A/N. Well, here we go, my second ever fic...I am very excited about this one and am eager to hear feedback. As usual, thanks go to many people, but this beginning to Holly, enigmaticblue, Bloodshedbaby and Passionfish.

Please, enjoy!

Prologue

He was a stupid son of a bitch.

No two bloody ways about it. ‘Just call me Mr. Obvious’. Now that the Bit knows, nothing will stay a secret. “What else does she say about me?” he mimicked in his earlier pathetically hopeful voice. Like it could possibly be anything good!

She hadn’t even noticed. Stood right in front of her, showing off the new threads, and nothing. Not even a blink. No dimming of the disgust.

Bloody bint!

All this effort, and she still didn’t have a clue. But it’s coming, in the little package of the wonder Key. Littler Summers.

Bloody Hell!

Better that it had stayed a secret.

Spike paced, and paced, and paced. His legs stretched angrily with each step as he beat a frustrated path back and forth from his front door. On a whim he stopped, and pulled it open as quietly as his jangled, hyper nerves allowed.

Over the breeze he could hear Dawn’s strident voice. “Oh, like you didn’t notice.”

He groaned and held on to the door, slumping against it in a sudden clarity of disaster.

“He’s so in to you.”

He slid to the floor, silently shouting for Dawn to shut her gob before she spoiled everything. How could the bint shoot him down like that when she had just told him that she appreciated him for talking to her like an adult, instead of the alien that all the Scoobies were? Did she hate him that much that she would set him up against her sister?

Afraid to hear Buffy’s tirade of good versus evil and he was nothing better than the spawn of Satan himself he backed away from the door and sunk against the opposite wall, elbows on knees and head miserably on hands.

“Well, now we’re buggered. Slayer will off you for sure now, you great git.”

Shaking his head, he fumbled over the memories locked forever in his skull. The dream that had brought it all out of hiding, the feelings inappropriate and wrong but still knocking him over the head with their obviousness. He just wanted to crawl back into a tiny hole and cover himself up with earth for another fifty years and save himself for when she was dead and gone and his hope became hopeless.

He could just kick himself for feeling like a little fluffy-haired poofter from 1880, eager to impress a girl with sonnets and hearts, when all he was known for now was fangs and ridges and fists. And trails no rivers of gushing blood. ‘Not anymore’, he valiantly protested. He wasn’t like that anymore. He tried. He did all he could to help her, to keep the bloodlust down, to protect her and her ridiculous friends. To be different. To be someone she could trust. As long as he could fight the monsters by her side, he could do it.

His crush hadn’t yet been explored, but he was eager. He was motivated; struggling, but motivated. He knew he could change. For her. He could do anything, if it meant she would let him just look at her. Not even touch her. Just look without turning her sparky hate-filled greens on him. If she would just let him through her barrier, allow him to be something for her. Allow him to help. Even if she could never love him back, and really he didn’t ever expect her to. But if she could just…try…to have some faith in him, help him a little. Like him a little. He could do it. For someone he loved. He could change. For her.

Chapter One

Buffy felt her jaw lock in a permanent ‘Huh?’

Did Dawn really just tell her that Spike was in love with her?

Every coherent thought and all knowledge of how to conduct further thought processes vacated her mind as she stood stunned in place. Flashing images of five minutes ago reminded her that she wasn’t a vegetable, and instead of letting her usual disgust and dislike banish all Spike focus from her mind, she contemplated.

It was dark when she had finally decided to resort to using Spike as her very own bloodhound. She hadn’t really been concerned that Glory had found her Key; just thought that Dawn had done another runner like the other night when they found her at the hospital. It hadn’t even crossed her mind that the teen might have taken it upon herself to befriend Spike. Though if she took the time, she supposed she could understand why Dawn might feel drawn to him. She had just found out a shocking reality about herself in Spike’s presence and maybe she felt that she was now on the fringe of the group like Spike was. Neither of them human. Or at least not entirely so.

Anyway, find Dawn she had. Sitting cross-legged on Spike’s sarcophagus and listening to scary bedtime stories from the resident monster.

But it was almost cute to see the self-conscious way he had jumped forward to apologise for keeping Dawn there so long; he actually seemed concerned that Joyce and Buffy might have been worried. Then when she had challenged him making him continue his bloodthirsty story he had seemed nervous, perhaps even insecure in the conclusion.

Gave the little girl to a good family, my foot! Buffy almost smiled, but controlled it when she saw Dawn studying her intently.

There was no doubt about it. Spike had seemed gentle, sweet even playful yet with such a load of alarmingly sensual appeal that Buffy now felt the jolt all the way to her pinky toes. An icy shiver brought out the goosebumps on her skin and she allowed herself to give in to the urgent need for denial. Denial in response. But the facts suddenly had gained a clarity that felt a little sickly. Oh God…the nerves, the sweet and gentle way he spoke to her, reassuring her of Dawn’s safety…maybe Dawn was right. Maybe Spike did think he was in love with her. Think. It wasn’t as though vampires really could love. Demons just couldn’t.

Buffy cringed. Without word or sound, she tugged on Dawn’s arm and they meandered, dangerously unfocused, through the cemetery toward Revello Drive.

The cringe was secretly followed up with an inner grin of smugness.

Someone liked her.

Admittedly, the fact that it was an evil, murdering ‘someone’ that liked her was a little disturbing, but beggars couldn’t be choosers, and it was kind of flattering. If she completely dismissed the existence of ridges and fangs, and forgot about the thousands of people he must have slaughtered over the last century and the demented ho bag he’d been devoted to for the same period, then she had a veritable little hottie after her. Who wouldn’t be flattered? In fact, if she herself were a vampire, she’d be panting like a horny teenager for him. In that incarnation he had tons to offer. The kisses they had shared during Willow’s spell were enough to suggest that much to her.

Sure, he was completely different from the guys she had traditionally gone for. He wasn’t big, broad and tall. She didn’t have to strain her neck to talk to him or look into his face. She didn’t feel overwhelmed by his size just by standing near him. And his bleached-white hair didn’t bring back every heartbreaking memory of Angel by association, and the times she had spent immersing herself in him.

In fact, unlike Parker and Riley, there was nothing aesthetic at all about Spike that could remind her of Angel. Only his ancestry could do that, and really, who ever bothered to think of that? Spike hated Angel, and Angel abhorred Spike. Thoughts of the two concurrently was not encouraged. But thinking about the differences just made Buffy call forward the realities.

He was slight of build, though remarkably compact. Strong in that special supernatural way. Blonde beyond the bottle, he looked hot in leather, and possessed the sexiest swagger she had ever seen. The way he fought was amazing like watching art created. Not that she would ever admit to him that she had ever noticed anything positive or a little captivating about him. He had traits that she had never found in another, ones that made her jealous of Drusilla for having them be totally hers his devotion, and care, and undying love. The stupid bat just proved beyond doubt her insanity for dumping him.

Buffy even knew without testing that Spike would be there for her in a fix, even probably without cash…actually, now that she thought about it, he hadn’t asked for any money the other night when they went looking frantically for Dawn. Maybe the asking for money was just a convenient way to mask his satisfaction in helping, as well as giving him a way to finance his existence. Great, even Spike gets paid to help. Unlike her, who still had to rely on an allowance from her mother.

A gush of motherly concern hit them when they entered the house and Buffy felt relieved to have something new to take her mind off her sudden fixation. It would be wrong to even consider that Spike was in love with her.

After allowing Dawn to be swept along for dinner, Buffy decided that the best thing to do would be to ignore it and, even better, him and hope the whole subject got buried by some Big Bad flavour of the month. Not that they needed another one because they so had more than they could cope with in Glory.

Buffy looked across the table at Dawn and it brought the conversation round to her.

“So Buffy, Dawn tells me that you found her at Spike’s?” Joyce was smiling in relief, her daughter found and in no danger, even though she was sharing crypt space with an evil vampire.

Buffy was incredulous.

“Spike was telling her about his murderous past, in gory detail, too, I think. He tried to pretend it was all flowers and puppy dog tales. Innocent my ass.” As she whispered the last sentence under her breath, Buffy continued cutting her food into miniscule proportions, feeling suddenly uncomfortable about the topic of conversation. She looked down at her plate, praying to God that they would move on and leave her out of the talk. The mere mention of Spike made her tummy feel all warm, and that alone made her want to dive out of the room and throw up.

“Spike has been so helpful lately. Maybe we should invite him over for dinner?” Joyce looked at her daughters expectantly and received a high wattage smile from Dawn and a concerned frown from Buffy.

“He’s a vampire, Mom. What would you serve him? Borsht made with blood?”

Her horrified attempts at levity went ignored by Joyce’s humoured giggle.

“I guess I could try that. But Spike does eat food, Buffy. At the very least I know he eats marshmallows in his hot chocolate, and I’d be willing to bet that he would eat other things.”

“Oh, oh…he likes those onion flower things at the Bronze. And spicy Buffalo wings.” Dawn was eager to share Spike’s culinary favourites in encouragement of his inclusion at their dinner.

“See? Perfect. Next time you see him, Buffy, ask him over. Now girls, I’m feeling a little tired. Would you mind clearing the table and cleaning up? I think I might go to bed.”

Buffy looked up, worry shoving her out of her imposed horror-filled image of sharing a table with a vamped out Spike, slurping up spoonfuls of coagulated blood.

“Of course. You go to bed. We’ll take care of everything.”

She watched in concern as Joyce slowly ascended the staircase. The clatter of plates being cleared from the table reminded Buffy of her duty to help, and she became involved in the nightly process of family chores, muttering darkly about bleached vampires that finagled their way into people’s houses where they didn’t belong.

Her earlier excursion out to locate Dawn, and then her exploration of Spike’s possible amorous feelings left her thoroughly exhausted not to mention wigged and so instead of patrolling she decided to head up for an early night in bed. She felt overwhelmingly glad that she had moved back home as she trudged up the stairs and allowed her body to succumb to the weariness that emotional turmoil can produce.

Climbing into her bed after a quick wash and teeth brush, she closed her eyes and willed out all images of consciousness. As she slipped further into sleep, one image stuck. The nervous smile of a fiendish vampire.

Oh Brother.

*********

His figure was cast in dark allure; the roughened bark of the Summers’ tree his coveted hiding spot. The burning tip of his cigarette floated in the air like a spastic drunken firefly, so dark was the night despite the lights lining the street. Watching had become a habit over the past months and he could never surrender to sleep without this nightly vigil. For a moment as it started he always hated her for his weakness.

As her bedroom light announced her retreat to bed, it was all he could do not to climb her tree and perch outside the window, getting the birdseye view of what form of perfection cast those shadows to roam the night. He closed his eyes and imagined holding her image in his inner eye to taunt and eviscerate himself, making his loneliness sink within like the blade of a short sword. He felt the cut, the gutting and the resultant gushing of his blood. His vitality slipping away a little more each night that he had to accept that she would never return his love.

He had known earlier, when the Nibblet had spilled his secret, that Buffy’s stunned silence put the ring of death on any declaration he might have had in the offing. It would take a man with more stones than he possessed to push that one out for her view and consideration.

The light went out and he hung his head in a sudden lapse into self-pity. Why did he always fall for women who could never be there for him the way he wanted to be for them? All his life he had been the romantic fool, falling for strength beyond him. Well, perhaps not so much in Dru, though he knew it was there at her core. But in their way all three had made fun of him. Emasculated him. None of them had allowed him to find his potential and help him grow.

Over a hundred years with Drusilla had certainly taught him a lot; the perfect kill, the perfect Master, the perfect lover. She had taught him to be a wet nurse for her, his emotional and romantic self always succumbing to her petty will, but within the gentle devotion she had inspired in him, Dru had uncovered a core of steel that William never had a clue he could garner. His death may have brought him finally to life, but it was she who had taught him to live. Admittedly Spike had to watch his step around Angelus and Darla, but for those first few years she was his protector, his guide until he could establish his place and defend it with determined hate.

The street was silent now, and he knew that it was hopeless to hang around longer. He set off at a slow walk, making his way almost unwillingly to the nearest demon bar that would let him drink in peace. Usually unable to find it, he decided he may as well just settle for Willy’s. Within a short walk Spike had made it to the alley that housed Willy’s fine establishment.

No words, just lewd gestures had Willy hastily departing with a sealed bottle of scotch and a shot glass. Feeling uncomfortable with his back to the room, Spike turned and located a free booth toward the back and made his way to it.

He couldn’t put his finger on it, but the evening so far had offered a strange sense of looming in the shadows that he had been trying to make sense of all night. An unsteady expectation had him on alert, and though he nursed the numbing liquid from the bottle, he was not eager for it to take him over for the night. As much as he wanted to pass out and stop thinking of Buffy’s intolerant face when she found Dawn in his crypt, he knew that he was bound to only dream fantasies of her instead. And he could do that just as well awake and on his toes. The night definitely was excreting an insidious power that set his teeth on edge. Passing a swift eye over the room, he found nothing to alarm him so turned again to his empty glass.

What should he do?

If he knew the Slayer and he was pretty partial to the belief that he did then she would reply to the Bit’s startling little statement with fierce denial. She would pretend that she never even heard it, and really as far as she knew he didn’t know that Dawn had opened her big mouth on the subject. He ought to crack Dawn’s skull for putting him in the shit like that. So much for thinking she was a friend.

He was back to thinking about what he should do about it. As hopeless as he thought the situation, he was still man enough to want to push it, to make her consider him; look at him as a possiblity at least. Look at him with a little lust just once before she planted her fashionable boot in his balls.

Then again, maybe it was just time to cut his losses and just get the hell out of town. As much as the idea galled him, he could go to Angel, try helping his lot of hopeless. Might at least keep him in blood and smokes, and in time maybe he’d find himself someone who could like him for himself and give Spike hope that he was a little bit loveable.

He felt himself teetering on the brink of something. As the alcohol slowly bled into his system he felt a decision on the tip of his tongue and the hurt started to seep into his heart. He didn’t want to leave; wasn’t sure he could get through a day without seeing her. The shrivelling of his dick every time one of her sarcastic gibes hit home was really a kind of sadistic reassurance, a sign that she thought of him at least in some capacity. He smiled at the imagery, and barked a laugh. She may as well cause everything to shrivel as he was more undead without her than he was when he originally hit this crap town.

On that morbid note Spike hauled his arse out of the seat and staggered on only slightly unsteady feet to the door. He was a little amazed that no one had tried to challenge his right to walk the streets tonight. No demon relative seeking vengeance on the turncoat vampire.

He set out on the path that would take him the longest to get home, completely unprepared to settle in for the night. He heard a train whistle blow in the darkness of the night and felt a strange shiver brush over his skin. Confused he lifted his eyes and looked around, sensing something off but not able to tell definitively what it was.

For a moment he thought he could feel a Sire’s pull, but shook his head knowing that Angel was tucked up nice and safe in his LA bed. And Dru, well, she would be tucked up in some demons bed for sure. That was the way she wanted it now. As gutted as her decision had left him when it happened, he had accepted the pain now and gone beyond it.

Other things caused him pain now. The chip. There was bleedin’ pain if ever there was one! The Slayer. His topsy-turvy existence by her say so was enough to make him want to go on a rampage and cut all the sanctimonious Scoobies off at the knees. But he wouldn’t. Because she loved them.

“Bloody hell, I’m pathetic.”

His pace had stopped to a short stumble forward every minute or so. For some reason he felt a real reluctance to go home, almost like he sensed that this would be his last night in his own bed, and not in a good way.

Some little thing tripped his instincts and his demon growled a warning. Before he could complete his vampiric statement, though, Buffy was in his path.

“H-Hi. Um, watcha doin’?”

He looked at her in shock, his senses slow but eventually he caught on to her speaking to him with a human greeting.

“Er, nothin’?” He phrased it as a question, sure that she would point out that he was indeed doing something and of course it was no bloody good, but she was silent.

Her skin suddenly tinged a subtle shade of pink and he looked at her in wonder.

“Little late for patrol, luv. Gonna be sun-up soon.” His voice was soft, almost affectionate, but her sudden focus on him had him catching the slip, and he visibly hardened his heart to her. His mind was blank as he clawed through it for a topic of conversation, but once again a sense of foreboding gripped him and he took another look around.

“Couldn’t sleep.” She had her head tilted seductively to the side and he had a sudden need to bite his lip hard in the hope of changing the direction of his dirty mind from the constriction of his pants.

“Right then. Let’s get you home now. No baddies left out tonight. All good Slayers should be home and in bed at this time of night.”

He was fascinated by the gulp of her throat when he mentioned bed and his cock began to throb. His confused reaction to her was either through seduction or embarrassment, but this weird tingle he felt announcing danger had him grabbing her elbow and directing her back toward Revello. With an urgency he knew to be correct, he dismissed her behaviour in favour of getting her home and safe.

Even if it meant that he would be that much closer to his own home.

He sighed in defeat but allowed himself to relish the buzzing tingle in his fingers from cupping the bare skin of her elbow, before letting go and curling his reluctant fingers in a fist. It was just to capture her warmth, as well as to restrain himself from grabbing her, shoving her up against a wall and attempting to shag her blind.

Darkness was lightening behind his back as he left her grudgingly alone at her front door. Not a word had been spoken the whole walk back, and though for them the lack of insults was odd, the quiet had been comforting. He hadn’t a clue what she was thinking, and he felt that in itself was a first. But he found himself trying to block out his observation. If she was about to mount a harsh argument as to why they were wrong for each other, then he could wait.

With one final wistful look, he turned and followed the well-known trail to home and prayed that he could sleep without craving the touch of his Slayer. He just wanted to get some dreamless sleep. Bloody hell did he need some rest. The Slayer had him tied up in knots and he felt his sanity slipping through the resultant exhaustion his many fantasies and dreams were causing him.

He bypassed the fridge, the telly and his armchair, choosing to flop down on the hard lid of the sarcophagus and wondered when it was exactly that he decided to settle for such primitive conditions. He’d always had a comfy bed, lived in reasonable style. Why had he done nothing about setting up a decent place to sleep? Downstairs would have been perfect. A chill brought back his earlier conviction that he might be finally at an end for this place, and he was suddenly consumed by panic. Spike hoped it wasn’t his death; just a move to nicer accommodations.

Deciding that he was too tired to worry about it, he surrendered finally to sleep, and mercifully dreamt of nothing.



A/N...gahhh finally I get this out....now tell me what you think? Much different to Taste of Juliet so I'm feeling all insecure!

A/N...before you start reading many thankds must go to Betas Holly, Schehrezade, Passionfish and Bloodshedbaby who all helped me make this chapter something I am kind of proud of. I would love to hear what you all think of it. So review, please.


Chapter Two

The next night

The amused, story-telling voice of her mother startled Buffy when she finally got home. Her investigation of the train for clues had led to nothing but the sight of a number of taped body outlines and she felt weary at the prospect of trying to hunt down leads. As she ventured further down the hall she became aware that her mother was not telling her tales to Dawn, and the buzzing tingle that informed her of a vampire’s presence finally made it through her preoccupied haze and she realised that Spike was here. Here!

Oh God. She paused for the barest shift of time, reflecting on her outfit and had to make a tremendous effort to prevent her fingers from doing a crisis comb through her hair. She closed her eyes briefly in disgust, more so at herself than at Spike, and swallowed hard in resignation. Except for that little pit down deep and almost hidden in her belly that was warming with excitement that she was to see him again.

She had spent the better half of the day fighting herself and her opinion of Spike, trying but not succeeding in finding any way to allow his crush to be acceptable. She couldn’t do it. As fuzzy as the thought of his feelings made her feel, history and memory arose to shout it out. She had been down this road before, with nothing less exceptional than a vampire with a soul, and look where that had gotten her.

No. She had to be out of her mind to even allow a seconds entertainment of a romantic life with Spike. Her friends would go nuts; her mom would freak. It just wasn’t possible. A year ago, even less, he wanted her dead. Just what the hell was he playing at now, making Dawn think he was in love with her?

It was wrong.

On so many levels.

Like Xander said, it couldn’t be real. She shouldn’t take it seriously. She wouldn’t.

Even though he had been waiting specifically for her, Spike still seemed surprised when she finally made it to the kitchen. She had felt every single step down the hallway, and now she felt so tense that she could feel her teeth squeak. Joyce’s story slid to an easy end but with the prospect of a new beginning, and Buffy found herself almost wanting to kiss Spike for interrupting and redirecting the action.

He ushered her away from her family and told her of info he held in regard to the train massacre. Shuffling her feet nervously, she tried to fob him off until finally giving in and collecting her coat and ‘pointy sticks’. With a sickening sense of dread, she followed him to his hunk of junk car and got in.

