcage, his fingers stopping just an inch beneath her breasts in the most maddening way. It wasn’t enough. The fire was pooling in her belly and she gasped when he covered her lips fully and kissed her slowly, deeply. As though memorizing the very taste of her.

She didn’t think, couldn’t, when she urged him to take her shirt off just to feel his calloused fingertips on her skin, to surrender to the sparks crackling across her nerve endings in the wake of his touch. Her hands caressed his throat and chest, feeling the muscles shift. Too much fabric between them, need to get it off, so she whispered her demand to roll them over and he readily obliged.

His shirt was pulled off and she had a mere second to admire how beautiful he looked before he took possession of her lips again, his tongue drawing out hers to play. Had she ever felt this way before? This breathless intimacy of her breasts pressing into his chest? The drowning ecstasy of cradling his hips? It felt really good. So good she wished they weren’t wearing jeans at all.

The muscles of his back bunched and moved under her palms as the slow grinding motion of his pelvis teased a whimper out of her throat. She felt almost delirious with need, but a sudden yank of pain had her eyes flying open and biting his lip.

“Ow,” he said and pulled away, his pupils dilated. “What’s wrong?”

“My hair.” The stupid locket she wore had gotten tangled in her hair and when Spike had slid his fingers into her hair, pain had flared up.

“Don’t move, I’ve got it,” he said and slowly worked it out of her hair.

“Take it off.” She wanted to go back to kissing him.

The clasp clicked open and the world came rushing back. The sound of the locket slipping out of Spike’s hand and to the floor was drowned out by the memories screaming within her mind. Her own lifetime flooded her in a millisecond like tsunami that had crashed through a dam. Her childhood, the monsters her mother had tried to sacrifice her to, the accident. All those years she kept everyone at arms’ length to protect herself from being shunned. Moments with her father, seeing Anya’s true face. The first day she saw Spike.

Spike who was currently breathing hard against her shoulder.

“I need to go,” she said and pushed at his shoulders until he was up and looking as out of sorts as she felt. She was half naked and confused and the mother of all headaches started to make itself at home in her head.

“Buffy…”

She gathered her shirt and quickly put it on, all the while thinking she’d almost had sex with him. When she hadn’t even remembered him! She’d put her trust in his hands and he’d wiped their memories clear. What would have happened if they hadn’t gotten them back? “I have to go. It’s too late, Dad will be worried,” she rattled off one excuse after another and started to gather her things, wishing that gathering her dignity would be just as easy.

She saw him sitting there on the couch, disheveled, his elbows resting on his knees as he buried his face in the palms of his hands and she wanted to tell him it wasn’t his fault. To do something, anything, that would lift the weight off his shoulders. Instead she cast him one last glance and hurried out of the door.

TBC

Chapter 25

Buffy’s feet pounded on the cold hard ground as she wove through the trees. The need to escape her own thoughts had her drawing in shuddering breaths that burned an icy path down her throat. She knew she should slow down, that she should probably button up her coat before she got ill. But all she could do was gasp like a fish that had been yanked out of the water, helplessly flopping on the ground in order to survive.

She knew now. Knew what had really happened the night her mother had cut her face open. How she’d blamed her for escaping the monsters with disfigured faces and blood stained claws. Blamed her for wanting to live. The wall had finally collapsed and it felt as if she could see for the first time in her life.

Her foot got tangled in a low bush and she stumbled, her arms flying up to grasp the nearest tree to save herself from a painful fall. As if she could escape pain, she thought as she stared down at her grazed palms.

Spike was supposed to know what to do and as much as she wanted to blame the fiasco entirely on him, she knew that wouldn’t be fair. Perhaps she shouldn’t have put her trust in his hands to begin with.

The feeling of unease crept up on her as she stared at her bleeding palms, wanting to cry but unable to let it out. All she could hear was her own staggering heartbeat. There was nothing. Nothing but a whisper of wind slinking against her face. No crickets. No owls. No sign of life other than her own harsh breathing.

Then she saw it.

It was just a glimpse.

A pale face with slightly rounded cheeks, a barest hint of sharp cheekbones pushing beneath the skin as the young girl emerged from the shadows. It was as though she’d been born in them, all of nature falling silent as her flaxen hair fluttered in the wind like a bird’s wings. The girl’s gaze unerringly focused on Buffy and she wanted to take a step forward. To ask the girl if she needed help, but her feet were rooted to the ground and her tongue refused to form words.

A sharp pain pierced Buffy’s skull as a distorted memory of the girl in front of her screeched through her mind like a badly tuned radio. Joy and hope and the fluttering of a heart. Eline was alive. Chilled and small, yet so real within his embrace. But then the mood shifted and happiness was replaced by fear. It wasn’t her. Not her. A monster. Someone screamed and the world dissolved into black.

Buffy blinked, the grip of her bloodied fingers clutching at the bark fell slack.

The girl was gone.

*******

Monsters were real. Demons and vampires and magic were all real, and now she was in the thick of it. She’d had proof staring her in the face and accepting it beat the alternative of having gone cuckoo for cocoa puffs.

For a moment she wondered if her life would have been easier if she’d carried on down the road of ignorance. As she entered her house and saw her father asleep on the couch in the living room with the TV remote held loosely in his hand, she decided it didn’t matter. What happened couldn’t be changed and she wouldn’t want it to.

Didn’t they say that knowledge was power?

She toed off her boots and wandered into the living room to click the television off.

“Love you, Dad,” she whispered, and grabbed a blanket thrown over the back of the couch to cover him.

It was strange how regaining her memory gave her an objective outlook on her life. Even now, as she walked up the stairs the memories that had been fresh and raw just five minutes ago were beginning to recede into the back of her mind like little coins falling to the bottom of a fountain.

Everyone in her life who had tried to get close, she pulled away from. Just because she couldn’t handle the idea of being rejected, the idea of someone making her care. But for how long could she run? And what if it was already too late?

When she stepped over the threshold into her room, she was almost surprised to find out the room hadn’t changed. How could everything stay the same when her entire world had been created anew?

Buffy sat down on the bed and opened the bedside drawer. There lay a piece of broken mirror and she still remembered how she’d smashed it five years ago after she’d overheard the boy she’d had a crush on calling her ugly.

She didn’t even know why she kept it. Perhaps to remind herself that being alone was the better choice. As she picked up the mirror and looked into it, maybe for the first time she didn’t feel the usual urge to turn away. Those scars were a part of her and it wasn’t her fault she had them. In some twisted way, she was glad. Without them, she wouldn’t be the person she was now. She wouldn’t have befriended Anya or met Spike. Maybe she wouldn’t even have discovered that she could draw.

Oh God, maybe she’d have ended up being Harmony’s friend.

Although, considering the off the charts level of bitchiness, Buffy highly doubted it.

She put the mirror back into the drawer with a sigh and collapsed on her back. She felt as if she hadn’t slept in weeks.

Thinking of the unexpected turn the spell had taken, she wanted to be angry at Spike. She really did, but the devastation she’d glimpsed in his features made her want to reassure him it could have ended up much worse.

It definitely hadn’t been all bad, she thought with a begrudging smile. Maybe she should keep calling him Randy. What was up with that anyway? Why would he need a fake ID? She’d have to ask him about it, unless he used his power of distraction again.

She couldn’t believe they’d almost… Just the memory of his skin sliding against hers made her blood rush. Then the stupid necklace got stuck in her hair and… wait a second.

Why did the memories come back the second he took it off?

Was it just her being paranoid or was something more behind the locket? The sudden thought it could have been cursed and had been causing those nightmares made her feel violated.

She rubbed at her throat with a grimace, hoping the nightmares wouldn’t return.

*******

Her name should be Big Fat Coward, Buffy thought as she fidgeted with the strap of her bag and shifted from one foot to the other for the hundredth time. Maybe talking to Anya wasn’t a good idea after all. What would she tell her anyway? Sorry I wigged out when I found out you were a man-slaughtering demon?

Someone should write a handbook on these things, Buffy groused as she leaned against the side of the school building.

It would only take a few strides to come up to Anya who was currently standing at the top of the steps leading up to the school’s entrance, obviously waiting for someone.

God, this was so ridiculous. Her palms were sweating as if she was about to be led to the gallows when in fact all she wanted to do was apologise. It would probably take her a while to adjust to the fact that Anya wasn’t human, but after starting to consider her a friend, it had become somewhat lonely to sit at the lunch table alone.

Okay, she could do this. She could so totally do this.

Buffy shouldered off the wall and wiped her palms on her thighs. She had only taken two steps when Xander joined Anya and her nerves were instantly shot to hell. She veered off in a completely different direction, cursing the boy’s timing.

She couldn’t decide whether to be angry or relieved. All she knew was that she’d had to get the nerve to approach Anya eventually and what better way to do it than postpone it for as long as she could?

Oh yeah. Procrastination? She was the queen of it.

*******

She entered the grocery store and came up to her dad who seemed to be in a rush.

“Ah, Buffy. So glad to see you, pumpkin.” He disappeared in the back room and she heard rustling of clothes. “Do you mind watching the store for me for about an hour?”

She dropped her bag and hopped up onto the stool behind the counter. “Where are you going?”

He finally emerged, buttoning up his coat and wrapping a grey scarf around his neck. “Lunch break.”

“Right. Because there isn’t any food to be had at a grocery store.”

Hank huffed at her sarcastic reply. “Ellen called me. Told me I could come… uhh… visit her for lunch.”

Somehow, Buffy doubted that having lunch was all they’d be doing. On that disturbing thought, her face twisted up in a grimace.

“So, will you watch the store for me? Please?” Hank looked pretty eager to get going, and even though Buffy felt a pang of regret that they wouldn’t even get to have their usual daily ‘how was your day’ conversation, what could she do but agree?

“Sure. I’ll be your watch girl.” And sneak-a-donut girl if she had any say in it. She totally deserved a sugary compensation.

He grinned and landed a smacking kiss on her forehead. “Thank you. Be good. Do your homework.”

“Yes, sir.”

Not even commenting on her mock salute that accompanied the ‘sir,’ Hank practically ran out of the store.

Ah, adults. So immature.

Time dragged and she was so bored she even started in on her biology homework half an hour later. As usual, she gave up after ten minutes and pushed the book away. Why couldn’t it be like in the movies? All with an inspirational montage and prescription glasses crookedly perched on her nose as she learned everything there was to know within a few minutes? Who needed to know where their kidneys were anyway? It wasn’t like she planned on selling hers illegally via Craigslist or something.

Buffy dropped her head on the counter with a groan. She had closed her eyes just for a minute when she started to dream of giant donuts graphically describing how they reproduced, yelling at her to take notes because she’d end up being a garbage woman one day. What that had to with anything, she had no idea.

The tiny bell jingled merrily, rousing her from her sleepy daze but she didn’t bother lifting her forehead off the counter or getting off the stool. It was probably just Dad coming back after his lunch break. Her thoughts were confirmed when a large palm covered her shoulder.

“I’m not sleeping on the job,” she mumbled. “Just resting my eyes. It’s been pretty much dead here since you left. Just a couple of people.”

“I wasn’t accusing you of sleeping on the job, love.” The hand fell away as the voice jolted Buffy completely awake.

“Spike?” She blinked, willing her confused brain to start functioning again. “What are you doing here?”

He stepped away and dropped his gaze to the floor. “Don’t rightly know, actually. I had this whole speech planned. Wanted to say I was… sorry.” The word sounded strange and rough as though he’d forgotten the sound of it. “I messed everything up.”

Oh. Right. The whole ‘wiping their memories’ thing. What did he want her to say anyway? That he hadn’t messed up? That what had happened was a glitch orchestrated by fate and it had been completely out of his hands? She wanted to, but she couldn’t lie to him either, so she just shrugged, trying so hard not to reach out to touch him instead. “You’re just human. We all tend to screw up sometimes. And hey, we’re both alive and all with the knowing our names, so...”

He nodded and tried for a smile, but it looked somewhat strained.

“Did it work?” he asked out of the blue and scanned her face from beneath his dark lashes. “The reversal spell. Do you… remember? That night nine years ago.”

She swallowed and looked away, her fingers nervously shredding a receipt forgotten on the counter by a previous customer. “Yes. I remember all of it.” Including how he’d carried her home and how she’d told him she could marry him one day. That almost brought a bittersweet smile to her face. There was one other thing, one she preferred not to think about. Had he seen her mother die? Had he—

“And the dreams? Have you—”

“No. Not yet anyway.” God, she hated the uncomfortable tension between them and she just wanted to close the distance and smooth away the frown creasing his brows. “Just giant donuts.”

His lips tipped in a confused smile. “Giant donuts?”

“Don’t ask,” she said with a wild gesture of her hand that was so spastic she wanted to cringe.

“Everything’s normal then? Well, as normal as dreams can get?”

“Yup. All with the normalness.” She straightened up and slid from the stool, hoping to steer the conversation into less personal waters. “Can I help you with anything? Grocery wise, I mean. We’ve got some weird chili chocolate thing that you might lik—”

“Buffy,” he said and caught her wrist, stopping her short. God, what was he doing to her? The way he breathed her name scattered her thoughts like dust in the wind. Perhaps here was a reason she shouldn’t be letting him touch her but she couldn’t bring herself to shake off his hand when he gazed at her like that. As though something pained him, as though he pleaded with her to understand. She didn’t know what was going on, could hardly think at all when his thumb traced gentle circles on her inner wrist.

“I really am sorry, you know. I cocked up badly and I deserve to be whacked over the head, at the very least. So if you want to go ahead and do that, feel free. I just don’t want to feel like you’re mad at me.” He fixed her with an intense gaze and she had trouble making sense of his words.

“I’m not going to whack you over the head.”

His fingers wrapped more firmly around her wrist and drew it to his lips, his eyes closing as he nuzzled the back of her hand. “Can you forgive me?”

She wondered whether he kept his eyes closed out of fear of seeing refusal in hers. Yes, she’d been a bit angry and disappointed, but she realised he’d been trying to help. And he had, hadn’t he? So why couldn’t she push the words ‘I forgive you’ past her numb lips?

“Spike, as I said, everyone makes mistakes. I wasn’t just saying that, and I’m sorry if I gave you the impression I was mad at you. I’m just still trying to… Look, we’re both okay. That’s what matters the most. And I haven’t had any freaky dreams, so it must mean it worked. I haven’t had the chance to say it before, but I… I appreciate it,” she said softly and knew it was the right thing to say when he finally opened his eyes and caressed her knuckles with his lips. “Just promise me you won’t be biting off more than you can chew again.”

With a final kiss, he let go of her now tingling hand and offered her a sheepish smile. “I’ll try my best.” Spike’s gaze flickered away as he said it and she suspected he was lying but decided not to call him on it.

“Did you mention chili chocolate?” he asked suddenly, and she wondered if he was just trying to change the topic.

“I did. Come on,” she said with a tentative smile and led him to the back room. There on the floor rested a half-opened box full of a new brand of chocolate that Hank had taken to try and see if it would sell. All the while she felt Spike’s gaze burning into the back of her head and when she turned around she caught him looking at her as if he was trying to trace every contour of her face with his gaze, as if he was committing every detail to memory.

“Is everything okay?” she asked, out of habit wishing she didn’t sound so concerned.

Wordlessly, he stepped closer and buried his fingers in her hair before he swept in and kissed her. But no, kiss wasn’t the right word. He inhaled her as if she was the first breath he took after nearly drowning. His lips rubbed insistently against hers, his fingers tightening in her hair as he tilted his head to the side and tasted her impossibly deeper, hungrier. It was if she’d been swept away by a tide and all she could do was hold on, trying to keep her head above the surface.

He pulled away and whispered something that sounded like her name then brushed his lips against hers in a whisper light kiss that had her heart clenching.

“Spike, what—”

“I’ll see you later, yeah?” With one final, lingering kiss, he disentangled himself from her and she was left standing there in the back room with a feeling she’d missed something important.

“But, what about the… chocolate?”

TBC

Chapter 26

Spike stuffed a few T-shirts carelessly into a duffle bag, knowing they’d look as if a cow had chewed them and not giving a damn. His hands wouldn’t stop trembling and he angrily tossed the half-packed bag on the bed and raked his fingers through his hair.

He should have told her he was leaving.

With a scoff, he yanked out the drawer from the bedside table to empty the fake IDs onto the mattress. What good would it have done if he had? Would she even care? She didn’t need him around to cock everything up for her, now did she? She had a whole life ahead of her. Perhaps not a house with a white picket fence and a golden retriever, but a decent one. A safe one. The spell plaguing her dreams had been severed and she’d be all right. She was the kind of girl who didn’t pull her punches, who knew to how to survive.

He had to leave, had to see Rupert about the book, had to face Angelus and make him pay. So why was he sinking to the bed, his hands clutching at the bedspread instead of finishing packing? God, he was selfish. A coward. Always had been. It hadn’t bothered him much before, but it did now.