The trip to their destination did nothing to relieve Buffy’s discomfort. She was jumpy, and she knew it. So did Spike after she nearly dived out the door to prevent his touch as he reached over her to get his hip flask. She actually shrunk back in the seat in embarrassment when she realised his intention. With nothing left to do but wait and listen to his banal singing, she chose to study him and almost reeled in shock.

He looked different. Not so harsh. In fact, a lot of the black was missing. His pants were olive cargos, loose around his strong legs…legs she had always known were strong from his tight jeans. In fact, those jeans had merit. Wonder why he traded them in? The shirts had changed too much more subtle and flattering and with a gasp she conceded that he actually looked really good with the change. Her face flamed when she caught him noticing her stare, and he smiled at her tentatively.

The duster was gone, and her eyes widened in disbelief. Her fear escalated as she did a quick count back and realised that his new look had been going on for a while now. Dread swallowed her breath as she finally accepted that maybe Dawn was right on the money.

Two loser looking vamps strolled into their view and she almost leapt out of the car to get away from what she was starting to understand. Not just understand, but believe. Her confusion over how she felt was digging in and she felt disorientated, and slightly out-of-control. Until anger suddenly gripped her and compounded with her tiredness. She had these vamps pegged from the start: losers and cowards. And the way Spike was trying to communicate with her had her wigged big time.

Sweet and gentle cooperative.

The urgency to get away from him possessed her feet and she nearly ran for the door, only to come to a screaming halt when he pulled it open for her.

Asking him if he considered the time they had just spent together to be a date just flew out of her mouth, and it was way too late to take it back. Without properly preparing herself she had thrust herself into a conversation she both didn’t want and wasn’t prepared to have. Her refusal to allow any form of her past imprint her future allowed her brain to release the vitriolic words that fell from her mouth.

“Are you out of your mind?”

She wanted to put her hands around his throat and squeeze him until his head popped off. Red lightening bolts of terror were shooting through her in a frantic rush and her mouth kept time alarmingly well. While the inside of her head fought a raging battle of flashing red, she fought hard for composure rather than wailing on him with her fists. His comments of feelings, and in the work place, made her hitch her breath in horror, the possibility of his being right too shocking to bear. As she backed away from him, and he continued on a determined path toward her, her heart squeezed violently knowing what was to come. And she couldn’t stop him. But what got her even more was that little hidden part of her that didn’t want to stop this.

His abrupt change in character was what initially put her off-balance. His earlier almost puppy dog eagerness to gain her approval had now stepped aside for the assured vamp she had always dealt with. Oozing sex appeal. But it was mixed with a little shyness she thought, and she just stopped herself from softening.

She couldn’t want this, no matter how good it made her feel; or how special. Spike was no good for her he was no good to any human and the world would be better off without him.

Her derogatory phrases repeated through her mind on a loop, and she took not a second to try to understand why she needed to remind herself of Spike’s evilness. She felt tempted again to violence, though, when he tried to argue her down from her point of view.

At the end of her tether, she threw out her one, damning argument.

“Spike! You’re a vampire.”

She stepped back as he slithered forward a step.

“Angel was a vampire.” His voice reeked with knowledge, with knowing, and confidence that he had shot her argument to useless pieces.

“Angel was good.” She felt desperate, cornered, and she clung to all the old arguments with her life. She was right; she had to believe everything or risk invalidating all her decisions in regards to Angel. There was no room here for Spike to buck the system, to make her question what she had learned. Her experience with Angel was that she could only trust him when he was ensouled. Spike, sans soul, could not be trusted ever. It was a given. He was just playing another trick; it was another scheme to put her off her game. In no way would she let herself wonder why she entrusted her family to him.

His change of tone muddled her perception briefly. His sincerity robbed her of breath and just for one second she was desperate to believe.

“I can be too.” He sounded determined, though hurt. “I’ve changed, Buffy.”

And her walls slammed up in overdrive. This was one she knew. Soulless demons could not change, and she almost laughed at how he almost had her. Her argument came to her fast then and her refusal to accept his claim was almost violent, as was her desperation to just get away from him.

“What? That chip in your head?”

That little nod was a losing effort, for she was determined.

“That’s just holding you back. You’re like a serial killer in prison.”

“Women marry them all the time.” And Buffy scoffed. “But I’m not like that. Something’s happening to me. I can’t stop thinking about you. If that means turning my back on the whole evil thing…”

For one hesitant beat of time she wanted to believe, cling to his words and find truth in his eyes. She almost convinced herself that it was there, but commonsense came to her rescue and she denied it all. She wouldn’t allow him to speak any longer, and with a forceful “You don’t know what you mean…” she was gone, leaving a confused and defeated Spike in her dust.

********

Spike sat in his car, listening morosely to punk music that made him want to dust himself. He had taken a risk tonight, thinking that he had picked up enough signs that she might not hate him so completely and he might be in with a tiny bit of luck.

Well! Buggered again!

He left the vehicle; feeling bereft of all sense and purpose, and wondered again why he put himself through this. He could understand her opposition. It was a big jump. Her trying again with another vampire. But he knew as soon as that whole thing came up about Angel that it was time to admit defeat. She would never entertain the possibility that he could change. As far as she was concerned, all vampires were mindless lumps who couldn’t think for themselves beyond which little sweetmeat was to be drained. Even knowing him all this time had not altered her mistaken perceptions.

Come to think of it, that raised a number of questions. It was Spike’s belief that, other than the souled Angel, it was unlikely that any vampire had really been studied in depth. So why hadn’t the Watcher taken advantage of studying him, noticed the way Spike had been changing, and getting his Slayer to know the truth about vampires? Other than that token effort when he’d first got the chip when Spike had still been deep in denial the Rupert had made no further effort with him. Perhaps if the silly git had done, then he wouldn’t have to go through this stupid fight now. That he could get her to believe he was genuine about wanting to change. If Buffy would just give him a chance.

As he approached his own welcoming crypt he felt the anger and hopelessness escalate. He hated unrequited love. Hated it with a bloody passion. Why did it have to be another woman that couldn’t see the good in him, the potential? He was ready to sacrifice everything he was for her, and she didn’t care. She couldn’t even sit there calmly and contemplate his gift. She was an instrument of good versus evil and she couldn’t even take the time to consider what he was offering.

He entered the crypt and felt himself on the brink of defeated tears. A desperate sniff had him stiffening his back, and the sense of calamity he had searched the meaning of the previous night was upon him. He froze; knowing that it was crunch time and his fears about his continued existence in this place was about to be challenged.

He called out “Who’s there,” but he knew before she even opened her mouth. It had been a while, but how could he ever forget?

“A happy memory. Look who’s come to make everything right again?”

Her soft hypnotic voice curled through him in relief. Finally some comfort, some acceptance; he almost sighed, then felt a strange stirring of guilt. He felt lost in her presence, felt hope. Wanted to seize her with her promises, claim back the night and his person. But the more he tried to remember who he had been the less clear he became of who he now was.

“You’re a killer. Born to slash, and bash…” Her seductive madness curled his hand against her non-existent heart and he thought he felt beats, mad determined beats trying to warn him.

A killer. That was exactly what Buffy refused to let go of. She wouldn’t allow him to show her anything different. The irony here made him want to collapse on the floor in hysteria.

A Killer. He felt afraid and filled with trepidation, but somehow hoped that he could finally again be accepted, be at last allowed to fit in. He was just unsure if it was the right group. But Dru gifted something to him, a chance to move on, to regroup and find himself again. Like she had done the first night of her bite. She offered him a home and a family, even if it was with the heaving bitch Darla. He felt her craving, her desire to regain her family, and he knew that she was just searching as well. She also wanted to belong.

How had they all cocked it up so badly? They had been strong a force to be reckoned with and then one stupid flash of conscience had their happy family splintered forevermore. Down deep, though, he thought he wanted Angelus back as well. The certainty of identity then was simple. No one questioned who and what he was. Particularly not himself.

With a determined growl he accepted what the Slayer professed him to be true and followed his dark Princess to where the test of night would come.

Back in black they did nothing less than glide into the Bronze. Spike resplendent in costume placed his arms once again around the one who had been his existence for over a hundred years, and waited. His patience was almost desperation as it suddenly hit him what they were here to do. It had been so long since he had tasted warm, living blood, and he felt fear tinge his experience.

As he followed Dru up the stairs to the balcony and caught her offering, he breathed deeply. He struggled to call up the animosity that would bring forth his feeding fangs, and hesitated. Even with knowing that this is how he fed, that this was how Dru expected him to feed, the twinge of regret he felt in his gut when he caught the girl wouldn’t leave. It twisted and churned until he felt tears well up in his eyes and he knew it was too late. The girl was dead, and he had something to prove. With spiteful determination he brought forward his demon and tore at her throat.

Her blood tasted like poison.

*********

Buffy felt like kicking Willow’s tush all the way to the cemetery and back again. She didn’t need this. She didn’t want to risk any more declarations from Spike, and she didn’t think she could make her disgust any clearer. So why she was heading back there to talk some more was beyond her. Or at least it was until that traitorous little voice piped up and suggested that she actually liked looking at Spike.

She stopped dead. Oh. My. God.

Nerves rioted in her stomach and she quickly made it to a bush where she was able to dry wretch in glorious private.

On the bright side, she hadn’t given Glory a thought all day!

She groaned as she realised that stupid Spike had taken over her entire day with this stupid crush, and she so couldn’t afford to let it go on any longer. That was why she was going to his crypt. To end it once and for all. Yep, that was the reason. And she’d keep telling herself that for as long as she needed to believe it.

Of course, when she got there, he wasn’t home. Her renewed sense of purpose wouldn’t let her give in and sneak off back home so she decided exploring would take up some time while she waited. Finding an entrance to the lower level, she pushed the slab aside and slowly descended the ladder. She was so used to Spike’s morbid personality that she didn’t even flinch at his collection of skulls and coffins littered around untidily. He did, after all, live in a crypt.

She withdrew the lighted sconce and ventured further into the cavern stopping with a feeling of apprehension before a draped shroud. Unmindful of poking around in Spike’s belongings, she drew the sheet aside and gasped. With a sharp intake of breath, she located her missing sweater and vowed silently to apologise to Dawn later. The pictures scared her: photos, drawings…was that her underwear? Refusing to think, she turned tail and ran back to the ladder. Her distressed preoccupation distracted her from taking notice of her spidersense so much so that, when she reached the top again, she was surprised to be confronted by Spike.

Still stunned by the disturbing display below, the blood trickling from the corner of Spike’s mouth refused to register the way it should have. Her stuttered questioning left her unprepared, unfocused and unprotected. And God, why did she feel so hurt? It made no sense, and it left her completely vulnerable.

The sound of Drusilla’s amused voice was followed by the immediate shock of a tazer, which overwhelmed her instincts, and she succumbed. A second shock and she was out.

*********

Spike thought he would feel some measure of satisfaction when Buffy was caught. He allowed Dru the honour knowing he wouldn’t remain standing if he tried but as she collapsed, looking at him with dawning horror and fear on her face, his resolve wavered. He took the tazer from Dru and shocked her out. He seemed better able to handle the look of betrayal from the woman he had loved for over a century. Spike picked up Drusilla and took her below, restraining her with his chains.

The bitch had done it to him again. Appeared when he thought he had it all figured out, had himself all sorted. She had rejected him disdainfully and he accepted that his love was hopeless. He had asked for help to change and been kicked in the teeth. Dru had tried tonight to reverse it all, rid him of his shaky confidence and restore him as the vampire he was always feared to be. One look at her golden lovely face and he was back in Misery Town.

Gently he lifted his Slayer and positioned her in his armchair, steadily restraining her with ropes so that she couldn’t easily escape him. He’d make her listen to him or be damned!

As Buffy regained consciousness she directed a hard stare his way. Her eyes were wide and flinty, hurt and devastated that he had done this to her. But equally furious. He knew that it was a long shot, that she didn’t trust him enough for this method to really work. But he had almost finished with the pity ditty for the night. He knew she would never allow him a place alongside her. She wouldn’t let him help protect her, the Nibblet or her mother.

The unveiling of his feelings would have her forever on guard against him. Isolating him again. And it bloody hurt that she didn’t trust him. He knew that he had given her little reason to in the past, but he felt that if she had just taken the time to recognise a little bit of something good in him then she would see it, that he could do it.

For her.

He didn’t speak immediately, wanting to postpone the inevitable for as long as possible. He knew that the moment he opened his mouth that she would try to shout him down. It had been said already tonight or at least implied but she had been hiding so far within her Angel barriers that she hadn’t truly heard him. To him, it was important that she knew. Whether she accepted was another thing, but he had to make this effort now in case he never had another chance.

“I love you.”

He panicked as soon as her lips separated and she attempted to speak, her anger obvious in the curl of her bottom lip. He slapped a hand over her mouth in desperation and was glad for his foresight in tying her legs as well, when kneeling put his manly package in line with her feet.

“I love you. You’re all I bloody think about. Dream about. You’re in my gut, in my throat. I’m drowning in you, Summers. I’m drowning in you.” For a second he felt hope when he saw the wonder in her eyes, the short seconds of ‘maybe’ that shone in the jewel green. He knew she wanted to argue, to shoot him down, but he’d already had enough of that. Desperate to get it all out while he could, he continued. “You can’t tell me there isn’t anything there between you and me. I know you feel something…”

He dropped his head for a moment, too afraid to look at her, too unwilling to see her hatred, her unacceptance. When he again raised his eyes to hers they were filled with tears, struggling to not escape and destroy his reputation further. Carefully he removed his palm from across her mouth but replaced a finger to stop her speech when she looked ready to let fly.

“I know you hate me. That you think you will never love me. You were right. Angel does have a soul. He was forced to be good, and it took him a century before he still made that choice. But I had the will. I think you broke it tonight.” He smiled sadly at her and his chest ached. “I know you hate me. I know you think I’m delusional. This thing between us? It’s wrong. I know it. I’m not a complete idiot. But around you, I feel different. Like things are possible. But you don’t want to help me and I don’t know what else to do. I can’t stay here and see your disgust every time you look at me, or use me for help and think I only want the money. It’s time for me to go, Buffy.”

And finally the tears broke free, miserable streaks that ran down his cheeks, and for a few stunned moments he was unable to speak. He watched her face frozen in shock, and something else he was unable to see clearly through the blur of his eyes.

He leaned in closer to her face, his lips resting a whisper away from the corner of her mouth, his eyes squeezed shut in his deepest hurt.

“I will always come back if you need me. If things get bad with that Glory bint, or you need help to hide Nibblet, or, just…anything. I’ll be there for you. I’ll be in LA. Angelus should be able to find me.” He paused again before he gave her the last shred of his hope. “I’m not going to look for ways to get the chip out. So, I’ll stay safe for you. Don’t ever be afraid of me. I’ll never hurt you. Not interested in killin’ Slayers anymore.” The husky scratch of his voice ceased, almost fully consumed with emotion, sorrow making his heart black and bleeding.

His eyes still closed, he moved slightly to brush his lips over hers, sucking gently and surprisingly without opposition on her top lip. The kiss only lasted for mere seconds, but it blew his mind. He sunk into a depressive state, grieving that he would not see her each day; her smile, her hair, her eyes and her skin.

She was lost to him and he just didn’t have the strength to fight a losing battle. He was tired of women not wanting him.

All the purpose he had reclaimed earlier had dissipated on the winds of uncertainty, and even though he had a feeling his decision now was monumentally wrong, direction was forced and it was time to go. He stood, and stepped away from her, she still and quiet, looking at him in shock.

“Dru’s chained downstairs. By the time you get those ropes undone, we’ll be gone. Tell the Bit, I’m sorry.” A pause, a plea. “Don’t forget me, Buffy.”

He grabbed his duster and was gone.

Chapter Three

Minutes were devoured within the frozen vacuum of time that Buffy had almost instantly surrendered too. Those words had tripped her alarm triggers and suspended her rational belief. Leaving. She felt numb, vacant of all feeling until the hurt from her chafed wrists bled through the walls of her denial, and she understood. Spike was gone. She had sat almost comatose with disbelief and hurt throughout his little speech, his tears crashing through her defenses until all her hope exploded outward, but all she could do was sit silently. Spike was gone.

Feeling leaked steadily into her limbs and the numbness began to subside, leaving her with gaping wounds and sores that she wished were physical. Her brain regained activity last and when it kicked in; Spike was gone. Spike was gone.

“No,” she called out frantically, tugging hard on the ropes that cut into her flesh. “No,” she protested louder, but as the ropes loosened and finally fell from her bloodies wrists, she knew it was too late. Her vampire tingle had been fading as she had resembled her statue routine in the chair, and now it was gone. Continuing to deny like had been her habit all night, she wrestled with the final ropes around her ankles and stumbled forward to her knees. Crawling urgently forward, she gripped the poles of the ladder and almost threw herself to the lower level. Her knees ached with the thud of landing and she surged to motion again, seeking through instinct for his trail. Chains still swayed in movement from where he obviously had kept her safe from Drusilla, and an entrance to the sewers seemed to leer at her in victory.

The emptiness of the cave around her forced her to admit defeat and she collapsed to her knees on the dusty flooring. The shrine was still in place, though through suddenly blurry vision she could see spaces. Where before drawings and photos of her had covered every space, now there was bare wall where her face used to reside. That he had taken something to remind him of her should have freaked her out, make her want to go all Slayer on his ass, but for this one moment all she felt was hope.

He didn’t want to forget her completely. Just remembering his words the ones that made him crytold her all she needed to know about his feelings for her, and his lack of desire to abandon her. He didn’t want to let her go, and he wouldn’t cut himself off from her either. He had offered her help if she needed it for Dawn or her mother. He had offered himself for her benefit also, and that last one she couldn’t deny to herself any longer. Nor could she deny the sharp, almost searing pain she felt in her heart for the loss of him in her life. She could blame no one but herself for his need to leave.

She got to her feet and looked around slowly, not willing yet to leave the one space he had been last. She found his trunk of clothing all the new pants, and shirts and the chocolate leather jacketthat were really very nice. She found a few books on a shelf, and picked them up thoughtfully. She dumped them in the trunk and moved on to the shrine in her honour. Carefully removing the pictures and her sweater, she placed them in the trunk with the rest and decided to pull it up the ladder with her.

Upstairs she found bottles of bourbon, a very warm looking blanket, and a ‘Kiss the Librarian’ novelty mug. In they went. The television and chair…well, she wasn’t Superwoman. Holding the trunk with deliberate possessive care, she left the crypt and took her bounty home, hoping no one would be up to quiz her about her night or her new box of goodies.

She made her stealthy way upstairs unobserved and dived for the bed, the trunk bouncing softly on the mattress. The blanketmore an old-fashioned quilt she now observed was first out of the pile. The bourbon was set immediately into her cupboard to stave off temptation. Almost reverently she pulled out photos and drawings and really looked. The pencil and charcoal lines of her face betrayed a sensual hand that caused her breath to hitch painfully in her throat.

Had Spike done these? His vision had been inspired, wanting, caressing, the lines flowing sensually over her features like warmed satin over cold curves. Sensual and erotic. His care swept her up in a draft of longing, and her lower lip trembled. Not until she saw several drops of moisture hit the surface of the top picture did she realise that she was crying. Her body shook with the effort to keep her cries silent.

Putting the pile of pictures aside, she withdrew a pile of shirts clingy spandex that had warmed his flesh. The colours were altered forms of his traditional standby, amidst them all was only one black and this she scrunched into a ball and held to her face. Comforted by his scent, the faint drop of alcohol and tar, she let the hurt go and sobbed. She curled into a ball on the surface of her bed, shuddering at intervals.

His face…the resignation on his face as he told her what she had been convinced were lies, a story concocted to knock down her guard and take over her mind. His misery was so beautiful in its reality; the expression of emotion more convincing than his words. The one thing she felt caught in, however, was his decision to leave. To not stay and fight. Spike had always been a fighter, but then details niggled at her memory and the burden was uncovered for her useless mind to grasp.

He always gave up, when it came to love an exercise in futility and heartbreak. When it came to Cecily. When it came to Drusilla. Turned by the rejection of one, and abandoned through the rejection of the other, she had uncovered a pattern that she found personally wounding. He doesn’t fight for the ones he loves, not when their refusal to have him is absolute. Or at least appears to be.

Her brow creased in sudden confusion. Was her rejection absolute? He had only just professed his love tonight; an inkling of his interest was fresh. The course of their history ran through her mind like a motion picture screening the highlights of summer, and she gasped in knowing. She had always used her hate, her disdain and disgust to keep him below. Once the government had taken care of his lethal tendencies his predatory powershe had stuck in her blade of emotional wounding to keep him vulnerable. One small computer chip modified his behaviour while she alone devastated his nature.

He had handed her a gift tonight had offered her his heart on a shiny but dented platter. And though he suspected her of wanting to pitch any of his offering to the nearest bonfire and destroy, he had made himself weak to her so that she could know the truth. That in itself was something Buffy Summers had trouble with: the truth.

But the shininess of his eyes was too intense, too beseeching for her to ignore, or bury her head in the sand in ignorance. As torn as she now felt in her beliefs and expectations, she could not deny to herself that he had told her a fundamental truth; his love for her was deep. It was consuming. It was necessary to him. And he had left rather than let her use the knowledge against him and hurt him further than she already had been.

The fear that engulfed her washed steadily over her long-standing defenses until all she felt was tiredness and acceptance. Another had left, promising devotion and help when needed, would be back if wanted. Could she trust in him to not get rid of the chip, and believe that he would never be a threat to her family and friends? She wanted it so much suddenly felt desperate for him to not be like Angel, full of empty promises and hope.

Sitting up, she stroked the leather jacket, admiring its sheen and colour and wondered when Spike had found (adopted) good taste. Then she wondered why she hadn’t noticed his change. His permanent black should have been conspicuous in its absence, yet no one had realised.

And his claims. He had told her that he had tried to change, that he wanted to be different for her; and this is what caused the hurt to well up inside again, promoting a tremendous sense of failure and confusion. Could Giles be wrong? Was it possible for demons to change? She preferred to think no, comfortable in her worldview. But, as usual, it didn’t sit with their knowledge of Spike. Spike was the breaker of moulds, a trendsetter not a follower. His actions had never been consistent with normal observed vampire behaviour, so why had they forced him into that box?

His face would haunt her dreams tonight, she knew. That smooth white skin of his stunningly attractive face would stick in her thoughts until she wanted to stab herself to escape the torture.

His sincerity warmed her heart and all of a sudden reality slammed into her like a semi into the front of a house. Its impact obliterated her self-control. Internal screams held her captive as she came to know, she was on her own. Up against Glory she now had no strength in her hip pocket, no back-up plan or sanctuary for Dawn should Glory get too close. She had driven away her only hope of getting out of this alive. Sure, he said he would come back if she needed him, but she needed him now and he had already left. It wasn’t what they did…come back.

No, she had to face it. Spike was gone.

And she had never felt so cold.


The steady hum of the engine had numbed his mind of all interference. Dru chattered beside him in riddles until he withdrew into himself to keep his sanity intact. His past held her in over a century of affection and compassion, but now he felt like ripping her bleeding head off just to shut her up. She felt like a stranger to him now only two years apart and he felt like he had never spent more than a second in her crazy presence.

He had become so wrapped up in Buffy that his whole past seemed to be wiped clean, and that thought held him in shocked quiet. If he had such a clean bloody slate, then what was he doing leaving her? Getting himself involved in this evil again? He hung his head, defeated, knowing that he was one step closer to proving himself the monster that she claimed him to be.

His retreat from Buffy and his sincere declarations had not been swift; in fact, he could be accused rightly of dragging his heals on the escape. He had unchained Dru then lead her out at a walk, that little light of hope that Buffy would unravel herself and come after him and beg him not to leave still resisting extinguishing with each dragging step.

But of course, she didn’t. He had strained to listen for any movement at all to show that she had come undone from the ropes, and he had heard nothing. Long, long minutes of nothing. And to him, those minutes had been telling.

When that realisation hit, he had felt like running; running like William, crying and broken for the failure to win love yet again. But Dru would have caught him again, tuned in to his pain she was. Instead, he walked and her conversation with pixies had begun.

He had pointed the De Soto in the direction of LA but shrunk away every time Dru reached over to caress him, to congratulate him on being such a good boy or such a bad doggie. He hadn’t even made it out of the sewers before he could admit to himself that he had made a huge mistake. Dru was going to expect him to feed from her kills, and later kill again on his own.

He had made a promise to Buffy that he wouldn’t get the chip out, and he would stand by that. He had to be sure that she would not be afraid that they would be back to a 'to the death' relationship, and he owed the Nibblet, even if this was all her fault. If she had only stayed quiet on the topic he could have stayed watching from the shadows, never revealing to Buffy how he truly felt. Her ignorance could have been his bliss, but now he was lost to it all. No more brown baggies from the blood bank, and at that he had at least expected himself to be pleased. Instead, he just felt more damned, like his bridges were burned before he ever had the opportunity to make the choice of crossing.

Very little that Dru had relayed once they hit the road had made much sense to him, so he had no idea where they were headed. Other than it might be a good idea to avoid Peaches for the moment. Her bizarre language chattered on like talktime radio and he marvelled at how out of practice he was at deciphering her meaning. He supposed that was as good a sign as any to prove to him how far apart he had grown from her. Not his frail princess anymore, she resembled a mentally fractured child. Spike cringed at the implication that he would need to return to the passive carer for Dru. He felt beyond that now. Beyond it, but running from what he could have been.

It was taking awhile for his head to clear anyway, and if he heard Dru try and take him over again tonight he could very well stake her. He was feeling pretty irritated with the bitch, annoyed at her for coming to town and giving him the opportunity to leave Buffy behind.

She stood as a symbol of his cowardice.

He was running away.

He could hardly believe it, but that was exactly what he was doing. The coldness in Buffy’s eyes clenched hard on something he thought he had been protecting for years, and he just couldn’t take her knowing he loved her but treating him with disdain anyway. If he stayed, he knew that she would turn his love into something evil.

The heady thrum of the vehicle on the highway kept his preoccupied mind on track, a very narrow track that refused to consider the real implications of his decision.

“They’ll all be laughing, William, that you have come to town. The Angelbeast is changing, but William can help him find his place. He’s the one, my Spike. He’ll have all the answers you’ll seek.” Her face was concerned, imparting news that did not make her smile.

“What’s that, luv?” His gaze never wavered from the road, with the heavy thwacking of rubber tyres on tarmac lulling him away from the car, from her. He was amazed at the rise of anger he felt toward her. His patience was completely shot and he would rather tune her out than hear what doom she had to inform him of the decision he had made.

Steady multitudes of lights began to greet him as he drew closer to his destination and he realised he would need some kind of direction. If it were up to him, he’d forget all about Darla and make his own way, but now Dru had a taste for her family he knew she would not be content until they were all clinging together like girls at a wedding.

Entering the city, the apprehension he hadn’t really been expecting started to spread across his skin, causing cold bumps to appear across his arms. This city brought memories, nothing too hideous, but it set a standard nonetheless. It called to William the Bloody in a way that he hadn’t experienced since he had been shoved together with that bloody chip, and in a way, he was warmed by it. Excited even.

As he stopped at lights, he searched out the blood, sweet little morsels wandering around in packs completely clueless about what way they were about to go. Like herds of sheep. His gaze flickered back and forth, refusing to settle on one and making a choice about his dinner. As his eyes finally settled on a young blonde girl, she looked up at him and he fancied he saw green eyes before gunning the engine and getting away from her as fast as possible.

“Not to worry, my little love. We’ll stick to brunettes. No pretty little blondes for you!”

He closed his eyes in sudden fear of what he had just been doing. No. This isn’t what he wanted. He said he would stay safe for Buffy. He knew how dangerous things were for her right now and he hoped in the back of his heart that she would seek him out for support, or his strength if that was the only thing he could give her that the Scoobies couldn’t. If he succumbed to bloodlust, resumed the hunt, it was just another step to becoming that creature who would never have allowed himself to risk a closeness and bond with the Slayer.

He felt a sudden panic, a flash of want almost searing through his gut in memory of the girl in the Bronze. How wrong her blood felt, how wrong everything felt about the act. He would never have guessed he could see his past actions as evil, and perhaps he still couldn’t say it now, but this human consumption gig? Was feeding his anxiety rather than his hunger.

Suddenly he felt grateful that they were to pick up Darla as it delayed the inevitable, giving him vital extra minutes to think. It kept Dru on the passenger side talking up her storm of discontent. It kept happy meals off the menu.

What it didn’t do, however, was keep Buffy out of his head.

Tears welled up again in his eyes as he remembered the completely fucked up night he’d had, how he had royally cocked up any chance he may have had of one day being her friend, of gaining her trust. He knew she was on the way there as leaving her mother and sister with him for protection was tantamount to proof. An annoyingly emotional lump settled in his throat, clogging all passage up and becoming painful as he accepted that he had blown it. Big. Fucking. Time.

He had to get it all out of his head before he became as loony as Dru.


No, all he had to concentrate on was finding Darla.


A/N...hmmm, how are you all going with this one?

Chapter Four

Dawn was angry.

Dawn was livid.

Dawn was really hurt.

Spike had left, leaving Buffy mostly, but by extension that meant her. She had relied on him to be Buffy’s backup against Glory. She’d relied on him to give her moments of sanity when she started to freak out too much about being this key thing. Not only that, he had left without saying goodbye. She knew that he hadn’t promised lasting devotion to her or anything, but she had thought that they were becoming friends. She had hoped he might think it was cool being buddies with an ancient dimensional key as much as she thought it was so totally cool being friends with a Master vampire.

That word stuck in her throat for some reason, made her feel a little uncomfortable. Friends. He had left because Buffy had rejected his romantic overtures. But what confused her most was that he had kept it secret for a long time now, so why did he choose to finally reveal his feelings to Buffy? True, Dawn had told Buffy how the cute vampire felt about her the day he left, made it so Buffy could no longer walk around oblivious to the Spike’s feelings, told Buffy that he loved…Dawn’s eyes widened in sudden guilt and shame.

Crap.

So it was her fault. She should have stayed quiet. Buffy probably said something to make him suspect that she knew or might even be interested, and let it all out. Except Buffy wasn’t interested, and would have probably been pretty nasty to him. Now he was gone, and they only had Buffy’s strength in the arsenal against Glory.

They were screwed, and it was all Dawn’s fault.

~~~~~~~~

If Xander had thought he would feel anything other than euphoria to hear that Spike was gone for good, he would have laughed himself hoarse. He hated the vamp with a passion fuelled regularly by insults and pilfered cash, so he couldn’t see his life as being anything but bliss when the bleached pain in the ass decided to up and rain on somebody else’s parade. So initially, when Buffy announced at one of the nightly Scooby meetings that Spike had unhitched his tent and set out for greener pastures with Dru in tow, he felt like breaking out into the Snoopy dance.

In fact, he and Giles had bonded over the event, their sarcasm levels disappearing amidst their jollity so much that the girls all started to feel a little uncomfortable at the strangeness of their behaviour. All of them, including Giles, partied like it was the brink of the Millennium at the Bronze, even if the girls did all seem to be a bit on the quiet side. They danced and made merry and patrolled in packs.

And that was when the happiness started to fracture the smallest bit. And then crack wide open. Barely a week had passed since the big event for them all to see the results of what Spike’s absence was to mean to them, and more directly, to Buffy.

Vampires and demons seemed to just collapse out of the woodwork en masse and not a night went by that Xander or Giles didn’t drag themselves home with a slight concussion or a bloodied gash on various parts of their body. In fact, the only one who escaped the majority of injury was Anya, who very wisely objected to putting all their lives in danger and stayed with Dawn and Joyce to keep them company. Of course under the guise of keeping them safe. But they all knew the truth, and envied the ex-demon’s quick thinking.

It was becoming increasingly obviousparticularly by all the barbed comments flowing from the mouths of all those newly courageous demons that Spike had actually helped quite a lot and managed to keep the demon population down without letting on to the Scoobies of what he was doing.

In the middle of his incredulity, Xander was kind of impressed. Mainly that Spike had been taking care of all the vamps, but also grudgingly because he had never made them aware of his acts. Well, never made Buffy aware. Because after finding out the vamp had the hots for the Buffster, they had all taken turns expressing the wrongness of all that is Spike, the creepiness of his stalking, and his selfish acts of only helping when it was going to get him some consideration. Enough consideration to get into Buffy’s pants, that is. Xander hated that maybe he’d been wrong.

With the passing of yet another week, Xander became one of the first who would admit that they might have been a bit hasty in bashing Spike with the ‘evil vamp’ stick on a regular basis. And he really hated to admit it, but he kind of, well, just a little bit…missed him.

When the choices of good pool partners came to just about no one, could anyone really blame him? And there was no one left he could throw out his sarcastic/nasty comments to and not get belted a bit about the head. And the guy did manage to prevent his becoming a tasty treat to a vamp or two on the odd occasion, not to mention he’d been around for a couple of the apocalyptic moments. Those sorts of things held people together, even if you did hate them. Which made Xander start to wonder if he really did hate Spike at all, or if he just held on to a bit of a grudge.

But the point was, the demons on the Hellmouth were getting out of control and for some reason, it seemed wrong that Spike wasn’t there to help them out.

And then there was Glory.

The God from hell.

Literally.

The strain from that particular situation was beginning to create a noose around their necks; one that was tightening way too quickly. That, on top of the stress of nearly losing Joyce to a tumor and having Dawn be all glowy key thingy was starting to unravel the dream team.

He had never realised that the snark that Spike contributed to their little get-togethers might have actually helped keep them grounded. Other than Giles, he was also really the only other adult amongst them. And he really hated to acknowledge it, but the guy was smart. Almost Giles-smart he was willing to bet, and he really came through in a pinch.

So, yeah. He was ready to admit it. He missed Spike. And with Glory closing in, they needed Spike.

So, it was about time they thought about possibly trying to get him to come back.

Once Xander had decided to broach the subject with the Scoobies feeling relaxed that he had finally admitted all that to himself he recalled that incy-wincy little detail that Spike had gone back with Dru. Which probably meant he was all with the ‘no more chipness’ and the willy-nilly killing of humans.

Why oh why did he never see the reality of a situation before it was too late? His fear of pre-chip Spike suddenly exploded from his comfy resigned acceptiness and he panicked. That fear took over and he knew he couldn’t suggest bringing him back. What if they found him and the first thing Spike did was go straight to Xander to rip his head off or worse his throat out? He had been pretty mean and horrible, and the taunting, yeah, that might have been kind of a bad habit to get into. But surely Spike knew it was all in jest, just having a good time with the jokes and stuff? Now he felt torn; he knew they needed Spike, but if Spike was dangerous again, well….

The only option he could think of was starting to make him feel kinda queasy, but his earlier resignation was still with him and he marched over to his phone almost angrily. Clutching the receiver in sudden apprehension, he called Will to get a phone number off her, ignored her concerned inquiries and hung up. Breathing deeply, he picked it up again and dialled, praying that he was not doing the most stupid thing he ever had to date. Looking over his past, the small frown between his brows convinced him it wasn’t possible.

When the phone was finally picked up on the other end and an impatient “hello” barked out, Xander released that long held breath shakily and closed his eyes in hope.

“Angel? It’s Xander. I was hoping you could look into something for me…”

~~~~~~~

Buffy was angry.

Buffy was livid.

Buffy was really hurt.

Not one of her friends seemed to even see that Spike’s leaving had pained her. No one noticed that she never smiled now, though to be fair she supposed they might have put that down to the nearly losing of her mother and the whole keyness that was Dawn. Not to mention Glory breathing down their necks like a dog with vile halitosis. And she’d pretty much gotten over the leaving that was Riley.

The only one who seemed to have the smallest clue was Tara, and she was too shy and timid to even attempt to ask Buffy how she was feeling about driving another guy away, despite her annoyingly regular claims that feelings for Spike would just be eeew and icky.

Even if her head had almost imploded and turned to liquid mush when he gave her that small kiss, tender but way hot, before taking off with his ho of an ex-girlfriend. And the thought of them going for it after he claimed to be in love with Buffy made her just want to curl up under a mountain of bedcovers and howl to the moon in anguish. She’d told him that she hated him, then tortured herself with images of him macking on Dru and wanted to kill something violently. Oh yeah, her hate was real!

It was just so much bad timing. And bad teaching. Bad Giles! If she had just been taught that it was possible, to be on the look out for signs of change, not been so doggedly determined to believe only in bad, not that varying shades of grey rubbish, but the indiscriminate levels of good and bad. He could have been climbing the ladder of bad maybe, on a higher rung of badjust a little bit badapproaching good. If she’d known it was possible, she might not have thrown it back in his face. She might have been a little more willing to try and help him.

What was it he’d said to her just before he’d left? He had possessed the will and she’d broken it. Why did that failure make her feel stark and miserable? The only cause she could understand was that she must have believed him. Believed it possible. That he had really wanted to change, had been trying to change, but without a soul he found it difficult, which is why he needed the help. And she’d denied it. Man, she was such a bitch. A self-obsessed bitch, who just might have a little crush on the deserting bleached vampire babe.

The crush she could deal with; get over, in fact. She was well on the way to getting over it, it was gone, completely out of her mind. No crush. But the Glory thing…so wasn’t going away in a hurry. She didn’t want to admit it and tried really hard not to show it, but she was scared. She wasn’t strong enough to fight her one on one; she didn’t even think she would be strong enough a hundred on one.

But it wasn’t Spike’s physical strength she was afraid she was missing. It was his mental strength, and his devotion to the Summers women. She had a horrible suspicion that by denying him emotional access to her burden that she had banished an ally that would have put himself first before he would let them be hurt, and his emotional stake in their welfare might have made him more resourceful. It wasn’t like he wasn’t: he had managed to stay plenty of steps ahead in protecting himself and Dru from angry lynch mobs for over a century, so he must have some thoughts on how to get them to safety and keep them there. And if it came down to running, then she would feel a hell of a lot better knowing that Spike was there to watch their back. Not to mention, drive!

So, two weeks down the track of Sunnydale minus Spike, and Buffy daily wavered between riding it out and phoning Angel to ask him to find Spike for her. Begging him to bring Spike home. She gasped at that and tears filled her eyes. She was so blind. This was his home. She had no business making his existence here so awkward and unpleasant.

She wasn’t ready for Angel to know so much, though, and she didn’t think it would be safe for Spike if Angel knew that he thought he was in love with her. Bad Buffy, not thought. Is. He is in love with her. And it was like a rainbow had cleared the sky and filled it with nothing but radiant hope. In multicolour. Epiphany. She felt all right with that. So he loved her. How could that be a bad thing? The world just wasn’t filled with enough love, and what individual had so much they could risk rejecting something so precious? Certainly not Buffy. That was for certain.

So, she headed over to the desk and picked up the phone, taking a deep breath for courage and dialled Angel’s number, only to exhale in bitter disappointment as she got an engaged signal. Over the next twenty minutes she pressed redial to the same result. In an angry huff she slammed the phone down, grabbed a few stakes and headed out for the Magic Box. Time to meet up with everyone for patrol, and hope that the vamps weren’t so plentiful tonight. And that no one got more hurt than usual.