Girls were dying and the world was on the brink of its final days and he couldn’t even move. Spike knew what Angelus was planning. The rituals he’d been performing for years to draw the power out of Potential slayers, leaving them dead after he did. Not that he’d ever given it too much thought. He’d sacrifice their life in a blink if it meant getting closer to offing Angelus. But all Spike could care about was how for the first time there was something that occupied his mind more often than revenge.

Buffy.

He imagined how she’d look at him if she knew he hadn’t given a toss for all those dead girls before he got to know her. Then he imagined finding her body stiff and twisted on the floor, empty eyes and bloodied skin, and he felt sick to his stomach. She almost had ended up that way all those years ago, and he wanted to believe he’d saved her that day, but somehow he knew she’d have made it. She had already been fleeing when he’d caught her.

At the time he’d believed Angelus was behind that ritual, but there had been no trace of him. Considering the ugly bugger liked to be in the charge of things, it must have been something else. LA was full of bloodthirsty demons ready to serve little girls on a silver platter. She’d been lucky. If it had been Angelus, even a whole pack of demon hunters wouldn’t have been able to help her.

It felt as if he was being yanked in too many directions all at once. He wanted to stay in SunnyD and pretend he could forget what had led him up to this point. The need for revenge though, that would always boil under the surface. Hiding from it would be futile. He couldn’t truly live unless he did what he’d sworn he’d do and turn the bastard into dust. Not to save the world, not to prevent more girls from being killed.

Because the world would be a safer place for Buffy to live in.

That thought shocked Spike into standing up and he exhaled past his shuddering lips. Since when did revenge turn into this? What had she done to him? How the fuck had she made him… care?

Right. Time to go. No need to lollygag around, dreaming of things that would never be. He hurried, almost frantically now, as though his worst nightmare was knocking on the door. He packed. He cursed. And he ran down the stairs, refusing to admit that a part of him would probably be tied to this damned place until he died.

Which might be sooner rather than later, probably no more than a few months, he thought with a grim smile. Still, he’d refuse to die easily. He’d fight as dirty as he knew how, go down swinging.

She’d forget about him eventually.

Spike opened the front door and slammed it behind him, trying not to let that thought bother him. He wouldn’t; let himself think that way. He’d do his best to survive the showdown. Come look her up and beg her to give him a chance. Let her kick him in the jewels for leaving without telling her.

His motorbike hidden in the scruffy shed off the side of the house was ready to be revved and get back on the road, and Spike was just about to cut the corner when a voice stopped him in his tracks. Swallowing hard, he dropped the duffle bag to the ground before turning around.

“Spike,” Buffy called out as she swept an unruly strand of hair off her face, cheeks flushed from the cold as she drew nearer. “I’ve been calling you. You didn’t hear me?”

Her mouth pursed in a pout and he had to drag his gaze away, choke the desire to taste her until it was nothing but a faint whisper in his head. “Sorry, was a bit lost in my thoughts. Was there something you wanted?”

Buffy tucked her hands into her coat pockets and frowned. His voice sounded so strange… impassive almost. A word she could hardly associate with the man who had kissed her in the grocery store with enough fire to melt steel. “Is this a bad time because I can—”

“I’m a bit busy,” he said, a muscle in his jaw ticking, the intensity of his gaze searing her own. “You should toddle off home. Get all nice and snuggly in front of the telly.”

“Rather than what? Come and see you? I didn’t know you minded.” What was his problem? He was starting to piss her off.

“I was just leaving,” he said, face turning into a stone mask. But his eyes… it hurt to look into them and she didn’t know why.

“So when are you going to be back? I just wanted to—”

“I don’t know. Doesn’t matter, does it? Whatever you wanted, we can hash out later, yeah?”

Why did she feel like there was something totally obvious glaring her in the face but she couldn’t see it? Why was he pushing her away? “Fine,” she said, her voice conveying the opposite. “If you’re going to act like a poophead, I’ll just go. But before I do, I wasn’t the one asking for forgiveness. That was you. You can’t just jerk me around. One day trying to… to kiss me! A-and then just poof, acting like I have cooties!”

She turned on her heel, cursing his name in her head. Cursing the way he got to her, wriggling under her skin and stirring her emotions. Stupid, mercurial guy.

A sigh and then firm fingers wrapped around her shoulder, forcing her to a stop. She shook him off and turned to face him despite her compulsion to keep walking. She had to see. Had to know if he hurt the way his indifference had hurt her.

“I don’t think you have cooties, all right?” He let out a tremulous breath and dropped his gaze to the ground. “I just don’t know what to say. Never could find the right words, even if my life depended on it.” He lifted his gaze. “I’m leaving.”

The way he said it. So final, a Damocles sword sweeping through the air. “But you’re coming back,” she said. To convince herself, to halt the sudden panic clogging up her throat.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t…” But he did. He had to. Any second now he’d smirk and say he was just going out to buy smokes so she should stop being a silly bint and acting like he was leaving forever.

“Buffy…” His fingers fluttered up to her elbow, falling back like wilting flowers before he could make contact. “I don’t… I might not come back.”

He gazed at her as if expecting something. Was she supposed to leap into his arms and beg him to stay? “You weren’t even going to tell me, were you?” Being stabbed in the gut would have hurt less.

His eyes flickered away.

“Oh,” was all she could say, her feet rooted to the ground. “Go then. Sorry I bothered you.”

“Buffy, stop it. Stop acting like...” He seized her shoulders, his fingers flexing as if he was talking himself out of touching her. “It’s not that I—”

“You don’t need to explain, or make excuses. We’re… we’re not anything.”

“Yes we are!” His grip tightened. “I… care. I tried not to—”

“You tried not to? Why? Is it so horrible to have feelings for me?”

“Don’t you get it?” His hands slid down her arms, bare skin of his hands grazing her knuckles before he stepped away. “Everyone I ever cared about is dead. Is that what you want to happen to you? To end up a worm meat buried six feet under? You’re not the one who’ll have to live with it!”

“You’re acting like I’m already dead. You’re being overdramatic!”

His cheeks flushed with anger as he stared her down, but she didn’t care.

“No. I’m being honest,” he said through clenched teeth. “But it’s not why I’m leaving. It’s not because of you. I got what I came for and I need to… there’s something I need to do.”

It wasn’t about her, but she wasn’t a good enough reason for him to stay. “You say you’re honest but you’re not. You’re hiding everything. You keep telling me that I should steer clear of you but you never say why. What could you possibly have done to—”

“Be careful what you’re asking for,” he said, their noses almost touching but the barrier between them transcended any distance.

“I can handle it.” She could and she could see he knew it as well, yet he seemed to be at war with himself. Perhaps he was the one who couldn’t handle her knowing.

“You want the truth then? Want to know why you should stay away?” His nostrils twitched as he drew in a harsh breath. “Should I give you my rap sheet? Tell you a vampire murdered my family, took my sister and turned her into one of them? How she later took the girl I loved? That girl is now undead because I gave up on her! That chasing after him is the reason I’m leaving? Or should I tell you how I killed, not feeling a twinge of guilt?” He stepped closer, his breath tickling the bridge of her nose. “Oh, and let’s not forget that I was the one who killed your mother.”

There was a part of her that had wondered. That part that she’d shut away and now it burst out, roaring to be heard. She wanted to recoil and couldn’t stop the flinch when he reached out to brush her cheek. He jerked his fingers away and gave her a forced tight-lipped snicker but all she could see was the self-disgust and regret culminating in his eyes.

“Still want me to stay?”

She wanted to yell that she’d never asked him to, but she knew he’d know she was lying. She should say something, anything to break the stifling silence but her mouth was dry, her tongue dipped in lead.

He gave her a sharp nod and she saw tears tremble on his dark lashes before he turned around and walked off. Somehow, seeing him like that, so human and vulnerable was worse than anything else. She wanted to hate him. Only she couldn’t. She had feelings for him, those gut wrenching feelings that had dug in deep and refused to let go.

He’d killed her mother.

Yet with every step away from her it felt as if he was ripping out a part of her heart she hadn’t known she’d put into his hands.

She was beyond screwed.

Still, she refused to watch him walk away, to feel as if she was the one being left. Let him go. See if she cared! She forced her feet to work and hurried away, faster and faster until she was running through the forest, angrily swiping at her eyes to stop the pressure of tears insistent to spill free.

He went off to chase a vampire, to get revenge for something he couldn’t change. How stupid was that? To risk his life for an idea of closure that he’d never get? How many had he killed in pursuit of an eased conscience? A handful? More?

Buffy staggered, images of slipping through the darkness with blood dripping down her fingernails flashing through her mind. Hands, pale, large calloused hands covered in crimson. Pounding heart, frustration mounting as he ransacked the room in the search of...

Clutching at her head, she pushed herself to walk again. The images, they kept popping up. Randomly triggered and she knew it was him she was seeing but she didn’t know why. It had to be related to the dreams and the only person capable of helping her was now gone.

All she wanted to do was sit down and cry, and that made her angry. She didn’t cry. She took matters into her own hands and dealt with things. She wasn’t a damsel in need of saving. There was always a way.

TBC

Chapter 27

The insistent buzzing in Anya’s brain alerted her that her boss was asking her to visit. Well, not asking, more like ordering.

Warm masculine fingers were tracing the dip of her waist, the length of his body brushing against her back almost hesitantly, as if he was reluctant to take what he wanted. As if he sensed her tension.

Anya bit her lip and forced her stiff limbs to move. Away from him.

“Where are you going?” Xander asked, sitting up as well.

He was a man. She lived to use and lose them, sometimes to keep their testicles for a keepsake. When she’d broken them in, she’d never felt the urge to go back and lick them all over again and again. Men were the most unreliable, cheating, selfish species and he was one of them. Only he wasn’t, was he?

“My parents are waiting for me,” she said with a shrug and her tongue almost stammered on the lie. It would have if she hadn’t had centuries of practice. For some reason, she seemed to forget that when he was around and she feared she was starting to get infected by humanity.

“But I thought we could… I don’t know, maybe have some Cheetos and watch morning cartoons?” His brown puppy eyes looked at her accusingly.

Come on, tell him. Tell him it’s over. That he’s a despicable human who isn’t worthy to lick your heels? “How about we meet up later? You can buy me a smoothie.”

“Sure,” he said, acting casual but the pleased eagerness glinting in his eyes was hard to miss.

She knew Xander didn’t have much money and had taken a part-time job so he could afford to take her out. Her gut clenched in an uncomfortable feeling she didn’t recognise but she refused to be bullied into feeling bad at all. If she admitted to being a bit of a heartless bitch and caring about his emotions, she might as well say she loved him. Which was ridiculous because vengeance demons didn’t love. She didn’t.

They traded inane chatter as he watched her get dressed and then pulled her down for one last kiss before letting her go. Her lips still tingled by the time she entered her temporary dwelling and opened the portal to her home dimension.

The shift into a different world hardly registered. When things got done often enough, one could get used to anything. Even an open botanic garden lit up by the 12 planets circling in the sky above.

Snick. Snick.

Her boss, D’Hoffryn, heaved pruning shears higher in his hands and continued trimming the rose bush. “Anyanka. I haven’t seen you in a while. Been busy, I hope.”

She didn’t miss the question in his voice. “Yes. Sunnydale is just ripe for vengeance. Just last week I comforted a housewife whose husband was cheating on her with a postman. I made him—”

“As nice as that is, that’s not why I sent you there.”

“I don’t know who the Potential is.”

D’Hoffryn stopped trimming. “You don’t.”

She barricaded her mind against his mental probing. “No.”

“Well, you’d better go back and find her. You don’t want me to send Hallie, do you? If you can’t get the job done and kill her—”

“I can. You know I’m the best.”

She had just lied to her boss. She had never lied to him before and if he ever found out, it would be her guts he would be trimming with the shears.

“You are. Now go and make me proud.”

The portal behind her zipped open and she crossed over, making her steps confident and deliberately slow to avoid further suspicion.

*******

Spike killed the engine of his DeSoto and got out of the car to light up a cigarette. He knew Joyce would give him hell if he smoked in her house. Rupert wouldn’t mind but Spike knew his wife had Rupert’s balls in a vice and she was the one calling the shots.

A gust of cold wind swatted his cheeks as he stared at the house, exhaling a puff of smoke. He’d left his bike halfway to Cleveland, stopping at a fellow hunter’s place to pick up his black beauty of a car. Not that he wasn’t fond of his bike, but he didn’t much care for getting his arse frozen to the seat. Cleveland did not share Sunnydale’s friendly climate.

He savoured the nicotine flooding his lungs, half-lidded eyes fixed at the front door as his lips massaged the filter. The copies of Valley of the Sun were safely hidden in the inside pocket of his coat, waiting to be decrypted so he could just get on with it.

The front door suddenly swung open and Spike coughed as the smoke got stuck in his throat.

“William?” Joyce called with a frown. “What are you doing out there?”

Getting his breathing under control, he flicked the stub to the ground and ground it with the toe of his boot before striding towards Joyce with a smile. “Came to visit the old man, if that’s all right with you.”

She stepped back and ushered him in. “Of course. I didn’t know you were coming. You should have called. I would have made you that cheesecake that you like so much. Oh God, the house is a mess—”

“Joyce,” he said with a chuckle and closed the door behind him. “Relax. Your house is as lovely as always.”

She cupped his face and searched his face with a critical gaze. “You’ve gotten thinner. Have you been eating properly?”

He gave an embarrassed shrug and stepped away, not too keen on her motherly concern. Even less keen on needing it when he’d tried to keep both her and Rupert at arm’s length ever since Rupert had found him in the alley in London.

Her arms dropped and she gave him a sad smile that made him feel both guilty and slightly annoyed. She knew he didn’t let anyone close.

“Can you make me hot chocolate though?” he asked, knowing that she needed to fuss over him and he should let her because pretending to give in was the only way to escape an even closer scrutiny.

“Of course. With little marshmallows?” She smiled over her shoulder as he followed her into the kitchen.

“Cheers, love.”

He watched her get busy, precise and graceful like a warrior in the field. And she could be. As stubborn and deadly as any hunter he’d ever met. But unlike the lot of them, Joyce had an open heart. She reminded him of Buffy, in some aspects, especially her hard-headed ways. God forbid the two of them should ever meet. Not that they would, he thought, casting his eyes to the ground. He’d made a right mess of things. Wouldn’t be surprised that if he ever saw Buffy again, she wouldn’t even want to talk to him.

“You’ve gotten quiet,” Joyce said, her voice unthreatening but too intent for his peace of mind. She stirred the hot chocolate. “Anything troubling you?”

“Beside the usual, you mean?”

She gave a little snort. “I’ve known you for years, William. And I know you refuse to think of us as your family but that’s what you are to me. I can tell this is something else. This isn’t about Angelus.”

He hopped on the counter, ignoring her reprimanding look. “So, humour me then? What do you think is troubling me, as you so nicely put it?”

“A girl.”

Spike gaped.

“So I’m right then.”

Spike sputtered, shifting on the counter. “N-no. There’s not—”

She lifted her eyebrow.

“Yeah, okay. Maybe,” he admitted petulantly and crossed his arms over his chest. Damn that woman. She always made him fold like a cheap garden chair.

“So who is she? Dish!” The excitement in her voice did nothing to alleviate his tension or the urge to dash as far away from her interrogation as humanly possible.

“Dish?” he asked mockingly instead.

“Yes.” She grinned. “You’re not getting any hot chocolate until you do.”

She turned the stove off and poured the delicious smelling beverage into two mugs with dancing kittens on them. The scent made him salivate and he knew that she knew it. What kind of a woman took advantage of a man’s weakness like that?

She dipped a marshmallow into her cup, blew at it and popped it into her mouth with an exaggerated sigh of bliss.

Bloody hell. He was a weak man. His shoulders dropped in defeat in the face of Joyce’s superb manipulation skills and he started to talk.

*******

The front door clicked open and shut followed by sounds of shuffling and groaning before Rupert lumbered in, briefcase hanging from one arm, three thick tomes balanced in the other. Probably getting back from the university where he taught history.

He stopped in the kitchen doorway and blinked. “Spike?”

He glanced up from his mug miserably, feeling a bit relieved to see the older man. Finally, he would be saved from the stream of questions and Joyce’s meddling. She meant well and was a very sympathetic ear but he’d already told her more than he should have.

“For God’s sake, woman. What did you do to him? He looks as if he’s been beaten up by a pack of Fyarl demons,” Rupert said and dropped his briefcase on the kitchen table.

“Not on the table, honey.”

The briefcase was removed within seconds.

“I didn’t do anything to William. We just talked, that’s all. Love trouble.”

Rupert seemed at a loss, not much into discussing other people’s emotional state. He and Joyce were polar opposites. Spike figured that was why they got along so well.