Who would have thought that either Spike’s reputation or skill had kept the population down so much. Oh yeah. She needed him back bad.

~~~~~~~~

Spike had re-entered the family fold with both trepidation and confusion. It had been over a century since he had last seen Darla, and the memories had not done her justice. He begrudgingly admitted to himself what Angelus had seen in her and could see the faint hints of why the great poof had fallen for Buffy. He obviously had a thing for blondes, and Darla quite frankly was a bit of all right. A stunner, even. But she was a right viscous bitch, and she did not favour him with familial affection for his belated return.

All this just reaffirmed for him that what he felt for Buffy was even more real, as he obviously had never been attracted to her for her hair colour but the light within herthe light that brought truth and love to all those lucky enough to bask in her goodness. He dropped his head, sad, no longer within reach of her.

He began his foray back into evil by accompanying the girls on the hunt, becoming swept up in the adrenaline rush of chasing down thumping heartbeats, even if the scent of their fear was more off-putting than arousing like it used to be. Once he caught them, though, he stopped, at first convincing himself it was because he didn’t want to blast himself with the chip. But after a few times of witnessing Dru break the neck of his victim and offering him the still warm body for engorgement, the activity he thought would consume his demon in rightness again only served to unnerve him and bath him in feelings that strangely felt like guilt.

Once he had unwittingly followed a blonde, and her cracked neck lay before him, smooth in her deathly offering, and all he could see was Buffy and her shame and disgust in him. Under the watchful eyes of Darla and Dru he closed his lids and drank, but his demon was shrinking back within him, horrified and lonely.

They returned to their newish home, an apartment Darla had forced from some lovesick git who had hung around like a pet. Spike collapsed into a corner of his room and tried to control his shaking body.

The next night, he stayed in.

They brought him a corpse. He had sunk his fangs into the neck slowly, and as the first gush of blood hit his tongue, he gagged. Thrusting the flesh away he curled up into a ball and refused to look at them.

For a couple of days they had laughed at him, but otherwise he was ignored. They were leaving behind them a bloody trail that he knew would bring Angel to the doorstep sooner or later, and for the first time he prayed for his Yoda to show up and plant a stake in his chest and end his misery. He couldn’t understand it, but his demon was screaming at him in rage to kill the women and get rid of the threat that they were. It was unprecedented, but he felt protective of the breathing masses beyond his door, and disgusted in himself for letting Dru and Darla lead him back to a lifestyle he had started to overcome.

The days turned into a week and then two, and his body started to weaken as he continued to refuse blood, until they no longer offered and no more death lingered within the walls of the apartment. But pain made a sweeping entry as they changed their focus and strung him up, let him hang in chains from the ceiling, and painted his beautiful body in shades of holy water and blood.

They cut him into strips, flogged him with whips, stabbed him with knives, and drained him of his consciousness as well as his fortifying leftover blood. He hung uselessly, barely a patch of white left to view of his skin, his arms pulled from their sockets through the continual jerking away from pain, and his cock a shrivelled and burned parody of its former self. They and stripped him, using their tongues and hands at first to arouse him to do their will, but as he remained limp, they decided he should burn.

As he continued to hang there from day to day, he could feel himself sink within his mind on too many occasions and so had resorted to talking to the Lindsey pup who had remained loyal and hopeful, but never fearful of his murderous houseguests. He was unaware of all the things he said to the git, mindless babble from a hungry, delirious and mutilated monster who had compiled his mistakes over and over until he couldn’t find his way back.

He talked of Buffy. Must have done, because as his body faltered and his insides became blacker, she was all he could think about. Her hair and eyes, her look of wonder when he confessed to her his feelings. The gentleness of her interaction with her friends and family. He wanted to be with her so badly, just to rest his head in her lap and beg her for forgiveness. Beg her to help him. Beg her to let him kiss her feet.

After three weeks, he was a broken vamp. He was obviously terribly weak and starving, living with his gameface continuously pushed forward, but he didn’t even growl in hunger when Lindsey would try to get him to break out of himself once the girls had gone out. It never occurred to him to provide other blood. Truly, he didn’t care that much about nursing them, unless it was Darla. And Dru didn’t seem that concerned, so he limited his care to just getting Spike to talk each night, if only to hear his stories, fascinating as they were.

One night Lindsey returned home to find Darla and Dru gone, Spike hanging like the dead from his ceiling, and a feral Angel standing in front of the spectacle with such a look of hate on his face that Lindsey felt fear in the presence of these vampires for the first time in weeks. As the two conscious men stood still, by some kind of silent unity, they both took in the blonde who had been tortured to an inch of his unlife.

Angel felt nauseous; grief for his family rising unsure as he took in the damage that his girls had inflicted. After his talk with Xander it had taken him a week to track Darla down and pick up some details of their exploits. That Spike had only been involved at the beginning of their renewed killing rampage had confused him, particularly the stories circulating that the male Master wouldn’t feed, from live victims nor soon after, the dead.

Deep in his own confused longing to return to that life, despite his shiny soul, Angel hadn’t much cared except for the desire to wipe out every member of his family. It wasn’t the damage they were doing to the population that made him wish to wipe them out, it was rather his feelings of failure. Harris’s call did nothing but renew those as he was made to understand that Buffy was in great danger, but it was Spike they wanted back at the Hellmouth.

Then within one night, an occasion to be remembered for his certain decision to reclaim the brute of his past as his future, the horrible sense of nostalgia and yearning he felt to renew ties to his whole family and resurrect their flagging reputation as pure menace and danger.

One night he surrendered to the arms of his leading lady, writhed in pure bliss to be returned to Darla in the way that he had craved for over a century. Not even Buffy had held him like she had, and then the unthinkable had happened.

The unconsidered.

He hadn’t lost his soul, but in a moment of pure torment he had regained his mission. Knowing he could never have his family back without turning his head on their destruction, he had determined to dust them and his renewed search for Spike yielded results.

He felt conflicted and disbelieving of these tales of self-deprivation for the vampire until he had finally located Spike and seen for himself how the female members of their family had treated him, and knew. Only their anger would have made them do something so punishing, so deplorable to a newly embraced returned member.

The gaunt haunted face, the skeletal body of one who had always been pretty, well muscled, was almost destroyed in its starvation. Angel cringed, then allowed tears to fall for the suffering of his Childe, for he knew this depravity was not an isolated experience for him. Here the sight of William reaffirmed his epiphany, he could never risk Angelus coming out. And according to the perils of the Sunnydale crew, he had to help mend emotionally and physically his errant Childe and return him to the place they termed his home.

That Xander Harris was the one calling, and almost begging for him to find and bring Spike home if he still had the chip, was astounding in itself. Not to mention insulting and hurtful. He doubted the boy had ever felt the need to recall Angel back to their group. But a secret call to Giles settled his worries that the boy had been hypnotised into stupidity; Spike, he admitted grudgingly, was one of them and they needed him back. He helped Buffy enormously.

His scoffing had echoed down a dead line as Giles hung up on him. That had him stumped, but believing they were all on drugs. He hadn’t dared hear Buffy agree to needing the peroxided annoyance. So, he’d just started the search, bringing him back to now.

Though it galled him, he allowed Lindsey to help him detach Spike from the chains, then they collected his coat and torn clothing, wrapped him in a blanket and carried him out to Angel’s car. Lindsey climbed into the passenger seat, and whether Angel wanted to hear it or not, he relayed three weeks worth of the demoralising and macabre activities of his Sire and Childer, with the annihilation of William the Bloody being the main focus. By the time he was finished, Angel was incredulous, and disturbed. His own creation had trumped him, turned his back on his evil ways and attempted to change, all without the benefit of a soul. And made himself sick because of his lack of direction and support.

First things first, he had to get him healthy and then get to the bottom of this mess, and he had the unsettling feeling, the bottom was going to be a place too close to go.



A/N...not quite sure what to say...getting the feeling this story is not as engaging as Taste of Juliet? Oh well, reviews are still choc chip cookies for the soul....feed me please.

A/N Through completely selfish need of telling this story, events of The Body have been post-poned.


Chapter Five

Sensation screamed through torn, bruised muscle and flesh and he felt his body tighten in protest. Exhaustion could not express how completely thrashed he felt, not ever having been so decimated in his vampiric memory. Blackness swamped all his efforts to drag himself to the present and he felt unable to catch the slightest whiff or clue as to where he was. But the unbearable stinging of his shoulders had eased enough to tell him abstractly that he was no longer dangling from the human pup’s ceiling like some demented marionette.

His back was straightened along a hard surface, and in his fragmented understanding he got that he was either ready to become dust and they wanted him steady on the floor before stakingperhaps so they could get in a few really good kicks or that he had been saved. The way his luck had turned lately, he felt more confident in the staking. Then again, the pain that raced through his body, reminding him agonisingly of his activities since he left Buffy, made him think that staking would be too good for him. So, maybe he should go with the being saved.

Bollocks.

That couldn’t be right. The only one who would attempt it, who knew what had been happening, was Lindsey, and he wouldn’t have crossed Darla, even if she wouldn’t suck him off. The little prick didn’t care that much anyway, outside his little morbid curiosity.

The gradual clarity of his thoughts was what began to give him the ultimate clue. He knew enough to know he’d been slightly out of focus for the past couple of weeks. That he had a clue now about himself meant blood. Someone had been feeding him. He slowed all his senses till nothing mattered, no false breathing, no sniffing for scent, eyes closed as they had yet to be able to open. His centre became one with awareness and he had an understanding of his condition without using anything inherent to his nature.

He knew of the blood, felt through the healing that it was human, though no remnants of heat could convince him of the nature of the donation. His recent experience had been from the fountain, and the thought that he might have been force fed from another victim made his tear ducts react in negativity. His insides cramped and he felt a lurch in his belly, could see in his mind the coagulation of red sickly plasma and he heaved, trying desperately to rid himself of the taint.

Sheets of blood surrounded him and he heard a gasp of shock close by before the retching closed his mind off and he kept with it, his mission to not allow any to remain settled within his bloodstream. He would rather be empty than let the Slayer be right about him. He might have fucked it all up, but he couldn’t continue being manipulated by his clan women.

Sadness enveloped him in his stark realisation; he no longer belonged with his family. He had changed, remade himself to be different and less ugly to the population of heartbeats, even if those he called his second family couldn’t stand the sight of him.

He had drifted on a tide of change, no longer blood-filled, just to be a little more right for Buffy, and even though he felt violently in need of throttling her, he knew that he couldn’t go back. His reactions over the past weeks showed him that.

William had surged within him and he felt stunned at the lack of disgust. In actuality, he welcomed the nancy git, hoping that in William he might find the one to support him that he had not located within the Scooby fold. After all these years, over a century of death and deliverance, could it be William that would save him, show him the love that no other ever seemed interested in bestowing?

The tears rushed for exit and for the first time he could squint his eyes open to slits, shaking at the glare of light he encountered. It was like a signal for the rest of his body to kick in and before he could rein it in his sense of smell began to tell a story; one that he was both eager and loathe to believe.

Curled up on his side in a fetal position, he tested an eyelid for further endurance against the light, and moaned heavily in relief as it dimmed and he could peer out at his surroundings. It was confirmed. Angel sat on a chair facing him, leaning forward in a defeated slump, knees parted and hands dangling from them, head hanging low and miserable. As if he could hear the muscle of the eyelid creaking in motion he raised his head and his gaze clashed with Spike’s. They sat, silently contemplating the other until Spike felt his head begin to thrum with the warnings of a colossal headache on its way. His body was unable to move, not a stretch of even one tiny muscle and he could do nothing but wait for either speech or the stake that would tell him with finality of his fate.

“Peaches…” ‘What the bloody hell am I doing here?’ His husky, ill-used voice was unable to finish his thought, but Angel had pre-empted him anyway, and was looking at him thoughtfully.

Angel ignored the question, and with the odd look in his eye Spike began to feel uneasy. Unconsciously falling back a bit, he flinched when Angel blinked. His skin picked up on another sensation, this one even more excruciating than the pain of torture, the uneasiness of position. He had no clue where he stood with his Sire, teetering on the edge of either final eradication or hope. He couldn’t even fathom a guess as to which he would fall, but his lack of balance was becoming more alarming the longer Angel sat unmoving and silent.

But as the quiet stretched onward, neither moving toward any kind of progressive pace, Spike began to wonder at the grim twitch to Angel’s lips, his brow held frozen in a pose of wonder and perhaps… jealousy? Confusion blistered on his already torn lips, his face aching and on fire from the burn of holiness, resembling that of any horror but the recognised form of William the Bloody.

With unified acceptance, Angel stood and moved to hand a mug to Spike. He still lay unmoving amongst the splayed effects of his bloody purging, sheets sodden beneath his face. Now that the fluid was up, he was able to discern the elements that made it rich with life for himself, but not stealing breath from the giver. It was donated blood that had coated his stomach in strength, and now he was to begin from scratch to replenish that which he had forcibly evacuated. His eyes lowered in apology and submission, he reached out with trembling hands and took the mug, breathed in the heady but acceptable scent of human blood in warmth, and drank it down in lustful need.

Without word, just meaningful action, he determined that Angel, the one on the edge that had set his own sire and childe on fire, was here to help him. He finished the mug of blood just as hot tears of happiness and relief forced their way out from under his tightly closed lids and he collapsed sobbing into the arms of his Sire, grateful at last for finding the hope he had thought he could only get from Buffy. Angel could accept William, receptive through his own soul, and could accept Spike as his own creation. He could layer the hurt below acceptance and help him to locate his own steel of resolve and help him remake himself.

In the meantime, he had to regain his strength; maintain the ability to stand on his own two feet. And he needed to wrench his mind away from thoughts of Buffy just to keep a tentative grip on his sanity. He had no idea how Angel would go about it, but he held on to hope with the clinging intensity of a man on the edge.

If he was in possession of his right mind, he would wonder why he was so sure that Angel, the one he’d had tortured and hoped for his final and dusty death not so long ago, was the one he prayed could bring him into light. How had Angel displaced Buffy in his desire? And how had his desire slipped from being ‘all about Buffy’, to just wanting to be good?

He had given up hope that she could ever want him, and he even admitted to himself that, while under the hypnotic effects of the Hellmouth, his motivation to change had a Buffy shaped impetus. But now he had left her and she had left him hollow of feeling he craved just to be a little of what she might admire. He wanted hope that one day she might see him as worthy of friendship, strained or otherwise. He just wanted her acknowledgment that he was different, not the same type of vampire that she vanquished night after miserable night. That he had depth, an existence beyond being the annoyance that the Scoobies had only observed and embraced as a cover for their disinterest in having him closer.

That last thought hurt. It opened a sliced welt on his heart that they had never wanted him around. He had strived to make it easier for them, never letting on that he had their interests in his empty chest cavity that reeked of heart. But insults and rejection had shunned him every step.

Being dumped by Drusilla had driven him into a state he had never been amidst before, a loneliness that was foreign, even in his human days. He had never been so alone and in pain, and that could be the only reason he had weathered the attempts by Giles and Harris to keep him under their thumb, to keep him low and weakened in the eyes of the women in the group. They hadn’t wanted him there but put up with him because he was neutered and they felt sorry for him. He just wanted to belong, to be theirs, to have someone’s loyalty. Sure, mainly he craved Buffy’s loyalty, but just one spark of human affection from any of them would have brought tears to his eyes, and given his heart an ache of pure joy. And as weak and poofterish as that made him out to be, that was still what he wanted.

He wanted to be theirs.

Until he died.



Death was her gift.

Huh!

She definitely hadn’t seen that one coming. For the three hour long drive back to Sunnydale from the desert the revelation had been stuck on replay like a cracked out mantra. Death was her gift. The chills hadn’t abated yet, either. In fact, each time she said the phrase, her chills got chills so that she was certain that if she stripped off her clothes she would find a Mount Vesuvious of chills ready to go Boom!

Really, she was officially giving this year the heavyweight title of Crappy! With her mom sick, Glory after her sister, Riley leaving, Spike leaving, she was hard pressed to give the ‘sending Angel to Hell’ event the recognition it deserved. No, that year had been usurped. This year was by far the outright winner as far as she was concerned. And the worst part of it was, it was nowhere near over. Oh no, instead of drifting off to a closed curtains end of the year, Glory had decided that she hadn’t found her key quickly enough and was stepping up the intimidation. She had to come up with a plan soon, and death being her gift and all, she couldn’t see how she could lose. Pffft.

With Giles’s little red ‘skirt attracting’ car, Buffy felt the dread wash over her and settle like thick, gluggy black oil. It had shifted on their way out of town but now she wondered if the Hellmouth emitted some kind of force of evil that stuck to your body like glue if you were stupid enough to enter. She wanted to turn around, and go bury her head under a mountain of oblivion and forget that Glory was searching under every Sunnydale rock to locate her precious key.

Truthfully, she just wanted to find Spike. She wanted to get all the Scoobies out of there before they all were dead. Before Glory decided that she wasn’t getting anywhere and decided to start brainsucking them all. Besides, it wasn’t like they were having much impact right now on all the demons that had flooded the Hellmouth since the news that Master Spike had deserted the place.

Leaving, left, gone. The imagery was a suggestion that she couldn’t help but latch hold of desperately. Spike had promised he would still be there for her, and she knew he loved her mother and at least liked Dawn a little. Little pictures of her friends getting killed, being brainsucked to give Glory her sanity, Willow going psycho on magic to revenge those that she loved…all she could see if they stayed now was major uber badness. Suddenly, getting the hell out of town sounded like a perfectly plausible plan to her. And she knew exactly where they all should go.

“Giles. I think we should have a Scooby meeting. I have a plan.”

Giles nodded in acceptance and felt his body loosen a little of his tension in relief. He had hoped this sojourn on a mystical Slayer pilgrimage would provide some suggestions of where they could go from here in this battle, and so had succumbed to the ridiculous spectacle of shaking his gourd and doing the hokey pokey like Buffy had teased. It had lightened her serious demeanor fractionally, so he hadn’t minded too much just grateful that the stress that had been lumped on her shoulders since the departure of Spike was lifted from her concern for a few hours.

The purpose he had expected her to reappear with had not been evident however, and instead he had felt the blanket of despair and fear settle around her, almost suffocating the pair of them. He must remember to record in his diary that this trip had not been a raging success.

“I’ll drop you off first so you can check on your mother and Dawn, then we can all meet at the shop. I assume you want to do this immediately? Although it is rather late…”

“No Giles, it needs to be now…we can’t waste any more time. She’s closing in on us…I have a really bad feeling.”

A quick glance to the side confirmed for him that she did indeed look miserable, and frightened. Not an emotion he had ever seen reflected on her face. Not even in meetings with Angelus. Not even the Master. After her dreams it had seemed more like angry determination or a desperate need to escape. Not true garden-variety fear. It did not bode well.

When he stopped outside Buffy’s house he could see all the lights still on and Xander’s car was parked in the drive. He decided to alight from the vehicle with his Slayer and they both rushed into the house. Really, Joyce had been dangerously unwell and didn’t deserve to be in the middle of this much drama. If he could, he would take on Glory himself and let the Summers’ finally feel safe. But he couldn’t, and he feared that this time even Buffy might be out of her league.

The inside was relatively calm, though the shocked faces of those sitting around the living room told a tale of scared hopelessness. A quick count confirmed that all were present but they all remained still and silent under a burden of story telling that would be frightening.

“I don’t want to know.”

Buffy’s voice went off like a gunshot, making everyone jump in guilt.

“Listen up. Mom, Dawn, go upstairs and pack a bag to cover you for maybe a week. Xander, go home. You and Anya do the same, call your boss, and make excuses. Do whatever you think needs to be done. Don’t tell anyone anything. Giles, same. I’ll phone Willow and Tara. We’ll all meet at the Magic Box in about forty minutes.”

Nobody moved. “We’re on the clock people. Move.” Buffy turned her back and raced up the stairs to her room, first stop her phone to relay the message to the witches.

Exactly forty minutes later had everyone jammed inside the Magic Box and thrumming with the surprise action of Buffy wanting to run. It was not typical behaviour; she usually ran after the fight, not before. Still, no one was ready to challenge her when the rest of her actions were embedded in ‘take charge’ land.

“Listen up people. This is the deal. Glory is closing in on us. I can’t fight her on my own, I don’t know how to stop her, and Spike isn’t here to add to the superhuman strength factor. Magic has only gotten us so far, so we have no choice. We have to get out before she picks us off one by one, and hope we can stay hidden long enough for her to miss her window of opportunity. I have no idea when that is, but I think it must be soon by how frequent her attacks are getting. So Giles, you take Willow and Tara. Anya and Xander are together. Mom, Dawn and me will be in our car. We’re heading to LA and before anyone starts to argue, we are going to Angel and he is going to help us find Spike, even if I have to kill him to do it.”

The ferocious look of determination had everyone startled to momentary silence, but then Xander hesitantly raised his hand.

“Um, Buff? I think Angel’s already on it.”

She raised confused eyes to him, hedged off her defended path toward Spike by a sledgehammer blow from outfield.

“Huh?”

Xander chuckled nervously.

“I, uh, called the big guy about a week ago and asked him to find Spike for us.”

As she continued to look at Xander in surprised amazement, she felt tears prickle at the tight dryness of her eyelids and she bestowed upon him a radiant though watery smile. Relief slackened her limbs and she nearly fell to the floor.

“You did?” Her voice was wobbly with affection and friendly love, and she could see similar faces revealing their support and understanding and she rushed upon them to offer hugs of strength and comfort.

“We’ll find him, Buffy.” Willow circled her with her arms and squeezed. “Then we’ll make him come back.”

Buffy stepped back, looking from one face to the next and her bottom lip wobbled. When she encountered the goofy, yet confident grin of her only male friend, she collapsed within his arms sobbing her gratitude.

“Why?” she asked, shocked by the uncharacteristic insight and support of Xander.

He gave her a sheepish look, and by the curl of his mouth she could tell that what he was about to say creeped him out on pretty spectacular levels.

“I guess I never realised before how much of a support Spike was to all of us. To you,” he affirmed, making sure to catch her eye. “He can protect you like none of us can, and Dawn and Mrs. Summers.”

Buffy could feel herself shake with the repressed need to collapse sobbing in relief. They did see it could feel her need for the bleached vampire.

“There’s only so much we can do though, Buffster. You’re gonna have to make him want to stay.”

She looked into his face and nodded understanding, happiness filtering through every pore of her body. Rubbing the tears from her face, she grabbed the arms of her mother and Dawn and pulled them towards the door.

“Let’s go then, people. Last one to LA is a rotten egg.”

Picking up bags and shuffling along in a strangely ebullient mood for a group with a price on their heads, they moved toward various vehicles and angled for the highway leading them out of Sunnydale.

The mission the same, just on hiatus.

Buffy grinned in hope. Death was her gift, was it? Well, she had lots of experience in putting prophecies on their heads.

For the first time in weeks, Buffy’s skin began to warm.


A/N...so, sorry but Lindsey and the girls are gone...I know people were looking forward to their involvement in the story, but ultimately, this is about Spike's journey. Hopefully, you will all still enjoy that. Thank you so much to my enthusiastic reviewers...you guys keep me so excited about writing. Please keep going, and new readers, it's really easy to say whether you like the fic and it makes my day.

Chapter Six

Two days of comfortable quiet and endless mugfuls of blood had brought him to a stage of talking without causing him pain. Brought him to a stage of being propped up in bed without cringing every time a limb would flex. Brought him closer to tears at remembering how he had reached this impasse in his unlife.

Buffy.

It always came back to her. He had known the first step he took away from her that he was a fool.

A fool for not belting the Little Bit for opening her mouth and parading all his secrets like she had the right.

A fool for giving in and giving his proclamations a shot at hopeful, despite the looks of dawning horror on Buffy’s face.

A fool for thinking he could get her to admit that it might be possible that he could change, and a bigger fool for not realising that she would never consider herself important enough to be the focus of such a change, the pivotal element for the want of change. But the most foolish thing he had done was walking away from her and untying Dru, allowing himself to be dragged to a social cycle that held nothing of importance for him now.

His final memory of her was her frozen expression of shock as she sat tied with ropes to his chair. Probably disgust had also mingled in reaction to his stolen kiss. It finally began to sink in that she had felt nothing for him but hate.

As his eyes blurred, he thought of all the reasons he had been unable to accept it till now. He had association, familiarity with her like no other vampire had. Well, except for Peaches, and the soul elevated him to a whole different category. No, he wasn’t like the regular Joe vampire she turned to ash on a nightly basis. She had spent time with him, gotten to know him, seen him.

He had believed that the small position he had held in their group might have been enough to humanise him a little in her prospect, make her see him as three dimensional, rather than a one level vampire. He had done enough good to scatter her opinion on evil, soulless monsters and perhaps cut him a little slack. He was sure that proximity often worked to dim the distaste for even the most awful nerd a girl could have in her association didn’t they often become friends in schools these days. The beauty became best buddies with the class freak and he became less the social outcast? Known less for his bookish ways and liked more for being friends with the glory girl?

Well, it hadn’t worked with him! Association had meant nothing except convenient muscle when the uglies got too close. She could trust him with the welfare of her family, but not her bloody heart. Oh no! Not the precious Slayer, couldn’t let that shrivelled handful of tissue ever heal from the pounding brought upon it by the brooding, ensouled one. That bitch…he can change but she can’t? How fucking typical…just like her to….

He buried his face in his hands and sobbed, flinching from the pain of his ribs expanding on his heaving breaths, the fuel to keep the savagery of his loss going full steam. No matter how he tried to blame her, he couldn’t. He was the one in the wrong an abomination. Who was he trying to kid that he could change? None of Angel’s gloomy brooding silences could convince him that he had achieved anything in all his efforts.

He had fed, hadn’t he? He’d caused those people to be dead. He’d sunk his fangs into their throat and sucked out their leftover humanity. Buffy would hate him forever now, whether he still had the chip or not. She would only see that he had drunk human heat, letting smooth life glide down his throat and coat his stomach. That it made him feel worse than he ever had wouldn’t matter to Miss There Is Only Good And Evil In The World And You Spike Are Evil With A Capital E. Nothing he had ever done had mattered. Not to Cecily, not to Dru or Angelus, and certainly not to the more judgmental Scoobies.

Carefully resuming his reclining position he craved rest, or rather oblivion. He wanted to be gone from this world where everything hurt, where he was never allowed to have anything his heart yearned and cried for. Where he was to be played for a fool every time he opened his eyes.

The tears continued to fall from his open and glassy haunted blue eyes as he told himself that whether he did the right thing or not, he had no purpose in this world. He had nothing to lever himself against this mortal point, and he wished for the first time since he had realised he was different that he was finished trying, finished struggling. He felt tormented resignation that Angel had saved him. He might have died hanging from that ceiling, he’d heard of vampire’s dying from starvation, but he couldn’t see where he belonged anywhere else. That beaten hungry existence was retribution for all he had been, a failure, a major fucking disgrace to both vampire and human.

He wished Angel had just let him hang.

~~~~~~~~


Angel felt embarrassed at the comfort he clung to from having Spike under his roof. They had barely exchanged words, let alone had a conversation about what was going on with the blonde. But he could tell. The pain and humiliation was obvious, as was the torment and the eventual resignation.

Angel could see that Spike had accepted death, final rest. He could see that Spike craved it. Spike. The one who sought out Slayers to have a worthy battle and kill. Spike. The one who could look after a murderous and insane vampiress merely because of devotion and love. Spike. The one who existed merely to be a pain in his ass. Spike. Who now wanted to be rid of the world for good.

Angel felt his throat clog with useless grief. He had dusted Darla once to save Buffy, and had tried to set his sire and childe alight because of fear, shame and a loss of his own way. Having Spike here with him now had helped him, hearing the stories from Lindsey and on the streets of a dishonourable vampire of the Aurelian line who was not souled shamed him into courage. He felt useless as to how to help Spike find meaning in his existence, mainly because he was only just recapturing it himself. But he felt a sadness that Spike wanted to be gone from his ties, and the only tie he had now was to Angel.

The rejection stung.

He couldn’t help but feel sorry for Darla and Dru, knowing that they must have experienced the same from both the males of the family.

For two days, Angel had repressed any thoughts on the origin to Spike’s misery. He refused to delve into why his childe, always so full of verve and excitement, was so destroyed that he wanted to retire to dust and damnation.

But it hadn’t lasted, and he was brought back to the phone call from Xander Harris that had mingled with his own feelings of inadequacy and rejection. That one of the two Scooby men  the two least supporting of a demon in their midst wanted Spike back within their fold had been a little hard to accept.

It was a sharp slap in the face.

That he had detected an element of favour for his Grandchilde in Harris’s voice at the time had disgusted him, but then later he had grieved for the fact that none of them had ever spoken for him in such a craving, protective manner. No, instead they did it for Spike. They needed him, they wanted him and so went to lengths to have him returned.

He had denied himself a call to Buffy, not prepared to hear that tone of yearning in her voice that he was so sure would be there. He could deny it to himself no longer. Spike didn’t have to open his mouth for him to recognise the signs. Such complete emotional devastation could only be caused in their order by one woman. That she hadn’t called, and Harris had, was telling enough as it was.

Standing outside the door to Spike’s room, he could feel a tear glide down his cheek as he listened to the blonde vamp sob his heart out. It killed him to acknowledge that Buffy had gotten close enough to his childer to affect such a reversal of character, but for once he knew where his loyalties lay, and that was with Spike. He couldn’t let Spike down, even if it meant forcing Buffy into the picture. Spike was changing he could feel it within his psyche, within his blood, and he knew that that was why Drusilla had punished him so fiercely. Just like she had done to Angel while he had a soul. She refused to allow their loss, but instead forced them away.

Spike had run from Sunnydale, and Harris’s silence on the reason why seemed confirmation to him. It could only be Buffy. Finding himself back at the front desk, he picked up the phone and dialed the Summers’s house. The ringing tone continued on until it cut out and, with a concerned look at the time, he replaced the receiver in the stand. It was close to morning and no one was home. Dread had no time to fully whip up action before there was a flurry of activity at his front door. He braced himself for attack, slumping only when Giles and Joyce stepped gingerly through, followed by the whole Scooby contingent as well as some faces new. They all stopped suddenly when faced with his confused figure.

When he caught sight of Buffy he breathed in agonised relief. He forgot to feel amazed at her presence, overcome by her beauty, or drugged by her proximity. He felt nothing but hope that he could give Spike something to hold onto, and in the first real facial expression besides melancholy the group had ever witnessed on him, he sighed in almost euphoric pleasure.

She had come.

Embracing her enthusiastically, he took a second to wonder why they were here, then another to acknowledge his lack of hurt that she wasn’t here for him, before pulling back and making a second action out of character. He grabbed Xander’s hand and pumped it in an enthusiastic handshake before directing them all to take a seat.

Reluctantly they sat, watching him apprehensively and, almost as one, decided to leave the speaking to Buffy.

“Um, Hi…” she mumbled nervously, cowering. “Probably should have said that earlier. Ah, you’ll never guess why we ended up on your doorstep like this…”

“Buffy…” Angel interrupted. He watched her carefully. “Look, I found Spike, and he’s a bit of a mess.”

She shot to her feet, agitated.

“What kind of a mess?” She wrung her hands together, rubbing and squeezing in mounting fear.

Angel no longer felt the cause of Spike’s anguish to be ambiguous.

Buffy.

It was always about Buffy.

But what he witnessed in her actions gave him hope for his childe. She wanted to help, and he could see that she reeked of fear for Spike’s welfare and condition. He bowed his head in sudden resigned sadness before resolving to get over it, to let it go. He had to give William hope.

“When I found him…” He looked at the women of the group and just in time caught himself from relaying the gore of the scene he had encountered.

Surprisingly it was Joyce who refused to let him cover the truth.

“We want to know exactly what is going on with Spike. Don’t hold back,” she instructed, and his guilt that never lessened in the face of this woman had him lowering his eyes but nodding in supplication to her wishes.

“Darla and Dru had been torturing him. They had him chained in an apartment, were starving him, though I think he might have been doing that to himself before they chose to hurt him. At least that’s what Lindsey told me. Anyway, they poured holy water on him, cut him, stabbed him, pretty much mutilated every bit of skin on his body.” He shared a meaningful glance with Giles and Harris and they shared the cringe of solid male understanding.

Looking back at Buffy he felt nothing but satisfaction at the tears that streamed down her cheeks. A little of the demon resentment surged within him and he felt eager to plant the boot in, protecting and seeking vengeance for his closest male relative.

He stared straight at Buffy and took evil satisfaction at her flinch.

“Do you happen to know why he was back with them? He won’t tell me much, but I can tell you that whatever it was it destroyed him before he ever got to LA. They punished him because he refused to be like them. He refused to feed from humans and it got him tortured. They wanted him to hurt and he didn’t care if he died.” Angel’s voice cracked with unsteady and unusual emotion. “He still doesn’t care if he dies.”

Buffy gasped, the tears gaining momentum until her face was thoroughly wet and red.

One look and she knew that Angel had guessed that it was because of her that Spike had left Sunnydale and allied himself with his family. That it was because of her that Spike was giving up on himself.

His expression hardened as he faced her.

“Whatever the hell you did you will fix it. If he dusts himself because of your narrow-minded view of what vampires are capable of, I’ll…”

“We get the idea, Angel.” Giles had taken to his feet at the threatening stance of the souled vampire, his own guilt and shame causing horrifying images of a bloodied Spike chained and beaten to insanity.

“Perhaps you could take Buffy to see him. I take it you have him here where you can easily care for him?”

“Of course. There was nowhere else for him to go.”

The group shared a look weighed heavily with guilt and remorse.

“I’ll take you, Buffy. But if you do anything to hurt him or make him feel less important than he already does, then you will all have to leave. I don’t care why you have come here. He is my priority right now.”

Buffy nodded her head, agreement to his terms shining in her eyes. Her heart thumped painfully, recognising her position of power and still, lacking. He had talked of priorities and she had so many of those right now, all lined up on sofas around her.

But her heart ached to feel Spike against her, to give to him the crumbs he had begged metaphorically from her. She craved the touch of his hands, and suddenly she burned from the memory of his lips, gently caressing hers in the sweetest love. A love he had braved despite knowing of her attitude toward him, and ultimately her rejection of him. A love she truly didn’t deserve but strangely felt she wanted.

A love her friends suddenly didn’t seem to mind if it brought Spike back home with them and culled off the bad demon population. Amazingly his selfless action of patrolling on his own and ridding the Hellmouth of a great deal of demon activity had allowed the Scoobies the proof they needed to accept Spike as one of their own, and Buffy’s gratitude was enormous. It made her emerging feelings for the vampire something she no longer needed to convince herself of as being neither disgusting or inappropriate.

She was thrown.

Angel seemed to suspect the origins of this whole mess. Without words he had conveyed his displeasure that she had managed to break a Master Vampire without even lifting a finger. Of course her hands had been tied behind her back at the time or that might have factored into the argument as well. In some kind of confusion, she recognised that his affection for her seemed to have waned at a similar rate to that of hers for him, and she wondered what elements exactly were in control here.

Everything had changed right out from underneath her and she felt disorientated. If she didn’t know better she would suspect that a spell had been cast on her emotions and thoughts, causing her to fall out of love with one vampire and in love with another. In love with one without a soul, and as much as she wished it didn’t, that fact still seemed to be a bit of a stumbling block.

She pushed all inner musings away however, determined that there would be nothing negative shading the meeting that was about to occur. She took desperate, calming breaths as she walked along the corridor, Angel finally stopping outside a door. With a sharp realisation Buffy knew she wasn’t ready. Angel paused, hand hovering over the door handle, and listened. With a paternal smile that left her motionless in surprise, he silently indicated that Spike was asleep.

With a gentle twist of the knob, the door swung inward and all the heat of eagerness left Buffy’s cheeks in a rush. Curled painfully on his side, Spike’s naked shoulders peeked out from above the sheet that covered the rest of his body, but the colour shocked her. A furious red of burnt and blistered skin interspersed with great ink splatters of bruising, even inching up his neck and into his hairline. She gagged in revulsion. His face was swollen, bruises blackening his complexion into ugliness, lips blistered and weeping, as well as his eyes, she acknowledged at last. His face was wet with tears that he had obviously shed until his recent escape into slumberland.

It was because of her. Because she hadn’t wanted to believe or accept that he was different. So he left and was punished because he was.

She felt so ashamed.

Falling to her knees in a silent prayer of forgiveness, she buried her own wet face in her hands and surrendered to her guilt and grief.

She never even noticed Angel walking back out and closing the door softly behind him.

A/N...my many, many thanks to all the wonderful readers that reviewed the last chapter and reassured me that this story was definitely going well. I am so appreciative. Feeling rather nervous about it all. This chapter was difficult to go over, not sure why exactly, but I hope you like it all the same.

A/N...a collective ahhhhhh, thank God that's done...I thought I would never finish it. Just general knowledge...although I am posting under Peta here and a few other places, don't be alarmed to find me also under Megan. I have a little page at Holly's The Order and also at Houseofbloodshed, both under Megan. I am one and the same...now, enjoy...

And PLEASE let me know what you think...I challenge you...if you read this chapter, please leave a review and let me know whether you liked or hated it. Can only know if it's going the right way with feedback!


Chapter Seven

Long mindless minutes scratched by as Buffy felt her eyes riveted to the unmoving form of the vampire she had come to recognise and catagorise as hers. Awareness clawed at her spine and every delicious tingle of anticipation pushed her further into a panic and drove her instincts into flight. She could see the cuts, the welts and bruises that deformed his beautiful skin and knew that the fault was hers. But more than that, she saw the vampire. The being she had been trained to hate, to eradicate. And it scared her.

They had come a long way from Sunnydale, driven from their homes and security on the whim of a demented hellgod, and on the long drive to the Hyperion her thoughts had been focused on Spike, on how they could find him. It had never occurred to her that Angel might have found him already, and as grateful as she was that there would be no search that Angel hadn’t dusted him her current nerves of jelly proved to her that she wasn’t ready to confront the latest vampire to run out on her.

Two long years of disturbing history between them tainted her moment of reconciliation. He was a vampire for God’s sake; and just because he’d wiped out a few demons for her, really didn’t mean that he did it to make her job easier. The motivation could simply have been survival, or the need to kill. She had seen that force, that thirst for violence within him often hell she had often intentionally fuelled it just to watch him go off and be impotent in his retribution. They had put a lot of stock into his claims of change, and within seconds of breathless desire and hope, she was returned to suspicion and distrust. Questioning her feelings, unsure in the strength of her love.

‘What had they been thinking?’ she asked herself slightly hysterically. Giles, Xander, they were now encouraging her to bring the pest back home, convinced he was worthy of their group membership. One mention to him of how they seemed to need him would make him insufferable and even more arrogant. No, this was all a very stupid mistake and she needed to get out of this room fast before she made a fool out of herself.

On shaking legs she stood, and quietly let herself out. The figure on the bed hadn’t moved even a fraction in the time she had been in there and she had to wonder how out of it he was after two or so days of recovery time.

Slinking out of the barely open door she bumped abruptly into something hard and immovable. She looked up swiftly in surprise and encountered stormy and angry brown eyes.

“Where exactly do you think you’re going?” Angel spat out, barely controlling his fury.

Buffy gulped, finally wounded by his seeming lack of feeling for her and confused by his temper.

“I just thought I should get out before I did something foolish. I suddenly came to my senses. I don’t need to align myself with vicious vampire, Angel. I’ll work something out with Giles about Glory.”

Her defensiveness was fuelled by fright and before her eyes she could see the skin of his face tighten and her heart began to beat with alarm.

“Why, you insecure, ignorant little…”

He closed his eyes at her gasp of outrage, and tried desperately to reign in his feelings of intolerance. He had made her be this closed woman, lacking in real knowledge and understanding of the things she hunted, and so without the true weapons to know how to fight this particular burden. He had guided her prejudice, keeping himself in her little pocket of exceptions, and now paid the price for not allowing any room for her to slot his Childe.

“He hasn’t said anything much. Mainly just groans of pain. But I know. He left Sunnydale because of you, didn’t he?” His eyes tore into her with all the intensity of a firestorm.

She nodded her head hesitantly, conceding his point but enlightening him no further.

“He’s in love with you.” It was not a question and she looked up at him sharply.

“William always loses direction and does a runner because of love. Don’t you know him well enough to know that, Buffy?”

“Yes…” she answered almost ashamed. She did know, she knew that it was her that had given his feet wings, that had forced more love from her life, and her cowardice rose to bite her in the ass.

What had happened to her resolve? To death being her gift? Nothing had prepared her for the suffering Spike might have endured. She had been so sure that even though she had finally worked out that she might have feelings for him, that she could admit to needing him both for her work and in her life, that she had forgotten the practicalities of romance on the Hellmouth. More particularly, her own disastrous romantic efforts that went straight to hell without a seconds hesitation.

And her friends, her mother and Giles and Xander. Were they saying it was okay for her to give him hope for a requited love? Or was it something else they were encouraging her to do to make sure he stuck around? Surely they wouldn’t be promoting a relationship between the Slayer and a soulless, evil vampire. That would be just too wiggy.

Gaining reassurance from her thoughts and straightening her backbone in determination, she allowed her voice to fall in at normal volume, allowing no more weakness to give her away, and despite the confidence in the words, she screamed internally to stop being such a bitch and stop making excuses.

“Angel. His feelings aren’t important.” She paused, guilt making her insides clench in self-disgust as Angel blanched and then resumed his angry frown, no longer being able to even look at her. But she pushed on, her own words to an extent burning her with the unwanted vitriol. “He is a vampire, one that is only helpful to us now because he has a chip in his head preventing him from hunting people and killing them. He needs the violence, and for that alone is why he has been helpful to us in the past.”

“God, do you even listen to the garbage you are saying?”

His outburst shocked her into mortified silence.

“You think that chip stopped him from hunting?” At her slow nod he barked out a sarcastic laugh. “Oh baby, he’s been hunting. Not killing, Dru and Darla did that for him, but it didn’t stop him hunting.”

At this startling confirmation Buffy lost all colour in her face along with the hope that she had been wrong to doubt his desire to change. She fell hard against the door and reached behind her with an unsteady hand to pull a stake from her waistband. A solitary tear squeezed out of her left eye and her hand grabbed for the doorknob, about to twist it and put an end to the evil lying motionless in the room. Before she could make the action though, Angel had grabbed her wrist and turned it sharply, pulling it behind her back in a show of strength he had rarely used on her.

“I think you and I need to have a little talk before you really do go and do something foolish.”

Her lips straightened into a line of menace as she tried to jerk her arm out of his grip, and then winced as the muscles in her shoulder pulled painfully.

“Angel, what the hell has gotten into you?”

His face was an implacable mask and instead of answering he pulled her down the corridor and thrust her into an empty room before shutting the door with a determined click. Looking at his face, cold in both temperature and emotion, she sucked in a breath to try and counteract her sudden nerves.

“Okay, Angel. What exactly is this about?”

“This is about you not understanding the basic, elemental nature of the people you are set to kill.”

“They aren’t people. They’re monsters. I need to eradicate them, not work out which bedtime story they like best.”

“How stupid am I? I thought you saw me as a person.”

“I do…but you have a soul. That makes you different.”

The darkness he had been struggling with since Darla’s return threatened to swamp him, to make this confrontation as bloody and violent as it deserved to be because of her ignorance. But thoughts of Spike, devastated underneath a cold, white cotton sheet strengthened his resolve. Remembering, caring for Spike brought the sanity back, the determination of his mission to the forefront of his existence.