“I came here to talk to you,” Spike said, standing up, eager to drop the subject of ‘I screwed up and now the girl hates me’. “Need your help with something.”

“Yes, indeed. Shall we go to my study?”

Spike nodded, grateful that he’d be saved from disclosing even more of his non-existent love life. Joyce could give Buffy a run for her money when it came to nosiness.

He followed Rupert to the study and sprawled in a plush leather chair opposite the older man who sat down in a much more refined way, his elbows resting on the mahogany desk between them.

“You didn’t come for Christmas,” Rupert said, watching him from behind his spectacles.

“Straight to the heart of the matter, eh? Think Joyce might have infected you with her lack of diplomacy.”

Rupert pushed his glasses further up his nose, a corner of his mouth twitching. “I dare say it was the other way around. I wasn’t always this…”

“Stuffy?”

“Thank you, William. That’s precisely what I was trying to say.”

The use of his pre-Spike name was a clear sign he’d managed to annoy Rupert. “Well, you know me. I aim to please.”

“Any chance I’ll get an honest answer out of you?”

“About?”

“Christmas. Thought you were too old to keep up the nonsense and—”

“Nonsense?” Spike asked, his spine stiffening. “You know why I never spend the holidays with you. I’d hardly call it a nonsense.”

Rupert heaved a deep sigh, the lines on his face deepening. “It’s been about a decade that—”

“Twelve years,” Spike interrupted with blazing eyes. “And ten years since Dru… so yeah, sorry I can’t quite get over it yet.”

“I’m not asking you to get over it. All I’m asking is that you start to see there is more to life than revenge. That you think before you rush headlong into a suicidal mission. We will get Angelus eventually. We’re gathering resources. Even the Council keeps track of his activities, seeking Potentials to keep them safe. Well, more like checking up on their own interests,” he said bitterly.

Rupert had quit the Council after his slayer had been murdered in Cruciamentum. The Council called it a ritual. Spike called it slaughter. After that, Rupert and a bunch of other freelance demon hunters set up their own organization to fight against evil but he still had connections within the Council to keep track of their activities.

“I’ve got resources of my own,” Spike said in a cold, unyielding voice. “I’m doing this and I’m doing this on my own terms. I’m not waiting for a bunch of old farts to get off their arses to do something about it. Angelus is mine. You and your fellas had better not be standing in my way either, Rupert.”

“Standing in your way?” His palm slapped down on the wooden surface. “I’m trying to help you!”

Spike leaped from the chair, hands splaying on the desk palm-down, his shoulders straining under the weight of his denial. “All I need from you is for you to translate the book.”

Red blotches bloomed on Rupert’s face. “Heaven forbid you’d admit someone might actually care about you, William.”

He didn’t have friends. All he had were colleagues, fellow hunters, acquaintances. Never would he call anyone family or a friend again. Sever all ties, keep the gaping crater of indifference between him and everyone else. “Just translate the book, Rupert. If you don’t, I’ll find someone else who will.”

Rupert collapsed back into his swivel chair, tension draining from his body like air from a burst birthday balloon. “I promised I would help you and I shall, but… you’re going to get yourself killed.”

“Maybe,” he admitted with shrug, pushing himself away from the desk. “But I’ll take him down with me. Isn’t that what you’re all about? The bigger picture? What does one person matter if the sodding world keeps spinning?”

“It does matter.” Rupert took off the glasses, avoiding his gaze. “Bring me the documents.”

With a nod, Spike went to get his coat, feeling a vague satisfaction and even a more disturbing sense of regret. What was there to regret? He’d got Rupert to help him. So what if he denied admitting he saw him and Joyce as more than associates? No. There wasn’t anything to admit because people were expendable and died too fast. It was the way of the world, he thought as he yanked the photocopies out of his coat, hesitating when he encountered Buffy’s locket. After a moment’s hesitation, he slipped it into his jeans’ pocket. He faltered in his step as Joyce looked at him from the kitchen with concern that jostled that soft spot in his heart Buffy had woken.

“Are you staying here for the night? I’ll prepare the guest room for you,” she said, sliding closer towards him.

The words ‘I’ll stay at a motel’ were prepared to leap off his tongue, but instead he said, “All right. Thanks, pet.”

She gave him a nod and he resumed his stride to Rupert’s study, all the while convincing himself it would be easier to assist with the translation when he was nearby. That was the only reason he was staying.

TBC

Chapter 28

The sun was just setting, the last tendrils of light sweeping across the manicured lawns of the mansions littering the Beverly Hills. Angelus loved his luxuries, Eline thought, loved flirting with the bored housewives desperately clinging to their youth, seducing the spoilt girls that thought they had everything. He loved taking it away. In a way, he was like a child. An evil, overgrown child, a center of his own universe who believed nothing could touch him.

“Your head is full of clouds,” Drusilla’s voice drifted as she sank down on the king sized bed next to her, the raven ink of Dru’s hair spilling over the golden sheets.

“And you… have blood on your lips,” Eline said, the pad of her thumb brushing over Dru’s lower lip to wipe away the scarlet smear. “It’s not completely dark outside yet. You haven’t been out have, you?”

“Hmm… stars are always in the sky even if you can’t see them. They’re always there, quiet, so quiet… Waiting their turn.” Her eyes fluttered closed as Eline teased a long strand of hair away from Dru’s cheek.

“Like us?”

“Shh,” Dru whispered and shifted closer. “The church bells are not ready to ring yet.”

Eline sighed, let Dru wrap herself around her smaller body. Yin to her yang, dark hair merging with pale as they embraced. One an adult eternally locked within her thirteen-year-old shell, the other an eternal child in her mind. Discarded toys Angelus couldn’t care less about. And why would he, when he’d already broken them both?

“When?” Eline asked, her voice reverberating with impatience that was never a step too far.

“William bought me a Christmas present. He thought I didn’t know.” She giggled, and Eline frowned over the sudden change of subject. “But I did. He bought it because he knew it was my heart’s desire. Little butterflies… when I would look at it in the shop window they would shimmer, tiny wings fluttering like fairies skewered by a toothpick, struggling to get free. Trapped and beautiful.” Dru’s voice trailed off as she curled her hand against her chest, her eyes deep and dark like a well spilling over with dirty rain.

“Why are you telling me this?” Eline couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy at the mention of her twin brother. Then a pang of regret because they both knew Dru never got to wear the necklace.

“Because if we don’t, we’ll get strung up too. Insides turning out.”

The protest was ready to rise to her lips but Eline held it back, knowing to trust that Dru’s eyes were open to the truths beyond reality.

“The girl is so shiny, don’t you think, sweet Eline? Like a petal trapped between rocks?”

“I don’t care. I just want to snap her neck.” Just to see William hurt, to feel a glimpse of it through him. There was a connection between them, one that he’d never be able to sever. They were joined in blood, two halves of the same mold. When he hurt, she hurt. And it felt better than not feeling anything at all.

“You shan’t. She’s the key to our lock,” Dru said in an insistent voice. “He will never see it coming.”

*******

It had been three weeks since Spike had left and the time had staggered drunkenly from January to February. Buffy wasn’t thinking of him at all. Nope. And she definitely wasn’t avoiding his house for the memories that clung to the walls like sticky molasses. She’d slipped in once. Just to look for her necklace. Even though she didn’t want to wear it ever again, she’d needed to find out whether touching it would stir up some kind of wiggy response she may have not noticed before the whole magic-is-real wackiness ensued.

She’d ransacked the entire living room, even forced herself to go through his bedroom, convincing herself that seeing the thin layer of dust coating the furniture made her feel nothing at all.

It had been for naught anyway.

The necklace was gone.

As she sat on her bed, her fingers hovering over her sketchbook, she wondered why he would have taken it.

God, she hated him. Even gone, the ghost of his presence crouched in her thoughts.

The core of her trembled, like one of those ancient towers tilting off its axis, as she flipped the sketchbook open and scanned the pages again. The face of a girl with dazed, hollow eyes stared back at her. Raven hair curled around the girl’s porcelain cheek, deep cracks running through her flesh as though she was a crumbling statue. The metaphor behind it was a subconscious kind of knowledge. One that Buffy didn’t feel comfortable contemplating in depth.

That horrible, self-centered part of her wanted to feel petty jealousy she had no right to feel in the first place. Yet it was impossible to let that take her over when she had glimpsed those flashes. Had felt the love Spike harbored for this girl as though it were Buffy’s own. She suspected he’d never love anyone the same way again. Not that she’d ever want anything from him. Least of all love. He was gone and she didn’t give a damn.

Gnashing her teeth, Buffy jumped off the bed. The sketchbook tumbled off her lap and to the floor and she pointedly ignored the girl haunting the worn pages. Everything about this was wrong. Her conscience recoiled, insisting she wasn’t supposed to be the voyeur to his existence. She didn’t want to see glimpses of secrets he’d never given her the key to unlock.

Most of the time, she managed to block it out, to build a wall holding the tide back. Yet she’d already seen more than she had any right to. Yet she wondered whether she sometimes didn’t let the stream trickle through deliberately.

She saw the way his family died. The way he longed to say ‘I love you’ to the girl from her sketches but forced himself to choke the words back because he’d been forbidden. The day he’d lost the love of his life.

Buffy kicked the sketchbook under her bed, her chest burning with a myriad of conflicting emotions. No more peeking. No more thinking of him at all.

All of a sudden, the idleness of sitting around made her skin itch as though the walls were closing in on her. In less than five minutes, Buffy bundled up and slipped into her boots before racing down the stairs and out of the house.

*******

Buffy’s knuckles rapped on the smooth mahogany of Anya’s front door. Enough of avoidance. Every time Buffy would try to approach her, Anya would manage to disappear. Buffy was starting to suspect it was on purpose.

The door finally swung open and suddenly she hesitated, unsure of what to say.

“Buffy.”

“That would be me,” she said with a small shrug. “Can I come in?”

Anya glanced over her shoulder, her brows meeting in the middle. “I’m not sur—”

Aware she was being more than rude, Buffy pushed past Anya into the house. Nice décor. Very minimalistic and economical. “You’ve been avoiding me, haven’t you?” Okay, so apparently subtlety was not on the table today.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Anya closed the door and looked so convincing Buffy faltered. Faltered but persisted.

“Yes, you have. Look, I know I reacted badly after… well, you know—”

“Seeing my demon face?”

“Yes.”

“So why are you here anyway? I thought avoiding people was a sign of not wanting to talk to them,” Anya tossed over her shoulder as she made her way deeper into the open space of vast living room furnished in whites and greys. “You can go now.”

“No,” Buffy said, pursing her lips as she followed Anya. Buffy was a dog with a bone and she wasn’t ready to let go. “I just want to talk to you.”

Anya’s gaze flickered to her, her muscles tensing just for a barest second. Finally, she sank down on a white leather sofa with a dramatic sigh. “Well, are you going to stand there and glare at me or are you going to sit down?”

With a flash of a smile, Buffy chose option number two.


*******

“I’m a what now?”

Anya started. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Yes, yes you did! You said—”

“Oh, whore!” Anya burst out, shocking Buffy into silence.

“Um, excuse me?”

“Not you,” followed by impatient cluck of Anya’s tongue. “Me.”

Well, what was she supposed to say to that? “Uh… That doesn’t have to be a bad thing. I mean, it’s not like you’re anti sexual frolicking.” Wait. “I can’t believe I just said sexual frolicking out loud.”

“I didn’t mean it literally,” Anya said. “Although I do think prostitution should be made legal. Then we could tax them.”

Yay. A state where prostitutes ran legitimate businesses and moral quandaries were thrown into the already polluted air. It was probably a good thing the President wasn’t a demon. He wasn’t, was he? “Is our president a demon?”

“Not that I know of. But a lot of his lackeys are.”

Oh, joy. “I regret asking now.”

Anya shrugged.

Was everyone a demon these days? Was she? “So are you going to tell me why you called me a … a Potential? A potential what? Ballerina? Truck driver? Elvis impersonator?” This was making sense that was not. She was just Buffy.

“Well, you’d look good in a black wig—”

“Anya!”

“Fine.” Anya threw her hands up in the air in a show of exasperation. “God, you need to loosen up.”

Buffy looked at her expectantly. “So?”

“So?” Anya blinked. “Oh! I forgot to offer you a customary beverage. Want some coffee? I bought this brilliant little machine that makes the most amazing macchiato—”

“Anya, would you please—” Buffy halted. “Macchiato?”

“Don’t tell me you’ve never had one. It’s delicious. Much better than your regular black coffee.”

“I like black coffee,” Buffy said with a pout then remembered she was supposed to be getting answers instead of fancy shmancy coffee concoctions. “So what about the Poten—”

“I’m going to make the coffee.” Anya rose and hurried into the kitchen, so Buffy jumped up and wandered after her.

“Anya, please, just tell me!”

Anya’s hands stilled on the coffee machine, her shoulders hunched, warding off unwanted truths.

“You know, I shouldn’t have let it slip in the first place.”

“Well, you did and now I want to know. Because this is me being completely clueless. And I hate being the queen of unclue!”

“Maybe we should just forget I told you at all.” She still wouldn’t look at her.

“No. I want the truth. Of all people, I’d have thought I could trust you to be honest with me.”

Anya’s shoulders sagged as though the fight had gone out of her. Although Buffy wanted to let her feelings get in the way and tell Anya she didn’t need to tell her anything more, the need to learn the truth was much stronger.

After a moment of silence, Anya said, “Potential Slayer.”

Huh? “Potential Layer?” That sounded a bit skanky.

Anya snorted and punched the tiny buttons on the machine with skilled precision. “For a virgin, you seem to be really fixated on the sex thing. Not that I blame you.”

Buffy’s cheeks turned crimson.

“But no, I said Slayer with an S.”

“Now everything’s so much clearer!” Buffy said with exaggerated perkiness.

“See? I knew you’d… wait, are you being sarcastic?” Anya spun around, regarding her as the machine gurgled and whined.

“Sorry.” Buffy shrugged. “So, what’s a slayer again?”

*******

“The big ponce is in LA.” Spike strutted into Rupert’s office, earning an irritated sigh from the older man.

“Have you ever heard of knocking?”

Spike sprawled in an opposite chair. “If you were watching porn, you should have put a sock on your doorknob.”

Giles rolled his eyes. “Why would I watch porn? I’ve got a beautiful wife whom I can—”

“Shag six ways to Sunday anytime you wish?” Spike smirked. “You kinky old sod.”

“I was going to say ‘look at’.”

“Sure you were.”

Flustered, Giles pushed the glasses further up his nose. “So, about the necklace you gave me.”

Spike arched his eyebrow but let the abrupt subject change go. Not like he wanted the down low on Rupert and Joyce’s bumping of the uglies. “So, you got any news on that?”

“I haven’t found it in any of my books. I scanned it for residual magic but it just doesn’t work. There isn’t anything. Are you sure it was the trigger for breaking the memory wipe?”

“Well since I believe in coincidences about as much as I believe in vegetarian vamps, I’d say it had something to do with it.”

“All right. I’ll give it another go, but you might be disappointed.”

His gut told him there was something up with that Liz Taylor trinket and so far his gut had led him out of one trouble too many. “That’s all I can ask for, Rupes.”

“Please do refrain from calling me that.” Giles gave him a reprimanding glance that made Spike smirk. “There was another matter I wanted to speak to you about.”

“Yeah?”

“Angelus. Do you have any news?”

Spike’s half-smile slid off like melted wax. “Yeah, the ponce is living it up in LA. Heard he bagged himself another one. He’s getting closer, Giles.”

“I know.” Giles pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m almost finished with the translation. The buggering script is written in a dialect of Canaanite I’m not quite familiar with.”

“Such language.” Spike shook his head in mock disappointment then leaned over in his chair to look Rupert straight in the eyes. “How long do you think it will take? I need to find that weapon.”

“Give me a month.”

Spike gripped the arms of the armchair. “What if we don’t have that long?”

Giles collapsed back into his armchair with a sigh. “I’m doing the best I can.”

“I know,” he acquiesced. “But it might not be good enough.”

TBC

Chapter 29

She was a Potential Slayer. ‘Potential’ being the key word. She tested the words on her tongue as she entered her silent house.

No actual powers or abilities beside heightened instincts. Maybe that’s why she felt so… hunted, every time Spike would invade her personal space. Why she’d felt the instinctive urge to bolt, back when she hadn’t known he was a sucker for sweets and that his hair curled when left unchecked. That kind of spoiled the badass image he was trying to project.

“Huh,” she mumbled. “A Potential. How lame is that?”

Her mind flashed back to the conversation with Anya.

“So there is only one?”

“They say there’s only one in every generation,” Anya had said with a shrug. “Then again, it’s usually more like a handful. The demons go through them like bridezillas go through designer wedding dresses on sale.”

“When you say ‘go through’…”

“Kill, maim, drain, eviscerat—”

“Okay!” Buffy had interrupted with a nervous laugh. “I think I’ve got the visual.”