“Even with a soul, I’m still a vampire. I hunt too. Just not people, right now.” His cloaked reference to Angelus was deliberate and he smiled in secret satisfaction as her heart indicated her sudden change in confidence.

Her nerves ratcheted up several notches to outright apprehension before she backed a few steps away, rubbing her man-handled and sore wrist while striving to concentrate on the situation at hand.

“The hunt is what it is all about for a vampire, Buffy. You rejected him, and I’ll stake my hotel you told him he couldn’t change, that it was impossible for him to be good.” He grinned in angry acceptance when she grimaced tellingly. “What did you expect him to do when you cut him free, Buff? You told him he couldn’t possibly be good but you still expected to have him sit away somewhere continuing the mission you felt him incapable of. And now you are disappointed that he did exactly what you expected of him, anyway. Make up your mind.”

She slumped against the door, defeated and miserable that Spike hadn’t proved her wrong. That he had killed, and had fed on humans once again. She couldn’t protect him from that, and she couldn’t take him back from that either. The Scoobies would never allow it. She shouldn’t even want it. But it hurt anyway.

“I think it is time you let yourself be open to the truth now, don’t you?”

Her head shot up in an instant, her bottom lip quivering delicately as the only sign of her emotional upheaval.

“What are you getting at?” She was getting really tired of his cryptic meandering path to the story; tired of having to kill the ones she…had strong feelings for, but knowing that Spike had to be taken care of, and Angel was wasting her time.

“He returned to his family, Buffy, and he tried to make them proud of him.”

Flashes of his beaten and broken body from only moments before gathered in her mind and she looked at him startled, but with a glimmer of understanding. And mounting hope.

“They weren’t though, were they?”

He didn’t speak, just shook his head in the negative, and waited for her to catch up.

“So, why weren’t they? He was hunting, feeding…why weren’t they immensely pleased to have him back? Why did they do…that…to him?” She waved her hand absently at the direction of the other rooms down the hall, toward the one where Spike lay unconscious. Thoughts of his suffering suddenly made her feel ill, and she felt herself falling back to those soft feelings of depth that had carved her heart into ribbons when he left.

How could hunting not be enough? Consuming be wrong? He was a vampire and he had acted like one, probably with relish, yet Dru and Darla had tortured and rejected him.

Comprehension made her green eyes glitter as she raised them to capture the brown ones filled with answers and knowledge.

“He stopped hunting, didn’t he?” Her voice was filled with awe and excitement as she watched his nod of agreement, and she let out a sigh of gratitude and sunk bonelessly to the floor.

Tired of trying to sort it all out for herself, she surrendered to the elder vampire and with her eyes pleaded with him to unravel the truth for her.

“Tell me…” she whispered, and he did.

“He was starved when I found him; looked like an Ethiopian a step from the grave. This lawyer I know was with him, Darla had taken over his apartment…long story…anyway, he told me what had been going on. Spike would talk to him, was a bit delirious, but you know Spike, can’t shut the guy up, ever. But I’d already heard a lot of it, on the streets. He started hunting, Buffy. But he stopped.”

He paused, watching her reaction and feeling reassured by the shimmering crystal of her eyes.

“Killing humans, or at least leading Dru and Darla to them to kill, was making him heartsick. He only went out with them for the first few nights, then stayed at home. They began to bring meals home he wouldn’t touch them. That’s when they chained him and started to beat him…torture him. He was in bad shape. Worse shape than I have ever seen him. He’s my childe, and he has been trying to be good. He might have slipped but he’s done the best he could without guidance. Without faith and support. I won’t turn my back on him, and I won’t let you stake him.”

Buffy raised wet miserable eyes to him, and began one last ditch effort to refute the possibility. One last argument to herself that the white-haired nuisance was not for her.

“It’s the chip, Angel. As soon as the chip is out he’ll be back there in it in no time.”

Angel snapped and started up to punch the wall in frustration. He stepped away, remaining quiet, thinking.

“Think about this then. If Angelus had been caught and had a chip put in his brain, do you think he would have come to you for help?”

Buffy blinked, the thought never having occurred to her.

“To tell you the truth, knowing Spike like I thought I did, I’m stunned that he did it. He could have gotten any one of his minions to collect his food; he could have still organised attacks. He found that Gem right under your nose.”

He relaxed a little at her short giggle, acknowledging the tale before he started back in with the crippling facts.

“He did plenty of wily things that I don’t think you ever gave him credit for, or if you did, it disappeared as soon as you eliminated him as a threat. That he went to his enemy for help is amazing. That he helped his enemy in her fight to do good, is astonishing. That he then fell in love with you and promised to be the opposite of what he was raised for you is miraculous. He has turned his back on his demon, on his nature to be something no other vampire has ever been, and you continue to kick him down for it. I might have a soul Buffy, but for him to do what he is trying so hard to do without one? In my book, that makes him better than me.”

Her silence was unnerving, no reaction to show which way she now leaned.

“I think there is something you need to understand about my soul, too.”

Her eyes were drawn back to him in surprise, sure that he had finished with his revelations. She waited for him to continue, her thoughts fighting to stay in the room with him while her body was eager to go back to her vampire and offer him the affection and comfort that he deserved. And the penance she owed for doubting in her newly claimed affection. Offer him her thanks and apologies, while she attempted to give him the support that had been lacking throughout their association.

“It wasn’t my soul that put me on the path to redemption.”

Her shock was confronting to him, he didn’t want to reveal how miserable and pathetic he had been for the hundred years following its return to him. Not wanting to lose face in the eye of her devotion. But Spike needed for her to end her judgmental attitude, and the only way lay in her need to know the truth about souls and motivation.

“It was you.”

She gasped in shock, Spike’s words surging forth in her memory. He had claimed to want to be good for her, and now Angel said she was the reason for his repentance.

“Huh?” She felt beyond words now, the steady list of revelations too burdensome for her to absorb them totally.

“Whistler took me to see you when you were at Hemery. I followed you to Sunnydale to help you in the fight. I fell in love with you as soon as I saw you, and chose to get my act together and fight against evil instead of wallowing in it. I wanted to keep you safe, alive. I think Spike has done the same without the benefit of a soul, with his demon in complete agreement of his motivation and action. It was his demon that rejected the taste of pumping, human blood. Something I am sure I could never have done. He deserves a second chance, Buffy. And a bit of loyalty.”

Loyalty.

He had recently given her that.

He had given her so much, and she had given him nothing but doubt and harsh, hateful words. And even in the face of revelation her own feelings for him tender and new her forceful run from the commitment ejected further recrimination. She had become the carbon-copy tourist flyer for the Council of Watchers, the embodiment of hard automaton Slayer. She had believed the lie, perpetuated it. Stood rigid in her disbelief of possible demon evolvement.

Self-realisation and confrontation was a bitch.

Pushing herself unsteadily to her feet she again tried to claim the door handle, but more words from Angel stopped her.

“There is something else, something I’m not sure about…but I am concerned.”

“What?” The tone of his voice set her teeth on edge, every cell of her body poised for fight or flight, whatever was necessary.

“I’ve been giving him human blood to heal. While there has been a small improvement, after two days he should really be a lot better. I think he might be dying.”

She spun around then and slapped him, no Slayer strength, just old-fashioned girly fear. Her hands rushed to cover her mouth and the tears she had thought under control now returned swiftly to wet her cheeks. So close, and yet her fear had allowed her to turn her back on him. Buffy shuddered, escalating terror for Spike’s unlife seeking release.

“How?”

“I think he is so sick of being rejected and hurt, that he has talked his body into shutting down. I told you he’s given up. He wants to die.” Angel was quiet for a few minutes, staring heatedly at her face before raising desperate eyes to hers and both pleaded and demanded. “You had better fix him and make him want to live, or so help me…” His voice broke and he turned away from her.

Her hand turned on the knob and the door began to swing open. As she set one foot out she thought she heard him speak again, but it was just a whisper.

“I need him alive to give me light.”

In confusion, she relocated Spike’s door and re-entered the room, kneeling next to his still figure and gently took his hand. No indecision remained, no panic or lack of understanding stood in the way of her decision. She couldn’t let him down, couldn’t let him leave her permanently.

They needed him, they all needed him.

And in the face of all that was topsy-turvey, apparently Angel needed him too.

Was there any doubt that an apocalypse was in the wind?

A/N...don't forget to review!

Chapter Eight

He came to with a rush of anxiety at the harsh whispers behind the door.

“Where exactly do you think you’re going?” Ah, Angel, his unlikely savior and unwitting witness to his end. An answer took a short pause before delivering the final blow. Her voice made him suck in unneeded breath, shed useless aggravating tears of hopelessness, and he sunk further into despair.

“I just thought I should get out before I did something foolish. I suddenly came to my senses. I don’t need to align myself with a vicious vampire, Angel. I’ll work something out with Giles about Glory.”

Oh God! She had come and he was useless, gone for good in her eyes. His leaving had meant little to her except for his final promise as he walked away, to help her against Glory in saving the life of her sister. But now she had seen him, swathed in useless white cotton as his body floundered and wasted away despite Angel’s nursing efforts to entice him back to health.

He drifted in and out under waves of understanding, voices only circling him with words that made little sense to his shattered mind. It was the tones that he heard, confusing him until her bitterness and loathing cracked through, and he shrunk back against the mattress, knowing that finally his end was near, and embracing it for the final escape from emotional anguish that it was.

“His feelings aren’t important,” he heard as those detested tears fell from eyes resigned to being the windows of his soul, sharing unwelcome love to those who would rather live without it, without him. “He is a vampire, one that is only helpful to us now because he has a chip in his head preventing him from hunting people and killing them. He needs the violence, and that alone is why he has been helpful in the past.”

His last tether to hope was torn from him forever as he digested her hated summary of his worth. He covered his face weakly with his unblemished pale hands, one hand sealing with all his remaining strength his mouth before his devastated whimpers could be heard on the other side of the door.

All the feelings he had been swamped and buried amongst for the past weeks rose to drown his motive, and all he saw were the lifeless limp bodies of women he had chosen for Dru to crack, falling with a final thump to the ground as he drained them of life. It didn’t matter that he had stopped, that he had wanted to stake himself rather than feed on those that Buffy was meant to protect. It was too late for him; he’d given in to the temptation of gaining his old existence back and found himself shrinking from the experience. How could he complain when Darla and Dru pointed out to him the error of his ways in the most brutal and cruel way they could imagine? They were vampires after all, and it would do him well to remember.

“You think that chip stopped him from hunting?” Oh Angel, now you’ve done it, mate. She’ll be hell bent on staking me now.

He couldn’t help but let out an hysterical giggle, though was relieved that his weakness kept it quiet and Buffy would never have heard, though he couldn’t guarantee Angel’s ignorance of the weakness of his childe. Spike rolled to his back, careless of the cuts that refused to fuse together and still wept blood onto the sheets, the pain making him bite the inside of his cheek but bringing him a bitter relief in distraction.

“Oh baby, he’s been hunting. Not killing, Dru and Darla did that for him, but that didn’t stop him hunting.”

He felt rather than saw her hand on the doorknob, ready to fling the wooden rectangle inready to pounce on him and slamming the sharp edge of the stake to his chest. His eyes squeezed shut as he tried to project for the last time his love for her, his forgiveness to Angel for shortening his possibility of redemption, and succumbed to what hideous tortures the afterlife would hold for him. His body gave in to jolting shudders as he waited for the weight of her over his body in promise of death, eyes screwed tightly shut to block out his final look at her face, not eager to see anymore of her disgust.

After tense excruciatingly slow minutes, he opened them to find the room still empty and silence outside. His disappointment was obliterative, ashamed that she couldn’t even bring herself to face him one final time before he was no more. The shudders calmed but his mental anguish escalated to a pitch unrecognisable to him. He didn’t understand, and was now past his ability to grasp even the simplest concept. He did, however, receive one with a magnitude that was gargantuan in its ugliness. She saw him again for what he was after almost eighteen months of him shaded in goodliness and favour, now the Big Bad was back out to play and she remembered. And she hated him. And he could do nothing for her or the Nibblet but pray that she would make it quick. Make his dusting quick so that the pain of waiting would be over and they could go on without him blackening up their existence.

The endless shaking of his form reduced his stamina and he fell into a recline that seemed deadly in its stillness. Indeed, his skin drained of more blood than excess, and he weakened further just by lying inert. His heart had accepted defeat and the functions of his demon fell into a grief so deep that he was unable and further, unwilling to rouse himself from its depths. The lack of voices concerned him no longer as his psyche surrendered him to a void deprived of feeling, deprived of hurt, but also deprived of love.

He had hunted, now it was his turn to be prey.


Silence was bound within the four walls of the hotel room; failed engagement of sound as one unconscious vampire lay undead and uncommunicative on the bed, and one Slayer sat uncomfortable but jittery on the floor, the pads of her feet bouncing in resistance to her bent knees. The stillness corrupted her panic as her eyes rested upon the figure of Spike; her vampire crushed and torn to a nearly unrecognisable mass. Buffy sat almost two metres from the bed, watching intently. Thoughts ran rampant through her mind and provided the only action abound. Her focus was within, questioning herself and her reactions and berating herself over her cowardice and self-inflicted misery and suffering. Her wounds were only emotional however, unlike the disintegrating health of her helpless vampire.

His lean repose was granted through horror and violence, rejection from his known, as he was deemed unworthy of their acceptance. He had embraced his past, encountered a small roadblock in his first baby steps back from the side of Good, but pushed beyond it to gain the favour of his familial women and a spot within the family that could make him feel wholegive him back the sense of belonging that he craved.
But the truth that had seeped from his inner core made his action abhorrent and he tried to cut loose from the death he was becoming both witness and instigator of.

Angel’s speech had struck her hard, forcing her to open semi-closed eyes to the possibilities of struggle; that not all defeat meant that the war was lost. She had been a fool as well as a failure in her stubborn blindness. He had seen things in a few days that had been obvious or at least should have been obvious to the Scoobies for the past six months. They had been unseeing in their prejudice, and so by continuing to discard the validity of Spike and his attempts at transformation, they relegated it to some selfish impulse on his part.

Her eyes rested on his hands; pale and motionless they held the fate of death and defeat at their fingertips. They were also the only unmarked patch of flesh on his entire body, she recalled, and flushed hotly in embarrassment at the recent memory of how she discovered that little fact. She had peaked under the sheet to check the extent of his damage, never even considering the possibility that he might be naked. Well, okay, she might have hoped. But her disgraceful voyeuristic moment had quickly brought back the gravity of the situation as she finally understood what that strange look that had passed between the men had meant. He was damaged. All over. Black and red, with small slashes of white in relief. Angel had only barely cleaned the worst of the torture from Spike’s body and she cried as her eyes fell again to those pale, white hands, fingers smooth and unbroken. The marred beauty of his flesh began at the wrists.

Seeing his body at such close rangecovered in splashes of a colour palette macabreBuffy felt like she could almost see his process. The need to hunt and prove that he wasn’t different to his known self, that he hadn’t transformed under the influence of the Scooby gang and, more rightly, the Slayer herself. The breakdown of his resolve to kill and feed mindlessly as he began to put faces to ‘happy meals on legs’. And finally, his broken heart at the realisation of himself as an evil killer who had wanted to change, but rejected the effort when help was denied to him. Looking at him now, Buffy felt it all: the uselessness, the grim ugly truth of her own part in his downfall. She saw his craving for end on the straight lines of his lips, by the inanimate hanging of his arm over the edge of the bed, and hung her head in defeat, sad and miserable, but above all terrified.

Too late. She was always too late.

A moan beholden of pain broke the glutinous shield of inactivity, fear holding all still for far too long as Buffy’s stiff limbs began to bear witness as she slowly pushed vertical. She made no step toward him, shame dictating her movements from this point as her reliance on instinct and her heart had never been at the forefront of her power. She watched his awakening with longing, wanting to touch his unblemished hand and offer her tardy support, but afraid that he wouldn’t let her be near him. As if she deserved it, anyway. She didn’t belong on the pedestal that he and her friends kept her on. She was fallible, she was blind and she was ignorant. Angel had uncovered it all in his desperation to protect his childe and get him the support he deserved.

Shining baby blue eyes blinked open to stare at the ceiling and she held her breath, unsure and frightened about where this was going to go. The flesh along her limbs began to buzz and tauten as she watched his awareness, felt the moment he could sense her presence. But he didn’t move, didn’t blink, didn’t even flinch. The previous stillness resumed, and her heart ached for the damage she had caused. She may not have rent blood from his body, but she had crushed his heart and will to exist.

Her hate within clashed with her voice of reason as the rising knowledge of affection for him asserted itself. While she held herself as still as stone she felt her emotional self leaning forward, eager to snatch some contact with the vampire that was stealing her heart while she was trashing his. Her vision blurred as the tears she hadn’t wanted to acknowledge slipped silently down her cheeks, setting off a scent of wetness that was confusing to a vampire in the clutches of melancholy.

Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew that it had to be his choice to move, to call out, to imply any kind of contact. Selfish again she knew, but she didn’t want to force him, or overburden him with her own pain when he was drowning in buckets of his own. Really, she had no rights here no right to pain for she had created all of it, her own loneliness while she had fractured the very core of the man and demon that Spike had been. She wasn’t expecting the coming confrontation to be easy. But at the bitterness his voice projected when it finally filled the room, she took a step back and clasped her arms around herself in a protective stance.

“Where’s your pretty stake, Slayer?” He continued to stare at the ceiling, the blank expression in his eyes separate from the frost coating his voice.

The shaking of her body continued through to her voice as she attempted to step closer to him.

“Why would I need a stake?” She queried back, honestly bewildered by his opening correspondence after weeks of being apart.

His jaw clenched in stubborn defense, and she gasped as she saw a tear fall from his eye.

“Heard you and Peaches outside discussin’ my hunting abilities. Really wasn’t expectin’ to wake up, luv. You must be slippin’.”

Buffy stood shocked in place, her face draining of all colour as she internally went over the conversation she’d had with Angel outside the door. Her panic had led her to say things in a manner that she really never would have done if she hadn’t been desperate to pitch one last attempt in talking herself out of falling for Spike. Now that she had been sorted out again, she was to be shafted due to her own stupid mouth. Her stupid fears and insecurities had thrown up roadblocks that they both could ill afford and she knew now that to convince Spike that she didn’t want to kill him that she in fact wanted to be the one to help guide him and show him his powerful worth would be ultimately consigned to the difficult basket.

It wasn’t fair. Everything was always so hard, every small concession in her life had to be fought like an apocalypse to gain any headway. And she was so tired of it. If she had just offered him a crumb, he would never have left. Then again, if he had never left, she may never have admitted her feelings for him and the Scoobies may never have recognised his value in their group.

“I’m sorry, Spike. What you heard, it was me just reacting…you know…badly. But I’ve calmed down now. I don’t want to fight you, and I’m not going to kill you.” Her voice had never risen above a whisper and all the apprehension she felt was embedded in the strains of sound. It shook embarrassingly, and she shielded her eyes by looking at the floor, just in case he turned his head to look at her.

Coward, she taunted herself and in stubborn acceptance she raised her eyes again and nearly fainted when they fixed on the hurt of shining blue across from her. No longer caring what caution dictated to her she took the remaining steps to his side and lowered herself to sit beside his reclining form.

“I’m so sorry, Spike. I was wrong. About everything. It’s been miserable since you left.” She adopted a small, safe smile, hoping for a positive response from him, but remained bewildered when his face didn’t flex one way or another.

Finally she gave in to impulse and gently took one of those perfect hands in hers and stroked the skin softly, emotion rising to her throat and immobilising her voice box. Her eyes fixed on the activity, clinging to something meaningful, clear and pleasant, but her eyes couldn’t stay fixed forever and they wandered to the bed, too nervous to look at him outright. Around him clouds of red fanned artistically and she sucked in an alarmed breath, reaching out fearfully to swipe a finger over the blood.

Her eyes sought his in panic.

“You’re bleeding,” she told him stupidly. Until now she had ignored Angel’s caution about Spike’s apparent unwillingness to heal. He was a vampire who had been sucking up blood like there was no tomorrow. It wasn’t possible that he wouldn’t heal.

But the terrifying evidence lay before her in crimson tie-dyed sheets. Her breath caught on a sob and she forced his hand, still clasped within hers, to her lips where she kissed the pure white flesh in temptation. Her tears leaked from her eyes and fell to his palm and gathered as it was cupped to her lips.

He looked at her actions in confusion and awe.

“What are you doing, pet?”

“Spike, don’t do this. Please don’t give up.”