She should have known Anya wouldn’t be shy about painting the visual in very vivid colours.

“How can one girl protect the entire world? She can’t be everywhere at once.” Buffy had asked, almost to herself, her brows creasing in the middle.

“One gets called where she’s most needed. And no, they can’t protect the entire world, which is why they die so young.”

“You said if one dies, another gets called?” Dread had stirred in her stomach. “One of the Potentials.”

“Yes.”

Buffy had blanched. “C-can I? Get called, that is.”

“No, I don’t think so. You’re too old.”

“Hey! Eighteen here. Hardly in need of adult diapers.” She had said, the tension uncoiling the tightest bit.

“Well, it’s true. They’re usually around fifteen or even younger.”

How could a fifteen-year-old become a saviour of the world? Did people even know or care that there was a child risking her life facing nightmares others only faced in their dreams? That somewhere out there was a girl who was forced to give up her life, discarded and replaced like a cheap carton of milk past its expiration date?

She’d never been more glad that fate had not tapped her on the shoulder in this ruthless game of ‘tag, you’re it’. But what would happen now? Could she really afford to breathe a sigh of relief? “So if I won’t become the Slayer, what does it mean exactly? That I’m a Potential?”

Anya had shifted in her spot on the sofa, the corners around her mouth tightening as she gave Buffy a strained smile. “Nothing. Nothing at all. All you have is a really watered down instinct of a slayer, but that’s all there is.”

There had been something intangible about the way Anya’s eyes darkened, shutters tumbling down to hide… something. Something that had made Buffy swallow nervously, though she didn’t know why. Anya was her friend. Her only friend. If it had been important, she would have told her.

*******

Having to wait for the translation was making Spike even more restless. In the meantime he’d been taking any job he could get his hands on to pay for luxuries such as food and cheap rooms nestled within dingy motels stranded on the side of the road. The alarm clock on his nightstand shuffled from 3:59 am to 4:00 am and he sprawled on the mattress gratefully even though the springs mercilessly stabbed his ribcage.

Shucking off only his duster and over shirt, Spike rolled onto his back, his boot-clad feet dangling off the edge. He was out as soon as he closed his eyes.

For a disorienting second, bright light blinded him and he shielded his eyes to let them adjust.

“Psst,” sounded a giggling voice and Spike turned on his heel to find himself standing in the middle of his kitchen back in London. Back when he’d had a family.

“What? I’m—”

He spotted Eline crouching behind a sofa worn with age and remembered how the plump cushions had swallowed him when he’d watched cartoons early on a weekend morning.

“Look what I found! Isn’t this the weirdest thing?” she whispered. She looked about seven years old.

Spike opened his mouth to answer when he registered she wasn’t speaking to him but to the boy that currently ran straight through him, light brown hair bouncing, his feet clad in footsie pajamas skidding across the polished floor. He’d been like a walking nightmare with that poncey hair-do back then. Good thing he’d managed to tame those curls.

“Fucking great,” Spike muttered. “Bloody Ghost of the past life, is it? Never been a Dickens fan.”

Spike trudged closer to the two children and suddenly he was within William, no longer a bystander as Eline’s blue eyes targeted him with child-like eagerness.

“Where did you find it?” William asked, contemplating the strange item in his twin sister’s hands. Yet Spike knew what it was and inwardly groaned, remembering it now.

“In the bathroom. The cupboard thingy.” She held the narrow white tube by its string, swinging it to and fro.

“I think I’ve seen these on TV,” William piped up, leaning closer with an analysing look as though he was about to dissect a frog.

“Oh, I have too! They say you can ride a horse and ski and stuff!”

“I wonder how it works.” William looked at the tampon as though it held the secrets to the universe or would suddenly mojo them up into skiing down snowy hills.

They were just arguing about who would try it first when their mother came into the living room. Now that had led to a disturbing conversation that Spike remembered to this day. Sure enough, their mother sat them down and explained what the item was used for and how the process would turn Eline into a woman.

“But I don’t want to be a woman. I want to stay a child forever!” She fixed her watery gaze at him, suspicious and sullen. “Why doesn’t William have to get all bloody?”

William blushed and focused on his hands that were folded in his lap.

“It’s just the way it is, honey,” their mother said.

“Well, it’s not fair.”

William felt the urge to comfort her and reached out to touch her hand. Their eyes locked, a conversation passing without the need for words. It always had. They’d had a connection that went deep and now Spike wondered if their mother had ever felt like an outsider looking in.

Eline swatted him on the shoulder, not nearly as hard as William knew she was capable of.

“Boys suck.” She jumped to her feet and stormed off.

Spike blinked and found himself staring at a darkening sky, a drop of rain hitting him on the edge of his cheekbone. The pavement beneath him was cold and hard and his ribs hurt. The image of his surroundings was distorted by the broken lenses of his glasses.

Someone leaned over and took them off his face.

“Are you okay?” Eline’s face came into focus as she helped him sit up and dabbed his bottom lip with a handkerchief. “If I knew, I would have—”

“Would have what?” William said curtly, not angry at her but at himself.

“Come sooner,” she said as though he hadn’t spoken at all. “You need to stand up for yourself. I might not always be here to help.”

“I don’t need you to protect me.”

Eline rolled her eyes and rose to her feet. “Yes, you do, stupid. Who else is going to save your sorry arse if not me?”

She extended her hand and he took it before he remembered he was angry. That had been him. Always dependent on his sister to protect him from big bad bullies. To pick him up after he fell down. Spike wished he’d have been able to return the favour when it had counted.

“What did you do?” he asked with a sigh, knowing she’d understand what he was asking of her.

“I hit Thomas so hard in the head he started to cry.” She pointed at the bag she was holding by one strap and favoured him with a wicked grin. “By the way, you’re welcome. I’ve got those poetry books you asked me to pick up for you. Who knew Keats could pack such a wallop?”

“You’re vicious,” William said, hiding the words ‘thank you’ behind a tight-lipped smile.

“Oh, you have no idea.”

Her face changed suddenly, the demon visage overlapping her humanity and Spike stumbled back in shock, his feet tripping over the edge of the memory and down into the abyss. He was falling back, swallowed by a weightless state that ended all too soon as he crashed to the solid surface with a bone jarring impact.

“It’s a bad word, William,” echoed a haunting voice. “You ought not to use it.”

Spike licked his dry lips, struggling to open his eyes, to get a purchase on the cool, sleek surface of the floor beneath. Marble? His throat felt as if it had been scrubbed raw and the effort to make a sound filled his head with molasses.

“D-Dru?”

A stream of light flooded the dark room, creating an opaque canvas highlighting the shape of her body. “Have you missed me?”

Nodding, he followed her every move as she slipped closer, the white of her silk dress stained with dirt like wings of a fallen angel. Still, her face remained clouded in the darkness.

“I waited for you but you never came.” She embraced herself and gracefully sank to the floor next to him. “I’m so cold now.”

It was her, and the instincts of his past self rushed to the surface like a half-forgotten dream. Swallowing heavily, Spike reached out but his fingertips stopped just shy of making contact with her frailty. He wished he could see her face.

“I didn’t know,” he whispered, his voice rough, as though he hadn’t talked in years. “I would have—”

Her finger silenced his lips, the sensation of a winter breeze stirring a tremor in his gut.

“The timing was all wrong.” Her finger slipped away. “Like picking snowdrops in the summer. You shan’t miss the next party. Bow down when the sun reigns in the sky the longest, stretch those lovely emerald wings. Do you think they’ll melt, William?”

He knew he should be listening, could register concern in her voice, but all he could feel was the crushing weight of guilt for having left her in Angelus’ clutches. He should have known. Somehow. How could he not have known, when he’d loved her?

Drusilla suddenly sprang to her feet, frantically backing away. “No! Not that dirty word.” Her hands shook as she wiped at her stained dress, but the more she did, the more the stains spread. They were dark red now, blood oozing from her palms as she stretched them before her and pleaded, “Help me. I’m all dirty. Dirty. Dirty little girl. Hush hush, love. Gotta keep quiet. You know I love you. My special little girl.”

Her words hurt. Like the knife the mugger twisted in his belly all those years ago. “Dru.” He moved towards her but it was like swimming through honey and he gritted his teeth to make it through.

“Help me be clean again?”

He squeezed his eyes shut to regain his composure and trudged close enough to touch her. His hands closed gently around her forearms, her face a mass of black shadows lifting towards him. “Don’t let your wings melt, Spike,” she said urgently. “He will never—”

Her face transformed, colour and shape flooding in. Buffy’s heart shaped lips parted to finish the sentence. “—see me coming.”

*******

It took him a minute to stir his limbs, to separate reality from the dream. Buffy’s face was an imprinted echo behind his eyelids, rapidly fading away with every blink of his eyes. The exhaustion was rapidly fading as well.

He felt winded. As if he’d just got off one of those rides where half the kids saw their lunch for the second time and lost spare change to gravity. The remaining adrenaline in his blood propelled him across the creaky wooden floor and to the bathroom. He was surprised to see the dried blood on his face reflected on the look-alike’s face in the mirror then remembered he’d forgotten to clean up after the hunt for a Gladdah demon.

Why was it that he had trouble recognising himself nowadays?

The taps whined in protest when he twisted them to the side and cupped his hands under the stream of tepid water. Fucking nightmares. Wished this one would skitter away like the other ones, but for some reason the details were embedded in his noggin.

Should he ask Rupert about them?

Nah.

They were just dreams and dreams never meant anything.

TBC

Chapter 30

Something fishy was going on.

Buffy could barely keep her eyes open and yawned into her pillow before trying to pinpoint the source of her discomfort. It took her a while to realise that yes, it was a school day and no, she had not heard her alarm clock go off.

The stupid thing was broken, stubbornly insisting it was 3:13 am even though the March morning light filtered through her blinds to pave the way for swirling dust. What time was it exactly?

“Hmph,” she whined and buried herself under the duvet for the last blissful second before she dragged herself out of bed. Surely it couldn’t be too late or Dad would have come in yelling and banging about like he was so prone to do.

She tiptoed down the hall to keep the contact of her feet with the chilly floor to the minimum and twisted Hank’s door open. With bleary eyes, she slipped in but hardly registered the door falling shut behind her.

Her bleary eyes promptly widened.

Blinking! God, someone please shut her eyelids for her!

“Ah!” slipped out of her numb mouth as she willed her eyes to block out the traumatising visual of her father doing… “My alarm clock didn’t go off!”

The disheveled adults stared at her in equal horror, her father tumbling out of bed then quickly snatching a pillow to cover parts of him she’d never, ever wanted to see. Parts that had just a few seconds before been stuck in other parts of Ellen and now Buffy was certain she could never have sex without seeing that disgusting visual in her mind. She’d never have sex— period— and she’d die a virgin living somewhere in the woods talking to bears.

“Buffy!”

“Oh my God.”

“Buffy! What are you—”

“I just saw your penis!” He wasn’t supposed to have one! Not a functioning one anyway. How come he didn’t get the memo?

His father’s cheeks turned alarmingly red and Buffy slapped her hand over her mouth since it had apparently been disconnected from her brain.

“W-what are you doing in here? Why didn’t you knock?”

Ellen fidgeted on the bed in obvious discomfort, clutching the sheet to her chest but it was too late. The image of those massive knockers had been burned into Buffy’s mind to haunt her for the rest of her life. Haunted by Hispanic boobs, which surprisingly, were quite firm. And why the hell was she thinking of that right now?

Wow, her life was tragic.

“How was I supposed to know I was to knock? I never knock. You didn’t raise me to be polite!”

She fumbled behind her back for the doorknob and in her panic twisted it with more strength than she intended.

When the doorknob snapped loose and crashed to the floor, Buffy thought she’d probably have to reevaluate the definition of embarrassment because this was reaching entirely new levels of badness.

Three pairs of eyes flew to the fallen doorknob as though it had just started to speak Romanian.

“Oh fuck,” her father said.

“I concur,” Buffy squeaked out, unable to get the visual of her father with Ellen’s ankles around his ears out of her head. “I might need intense therapy after this. Again.”

“Could we talk about this once we get into some clothes?” Ellen offered, probably the most composed out of the three of them.

“I’ll just…” Buffy grimaced and turned her back on the crime scene of nakedness. How had she not heard the grunts and mattress springs whining and… Yeah, this is why she needed a cup of coffee every morning. If she’d had her coffee, she’d have known not to barge in and now she wouldn’t be wishing for someone to bleach her brain clean.

It took a few excruciating minutes before the adults got somewhat decent and Hank wordlessly fixed the doorknob with a screwdriver so they could get out. A tool box in a bedroom? A bit weird, but she wouldn’t complain, considering it would put an end to the increasingly awkward situation.

Then Buffy realised she’d been forced to inhale their sex air and it now probably polluted her lungs. Even therapy wouldn’t help her out after this.

Ellen was lucky enough to escape the heaping awkwardness by walking back to her own house. Meanwhile Buffy sat opposite Hank who looked even more mortified than she felt. Then again, it hadn’t been her genitalia flapping in the air. Also, eww. Stupid brain.

“I’m late to school,” she broke the silence and sipped her coffee.

“School can wait.”

“But your libido apparently can’t,” she muttered then fixed him with accusing eyes. “How come you are allowed to have girls in your room but I can’t?”

“I never said you couldn’t have girls in your room,” he answered with a twitch of his lips. Like he was so funny? He knew very well what she’d meant.

Buffy was about to roll her eyes then thought of a much better way to retaliate and cupped her coffee mug, dropping her gaze to the swirling black liquid with as much seriousness as she could muster. “I’m glad you’re telling me that.”

“Uh… not sure what you mean by that, pumpkin.”

“Well, now that I know I can have girls in my room, I’ll have the wild sex romps with Anya here instead of her house.”

Silence.

Buffy swallowed down her mirth.

“What?” her father yelled, drawing her attention back from the mug. “You had sex?”

One freaked out parent? Check. “A lesbian sex. Anya taught me all kinds of things you wouldn’t believe. Yesterday, we—”

“You’re not a lesbian,” Hank said with a scoff, his eyes slitting. “You’re just pulling my chain.”

“Am I?”

“Yes,” he said but suddenly sounded less sure.

“But what if it’s not about gender at all? What if I just love her for the person she is?”

Hank’s mouth dropped open then snapped closed several times until Buffy couldn’t keep a straight face anymore and started to laugh.

“Y-you should have… seen your… face!” She giggled madly.

“Oh, very funny.” He tried to look stern but couldn’t fool her. The slightest smile he tried to hide betrayed him. He probably wouldn’t be smiling if he knew she’d been halfway to de-virginising territory with… Never mind.

“Ah, Dad,” she said, holding her quaking abdomen as the last thought doused most of her mirth. “Can we just forget what happened this morning?” Well, beside the fact she planned on exploiting that into blackmailing him in the future. Let’s see if he’d begrudge her a katana now.

“I feel like we should discuss this.” Yet he hardly looked certain.

“When did she get here anyway?”

“Uh… she snuck in early this morning.”

“You know, I’m disappointed in you.” Buffy ruefully shook her head. “It’s kind of disrespectful to have your girlfriend sneak in instead of telling her to come in like a normal person.”

It was the first time she’d ever called Ellen his girlfriend and the words felt foreign to her ears. Yet she could see the tension flow out of Hank’s shoulders as he read between the lines. Understood that Buffy wasn’t too mad.

His brows drew together in concern. “Do you think she’s angry with me?”

“Nah.”

“Are you angry with me?”

“Try mortified with the side of ‘Can I please suffer from a temporary memory loss?’ kind of mood.” And she’d know about that one, wouldn’t she? What she didn’t tell him was that strange feeling swarming in her stomach. Jealousy? Frustration?

She didn’t begrudge her dad happiness but she couldn’t help but feel like she was losing him. Like things had changed and would never be the same again.

“I’m sorry.”

Ah he did look it. Suddenly she just wanted to reassure him even though everything wasn’t okay. He didn’t need to know. “It’s fine, Dad. Just please, remember to lock the door next time?”

He laughed briefly and gave an embarrassed nod before rounding the counter to hug her to his side. “I love you.”

Buffy just wished she wasn’t longing to be hugged by someone else. Someone whose name had been banned from her vocabulary.

“Love you too.”

*******

Buffy spotted Anya waiting for her near the school’s entrance and hurried to catch up to her. In the month since they started to talk to each other again, Buffy would often find herself keeping Anya company by staying at her place. It was hard to imagine being alone at such a big house. Although it sounded like fun for a while, Buffy thought that loneliness was inevitable and suspected Anya did as well. Not that she’d ever admit it.

“Anya!”

Her friend turned to the side and waited for her to catch up before Anya pushed herself off the wall where she was leaning and walked out of the school. “There you are. I was afraid you’d got lost in the library.”