Suddenly, he felt overwhelming rage against her and snatched his hand from her grasp, flexing his fist experimentally as he felt all his strength seep from his other limbs. He could feel the steady release of blood continue from his wounds and knew that he wouldn’t have too long. He felt weary and mad as hell that she had to appear during his last moments to offer him useless hope in the form of her sweet lips and tears. It was too much, to know that he had failed, that he had lusted after someone so far above him that his dust would barely even reward her level of light.

He could never take back all that he was, and he just needed her to be gone. Away from his side so he could go out alone, like he deserved. His pain was wrenching, gutting, and he hated her eyes on him, judging and knowing the evil that he was. His demon shifted within and he felt himself begin to drift, searching frantically for that small space within his mind that might offer refuge from this awful searing failure he felt throughout his being.

She saw the life fade in his eyes, the blue turning pale when she was used to seeing them sparkle with vitality, and wondered absently how she had known that when she had always tried to ignore his appearance. His pupils turned glassy without focus and she knew that he was disappearing, his body still useless on the bed but mentally distancing from her and whatever humiliation she continually brought on him.

In furious tides of panic she rushed to him, grabbing his bruised and blistered face with her hands and started to shout. She called for him to come back; to not be a coward, to return to her so they could work it out. But his distance only increased.

Startling insight gripped her as she watched in powerless fixation the man that offered her hope and love slip forever from her grasp. Angel had given him blood, human blood, but it did nothing to heal the open wounds of Spike’s heart. He was empty of hope, of reason. He needed faith, love, and by God, he needed Buffy. It was like a blinding flash from somewhere higher, he needed her. Her belief in him, her power to restore his aching romantic heart. Her power lay in her blood. It was always about blood.

The room was clear of anything sharp and she felt like time was running out, no chance to go searching for a blade of some kind. A shoddily built bedside table sat alongside the bed and in a fit of desperate temper she kicked it hard, wincing as it splintered easily. Grabbing a jagged piece of wood, she tore it into her flesh and allowed her power to seep from the cut. Without thought to her own painor even putting a plan in motion she had thrust her forearm to his lips, almost screeching in raw panic for him to drink. Nothing happened; he lay there inanimate staring unseeingly at the ceiling as her blood dripped from her arm to his chest. Wasting.

And yet, there was something. A spark of recognition, something light in his eyes, a resurgence of something buried deep in the shadows. She held her breath and waited for whatever it was to surface. As suddenly as the strike of a hidden rattlesnake he pounced, lips suctioning onto her arm and he gulped, pulling great mouthfuls of her source past his tongue to glide down his throat and replenish his diminishing strength.

Her heartbeats skipped radically then began to slow, and the demon raised his senses, locating the giver and shrunk back a little in fright, pushing the wounded arm from his lips while searching the face of his second savior. While he observed her, collapsed and breathing heavily, he smelt her scent of completion and smiled happily. The recognition flared and he snorted in surprise, but possessive pride. Her blood had filled him up with purpose, provided within him a sacred swelling of warmth of healing, of joining, of hope. She had come for him, had saved him, had made him hers forever more. Then Spike surged forth and he recognised her and he fell back in perplexed awe.

He watched.

And when she at last raised her head there were tears in her eyes and a smile on her lips.

Unable to speak, her throat too clogged from emotion, she sniffled.

He captured her gaze, seeing strength from her acceptance of events, and rewarded her with a brilliant smile.

As if being wiped like a magna-doodle, his bruise-blackened skin faded, cuts in his skin melded, and the blood finally stopped flowing. Bones knit stubbornly back together, and health began to radiate from every inch of exposed skin, causing her to shiver in a let down of her fear.

She reached out a shaking hand to his cheek and let it rest, becoming lost in the soft mystified reflection of his eyes.

“Don’t ever do that to me again,” she whispered hoarsely, fingers barely touching his cold skin. She shifted closer on the bed, unaware of the leaking blood from her arm as it stained her clothes.

Her eyes watered up some more as she determinedly cupped her hand around his jaw.

“I believe in you,” her voice barely there, relying on his superb hearing as she pulled him forward, her body drifting closer.

Then everything stopped as she placed her lips over his and massaged them with her tongue, clinging and suckling with a need so deep she felt swept away on something unknown.

Swept away on true love.

As their desperation to feel each other escalated, the kiss became deeper, more open and tongues matched rhythms perfectly. It was as if they were made to fit, to slot together in belonging. So at last she knew her place, beside him, within him, over him. She could never let him go again.

Their lips clung to each other even as they slowly pulled apart; Buffy’s eyes misted over in desire and gratitude.

Spike tilted his head, looking for the change in her, seeking the truth and despite the warming promise of her lips, hardening his heart for what truth she might expound. She had always been contradictory, but still his lips slid high in a smile at the dreamy look of completion on her face.

“Wow,” she told him saucily, bending forward again to place a too brief kiss on his neck while reaching and taking his hand in hers. She threaded their fingers together, united.

He sat up in the bed, feeling a need to be on a level with her and she scooted closer still, winding her other arm around his neck and loosing the curls at the back of his neck with her busy fingers.

“Buffy?” he questioned in a bewildered tone, almost fearful that he might prompt her to let go.

Instead, she smiled secretively, seductively as she again placed her lips against his, playing gently and nibbling softly before again pulling away. His heart objecting violently, too soon.

“Hi…”

He looked at her in wonder, guessing that perhaps he had turned finally to dust and was visiting her in some future where he was deemed worthy enough to enter her otherworldly realm. It felt like Heaven, but he knew it wasn’t possible with his past. The last few weeks rushed back at him and he sunk further into a depression that was singular in its dependence on him to fuel and refuel with his murderous memories.

She saw the shift from happiness as his eyes began to dull and she gripped his hand hard.

“Don’t,” she pleaded desperately. “Don’t give up again, Spike. I don’t think I can give you any more blood just now, and I can’t stand to see you like that again.” She waited a beat, a fraction of time. “I believe in you.”

That phrase again, the one that suggested that she trusted him, that she would help him. His demon and William rose together in warmth, hoping that this finally, would lead him to the man he was meant to be. That she would guide him to the man he could be.

His surprise was captivating, but her resolve stood strong.

“We want you to come home, Spike.”

His confusion was almost hysterical if it weren’t so sad, and she bit her lip to hold back further rounds of tears.

“Well, after we sort out Glory, and keep Dawn safe.”

Recognition had his blue fire eyes flare, and he looked quickly around the room, searching for clothes. He came up empty, eyes swerving back to her and he gulped, knowing she wanted him to say something but not able yet to speak. She had shocked the hell out of him and he still didn’t know what it all meant for her. To her.

She couldn’t keep her hands still. She surrendered his hand and let hers join her other around his neck, almost bringing her chest flush with his. The heat between them burned and he found his arms encircling her waist, one palm sneaking under the hem of her top to rest against her skin. He raised his eyes to hers in amazement.

“I want you to come home,” she whispered against his lips, and they kissed again, immediately with open mouths and swirling possessive tongues. He sunk without explanation, casting out doubt for this one moment where he could claim all his dreams and hopes in her, even if she kicked him when she was done. For now, he had her, and as his arms held her solid against his chest, his eyes washed with moisture not befitting a man but broken, while he restructured himself in her promises.

When he felt her again draw away he tugged her possessively, before letting her pull back from him.

And then her words began to crystallize in his head.

“Who’s we?”

She looked at him, her lack of understanding blatant and funny as she was swept away in a haze of attraction.

“Huh?”

“Who wants me to come home?” He braced himself for the knowledge of who wouldn’t make it onto the list, and was surprised when it was recounted in full.

“All of us. Even Giles and Xander. I didn’t know it but Xander actually called Angel to ask him to find you.”

His eyes widened in delirious delight and the moisture increased to tears relief and happiness giving them colour as they slid down his face.

With a shaking finger and a wobbly lip Buffy traced their path along his cheek and leaned in to do the same with her lips. When she fell back her own eyes brimmed over with emotion.

“I was so wrong, Spike. I can love you. Please let me try.” Her voice broke as she pleaded for a second chance and she clung to his neck at his ecstatic expression of possibility.

“Do you mean it?” He had difficulty in believing, so long had he been rejected and denied, it seemed impossible that things could change. But he was so eager, so needy for a show of devotion that he was about to believe it all. But something lagged behind in the rush, something forced him to question, to deny. Something held him on guard, held him away from falling into her arms and declaring himself hers.

Fear. It held him in thrall; urging him against rashness, against haste. So he held steady.

Staring back and recognising his attempt at withdrawal, she knew that patience had lost, that she was too late to hold out, to take things slow. Her opportunity had disappeared, and only one thing she hoped could drag him back now.

She let him watch as she lowered all defenses, rid herself of all walls surrounding her heart. She lay herself bare to heartache and rejection, as the emotion welled within and displayed obvious on her face. Taking a deep breath she held it while searching his face for encouragment. He kept it blank. She began to shake as she focused first on his lips, then as courage flagged sought desperately for his eyes, beautiful cerulean eyes that shined with everything he embodied. Love. Loyalty. Hope.

It was time.

The breath released, her voice clawed for volume as it lay cracked and withered in her throat.

“I love you.”

And the dam broke free; he held her to him tight with purpose, refusing to let go as his body dissolved into emotional shudders of relief. They held each other as both cried out their happy reunion.

And rejoiced in finally knowing each other.


A/N...Phew...thank God that's over with! I'm hoping this scene will affect many of you, as it meant alot to me. I am very grateful for all reviews, and I just wanted to say particualarly to Gail that I have tried to extend the characters Joss gave us, and yes, correct some things that never satisfied me. I think I have actually stayed pretty true to Buffy with her lack of decision and trust in herself. But the main thing is, it had to be different, or I would just be rewriting the show. Angel and Spike had been close for the twenty years before Angel got his soul, as evidenced by flashbacks of the Immortal etc...being Spike's Yoda...but from other reviews it seems pretty favourable that I had Angel be the lesson bearer. I thought it a poignant lesson that Angel could find his way back to his purpose through learning it from Spike. I hope you continue to read despite your lack of faith in how I am portraying the characters, and I have no problem with anyone else telling me their opinion of my writing. I thank you for taking the time.

And I look forward to all new reviews for this chapter.

Chapter Nine

“So…do you think Spike’s gonna be okay? ‘Cause, you know, dying Spike not really that helpful with the ridding the Hellmouth of demon activity. Also, not much of the usefulness with the Glory sitch.” Xander threw in a nervous laugh to cover up his mounting concern and then grimaced as all eyes turned to him in surprise.

“Xander, I didn’t know you cared!” Dawn sat beside Joyce, holding her hand in the hope of giving as well as receiving comfort. Her eyes glistened in merriment at the hidden depth of feeling for the vampire that Xander was reluctantly allowing to be exposed. First his hints about efforts to have Angel find the peroxided vamp, and now with the worried voice. She thought it was cute, and wondered if she wouldn’t be too fickle by transferring her teenage crush from Spike, back to Xander. Buffy was gonna take Spike for herself, anyway.

Xander had ducked his head a little in embarrassment, but determined to not go back to undervaluing a member of the group; and loathe to admit it as he was, Spike was in. A member. A bonafide Scooby. He felt a little nauseous.

“Can’t deny the guy is rather handy at swindling unknowing coeds at pool.” He smiled wryly and turned back to study Anya’s nails as he held her hand.

She gave him one of her confusing spacey smiles and went back to observing the hotel. She seemed fiscally devoted to the surroundings and turned to stage whisper to Xander.

“I wonder how much they charge per room?”

Xander gave his girlfriend an admiring glance before patting her knee and loudly whispering back, amused that she didn’t catch his little teasing.

“I don’t think they take in paying guests, Ahn.”

“Oh.” She frowned, disappointed at not getting the heads up on a potential business enterprise. Then she slumped back in the sofa and sighed her tiredness.

They all looked up as Angel casually made his way down the stairs. He stopped in front of them, looking at the group with a degree of confusion before recognition lit a spark in his eyes.

“Oh! Sorry. Got caught up in the Spike situation and forgot you were all here. So, what’s this Glory situation that Buffy was talking about?”

Giles began to stand, hoping to question the darker vampire about Spike’s condition, but was waylaid by the determined change in topic. Resigned for the moment, he started to relay their current dilemma and finished with a round of possible scenarios of how to improve their chances of survival.

“So, in other words, you have no idea how to take on Glory and win?” Angel’s lips turned up at the edges in a smirk worthy of Spike approval.

Giles’s shoulders slumped in grudging agreement and he cast a concerned glance to both Dawn and Joyce, noticing as their clasped hands tightened and turned white at the knuckles.

Dread seemed to thicken the air and Angel’s smirk slipped as he became confused, wondering at his brief moments of darkness and lack of caring about their plight. But one look at Dawn her large blue eyes called something familiar to him and he blinked in surprise. He stood suddenly and made his way to her, taking her hand and pulling her away from the others, away from their overpowering scent and strength.

The blue in those ovals that took him in searched him for meaning and held him still in understanding and recognition. He almost fell over in shock, his eyes peaking at width as he struggled to take it all in, traces of her scent along with the exact shade of her eyes. Little familiarities that took him hostage to his baser impulses…gave him ownership in a way the monks had clearly imagined might be needed to keep her safe, should family become involved. She was his, in a watered down connection.

Of course, she was Buffy’s sister made wholly of her but so different that he questioned. Her eyes, the exact shade of the one he had left fading upstairs; Dawn’s scent blended, not all together Buffy but shades of another, enough tainting of Spike to know that he would do whatever it took to protect the one his Childe had rambled about during his less coherent moments. He knew then that Spike had never recognised it, never knew that she was a part of him. Yet a small part of him had known enough and that was why he had adopted her as his Nibblet: to look after and befriend as he saw fit. He was to be her knight, her champion, just as the elder vamp was now beholden to do.

Giving nothing of his thoughts away, he turned from her and passively led her back to her seat before taking a breath and facing the Watcher.

“I know of a demon who might be able to help.”

He offered nothing further and Giles slipped forward in his seat, balanced precariously on the edge of reason while waiting futilely for a continuation to their verbal rescue.

“Well, come on then. Don’t leave us in bloody suspense.” His patience had worn out. He had stood wary of the souled vampire since the moment they had walked into the building, sensing something a little off with him but not enough to cause them to run.

To be wholly truthful, he took comfort in the fact that Angel had ensconced Spike within the walls of the hotel and appeared to be in the mind to help heal and care for him. It had him suspended in confused disparity, one that was changing by the day. Thoughts of Spike no longer had him reaching for a stake and a plan on how to most proficiently embed it in the irritant’s chest. No, he could see the possibility of wanting to help by the brief explanation they had received earlier about his diminished condition, and he just hoped for all their sakesbut most importantly Spike’s own and Buffy’sthat the arrival of the Slayer would help that process and not hinder it.

He startled back to attention at Angel’s burst of one word.

“Caritas.”

“What’s that?” He asked Angel merely because he felt exhausted, not up to the games and cryptic form of speech that the former so often adopted. A quick look around him confirmed that everyone was surprised by this offered solution and he hadn’t merely missed the explanation through his silent contemplation of Spike.

“It’s a club.”

Angel’s voice stopped the flow again and Giles felt his temper begin to rush out of his mouth with a burst of vitriol he attributed to lack of sleep and ongoing concern for all their lives.

“What does a bloody club have that can help us? Good God man, we are beyond parties and drinks at this stage of the game. If you have nothing of worth to contribute, then go and help Buffy so that Spike can come with us and we’ll be on our way.”

Joyce reached over and laid a gentle hand on his arm and he wondered at the weakness that caused her hand to tremble. Her fear obviously was taking control of her normal calm, but also illness had taken its toll and he was worried for her. Desperation had begun to settle heavily on his shoulders and he felt like whipping them all out of there and back into the vehicles to resume their flight from Sunnydale.

One look at Angel revealed a look of calm and patience that had always been the thing to convince them he was worthy of trust, and Giles felt the burning simmer of rage bank slightly and he clawed at calm. Covering his eyes wearily with one hand, he waved the other to Angel and quietly asked him to explain.

“There is a demon there. Lorne. He listens to people sing, reads their soul their psyche and can tell you what you need to do. He helped me with D…well, something recently, though it was too late for…anyway, if Dawn sings for him, maybe he can offer some suggestions.” He shrugged his shoulders in an appearance of nonchalance, but underneath his muscles were coiled tight with purpose.

Memory of his failure at first appeared overwhelming, but he wouldn’t let it take over again, wouldn’t let himself feel hopeless. He had a chance here to make a difference to do the right thing. He might not have been able to protect Darla, but he would make sure that both Spike and Dawn were safe and on the road to preservation.

When he finally looked up, he was amused to watch the range of expressions that faced him. Willow looked at him in stark horror, leaning over to pat Dawn’s hand in commiseration for having to sing, while Giles seemed to preen. He noticed that Joyce seemed a little different to usual; a little fatigued and pale and he wondered something was wrong.

“Well, until then you all look rather exhausted. We can’t do anything now until nightfall anyway, so how about I show you to some rooms and we can all get some sleep?”

Tired, mumbled consent reached his ears and he nodded before leading the group up the stairs and to a number of empty rooms with beds sparsely made up but otherwise comfortable. Leaving them to their thoughts and concerns he moved on to stand outside another room, listening carefully for whatever clues might seep through the crack of the door. He could discern the low rumbling of Spike’s voice, stronger than he had heard it for the past few days, and he sighed with a smile on his face, relief weakening his knees for short seconds before he happily took himself further along to his own room.

Lying alert for the next hour, Angel didn’t relax enough to sleep until his extrasensory abilities could detect no further disturbances all quiet for the day and he fell gratefully into a coma-like slumber.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

The room rested in almost complete darkness, interrupted singularly by a dimly lit lamp beside the bedhead. It bathed the couple reclining in each other’s arms on the bed in a gentle glow of romance. As the hotel settled around them in silence they peered compulsively into each other’s eyes, sending messages of comfort and devotion new to both but eagerly claimed and owned. Hands stroked bared skin, fiddled absently with buttons and fabric, urgency gone as they just contemplated each other. Learned each other. Became intimate in a way that neither had ever imagined.

It terrified.

As Spike healed, they lay quietly engaging the other in gentle love play that served to both awaken desire but heal old wounds and mend old hearts broken. Stroking flesh led to the holding of hands and they became still once again, stretched out atop the covers, still fully dressed and staring heatedly into the other’s eyes.

Buffy had felt her whole body flush hot about two hours earlier and was still waiting for her temperature to recede. As long as she remained lost in the oceanic depths of Spike’s sexy blue eyes, she gave up on it ever happening. They shone with a happiness that she felt sad to have never witnessed before this moment, and she vowed that the sadness that seemed to be completely washed away would never take hold in them ever again.

She searched his face for signs of his recent journey and located his change in the lines around his eyes and mouth. Being tortured for wanting better seemed to have aged him, and the evidence of his family instigating the event left him emotionally mangled.

Her head rested comfortably on his bare shoulder, her hair fanning over his skin like a shimmering blanket of gold. As his gaze slid wonderingly over her face he held his breath waiting…waiting for the other shoe to drop…only it never seemed to fall. The expression in her green eyes was one of want, of having found what she had searched for.

His stomach roiled at the devastation he knew would be his end if this were not for real. There were no more barriers for them to hide behind, everything now lay completely bare before them and he was afraid. They were perched on the precipice of forever and he knew that the time was still too short for him to get all he needed from her. All he wanted, craved, yearned from her. Eternity would be bygones too short.

But it was eternity that shone with promise in her eyes as she tipped her face up to his, quiet still reigning between them as she drifted ever closer and calmly placed her soft lips upon his. He moaned as his eyes shuttered closed and he gave in to the sweet temptation that was her mouth, hot, heady passion conveyed by her sensual touch. Her hand snaked up to twist around his head and her fingers tangled in his hair, holding him to her as she delved and sought reason, knowledge and possession. Her body twisted as she sought a closer contact between them and he found his bare skin teased with the fabric of her clothing. His hands remained outside as he cupped her chin, losing all coherent thought as he lost himself in her being.

He was swept away on a burgeoning tide of feeling and he felt himself drown again and again, just like he had wanted to tell her before Drusilla arrived in Sunnydale and sapped him of all his courage, giving him another title rather than ‘Loves bitch’. He just knew, somewhere on the brink of his consciousness, that Buffy would probably call him ‘Mr. Cowardly Scaredy Pants.’ And, with her lips glued to his, he was surprisingly fine with that.

After many breathless, scorching minutes, she pulled away and attempted to remember how to breathe. Her skin felt burned, super sensitive to touch and breath, so much that her insides fluttered with every small contact and she was on the brink of explosion every time she took his tongue into her mouth. It was kind of embarrassing really, how close she felt to that end, the little death. It seemed ironic that death was all wound up as her gift, and it always came back to Spike. His wanting to kill her, and now wanting to love her to death. One slurp of her blood and she was on tenterhooks waiting for the moment when she could be truly his; mind and soul seemed to be taken care of but boy, was body feeling neglected.