“You should be worried,” Buffy said. “All ten of those aisles look the same. It doesn’t take much for me to get all confused.”

Anya patted her shoulder. “Which is why I use Google books.”

Buffy snorted. “You’re ancient. You don’t need books of any kind. You probably know what happened first hand.”

“Very true.” Anya’s eyes gained a faraway look that Buffy knew meant Anya was recalling a gory memory from her past. “The Russian revolution was a profitable time. It was a busy year for vengeance.” She sighed, melancholy tightening the lines around her mouth. “I was such a workaholic back then. All eager and ready to get my hands dirty.”

Buffy knew it was probably in a very literal, bloody sense, so she didn’t prod Anya to elaborate. “Everyone needs a break from time to time. And speaking of a break, can I come with you? Don’t feel like catching Dad’s naked parts again.”

“Of course.” Anya gave her an interested glance. “So, how big?”

“Anya!”

“What? I’m curious.”

Buffy grimaced and shook her head as though the memory could be flung out of her ears. “I’m not telling you. I’m still disturbed.”

Anya looked puzzled. “Sex is a natural thing. Do you feel embarrassed watching people eat?”

“Of course not.”

“Hmm. Interesting. What’s the difference?”

Kicking at a pebble, Buffy wrinkled her nose in thought. “It just is. I think it’s the nakedness and… intimacy.”

“I saw people that enjoyed food in a way that bordered on sin. Still don’t see how it’s different.”

They squabbled all the way to Anya’ house and Buffy salivated when Anya made them macchiato. It was a guilty pleasure Buffy never suspected she’d enjoy. The fact she was regularly cheating on black coffee still inspired random bursts of guilt, but the damn macchiato was too delicious for her not indulge in.

“You should have seen my father’s face when I told him I was having sex with you,” Buffy said as they sat down on the comfy sofa in the living room. She half expected Anya to laugh at the ridiculous idea but wasn’t all that surprised when her friend just shrugged and sipped the bittersweet concoction. Sex and casual usually went hand in hand in Anya’s mind. Although Buffy noticed that for all her talk, Anya remained faithful to Xander. For all her worldliness, emotions were Anya’s unfamiliar territory and often left her perplexed.

“That kiss is still on the table.”

“Oh, the girl smoochies.” Buffy’s cheeks reddened and she hid behind her mug. Yeah, mug. Because Anya considered cups too tiny to contain a sufficient amount of caffeine.

“It’s a very friendly thing to do. I bet it feels nice too, especially since you don’t have stubble. I read girls do it all the time.”

“What kind of magazines do you read?”

Anya put her mug on the table and scooted closer to Buffy. Close enough to make her stomach flip with nerves. “Anya, what are yo—”

Then there were lips on hers. Oh God. There were girl lips on her girl lips and it was… exciting, actually. Soft lips that unhurriedly caressed her own with a faint taste of coffee and raspberry lipstick. Wisps of their long hair tangled and Anya caressed her scarred cheek, but it didn’t matter anymore. A touch upon her desecrated flesh no longer made her cringe away. It was sweet and languid and made her feel closer to Anya though not in a romantic sense. It didn’t change anything. Didn’t feel like kissing him. Like scorching heat. Like being caught in the eye of a summer storm. It wasn’t passion, but it felt good and she was surprised to be a bit disappointed when their swollen lips parted with a final open-mouthed kiss.

“See? As I said.” Anya tucked a strand of Buffy’s hair behind her ear. “Nice.”

“It was,” she admitted and they shared a smile. The awkwardness Buffy had expected to spring up never did and instead they resumed their conversation as though nothing had happened at all. But it had, and somewhere inside she felt connected to her friend on a new level.

A sudden knowledge crept up on her and Buffy realised that she’d come to trust Anya in a way that she’d ever only trusted her father and… him.

*******

Two hours following Buffy’s departure, Anya sat on the floor with her back propped against the sofa and cradled her face in her hands. She was an utter mess. A failure. A deserter betraying her own kind for a girl she was supposed to kill.

D’Hoffryn had been calling her and the echo of it skated down her spine. If she answered, she knew the charade would fall apart. If she didn’t, well… She wasn’t looking forward to the consequences. As giving and pleasant as D’Hoffryn was to his subjects, the coin could flip twice as fast and cast you as a persona non grata in his black beady eyes.

But she did try!

She did.

Every time Buffy came to her house, Anya’s fingers would linger on the small vial filled with deadly poison nestled behind the mugs. Just one flick of her wrist, a few drops was all it would take, and it would be over. Buffy wouldn’t feel a thing. And it shouldn’t even matter because causing pain had never bothered Anya before.

Yet the excuses kept popping up. Buffy would catch her. The timing wasn’t right. She’d do it after they finished playing Monopoly.

And today she’d kissed Buffy. Anya told herself it was no big deal. That it hadn’t deepened the feelings tumbling around inside her stomach. That she didn’t feel a variation of the same thing when she kissed Xander. Now she knew why whores didn’t kiss. Apparently, they had more common sense than she did.

A knock on the front door startled Anya out of her thoughts.

For a moment she contemplated not answering the door. If it was those annoying little Scouts asking money for crappy chocolate bars that stuck to her gums and teeth, she’d show them her demon face.

Maybe Buffy had forgotten something.

Rising to her feet, Anya hurried over to the door and flung it open.

“Anyanka.”

Oh no. No! Not now. “Hallie.”

The visitor gave her an empty smile and invited herself inside.

TBC

Chapter 31

“I see you’ve made yourself at home in this… town.” Hallie sniffed and scanned the living room with a predatory gaze.

Anya said nothing, unwilling to let the other demon see how shaken up she was inside. Not until she managed to get her emotions under wraps.

“Well, you have certainly been here long enough, haven’t you?” Hallie laughed in a way that would seem friendly to anyone who didn’t know better. But Anya did, and the brittle sound made her hackles rise.

“Doing my job, as I’m sure you know.” She strutted past Hallie and sank down on the couch with no intention of offering the other woman a seat.

Hallie’s gaze narrowed as she obviously received the message and sat down with challenge in her eyes. “Aren’t you going to ask me why I’m here?”

“Please. I’m not stupid.” Anya met her gaze, not letting any weakness seep through. “D’Hoffryn must have sent you.”

Hallie sighed and caressed the fabric of the sofa. Everything about her was coiffed. Every hair in its place, spine straight as a preacher’s ruler, her clothes perfectly matched and ironed. Not a crack in her armor and perhaps for the first time, Anya had the urge to destroy that image of cold perfection.

“I used to idolise you. You used to be number one. D’Hoffryn’s favourite girl.” Her nostrils twitched, her cold brown eyes flashing with jealousy. Perhaps the only real emotion Anya had ever seen her show. “But it is a cutthroat world, isn’t it, Anyanka? You told me once that only the best survive. That we do is the only thing that makes this existence worthwhile. What changed?”

Tension filled the room, huddling in the corners, weaving through the space separating them.

“Nothing changed,” Anya replied calmly.

“Really? Then why haven’t you killed the Potential yet? This town is a rat’s hole. The Anyanka I know would have found her and finished the job weeks ago.”

“Something has been blocking my senses. I tried everything but I can’t find her.” She wasn’t lying about the blocking. But the moment she’d touched Buffy’s locket, everything had changed. The magic had been like electrical current that had sent a shockwave through her fingertips. The moment she’d touched it, she realized Buffy had been wearing something that repelled any other magic that would come into contact with it, including Anya’s capacity to ‘sense’ the presence of a Potential. By the time Buffy stopped wearing it, it had been too late. Anya had already started to care. “You think I like being stuck here? They don’t even have Starbucks, not to mention a decent manicure salon.” She raised her fingers and wiggled them. “Look at my cuticles.”

“D’Hoffryn is not pleased,” Hallie said, reminding Anya of a dog eager to please its master, wagging its tail while waiting for a treat.

Anya’s relaxed poise stiffened as the anger began to boil. “Well, he can get his ass down here and do it himself then.”

“Anya!”

“I have never, ever, disappointed him. I have never failed. I’m not going to fail this time either. I just need more time.”

Hallie’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Time is something we don’t have. We need to kill them all before Angelus does. You know we can’t let him use their power. He’s tipping the balance and once he succeeds, you know what’s going to happen.”

She knew. God, did she. And the secret she held hidden was killing her. “Your presence in Sunnydale is not going to make me work faster. You’re just going to get in my way. So, you can go back now and tell D’Hoffryn I’m working on it.”

The corner of Hallie’s lips quirked in a sneer before she rose to her feet. “Very well. I guess this is my cue to leave.”

The pressure in Anya’s chest loosened and she felt as though she could finally breathe easier. “You can use my portal. It’s in the basement.”

“How convenient.”

Anya hummed in agreement and led Hallie down the hall then climbed down the stairs into the basement.

“Any leads on who the Potential may be?” Hallie asked.

Anya never faltered in her stride as she cleared the last step, her heels clicking on the concrete. “No.”

“I’m really sorry, Anya.”

Sorry for wh—

She turned around and gasped as the sharp blade sank into her gut. Clutching at the hand gripping the handle and twisting it further into her body did nothing but sap her strength. Her knees gave out.

“Y-you can’t—”

Hallie traced the line of her throat with a mockery of gentleness. Then she ripped off the necklace hidden underneath Anya’s blouse. The one thing that held her power.

“I can’t believe you thought you could lie to me. That you’d betray us.” Hallie’s face melted into that of her demon. “The stink of the Potential is all over your living room. Faded, but still.” Hallie looked down on her, her dark eyes unforgiving; a hitman preparing to take the last strike. There would be no mercy. The image was starting to blur at the edges. “Since you wanted to protect a human, you’re going to die as one.”

Her lips were so dry, the words trembling in her throat, unable to slide off her tongue. So hard. Why was it so hard to speak? The pain raced through her veins, pulsing in the open wound pouring her life out on the cement floor. The blood felt almost scorching hot as it slithered past her numb fingers fumbling to staunch the flow.

She’d failed. She’d failed and now everyone would suffer. She had to warn… No time.

She was so scared to die.

Pain exploded in her chest as Hallie plunged the dagger into her heart and the world screeched to a halt then dissolved into nothing.

*******

Like the coward he’d sworn he’d never be again, Spike was hiding. Yeah, he could beat up vampires with only a few bruises on his part, but when it came to dealing with women, he ran like a twelve-year-old girl would run from a rabid cat.

It was Joyce and her meddling that kept him from going back to the house after finishing a job an hour before. Her words from earlier in the morning were stuck in his noggin like that horrible pop song blaring from the radio right now. Fucking autotune. People gave sod about real talent these days.

He grimaced and swallowed a mouthful of Guinness then slammed the half empty bottle back on the beaten cherry wood bar top.

Are you in love with her? Buffy? Because it’s okay if you are, William. Everyone needs someone in their life.

What did Joyce know? With her affinity to read Harlequin novels and seeing the best in everyone and yeah, all right, he may have watched those soaps with her last night but that didn’t mean he enjoyed them. Or rooted for the main characters. He was just… keeping her company. Making sure she was safe while Rupert was out meeting with a colleague to help work out a difficult part of the translation.

The words ‘I love you’ had been permanently wiped from his vocabulary. So what if he still thought about Buffy? Or stopped dead in his tracks when a petite girl with long, dirty blonde hair passed him by. And if he woke up to the taste of her lips imprinted on his, that didn’t mean anything at all.

“I’m bloody well not in love with her!” he muttered moodily, earning him a raised eyebrow from the bartender. “Oh, sod off. Can’t a man talk to himself without being stared at?”

The bartender shrugged and wisely turned his attention to a new customer, leaving Spike to scowl in peace.

A clutch purse slid into view to his right as a feminine voice called out to order a rum and coke.

“Why so glum?”

It took him a few seconds to realise she was talking to him, but her voice was teasing rather than reproaching. He considered giving the pretty brunette a cold shoulder right before the resentment bubbled up. He didn’t owe anyone a bloody thing. In fact, he was single. And he hadn’t had a good shag in far too long.

“Well, I’m feeling decidedly less glum now, pet.” He turned on his bar stool and trained his gaze on the bird in a way that made her flutter her eyelashes in a practiced move. “I’m Spike.”

“Kelsey.”

She extended her hand and he took it, caressed her palm with his thumb and grazed her knuckles with his lips.

“Very nice to meet you,” he purred, putting emphasis on ‘very’.

In the next few minutes, he pulled out all his tricks and laid on the charm real thick. Subtle touches and provocative glances were exchanged. Fifteen minutes later, they stumbled out of the bar, frantically stealing kisses in between strides to his car. All the while he tried to drown out the thoughts telling him this felt wrong. That her lips weren’t as sweet as Buffy’s. That her eyes weren’t the right colour or shape and her dyed hair wasn’t nearly as smooth.

“My apartment is a few blocks from here.” The bird gave him directions and it wasn’t long before he had her propped against the elevator wall, moaning as he squeezed her arse. Oh, she was pretty enough. Eager. Was looking for the same thing he was. Just a one night stand. She was everything he should have wanted to make up for seven months of celibacy.

Ping. The elevator opened.

Yet…

He wished she smelled like wild flowers in the spring instead of artificial roses. That her face was free of make-up that would leave stains on his T-shirt. That her eyes held the unguarded awe instead of meaningless lust she’d probably shared with several other blokes.

He just wished she was…

The keys jingled.

Now or never, Spike.

He slammed the brunette against the door to her flat, undid the top button on her faded jeans, pulled down the zipper and slid his hand inside.

“Ungh… yeah!”

Her fake fingernails dug into his upper arms as he pushed two fingers inside and propelled her towards paradise. Still he felt nothing but frustration, Buffy’s accusing eyes making his arousal wither and die.

“Harder,” she said, obviously unconcerned about her neighbours. That was fine with him. Surely if he kept it up long enough, the image of Buffy’s face would wash away.

Jeans around the brunette’s thighs now, he forced her knees apart and manipulated her towards climax. She let out a loud wail and spasmed around his fingers, looking up at him with a half-drunk smile. “Mmm… you’re good.” The door opened. “Want to come in now?”

Yes. Say yes! “Uh… I’ll take a rain check. See you around.”

What the bloody hell…

She gaped at him with her jeans and knickers around her knees as he wiped his hand on his T-shirt and dashed down the emergency stairs.

“Bugger, bugger, bugger…”

What the fuck was wrong with him? He’d had the bird right there on a silver platter, willing and wet and he’d said he’d take a bleeding rain check?

He should have his male membership revoked right about now.

Are you in love with her?

With a growl, he slid into DeSoto, revved up the engine and floored the gas pedal.

Bloody women would be the death of him.

TBC

Chapter 32

All it took was one day.

Within one day, her entire life had twisted around and upside down until she had no idea where the right direction pointed anymore.

“So, where are we going?” Buffy gave Spike a sidelong glance, lulled by the hum of the motor under the hood of his black DeSoto. Her eyes wouldn’t close. Too tired to sleep. Too wired to sleep.

“Someplace safe. Cleveland.”

Safe.

Once, she’d thought Sunnydale was safe. Looks like she’d been proven wrong.

*******

Six Hours Earlier

Spike was exhausted. The headache brewing behind his eyes as a result of a two-hour meeting with Rupert’s friend didn’t help much either. As he passed the sign informing he had just exited Barstow and urging him to ‘come back’, he lifted two of his fingers in a backward peace sign.

Come back, my arse.

With the way he sped down the highway, it didn’t take him too long to find a motel for a bit of shuteye. The parking lot looked fairly empty as he steered his car to the spot nearest to the entrance and turned off the ignition.

For a moment he leaned his head against the window and rubbed his aching forehead. Witches, he thought with disdain, letting the thought of a nap lure him out of the car and get a key from an overly perky middle aged woman at the reception desk.

Buffy’s locket was a constant weight resting comfortably in the inner lining of his coat. Not cursed, the survey said. The only thing the witch could tell him was that it had repellent qualities on magic. Good to know the botched up spell that had caused him and Buffy to lose their memory hadn’t entirely been his fault.

His duster fell on the bed with a soft whoosh. Buttons on his shirt slipped through the holes one by one. He tossed the crimson shirt and the black T-shirt he’d pulled over his head on top of the coat, rolling his head on his shoulders to work out the kinks.

It was when he unbuckled his belt that trepidation started to settle in his stomach. It was still there as he kicked off his boots, rolled down the socks and yanked the jeans down his legs and off before wandering into the bathroom with a knife in his hand. It felt as if someone had poured glue straight down his gullet.

Putting the knife within easy reach just to be on the safe side, Spike stepped into the shower stall, fiddled with the knobs to achieve the right temperature and let the water massage his tense muscles. It would work too, if he could get his mind to shut the hell up.

Snick.

Spike sniffed the shower gel. Not bad. He wondered what gel Buffy used to make her smell so… He shook his head like a drenched dog to lose that thought, rubbing the lather down his torso.

There was a sense of urgency he couldn’t explain. Better call Rupert to make sure everything was all right. Spike was never one to deny his gut instinct. Though come to think of it, he probably shouldn’t be thinking of Rupert while he was soaping up his goods.

He washed his hair quickly, rinsed off and shut off the water. The stray droplets splattered inaudibly against the tiled floor when he climbed out and toweled off.

With a towel around his hips and the sheathed knife hidden underneath the spare pillow, Spike fell into a restless sleep.

He was drowning in darkness again. Or was he in a room flooded with light with a blindfold over his eyes?

A hand caressed his cheek, cool breath tickling the curve of his throat.

“My sweet William. Why must you be so stubborn?”

He blinked though it had no effect on his vision. “Dru?”

“Mmm… silly boy. Not listening. Your ears clamped shut.” Fingers tapped a quick rhythm over his temples.

“Am I dreaming?”

“Are you?” She giggled, a wicked sound filled with vague sense of danger.

“Well… seeing as I parked at a motel, I’d say yes.”

“Perhaps you’ve dreamt that and this is where the truth lies.” Her fingers combed through his damp hair. “There is a time for everything. You must wait your turn to roll the dice.”

He reached out to touch her but only found empty air. “I don’t want to play.”

“I told you.” She hummed a tune he didn’t recognise under her breath. “The king cannot move until the sun reigns in the sky the longest.”

He frowned.

“You need to wake up now. Your queen is in danger.” Her cool, quivering lips brushed his, right before he woke up.

*******

Spike’s knee bobbed up and down rapidly as he stared down at his phone. He felt unsettled. As though someone had pumped his stomach full of acid. It was worse now than it had been before he’d gone to bed.

Your queen is in danger. Why couldn’t he get that out of his head? It couldn’t have been about Buffy. She wasn’t his anything.

All right, just press that button. Where had his rocks gone all of a sudden? Afraid of talking to a bird. Laugh and a half, that was.

You’re not William anymore.

He drew in a shaky breath and pressed ‘call’.

The panic coiled in his gut tightened more and more with each passing ring.

“Come on, come on, pick it up.”

His teeth hurt from all the grinding he’d done in the past five minutes.

“Hello?”

For one cowardly moment, he almost hung up. Funny how he’d never actually expected her to reply. “Uh…”

This was brilliant. You don’t see the girl for over two months and ‘uh’ is all you can come up with? Smooth, Spike. Very smooth. Sure she’ll be charme—

“Look, if you don’t tell me who you are, I’m hanging up.”

“Wait!”

Silence. Suspicious and thick.

“It’s me. Err… I was just—”

“Spike?” Less suspicious but no less confused now.

“Yeah, ‘s me.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

“Why… why are you calling me?”

Wouldn’t she think he’d gone off his rocker if she knew? “How are you? Are you all right?”

There was a tense silence before she laughed. The sound didn’t give him much comfort. It was the kind of laugh that made it clear she wasn’t feeling all that charitable towards him.

“Am I ‘all right’? Are you serious?”

“I just had this—”

“I don’t care what you had. You left. You just… you didn’t say... But you know what? I don’t care. You cut your losses, so now I’m cutting mine.”

“I’m sorry,” he said before she could hang up, the words feeling less foreign and rough than they had the last time.

“Me too,” she whispered so quietly he almost missed it.

He already felt like a right tosser, but he needed her to know, “I never meant to hurt you.”

“You could never hurt me, Spike.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, resisting the urge to yell at her to drop the charade. To stop hiding behind that cold indifference she wasn’t fooling him with. But wouldn’t that be like throwing stones in a glass house? He wanted to tell her he missed her like he hadn’t missed anyone in years, yet the words were stuck in his throat.

“I should go,” she said.

Wait. No. Don’t go. Need to talk to you. Need to hear you, know you’re fine, even if you’re telling me what a useless excuse of a human being I am. “Buffy…”

“Yes?” There was a shuffling sound.

“I…”

Voices. Thud. Then some sort of clanking sound. Then a scream that had the blood in his veins run cold.

“Buffy? Buffy!”

No response.

Her phone went dead.

*******

Ellen had lured Buffy into her house with the promise of freshly cooked lasagna, requesting her help with Hank’s birthday present. Spending time with the woman she’d accidentally seen naked was the last thing Buffy wanted but it would make her dad happy. So here she was, sitting idly by in Ellen’s study, perusing the view of the backyard through the long bay windows.

Light steps roused Buffy from the vigorous zoning out. She twisted around in the armchair to see Ellen hop around as she slid on her heels.

“Oh, Buffy. I’m so sorry! I ran out of mozzarella. I thought for sure I had some left in the fridge. Turns out I don’t. Do you mind if I quickly run to the store to buy some?”

Buffy gave a small shrug. “Nope. I’ll brainstorm the birthday present ideas. Maybe you could go for a big gold necklace to fit the whole middle age crisis.”

Ellen snorted and walked into the study to grab her purse. “Somehow, I don’t see your father wearing douchebag jewelry.”

She would not grin. Nope. “Oh, he has his moments.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Ellen’s red lips stretched in a smile. “I’ll be back in a moment. Do you…” She glanced around as if in search of something then her gaze snapped back to Buffy with a wicked glint. “If you get too bored, you could take a look at my husband’s weapon collection.”

Buffy’s eyes lit up. “Really?” Tone down the enthusiasm, Summers, she berated herself but couldn’t quite follow through.

“Sure.” Ellen rounded the big cherry desk, rummaged through the drawers and fished out a key. “Just promise me you won’t tell Hank.”

“I definitely won’t. He freaks out over everything.” Buffy jumped to her feet, trying hard not to look like a dog that scented its favourite treat. “So where is it?”

Ellen led her out of the study, hips sashaying in the pencil skirt. Buffy imagined herself wearing that outfit and had to stifle a giggle. Wouldn’t that look utterly ridiculous?

They stopped. The key turned in a lock and the door opened to dazzle Buffy with the splendid glory that had been hidden inside.

“So, you’ll be okay here by yourself?”

Had Buffy been in possession of all her faculties at the moment, she’d have scoffed. She was a mature eighteen-year-old. Surely she could handle house sitting for half an hour or so. Instead she nodded, her feet leading her deeper into the room with the walls lined with all kinds of ancient weaponry that had drool collecting in the corner of her mouth. “Uh-huh.”

She shook herself out of the daze and glanced over her shoulder only to find herself alone.

“Okay, talk about zoning out,” she mumbled and spun on her heel again. Slowly this time, drinking everything in. Savoring.

A particular blade caught her eye. There was something about the way sunlight broke off the tiny crimson jewels spiraling across the handle and branching out into the sleek, shimmering double blade. It reminded her of a snake’s tongue. The way two blades branched off the handle, the upper one thicker and longer, the edges jagged and designed to rip apart. A shiver tickled her spine and her fingers stretched out to make contact before she could temper the impulse.

“Oh.” Breath shuddered in her throat as her fingertips grazed the steel that felt almost warm to the touch. Alive. It was like being shaken by an electrical current, only without the pain. It was… power. Energising, crackling-over-her-skin power.

Ring. Ring.

The outside world rushed back in and it took her a while to pull her phone out of her pocket and hit ‘answer’.

Spike.

Her hand dropped from the blade as she tried to gather her thoughts, to still the rioting emotions.

He was the last person she expected to be on the other end. She didn’t think she’d ever see or hear him again. Now that she did, it was like edges of a distant dream turned sharp again. As though he’d never left at all. The bitterness hadn’t dissolved completely, and it transferred into her words. She wondered whether her pretense of indifference was convincing enough, whether it made him feel anything.

He said ‘sorry’. She told herself it held no meaning, told him, “You could never hurt me, Spike.”

No response. Nothing but his breaths whispering into her ear.

“I should go,” she said, secretly wishing things were different. That he would… that he’d just tell her something. Anything to break the tension. How pathetic was it that hearing him again made her realise she’d missed his voice?

“Buffy…”

God, the sound of her name whispered in that voice still had the same quivering effect on her. Her eyes fluttered shut. She dragged in a breath. What was it about him that held so much power over her? That drove a wedge into her composure and shattered it to pieces with a well-chosen word?

“Yes?” Tell me, tell me…

Something behind her shuffled. Probably Ellen coming back from the grocery store. She didn’t want to turn around yet, didn’t want Ellen to glimpse the turmoil written across her face in bold letters. And it would be, because she never quite learned how to hide her emotions so well when it came to him.

“I…”

Steps approached her and Buffy turned around just in time to have the phone knocked out of her hand. A brunette with curly hair and a killer’s smile blinked at her right before she dealt a powerful punch to the side of Buffy’s head.

“So, you’re her.”

“Her?” Buffy repeated, scrambling to her feet only to have the woman kick her in the ribs.

“Anya told me what a special girl you are. She was sent here to kill you, did you know that?”

“Anya? No, Anya would nev—”

The woman’s heel ground into Buffy’s hand as she reached out towards her fallen phone. She screamed in pain and flopped like a fish thrown on the ground.

The woman laughed, bent down to grip Buffy’s hair. “You may ask why I’m here instead of her.” She shrugged. “She had better things to do, and I volunteered.”

No. No. Anya would never betray her. Not the only friend Buffy had ever had. “She’d have done it herself. Go bullshit someone else,” Buffy hissed through her teeth, struggling to get free.

“You think you know her. But you don’t,” the woman mocked. “Anya would never betray her calling. Her kind. Not for a worthless human like you.”

Buffy felt a good chunk of her hair tear out when she jerked her head back to roll away from the woman. It hurt. A lot. But the curved knife the brunette pulled out would hurt much, much more.

Buffy launched herself back as the sharp blade slashed right in front of her face, narrowly escaping gaining more scars. Her fingers curled around the crimson blade mounted on the wall behind her back and the energy of it flooded her being, connected to the root of her to the point where she didn’t know where she began and the blade ended.

“Oh, are you going to fight me now?” The woman tilted her head. “How cute.”

Buffy rose to her feet. “Not as cute as seeing you eat it, Poodle Hair.”

The next seconds passed in a blur, suspended in time where nothing but survival held any meaning. Her muscles stretched, the blood rose to a crescendo in her veins, thumping out a primal rhythm in her ears.

Pain flared up. Fleeting and distant. Not fatal. Just a surface wound, the blood on her forearm welling up lazily to soak into the flannel sleeve. Breathe. In. Out. Kick. Dodge. Slash.

Surging forward, Buffy dropped to the ground and kicked at the brunette’s knees. She buckled, crumpling to the ground like a broken marionette. The knife clattered to the ground and Buffy pounced.

With one hand clamping around the other woman’s wrists to hold her immobile, she held the blade over the brunette’s throat.

“It doesn’t matter if you kill me. Someone else will step up to the plate.”

Buffy pressed the blade down, the red haze ebbing gently away. “Why me?”

“You’re a Potential. We can’t afford to let you live.”

“Tell me why,” Buffy said with a threat in her voice, but it all it did was draw an indulgent look from the woman. As though she was the one holding the upper hand. It pissed Buffy off.

“If Angelus gets to you before we do, he’ll use the power to feed his own, to become indestructible. And if he does… the world’s going to sink into hell. Literally. Humans will die out. The balance will be destroyed. But he won’t stop with that, he’ll want to rule the adjoining dimensions as well and we’re next in line. We can’t let it happen.”

Buffy had never realised that while the immobile woman was talking, she ceased struggling. That Buffy’s own grip had loosened just the slightest bit. But Hallie noticed and she knew just the thing to stun Buffy into letting her go. “I have one more thing to tell you.”

“What is that?”

“It’s your fault Anya is dead. She tried to protect your identity. Now she’s dead like a worthless human.”

Dead. Dead. Dead. Buffy couldn’t shake the words. Couldn’t quiet her scattered thoughts and fervent denial. No, they were lies. All lies. Anya wasn’t—

By the time she registered the demonic smile, it was too late. She was thrown off, her back impacting hard with the floor, stealing her breath. Her fingers clenched around empty air. She’d lost her weapon.

Crawling away, her fingers closed around the bejeweled handle just as the brunette lunged at her. She twisted around quickly, felt the weight crashing on top of her. The brown eyes widened, stunned. Blood rushed down Buffy’s hands.

*******

She didn’t know how long she sat there, staring at the bleeding body. She felt drained. As though someone had pulled the plug inside her. Her muscles wouldn’t work and her eyes refused to stay open. Had she drifted off?

Suddenly someone was shaking her shoulder and she looked up to see Ellen. It all passed far too quickly yet not quickly enough as Ellen tore the necklace from the dead demon’s chest, explaining it was a vengeance demon’s power source. Not Buffy’s fault. It was self-defense. Still it felt wrong to feel the blood dry on her hands, but she stayed silent and helped Ellen clean up the mess even though she felt weak. They buried the body in the backyard.

“How did this happen?” Ellen asked.

“I don’t know. I just… she was just there and…”

“I found the back door open, she must have snuck in. But why?”

Ellen led Buffy into the bathroom, urged her to wash her hands. Buffy watched the water turn pink, swirling down the drain.

“I’m a… Potential.”

Ellen stilled next to her. “Potential slayer?”

Buffy’s gaze whipped to hers. “H-how do you know about slayers?”

“My ex was a watcher. They… train them. It’s a long story.” Her hand squeezed Buffy’s shoulder. “If you’re right, then you’re in danger.”

“You think?” She snorted and felt the sudden urge to cry but swallowed it back. She turned off the water and busied herself with the mechanical task of drying her hands.

“Hank should know about this.”

“No!” She had to leave. Had to put distance between herself and Sunnydale. Couldn’t endanger her dad. Had to find out if Anya… “You can’t tell him. Ever. I’ll take care of this. It’s my mess and I’ll deal with it.”

Ellen’s forehead wrinkled. “Buffy, I’m not sure—”

“You have to promise me!” She clutched at Ellen’s silk sleeve. “You know he’ll want to protect me. He’ll be in danger if I stay and I know that you… love him. You have to help me protect him from getting himself killed because of me. I’d never forgive myself. And I know you wouldn’t either.”

Ellen’s facial expressions changed far too quickly for Buffy to make sense of, but the moment their eyes locked she knew that Ellen would say yes in the end.

Ellen nodded, worry etched into the lines around her mouth.

“What do you want to tell him?”

Buffy steeled her resolve and relayed her plan.

*******

He drove to Sunnydale as if the devil was chasing after him. Breaking speed limits, ignoring stop signs. He cut the driving time in half and still it felt as though that one hour had been the longest in his life.

By the time he parked near Buffy’s house, the panic in his gut had grown into a sticky black hole sucking in reason and rational thinking. He was about to barge in to her house when his cell phone rang. He almost dropped it in his haste to answer, almost sank to the ground in relief when he spotted the caller ID.

“Buffy? Buffy, God, I was scared out of my mind. Wh—”

“Spike,” interrupted a shaky voice, stirring his fears anew. It was by the sheer will that he kept silent long enough to wait for her to continue. “I need your help.”

That was all he needed to hear and five minutes later he parked at the address she gave him, in front of a house he didn’t recognise. He wished he hadn’t chain-smoked all the way here since he’d smell like an ashtray. All those thoughts disappeared the moment she ran up to the car with her shirt covered in blood, an empty looking duffel bag slung over her shoulder.

He’d imagined what it would be like when they met again. He’d imagined her slamming the door in his face or standing there, her arms crossed over her chest, lips thin in her anger. She did neither. She looked up at him, pale and shivering, her eyes trying to convey something her lips wouldn’t form.

“Could you stop by my house? I need a few things.”

“Sure.” He scanned her face, worried. “Then what?”

“Take me somewhere. Anywhere. Just… far away from here.”

He wanted to hug her but didn’t have the courage. Instead he caressed the side of her face quickly, before she could shake off his touch and said, “Hop in then. I know just the place.”

TBC

Chapter 33

They were going to Cleveland. She was. It was on the opposite coast, so it would probably be a four day drive if she counted pit stops and naps since she didn’t have the driving license to switch with Spike on the driving duty.

It was a long way.

It was perfect yet devastating in its uncertainty.

God, what was she doing?

“Are you all right?” Concern was heavy in Spike’s voice though his attention stayed on the road ahead.

She contemplated lying; it was on the tip of her tongue. “No.”

Stupid honesty.

The car slowed to a stop in front of her house. Be strong, Buffy. You’re doing this to protect Dad. He’ll be safer when you’re gone. You’ll figure it out as you go.

A heavy hand fell on top of her hand and squeezed. “Come on then, I’ll help you. You can tell me what kind of trouble you’ve got yourself into, yeah?”

“If I tell you, you might change your mind about helping me.”

“Guess you’ll have to take a chance.”

She got out of the car and for a moment, the world around her swayed.

“Whoa.” A strong grip on her shoulders steadied her. “Buffy…”

“I’m fine.” She stepped away. “Just feel a bit woozy. Haven’t had anything to eat and… too much excitement.”

He fingered the hem of her bloodied shirt. “I can see that.”

The house was empty, thank whatever deity looked after teenage runaways.

“So, are you going to tell me whose blood you have decorating your shirt?”

“It’s not mine.” She rummaged through her closet, tossing random items onto the bed.

“Yeah, I figured, what with you not being dead and all.” He prowled around her room, always on the edge of her vision, making her entire body aware of his every move. “Did you off someone? Is that why you’re making a run for it? Got cops on your tail?”

She carelessly tossed her most practical clothes—which was basically everything-- into a beaten up old suitcase. They would get all wrinkly anyway. “It was self defense.”

Spike halted and got in her direct line of vision. Too close for comfort, with those eyes that saw everything. “You’re not joking.”

“No. I’m a regular Ted Bundy now. Can you look under the bed and hand me the leather bag?”

He did as she asked with a quirk of his eyebrow. “Before I make a joke of handing you your kinky sex toys, could you tell me what happened exactly?”

“There aren’t any…” She blushed, relieved him of the bag and unzipped it for him to see the contents, which was a collection of miscellaneous weaponry.

“Kinkier than I thought.”

“Ha ha,” she said and zipped it closed again. She almost smiled then the memory of what had happened doused any spark of amusement she may have felt. “It was a vengeance demon. I… didn’t have a choice. I didn’t want to do it. I fell and I was holding the b-blade and she fell… and—”

He combed her hair away from her face, effectively stealing the rest of her train of thought. “Then you were right to do it. You survived and that’s what matters. Do you know why she tried to kill you?”

“You’re not running away?”

“Hardly.” His hand dropped. “But why would a vengeance demon—” he mumbled, more to himself than to her.

Still, she answered as best as she could, considering she hadn’t made sense of it all yet. “I’m a Potential. Whatever the hell that means. I don’t even know what to believe anymore. It wasn’t supposed to mean anything. I’m not… different. Just all of a sudden I’m on the most wanted list and I don’t understand why and—”

“I do.” Spike sank on her bed, exhaled a burdened sigh. “I’d never have left if I’d known. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Well, it’s not like I knew! And I don’t need you to protect me or whatever macho crap you’re thinking of right now. I just want you to give me a ride somewhere far, far way from here. That’s all.”

Spike jumped to his feet and got in her face. He really should try to work on the whole ‘not getting into her personal space’ issue.

“If you think I’ll just drop you off and wave goodbye to you, you can bloody well forget it. I’m not leaving you to wander the streets alone!”

“You’re not the boss of me!” She poked him in the sternum. Hard. “And since when do you care?”

His shoulders slumped. “I do care. Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t, would I?”

“Spike, can we just… I need to finish my packing.”

She turned away but he caught her elbow and whirled her around. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

Couldn’t he see how tired she was? “No, I do. I just don’t want to talk about it here. Or now. I need to get going Spike, please.”

He let go of her with a nod, stuck his restless hands into the pockets of his duster. “You’re right. This isn’t the time. Finish your packing. I’ll be outside waiting for you.”

She watched his retreating back then got back to the task at hand, changing out of her bloodied clothes and taking a quick five minute shower. If the suitcase on the bed was the only baggage she carried, life would be rainbows and kittens.

*******

Oh crap.

That was the only coherent thing Buffy could think of as she made it downstairs and heard the front door click.

Dad wasn’t supposed to be at the house! What was he doing home? It was too late to hide, too late to act innocent.

Double crap.

He stopped in the doorway, staring uncomprehendingly at the suitcase like it was an escaped mountain lion chewing on a decimated unicorn. Or something. A few seconds later Ellen dashed in after him. Her eyes locked with Buffy’s in mutual understanding of the ‘up shit creek without a paddle’ situation.

“What is this?” Hank finally broke the silence.

“A suitcase,” Buffy said.

“Are you going somewhere?”

“Dad, I need to tell you something.” Everything depended on her ability to lie now. His life would be in danger if she failed. It wasn’t an option. “I’m leaving.”

“What?” he yelled, his cheeks turning crimson, fast. He shook off Ellen’s hand as she tried to placate him. “No, you’re not. What do you mean you’re leaving?”

“I got this great opportunity. I didn’t tell you but I sent some of my work to some well-known galleries. One of them got back to me... one in Cleveland. They’d like to sign a contract with me. They really like my stuff, Dad. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted, you know that. I just need to go there, stay for a while.”

She couldn’t believe the lies coming out of her mouth. Couldn’t believe how convincing she sounded.

“Were you going to leave without saying anything?”

Ellen jumped in. “No, she told me earlier. She was going to come to the store to tell you. Which is why I tried to keep you from leaving there. You could have missed her, Hank!”

He glanced between the two of them then pointed at Buffy. “You can’t leave. It's too far and... You still haven’t finished high school. You’re just a kid, for God’s sake.”

“I’m eighteen, Dad. I’m as old as you were when you married Mom. And as for high school, it’s not like I’ve got straight A’s. I can get work that I love. I can make my dreams come true if I go. If I fail, I can always repeat this year.”

Buffy could see him falter. “But… how are you going to get there? What about a place to stay? I can give you the bit of money I’ve saved up but it’s not much…”

“I have some savings too. Don’t worry about it. I’ve got everything figured out. And…” This would be the hard part. “Spike will take me. He’s going in that direction. He has a friend there where I could stay until I get money from my paintings.”

Three. Two. On—

“Absolutely not! He’s going to… corrupt you!”

Ellen looped her arm around his waist and whispered something Buffy couldn’t hear then added more loudly, “She’s old enough to make her own decisions. You should at least let her try. And if she gets a broken heart in the process, well, isn’t that part of growing up?”

“She’s not growing up,” Hank denied, far less fervently now. He sounded… sad. “She’s my kid.”

Buffy ran up to him and hugged him with enough force to make him wheeze a laugh. “I always will be. And between the two of us, there will be no corrupting, I promise. We’re just friends.”

He leaned away and tweaked her nose. “You better not lie to me.”

She smiled, weakly. “Please, Dad? I need you to be okay with this.”

“Knowing how stubborn you are, you’d leave even if I said no.” He sighed and pulled her into his arms again, sniffling against her shoulder, which triggered her own tears. “Okay, go. I trust you to be responsible.”

She hugged him as though she’d never see him again, refusing to think that it actually might be true. “I love you.”

He wiped her tears and smiled. “Love you too, pumpkin.”

She hugged Ellen next, whispered ‘thank you’ into her ear and nodded when Ellen answered with ‘take good care of yourself’. Hank helped her get the suitcase loaded into the car with Spike finishing his smoke as he leaned against its side. Fortunately, he kept silent and didn’t ask questions that would betray her lies. He exchanged a few words with her father, but no one got punched in the face, so it went better than she’d suspected it would.

As the leather bench seat creaked when she slid in, she accepted a paper handkerchief Spike held out to her. She blew her nose, feeling pathetic.

“It’s stupid. I’ve never thought I’d miss this place, but I already do.” She waved at her father and Ellen until they disappeared from her view as Spike turned a corner. She let her hand fall into her lap.

“It’s not stupid. And it’s not the place you’re missing. It’s the people.”

“You’re right.” She trained her gaze on the asphalt stretching in front of them. “I lied to him, you know.”

Spike gave her a sidelong glance, silent and listening.

“I told him I got offered a job from a gallery. That they liked my art.” She snorted an empty laugh. “What if I never see him again? What if the last words I said to his face were lies?”

“Hey now.” His eyes turned soft. “You’ll see him again. I won’t let anything happen to you. Told you I wouldn’t let go of you, didn’t I?”

She wanted to protest, tell him she could fight her own battles, but for the moment she let it rest. Let herself feel safe.

“Thank you for coming back.”

“Sure.” The corner of his mouth hinted at a smile. “And who knows? Maybe you weren’t lying at all. A friend of mine is a gallery owner. I have a feeling the two of you will hit it off.”

“Really?”

“I’d bet my car on it, and I love this car.”

She laughed and clutched the balled up handkerchief in her hands. “It’s a pretty old car though.”

“Hey!” He caressed the dashboard. “Don’t listen to the daft blonde, love. You’re not old. You’re a classic.”

“And you’re a weirdo.”

Spike grinned. “You bet your pert arse I am. And no fiddling with the radio,” he said as she stretched out her hand to do just that.

“Anything else I should know?” she asked and sat back.

“If you stain anything inside the car, I’ll have you cleaning it up wearing only tiny bikini.”

Buffy arched her eyebrow. “Why would I need bikini if I’m cleaning the inside?”

Spike shrugged. “It’s a rule. And why I think they’re meant to be broken, the same doesn’t apply to the rules I made up.”

“Ah, I see.” She bit her lip to hide the smile. It occurred to her how Spike could always turn her mood upside down and distract her from being upset. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

He cranked up the volume on the radio and started bellowing along to the Sex Pistols’ Vacant.

Oh boy. Maybe she’d been too hasty.

TBC

Chapter 34

“What do you mean you can’t drive?” Spike turned on his heel with a pack of Skittles in his hand, staring at her as though she said she’d just grown an extra limb.

“It’s not like I haven’t tried. I just really suck at it. Last time I drove, I wrecked Dad’s car. I’ve been pedestrian Buffy ever since.”

“All right, that’s it.” He drew himself to his full height, which wasn’t all that impressive, now that she thought about it. For some reason, he always seemed so imposing and larger than life. It had to be the coat. “I’m teaching you.”

“I don’t think you got the impending death message, which is what will happen if you put me behind the wheel.”

He racked up four more packets of sweets and a muffin while she opted for a healthier sandwich.

“That’s bollocks and you know it.” His face was the very definition of smugness. “Never pegged you to be a scaredy cat.”

“I’m not a scaredy cat.” She pouted. “I just don’t like wheely things. And now you’re bullying me into driving by saying I’m scared. Don’t think I’m not aware of your shady tactics.”

With their purchases, they walked out of the gas station and into the warm night. “Got me there. So, you won’t even try?”

“Fine.” She sighed and bit into her sandwich. Pickles. Yuck! She chucked them onto a napkin with disgust and followed Spike into the car. “I’ll do it, but don’t tell me I didn’t warn you.”

“Hey give me those.” He snatched the pickles and chewed on them with great relish before starting up the engine.

“That’s gross.”

“What are you talking about? Pickles are yummy.”

Why did he have to sound so cute when he said ‘yummy’? “You’d better savour them before you face the horrible death of me driving into a lamp post.”

“Don’t be daft. Everyone can learn how to drive. We’ll just go somewhere a tad more remote.”

******

“Watch out!” Spike gripped the door handle as though his life depended on it. With the way Buffy was drunkenly weaving down the thankfully deserted road, it probably did. “Slow down woman, or you’ll take out those trash cans.”

She glanced down at her feet. “Which one is the brake again?”

Before he could reply, the car lurched forward and while Buffy missed the trash cans, she rammed straight into a mailbox. Good thing nobody was around to witness that bit of accidental vandalism.

“Oops.” Buffy put on the brakes then and looked at him as if she expected him to bite her.

“I’m not letting you drive ever again.”

“It wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“I can say that you’re officially the worst bloody driver I’ve ever met.”

“Now you’re just being mean.” They exited the car to peruse the damage.

As he suspected, the mailbox previously perched on a long wooden post had been obliterated by Buffy’s deadly driving. Sod the mailbox. It was the sight of the front bumper dented in the middle that had his heart sinking.

“Spike, are you okay? You look a little pale.”

He dragged in a breath and slowly let it out. “I’m peachy.”

“I’m really sorry.” Her voice was small and she looked so guilty he couldn’t really be mad at her even if he wanted to.

“No need to be sorry. ‘S nothing a bit of tweaking won’t fix. Besides, I’m the one who put you up for this.”

“But I almost got it, right? The driving stuff?”

“We’ll try again. Somewhere with absolutely no obstacles and definitely no pedestrians.”

Her face fell and they got into the car with him in the driver’s seat this time.

“I’m doomed to take public transport forever, aren’t I?”

“Hey, I’ve never thought I’d be able to do anything but write bloody awful poetry. And now I kick some serious arse.”

“Poetry you say?”

The too curious glimmer in her eyes didn’t bode well for his manly image. “I’m not letting you take a gander at any of it.”

“Does that mean you’re still writing it?”

Oh, bugger. “No.” She gave him that ‘yeah, right’ look that made him feel about two inches tall. “You must be tired and hungry, yeah? I know I’m knackered. How about we stop for a bit of a rest? That all right with you?”

“Sure. Don’t want you falling asleep while driving. Also, I could really use a shower.”

She did have to go and plant the image of her naked soaped up body into his overly imaginative mind, didn’t she? And the water… how it would sluice down her curves, cling to her soft skin. And those delicate hands getting all her nooks and crannies squeaky clean. Yeah…

“Spike?”

“Hmm?”

“You should probably turn here if you don’t want to miss the motel. See? There’s one right over there.” She pointed to the neon sign blinking in the distance.

“Right. Good thinking.”

His neck prickled in awareness at being watched and despite his attention never straying from the road, he could sense her stealing glances. She was bloody distracting. Her legs every time she’d shift in her seat, the sound of her breaths and little worried sighs that would occasionally tumble past her lips. And her scent. The scent of spring and wild flowers blooming in the interior of his car had been driving him off his bird.

The gravel of the parking lot crunched under the tires as he put on the brakes and shut off the engine.

“This feels very surreal,” she said quietly, her expression partially concealed by shadows.

He could relate more than she realised. How many times had his world tilted off its axis only to send him flying into open space with nothing to grab onto? It never got easier. “You’ll learn to roll with the punches. Adapt. ‘S the only thing you can do, really.”

She smiled a little, her eyes doe like. “I guess you’re right.” She straightened up in her seat and pushed the door open. “Let’s get going. Don’t want to sit around all day, do we?”

“Right you are, kitten.”

She started for the briefest moment then disappeared out of the car. Not before he caught the tiniest smile on her face though. A secret one that he suddenly wished to see again and again.

“Cor, the things you do to me,” he muttered, knowing she couldn’t hear as she rounded the car to gather her stuff.

He had a feeling this wouldn’t end well, but he couldn’t seem to care at all.

*******

Meanwhile in Los Angeles

The first thing Eline heard was the barely audible cadence of a lullaby. Soft, gentle tones of a deranged mother singing to her imaginary child. Then came the stench. The dull, colourless stench of death.

Not again.

She pushed the door open and immediately spotted Drusilla as she swayed from side to side in front of a large bay window. With the moonlight spilling over her, she looked like a ghost in her long, white silk dress splattered with blood. A macabre painting roused to life.

“I got a new dollie. Her name is Isabelle,” Drusilla said, cooing at something she cradled in her arms.

With a sigh, Eline approached her, wishing she knew how to put an end to Drusilla’s obsession with having a child.

“You shall be her Godmother and we’ll be a happy family.”

“It’s dead, Dru.” No thrumming heartbeat, not a hint of a breath. The infant lay brokenly in Drusilla’s arms with its neck twisted at an unnatural angle, its sallow skin so thin it seemed as if it would tear at the most delicate of touches.

“She’s just sleeping.” Drusilla smothered the infant’s face to her chest and if it had still been alive, it would certainly have died from suffocation now. “She shall wake up soon enough and we’ll play.”

“Where did you find her?”

Drusilla’s human teeth flashed in an eerie grin. “She whispered to me, told me to rescue her, so I did. See, Eline? She’ll be our little dollie now. Nobody will take her away.”

By the look of Drusilla’s dress, the child’s parents certainly wouldn’t. She always was a messy eater.

“So, what do you want to do with her? Play poker? Have a few shots?”

Drusilla scowled. “This is not a joke. If you don’t wish to be a part of our family, you can leave.”

“No need to be overdramatic.” Eline leaned against Drusilla’s side and pinched the dead infant’s stiff cheek. “See? I’m all over it.”

“She’s a cuddly little thing, isn’t she?”

“Yup.” Which is probably why it ended up dead. Drusilla often forgot her strength. The child had probably been crying and in her attempt to quiet it down, Drusilla had clutched too hard.

The door behind them slammed shut. Neither had noticed him approaching. No one ever did unless he wanted them to.

“What’s that smell?”

They exchanged a worried glance before turning around to face their Sire.

“For fuck’s sake, Dru, I told you not to bring your dinner home. Now the entire house is going to reek of a dead corpse.”

“It’s not a corpse, her name is Isabelle.”

Angelus lifted his eyebrow and sauntered too close for comfort, hovering over them both, a behemoth on the verge of pouncing. Deceptively calm yet filled with malicious intent. “Get rid of it. Now.”

Drusilla’s bottom lip quivered.

Without preamble, Angelus yanked the baby out of her arms and tossed it on the bed. Drusilla screamed and dashed towards it but Angelus gripped her upper arm and shoved her to the floor with a smile on his face.

“Leave her alone,” Eline said, tilting her head back to meet his gaze.

“Want all my attention for yourself, do you?” He caressed her jaw before clamping his fingers hard around her throat. “Been there, done that. Maybe later.”

The hard floor sent pain shuddering up her spine as she was pushed down next to Drusilla.

“Where’s the next one?” he asked Drusilla whose gaze flickered to the dead baby sprawled on the bed. He knelt down and combed his fingers through her glossy hair, turning on his charm to get what he wanted. “You can keep cute little Isabelle if you tell me where the next Potential is.”

Her lids flickered as she reached inside herself to search for the location, to connect to her psychic abilities. She’d once told Eline that it was like flipping through a picture book full of a Potential’s memories until it came to rest on her latest location.

“Yanling, China.”

Angelus pressed a lingering kiss on Drusilla’s lips that left Eline nauseous before whispering, “Daddy loves you.”

Drusilla clutched at his wrist, dazed and reverent. “Grandma is there as well.”

“Mmm, Darla, you say?” He rose to his feet, effortless and graceful. “Yanling it is.”

She watched as Drusilla’s gaze followed his exit and not for the first time Eline feared that the hold he had over Drusilla was too strong. Trying to defy a sire’s direct order was as easy as trying to chew through metal. It was an inherent, deep-seated urge to obey that even Eline couldn’t fight.

Drusilla was fragile. Lost. If push came to shove, what if she wouldn’t be able to finish what they’d started? What if she wouldn’t be willing to betray him? Was sending Angelus to China and into Darla’s cold arms a brilliant plan of distraction or a way to take another step towards the world’s demise?

Looking at Drusilla cuddling the dead baby to her chest, she no longer knew.

*******

Spike rolled over on his back to stare at the ceiling. Sleep wouldn’t come despite the late hour and his tiredness.

“Are you asleep?”

Apparently, he wasn’t the only one.

“Yes,” he said, just to be obnoxious.

“Okay, good.” The sheets rustled. “Do you think demons lie?”

“Do people lie?” he countered, his fingers drumming a beat on his bare stomach.

“Well, yes. Sometimes.”

“There you go then.”

She sighed, and he knew he was hardly being helpful. Against his better judgment, he rolled onto his side to face her even though all he could see was a lump beneath the covers. “What’s this about then? Doing research on demon behaviour?”

The lump shifted and he had a feeling she was facing him as well. “I was just…” Another sigh. “The demon who tried to kill me, she said something. You remember Anya?”

“Never met her but I know the name. A friend of yours, yeah?”

“Yes.”

She fell silent.

“What about her?” he prompted. “Tell me what the trouble is.”

“The demon that attacked me said Anya was dead. That she killed her. I went to Anya’s house straight after and I couldn’t find her. Do you think… do you think she’s…”

The rest of the sentence hung in the air and he wished he knew the right thing to say. That the pleading quality in Buffy’s voice wouldn’t pull at the heartstrings he tried to pretend he didn’t have. “I don’t know,” he answered truthfully. “Demons, they lie sometimes. To get your hackles up, to throw you off or just for fun. It might not mean anything.”

She didn’t reply but he could almost hear her mind going a mile a minute. “There’s no sense worrying. Not until you know for sure.”

“You’re right,” Buffy said, still troubled. Anya wasn’t picking up her phone and Xander hadn’t heard from her either since Buffy had received a worried text from him about an hour ago. That didn’t mean anything, right?

She had to believe it didn’t.

“I’m sorry I left.”

Buffy started a little at the quiet rumble of his voice.

“I should have said goodbye and you’re right to be brassed off. I just thought it would be… easier. And I didn’t know if you’d even care.”

Buffy wondered whether he would have let the regret slip through so fully in the harsh light of day. There were millions of thoughts running through her mind, confessions and feelings that longed to be said out loud. There was something safe and melancholic about the darkness that made secrets slip out more easily.

“You don’t need to apologise. I understand why you left the way you did. Doesn’t mean I had to like it though.”

“Buffy…”

“I do care, you know.”

“You do,” he said, sounding disbelieving. How could he not believe her when she spilled out her guts for him to see, to crush into fine powder?

“Well, I don’t get half naked with people I hate. You’re irritating and smug and a million other things I can’t think of right now. But the point is, if I didn’t care I wouldn’t have stuck around. I wouldn’t have let you do… those things.”

He unsuccessfully tried to smother a chuckle. “Only you can insult me and flatter me in the same sentence.”

She smiled even though he couldn’t see it. “I’m special like that.”

“Yeah, you are,” he said, quietly and somberly. She had a feeling he was saying it to himself rather than to her and she suddenly didn’t know what to do with her hands. “And I’m always up for doing ‘those things’ you mentioned.”

And there he went, always using innuendos to throw her off balance.

She buried her face in the pillow to stifle a groan. How was it possible to want to kill someone and kiss them at the same time? Although if she was honest, the urge to kiss him was just a bit stronger.

It would be a miracle if she got to Cleveland with her heart still intact.

TBC

Chapter 35

Everything felt strange. Misplaced. Like that one time Dad read about feng shui and repositioned furniture in the entire house in a fit of orderly freakiness. She’d stubbed her toe on the coffee table more than once until she’d got used to the new layout.

It took her a while to realise that the strangeness stemmed from the unfamiliar scent of un-homeliness, the too fluffy pillow, the lack of the dreaded morning wake up call from her dad. Right. She wasn’t at home. And she wouldn’t be seeing Dad once she actually managed to peel her eyes open. The strange tickling sensation on her feet distracted her from the stirrings of homesickness. What was that?

Her meager kick provoked a chuckle somewhere near.

“Wake up, kitten.”

“Huh?” God, someone close the blinds. She shut her eyes to force the light out, though the echoes of it still bounced behind her eyelids.

And that weird sensation? That turned out to be one insistent, obnoxious peroxide blonde who had apparently been trying to awaken her by squeezing her toes.

“The sun’s up. We should get a move on.”

She grunted and put a spare pillow over her eyes.

“That’s a no then?”

She dug into his inner thigh since she was too tired to actually kick him. He’d have deserved it too for so rudely making himself comfortable at the foot of her bed and interrupting her rest.

“Hey! Go easy on the goodies.” He clasped her wayward feet more firmly. “Not a morning person, I see. Hmm… I wonder what it takes to get you going,” he drawled in a voice that was far too provocative so early in the morning before her anti-innuendo shields had been fully activated.

His fingertips teased the sole of her foot in an obvious attempt to send her out of the bed shrieking to escape his tickling. Good luck with that. She wasn’t ticklish at all.

Spike huffed in disappointment and she really hoped he’d give up soon because if he kept it up, she’d get tingly in an entirely different way. And that would be wrong because… It just would. Wouldn’t it? She knew she should keep her distance, but for the life of her she couldn’t remember why.

“How are you not ticklish?” The pout in his voice had her biting her lip to stifle a smile. Apparently failing at it when he said, “And now you’re laughing at me. Oh, I’ll show you, thinking I can’t get a reaction out of you. Want to bet I can?”

She snorted.

“Tickling doesn’t work. Check. Now… if I was Buffy’s Achilles heel, where would I be?”

As he mulled it over, his fingers darted beneath the covers to absentmindedly stroke her calves. She really should have worn long pajama pants instead of boxers.

His touch was like warmth from the heart of a fire and she may as well have spent hours standing in a chilly draft for the shiver his gentle stroking sent racing up her spine.

He paused before letting out a dark, deep chuckle. “Ah, I see.”

See? See what? Surely not that tiny shiver she’d hidden so well. Certainly couldn’t be her lack of bra since she was fortunately covered with the duvet. She was on the verge of asking when she realised that would mean giving up the pretense of being asleep. Not that they both weren’t aware she was awake. Still, the charade was hard to give up when he started to massage her toes. Ah, those strong, capable fingers. He could convince the Devil to embark on the path of redemption with a foot massage like that. And the ankle teasing? She could get addicted to that.

“Like that?”

She shook her head.

“Liar.” He dug his thumbs into her sole and boy, did it drain the tension out of her tired feet. She was putty in his hands. Especially when he started to sweep his fingers up the arch of her foot to massage her calves.

“There’s not a chance you’ll get me out of the bed if you keep that up. What a lousy plan.” Damn, he made her forget the whole no talking thing.

“And she talks.”

“Nope. It’s all in your head. I’m still very much asleep.”

“Still, looks like I win the bet. I got a reaction.”

“I never officially agreed to anything.” She bit the inside of her cheek.

“Minx.”

His fingertips tickled the spot behind her knee and it was just, “Guh…”

“Yeah?”

“Nothing! I didn’t say anything.”

“’Course you didn’t.” He touched the back of her knee again, the clever bastard. “The blush on your cheeks and that little shiver tell me all I need to know.”

Stupid traitor-y shivers.

She chucked the pillow at his head, realising far too late that now she had nothing to hide her face behind. Crap. And hello, yummy bare chest bathed in golden morning light. She just may have found appreciation for mornings after all.

“My cheeks are liars too. And that was a shiver of… chilliness.” Her eyes tracked the smooth glide of his hands then shifted from the rippling muscles in his upper arms to his self-assured smirk. Irrationally, she congratulated herself on shaving her legs before going to sleep last night. On the other hand, the Sasquatch legs may have discouraged him from all the touchy-feely that made her want to straddle him and do unspeakable things. Which would be bad. Or was it sinfully good instead? “Don’t stop.”

His eyes burned with wicked intent and something told her not even hairy legs would have deterred him.

“Shall I keep going then?”

She swallowed heavily as his slightly calloused hands glided up to her outer thighs.

“Come on, tell me.”

Just. A little bit. Higher. “Ye—”

Her phone rang.

Never before had she hated technology more.

The warmth of his touch disappeared, leaving her oddly bereft. Spike fell on his back with a sigh as she picked the phone off the nightstand to read the ID before answering the call. She was torn between regret and excitement to hear the familiar voice.

Dad, the champion of best timing ever.

*******

Was he frustrated? You bloody believe he was.

But that wasn’t the worst thing. The worst was the realisation of how much he’d missed touching her, being near her. How he found her tangled hair adorable enough to make him want to grin like a fool. He should have been cursing his blue balls but here he was instead, imagining saying to hell with it all and snuggling up to her under the duvet. Not just to shag her, oh no. To hold her. How sick and twisted was that?

Yeah, he cared. And caring was as far as he’d take that sentiment brewing in his chest.

As he watched her rise from the bed and talk to her father, he remembered the reason she wasn’t at home. The implication of it rested like a heavy stone in his gut.

She was a Potential.

Yeah, that sounded just like him. To be stupid enough to start caring about a girl who was hunted by demons. By Angelus.

This was one hell of a mess.

*******

“You’ve been strangely quiet,” Buffy said and he almost missed it over the rush of his own thoughts, the ruckus of a busy diner.

“Sorry, a bit preoccupied.”

“Well, don’t hurt yourself with all the thinking.” The smile she gave him was sweeter than the maple syrup he was pouring over his pancakes.

“I’m touched that you’re worried about me getting hurt,” he replied, his hand over his chest.

“Of course I am. Which is why you’re going to tell me what’s with the brooding.”

“Brooding?”

She arched her eyebrow expectantly, her lips pursed. For a moment he imagined dripping the syrup over those lips before licking the sticky sweetness off.

“Ah, nothing. Never you mind, kitten.”

“Don’t ‘kitten’ me. I can clearly see something’s bothering you, and this is me not trying to push but it would be nice to be in the know for a change.”

The corners of her lips dropped in a sad little pout she probably wasn’t even aware of and he cursed himself for being such a sucker when it came to her. “I’m worried. About you.”

“Me? Is it because of the whole demon assassin thing?”

“You’re saying that as if it’s no big deal.”

Her lips thinned. “It’s over. I’m alive. She’s not.”

“Come on now, I thought we were being honest. You and I both know it’s far from over. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here, slumming it up at a rundown diner in the middle of nowhere.”

Buffy’s gaze fell to the table separating them, restlessly pushing a French fry into a pool of ketchup. He wished she’d look up at him. “I like it here. The fluorescent lights are flattering to my complexion. And hey, nothing’s too bad if you have French fries all yummy and ready to be eaten.”

The smile on her face was more of a grimace, really. Did she think she’d fool him into believing she wasn’t worried at all? But if that was the way she dealt with it, he wouldn’t be the one to take it away. God knows, his way of dealing wasn’t any better.

“Your pancakes will get cold,” she observed.

“Yeah.” He stared down at the plate and reclaimed the fork. As he ate, he caught Buffy looking at him with an unreadable expression on her face. For a few seconds, their gazes locked before hers darted back to the table again. They continued eating, though the rising tension between them thickened like a fog.

It wasn’t long before Buffy broke the silence.

“Spike?”

He nodded, urging her to continue.

“Do you… You said you knew what being a Potential meant. Do you know what else could be… hunting me down?”

The pancakes he was chewing suddenly tasted like a lump of mud, but he forced himself to swallow before pushing the plate away. “You really want to know?”

She straightened up, staring at him resolutely. “Tell me.”

“I don’t know everything, but there might be a chance another vengeance demon will come after you. But that’s not the worst that could happen.” His throat was dry and he took a sip of water to fix it as much as he did it to earn a few seconds to gather his thoughts. “You know the vamp I’m chasing. The one that… killed my family?”

“Yes?”

“He’s the one that… He’s searching for Potentials. He… kills them in a ritual where he pulls their untapped power into himself. To make him invincible.” He resisted the urge to grab her, to hide her somewhere Angelus would never care to look.

*******

She wouldn’t betray the effect his words had on her. Wouldn’t let him see she knew what Angelus was capable of because she’d lived it through him. “I did okay the last time, didn’t I? I can take care of myself if it comes down to that.”

His hand covered hers, squeezing, as though trying to prevent her from fleeing. “You can’t. Not even a Slayer can or he’d already be dust by now. He’s halfway to being indestructible already with the bloody gem.” At her questioning look, he elaborated. “The Gem of Amara. Prevents him from getting staked or beheaded, allows him to walk in the sun.”

“You think I wouldn’t stand a chance, but what about you?”

“I’m working on it. I’m this close to getting what I need to kill him properly. One of the reasons we’re going to Cleveland.”

She pulled her hands away and folded her arms over her chest. “You think I’m stupid, don’t you? Want to know what I think?”

“Will my ego survive it?” he joked but she didn’t feel like smiling at all.

“I think that you’re planning on ditching me at your friend’s house once we’re there and then you’ll go off alone to chase after the big bad vamp.”

His guilty expression gave him away.

“It’s stupid and reckless! There’s no meaning to it at all. Killing him or getting yourself killed won’t change anything. They’ll still be dead.” Spike’s cheeks were flushed, probably from anger, but she wouldn’t let him interrupt. Not now when she needed to say, “I’m not telling you not to do it. I know I’d feel the same if I were you. But you’re not leaving me there. I’m going with you.”

“You’re bloody well not!”

“I wasn’t asking you. I was telling you. I’ll be in danger anyway, so what does it matt—”

“Have you gone completely carrot top? I’m not bringing you to Angelus on a silver platter!”

People sitting nearby glanced at them, curious and alert, like dogs catching a whiff of a new scent.

She leaned in closer, her voice falling to an urgent whisper. “I can help you. I won’t be a burden, someone you have to look after. I’ll watch your back just as you’ll watch mine, Spike. I’ve been doing martial arts since I was a kid. I’m not some damsel in distress. I don’t want to be hiding somewhere, wishing the problem would go away or hoping someone will solve it for me. If the only way to get my life back is to kick some ass, then sign me up.”

With his elbows planted on the table, Spike hid his face in his palms. When his shoulders started to shake, she feared she’d driven him to tears. Still didn’t mean she’d be taking her words back.

A choked sound escaped him, followed by a chortle. He wasn’t crying at all. He was laughing. Wait. Why the hell was he laughing? There was nothing funny here whatsoever.

“Oh God, I broke you, didn’t I?”

The leather seat of the bench squeaked as he leaned back and giggled. Okay, she was officially scared. “Spike?”

“I j-just…” He rubbed his quaking stomach, his grin so wide it made his cheeks dimple. “I realised… won’t be Angelus who’ll be the death of me. It’ll be you.”

“Still not seeing the funny here.”

“Yeah, neither am I.”

“You know that if you leave me in Cleveland, I’ll go off on my own.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

“You’d better be around then, to make sure I don’t get myself killed or something.”

He sighed, tilted his head. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone so bloody stubborn. As a matter of fact,” his eyes softened, “I’ve never met anyone like you.”

“Good,” she said, ignoring the butterflies taking flight in her stomach. “Now watch me steal your pancakes, Mister.”

She winked and pulled his half full plate towards her, refusing to think of what the future held. Surely the bad guy would lose in the end and everything would be all right.

It had to be.

TBC