“I have no idea how I managed to forget you could kiss like that,” she panted lustily at him, her lips curved into an eager smile as she focused again on the curved luscious red of his own, blushing with fresh bloody sustenance in the form of Slayer.

He tilted his head in thought.

“You know, pet. You’ve never mentioned Red’s spell since it happened. Did you get her to do a forgetting spell?”

She looked at him guiltily and her cheeks blushed prettily. He could hear the thunder of blood as her heart began to race.

“Trust you to pick that up. Is there anything you don’t see? It can be a bit invasive ya know!”

His crushed and uncertain look immediately had her complacent and apologetic.

“Joking.” She kissed him hard on the mouth, enticing him back to their newfound lusty land. “I love that you can see the truth behind things. You are so perceptive, and I’m Miss Blind Spot. Really, you are the perfect guy for me.”

She sat back, satisfied with herself, satisfied with what she had in him, and she bestowed another of those veiled promise kind of looks and Spike felt his blood begin to race his body reacting to her smell of ownership as she shuffled across him to straddle his lap. She made no acknowledgement of the hard length poking the inside of her thigh through the thin cotton sheet, other than to close her eyes and contemplate for just a moment.

Buffy leaned forward, her eyes still tightly closed as she pressed her moist lips to the side of his neck, slowly tasting his skin with her tongue. With small licks she found his ear and swirled her tongue within the shell and flushed again at his groan of arousal, smiling as his hands clamped around her hips and pulled her down to grind against his surging desire. She blew against the wetness that encompassed his ear and then sat motionless until he stilled.

Cheek against cheek, she whispered words of endearment to him, making promises of support and life. Pulling back her lips trailed over his face, softly supping from his lips before moving quickly away to kiss his eyelids. Having covered all of his face with gentle, tender caresses she returned to his mouth, sucking his lower lip inside and latching on with her teeth. She nipped at him gently, but even that small action of teeth had him growling hungrily for more.

With obvious reluctance she pulled away, allowing her eyes to drift open again and take in his passionately shattered self. She smiled with power, so very glad that she could do this, that she was able to save him, and that they could now save each other. The oddness of the situation she found herself in, exchanging words of love and erotica with a vampire that had in her past tried to kill her and more recently insult her into incapacity numerous timeswas so far beyond the line of weird she was almost convinced that the dimensions had shifted. But it felt so good to touch him, to feel his arms band around her. She had never felt so sure that she wanted this, wanted more of what he was introducing her to; the passion and devotion. Most of all, she was eager to experience the staying. With the correct incentive she was sure he would be a good stayer.

Her musings drifted into uncharted lands of forever, of coupledom never before fully explored. A relationship reciprocated with love…

But then the mission returned, and she knew that the danger they all faced had to be resolved before anything else between she and Spike could be pursued.

As usual, he knew and accepted the plight.

“So, what do we do for the Nibblet?”

The grin of gratitude she beamed at him was almost breathtaking. She once again rested her head against his shoulder as she attempted to fall back into plan mode. Her eyes rested on the shades over the windows, taking in the soft glow of light that burned around the edges.

“Well,” she mumbled against his naked chest, muscles fluttering against her hot breath and teasingly knowing smile. “The important thing is to get you back to full strength.” She looked at him, waiting for his nod of hesitant confirmation and she lowered her head again. “I think we should probably all get some sleep and then think about what to do tonight. Maybe Angel has some ideas of what we can do.”

Spike raised an incredulous brow.

“Peaches always has ideas, luv. It’s how useful they are that counts.”

She snorted in a distinctly unladylike, but Slayerlike way, and slapped a hand over her mouth, leaving her eyes to smile her humour. But as his lips slammed back into her focus the colour of them reminded her of blood and she knew that he had to get well. She needed him by her side, and Dawn needed him for her life.

Tilting her head to the side, she pulled her hair to curtain behind her away from the exposed creaminess of her throat. His hand settling there and pulling her forward had her pause in disorientation, then his lips swerved away from what she offered.

“No, pet. ‘S not right. A bite on the neck is very erotic, meaningful. We aren’t ready for that yet. I want it to be perfect for you.”

Her eyes shimmered with grateful and love-blushed eyes. She nodded, her anticipation radiating beyond her and flowing into the room. She felt buzzed, wishing that moment could be there already, but knowing it wasn’t the time or the event to be rushed. She wanted it to be perfect, too.

Almost lost in a daze of arousal she offered him again her wrist, the jagged wound only a little mended over. She was so focused on him that she was confused at his frown over the jagged tear, but let it go as his fangs slid through her skin like a scorching hot knife through butter. Her head immediately became encased in cottonwool as she surrendered to the sensation of having a part of him inside her. And then her eyes collided with his and clarity came screaming back to her in an erotic whoosh as everything within her surrendered to his touch.

Caught by his gaze, her body began to twitch and writhe, and without conscious thought she surrendered to moans of want, need. She rubbed her crotch against the length of sheet hardened between her legs and allowed her free hand to roam, to stroke over pale cool skin until she felt on the wrong side of desperate. One final pull of her blood and her nether muscles clenched in exquisite pain and she collapsed against his chest, sweating and shaking in lust, kissing whatever bare skin came in contact with her hungry lips.

Spike felt the warmth of her blood flood through the empty tunnels of his circulatory system and strength goaded every muscle in his body to action. Two iron bands of arms seized her almost violently and pulled her closer to him, pushing her down on his covered cock with frantic purpose. His mouth consumed hers and they moaned and cooed in unison as they took possession of a promise that felt wrong to be delayed. But as the roaring behind his ears dimmed a little he regained his focus and set her away. His lips remained on hers, licking and sucking for all he was worth but stepping down a notch to a more sensual exploration of her secrets.

Her body shuddered again in violent repletion as she rocked herself to another glorious moment of passion, and her forehead settled against his in a mixture of embarrassment and satisfaction, eyes clamped tightly closed. Minutes stretched awkwardly as she refused to look up, but then the gentle caress of his fingers against her face made her breathe deeply in mounting desire and she raised passion hooded eyes to his.

“That was…I mean…wow! I bet biting my neck will be a big disappointment compared to that little episode.” Her saucy teasing pushed him over the edge and he dived on top of her, the convenient sheet falling away and exposing him fully to her view for the fist time. Her breathing stopped. Her heart stopped. Then when it all resumed in a crash of unmanageable lust her hands swept all over, clinging to the experience and losing herself totally to sensation.

But when it came down to it, she was still very much clothed and as hands raised to buttons it calmed the fiery beast enough for them to think, and know that now was not the time. Buffy’s breathing continued raggedly but she allowed Spike to resettle under the sheet then curled into his side, allowing the pose to resume of earlier as she lost herself again in his eyes.

Knowing she had embarked on something new.

Terrified.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Joyce could hear the gentle murmurs of Willow and Tara in the room beside her and smiled gratefully that they all had escaped Sunnydale and that there was no one left behind they need worry about. Dawn had already stretched out on the sole bed equipping the room, and was snoring quietly just like a resilient teenager was apt to do. Again she smiled in relief before letting the expression slip entirely from her face and she grimaced in discomfort.

Since the operation she had been circling a condition of apprehension that she felt she could not share with her girls. She didn’t feel pain exactly, but in that inherent way that a woman knows the goings on in her own body, she knew that something was not quite right. Being dragged all over the countryside to save Dawn, indeed probably to save them all, irritated her. Not that she didn’t want Dawn to live. Not that she didn’t believe Dawn to be wholly hers but the steady thrum of wrong that existed within her caused an impatience with the world that was seeping into her judgement and causing her to care less about the things she ordinarily would have.

Seeing Angel just brought the gloom back into her life, but at least this time round he was here for Spike. She had noticed what the absence of the fake blonde vampire had meant to Buffy, on top of the disappearance of Riley. Adding her own illness to the mix, and she was a little unsure how Buffy had refrained from becoming overwhelmed. Her daughter’s strength and resilience of course made her proud, but she wished for now she had been given a room on her own.

Looking over at Dawn she felt smothered, struggling within a world of soft pillows over her face and choking the life from her. It made no sense, other than that knowledge of her body, the one that all women knew about themselves. Yes, she knew her own body, damn it. Didn’t all women? And she knew that something was wrong.

Dizziness confused her thoughts for a moment and she lowered herself to the bed, a heat in her head meaning little, and hurting less, but indicating enough that she did know her own body. All women knew when something was a bit off. And as her thoughts turned circular again, she drifted unnaturally into sleep.

A/N...oh my gosh, what can I say, the comments from last chapter just blew my mind. I am so grateful to you all and am still so excited that you like the fic. looking forward to hearing what you have to say about this one.

Chapter Ten

He could feel the change. Small but momentous shifts within his body, within his head: elementally, within his demon. It called a hallelujah to him that was swiftly repressed in denial, until it rose to such heights it could no longer be crushed down, ignored and rejected. And once he had accepted it while in Sunnydale and in love he had embraced it, allowed it to flourish and take a grip on his life; to alter enough of him for him to be courageous and loyal.

No one had noticed.

Giles had been heavy with the destiny talk when Spike had first been incapacitated with the chip. But when it occurred, and that ‘higher purpose’ to his alteration began to be revealed, no one had noticed. Then he had left them behind and the change intensified, increased its transformation.

And then Dru had noticed.

In the depths of the ignorance and darkness that he was surrounded by he found a place, a refuge a bolt hole that his essence had escaped so as to retract to a small particle, almost forever lost and hidden, but waiting.

In his decline he had no idea what he had been waiting for what that tiny secluded area of him needed for change irretrievable. The wait had been beyond arduous, though, beyond painful as he swung from the ceiling chains in the pup’s apartment. He’d been naked, cut and blemished, bleeding out onto the carpet, but still he had waited.

The wait had brought about his final moments of clarity, of consciousness as he came to the conclusion that it was too late. Images of Buffy tied in his crypt, her face contorted in fury, outraged that he would dare to treat her that way, outraged that he would dare to love her at all. But he had been changing for her, and she didn’t see. Sure, that particle hidden within him craved to be good now for himself, not just for her, but she was the impetus, the light that had guided him out of the darkness he had fallen into over a century ago.

But he had hung defeated, tortured by his once love and Great Grandsire; family. His own kind, his own order had turned on him. For him, the wait seemed over as he surrendered to failure and welcomed an end to his existence. Whatever he had been waiting for, while dangling broken from the ceiling, he knew it would never come and his body began the process to end.

Everything had abandoned him; hope, courage, love. His body flushed them out with the blood that dripped onto the fibre below his brushing feet. Sadness and a futile acceptance tainted all as he succumbed daily to more grief while Dru stuck in another poker, dribbled more holy water over his lips and eyes, cut great bloody gashes down his torso. All the while, Darla’s delighted laughter hurt his ears and he had even given up on tears…waiting, waiting…can’t enact change when so removed from action.

He continued to dangle and give up on waiting…it was too late in seeking him out, punishing him for his numerous mistakes. Waiting for Buffy, waiting for love. Both hopeless and obscene in his waning mind. Then he understood: in leaving Buffy, he had left change behind. He tried to transfer his hope for change onto William, but that one was too weak, too misguided and lacking in knowledge to deal with such a situation. Dangling…Angel couldn’t help, even if he could get past the wanting to stake him for existing…and in the end, William was, as ever, useless.

His surrender finally gelled once within the walls of Angel’s domain; human blood, even that given willingly, refused to grip the insides of him and filtered uselessly through his wounds. There was no more waiting in his mind, but change had occurred without his realising had been lingering within his movements for months, perhaps years. But the big boom of arrival had slipped by unnoticed, and Spike continued to leak his essence onto the bed, drifting and then moving determinedly to ‘giving up’. He never saw that his waiting for change had ended; it was now just her that he rested for. Then he had heard her, in his half-delirious acceptance of the end, he heard her on the other side; Buffy, with her hate and accusations it was the final letting go. He swayed toward his final death.

Then she had appeared and he swayed even quicker, his shut down almost complete as he continued to waste, his wounds continued to seep. His demon had cried for her, craving her touch and beauty one last time before he ended, but then the process continued, ignorant of words, or promises, or tears. Nothing registered within him anymore, his senses the last to close off.

And then there was her blood.

Rich and raw with feeling it closed openings and opened what was closed. His demon sniffed and slowly reawakened, curious as to this temptation, questioning its meaning but hoping as it clawed to the surface and allowed fangs to pull out more of the blood. Sucking and savouring while trying desperately to understand. And then it was there, the final clue to who he was and what he could be. Her blood was acceptance, agreement and determination. Without thought, without consideration, she gave him herself and he knew true belonging had gripped him finally. He could wander aimlessly no longer for he had found his home. Her. Her blood was love. He could feel it, taste it, and he craved so much more of it. Then as passion and love and colour and brightness and clarity again washed over him, he released her wrist and dove into the warmth that was her, enveloping her in his embrace as his body knit miraculously back together.

She had always been what he needed.

Yes! Rupert was a fool. His ‘higher calling’ had occurred right under the Watcher’s nose.

Now, seeing his reflection in her eyes as she watched him possessively, lovingly, he knew that he wouldn’t, couldn’t be invisible to them any longer. He might still only be tolerated, but with his heart beside him, his soul attached forever to his arm, they could no longer refuse to see him. And he hoped, one day, they would even come to care for him.

He thought the process might have begun. Buffy had told him it was Harris that had instigated the search for him by contacting Peaches. This act had him speechless, and indeed he shied away from speech as his throat became clogged with emotion, overwhelmed with the awareness of finally getting the one thing he had wanted in all his existence. To be wanted, to be needed. To be longed for. He immediately decided to give Harris a chance, to cut back on the snark maybe, and see where this new thing between them could visit. He had hopes.

For the first time in weeks, he had hope.

And, he had change.


Buffy felt like her eyes were glued open. The night had passed with alternating sleep and watching, nervous that if she closed her lids even briefly that he would disappear or give up again and fade while right next to her body. So, she had watched, over and over again lost herself in the oceanic depths of his eyes. She had never noticed before what a beautiful shade of blue they were, or if she had she’d blocked it out. That seemed more likely.

But as she watched, there was a knowledge surging up within her. It made her a little frightened, a lot nervous, particularly as she recognised it as her Slayer within seeking something from this vampire that shared her space. But as the raising became stronger she had calmed, curled herself into his side and the security that being his suddenly gave her. And she knew it with a finality and obviousness that made her want to belt herself up the side of the head. She was his, and if the connection of her Slayer side to his demon side was any indication at all, she always had been.

He had been lost beside her for hours, and though concern prickled on the outer edge of her consciousness, she knew he was sorting. Letting go of the bad and hopefully trying to understand the new. She saw the occasional flicker in his eyes, the amber of pain and humiliation and guessed he was remembering Dru and Darla and their form of love and courage. Beside him, she seethed, almost desperate to get out there and seek them with a knotty stake to the heart.

Her body shook intermittently while she pondered on the last day, caught on the ‘almost’ of what it could have been. The day that she ‘almost’ didn’t make it in time. The day she ‘almost’ didn’t understand what she had to sacrifice for him to save him. The day she ‘almost’ hadn’t ignored the interference of her fear and her cowardice. The day she had ‘almost’ lost everything that would give her strength, hope and meaning. Her tears were the only sign that the overwhelming ‘almosts’ could have taken her down. Luckily, Spike was still lost somewhere and he didn’t notice her wipe them away on her sleeve, finally returning to drown in those eyes.

Her body had never felt so warm, wrapped up in him. It felt so odd, so new. Only a month ago Spike had been the vampire she would love nothing better than to stake, to get him out from under her feet, so she could stop feeling the hurt every time he betrayed her with thoughts or actions geared toward her death. Then on a fraction of a second she wondered why it was, why it had to be that it was him, that he called her like none of the others ever had. Riley had never fought her, had only loved and needed her, yet he had never been enough. Had never felt right.

Spike felt more than right. He felt like hers. Like he’d been made for her, formed exclusively for her.

With knowledge came the almost physical sensation of mending, her heart drawn back together and the cracks being appliqued over with strips of intense ownership, striking love to repair what had been too long fractured. Giving him her blood willingly had achieved some standard, passed some test of worthiness as she peered sappily into the eyes of the one who had given up his way of life for her.

But now she understood, it wasn’t today.

He hadn’t changed today and decided to end his murdering ways. He had struggled with the shift the moment he had given her his loyalty and help in stopping Angelus. He had gone against his family, what he had known, ever since that day. He had approached Buffy once, and her attitude then made it obvious that he was accepted under duress. Too early, it had not been his time. But he kept coming back and back until he was swept under the force of government initiative, and rendered fangless, but no less devious and masterful.

For what seemed like the first time, alternatives occurred to her. For a Master of his calibre, there had never been any need for him to give himself over to the Scoobies. It had been a choice. He had wanted to do it, maybe not consciously, but he had wanted to, sought her out, to be under her influence once again. He wanted to bathe within the light of right. Evil would never have chosen such a path to begin with. His path had been highlighted years before.

Buffy recognised intervention when she saw it. Angel and Drusilla’s childe, handed over for safe keeping because they were not up to the challenge. He had been created for something deeper, and for the very first time his lack of soul didn’t concern her. His guilt and remorse, shown by the wasting of his body, was enough to prove to her that there was something, if not a soul, something that was just as great and meaningful.

She had been blessed.

With a gentle blink, he seemed to return to himself and she felt slightly embarrassed that she was caught still staring intently at the sparkling blue. His smile put her at ease though and she wished that she could forever see that curve of lips. It was magical, and God, was it sexy. Her eyes moved over him fully now, seeing still the blood that had dried and caked over his healed wounds, and screwed her face up in an unsubtle ewww.

He raised a brow in offended query and she giggled as she swept a hand in the air, up and down, motioning his state of dirtiness.

“Someone needs to wash a bit of the bloodiness from his tight bod.” She eyed him seductively, eager to share that shower with him but knowing that it still wasn’t the time. Frustration made her clench her fists hard.

He rolled over to his side, pushing her to her back and leaning over her, leering at her with lust swirling in his eyes. She curled a hand into the curls at the back of his head, cringing as dried blood floated down to her face.

“Thought I’d make a bit of a fashion statement!” he mocked.

“What kind of statement is that? Torture and MaimingRUs?”

He cocked his head to the side, contemplating her position in his arms, and felt a wave of gratitude sweep him away.

“Where did you come from?” His whisper was husky, yearning, and reverent.

She blinked at him, confusion marring her earlier confident happiness. What if he was slipping, rolling back away from her? Didn’t he believe she was really here? That she had taken him forever as hers and that she was never letting him go? Fear began to twist in her belly as panic started to set in. Her hand in his hair stilled, poised ready to cling and hold what would never be released again.

“What do you mean?” Her voice embodied all the little girl apprehension that was Buffy, but he only looked at her in wonder.

“You must be from Heaven, an angel sent to make me a soldier of worth. Are you really here, Buffy? In my arms with your lips barely a kiss away from mine?”

He was seducing her with his awe, his gracious acceptance of Higher Power selection.

With a clarity that was usually beyond her, she finally understood. The urgency to offer her blood, the knowing that it was the only thing that could save him. His change, and his seeking her out to be one of the white hats.

He had been chosen. No, Chosen. Like her. She was not wrong for wanting him, for loving him. For needing him. He had been chosen for her.

No words of hers could answer such brutal questions; she pulled his head down and captured his lips in a kiss of dawning. It was proof of her presence in his room, on his bed, and in his life. It was proof that he was her soldier, chosen by Heaven and her. It was proof that her lips would be forever his. As their lips moistened, caressed and claimed all that the other had to offer, the choices had been made.

The waiting was over.

Pulling back, his eyes hooded with a yearning for more, he looked longingly at the door leading to the bathroom.

“Sure you don’t want to join me, pet?”

Her answering smile was ebullient.

“Oh, believe me, I want to.” Reality crashed into the moment with the face of Dawn, and she knew they had to pick up the pace. There could be a hellgod on their tail, and they needed to get alert, get with a plan, and as glorious as a hot shower and soapy male body sounded, it wasn’t getting the apocalypse settled onto the backburner. Instead she offered him a look, promise and rain-checks burning in her jade green eyes.

“Need to get out there and start working on how to keep Dawn away from Glory. I think you should probably tend to yourself there, soldier.” She gave him a saucy wink, and his cock twitched with the thought of that tending, and he jumped from the bed, the sheet flung to the side.

Buffy’s gasp was voluble and awestruck.

“Oh God,” she exclaimed, pointing in a daze at the one part of him that she really wanted to be introduced to. It made her strength waver at the sight of it, and his cock swelled even more at her unbroken gaze.

“See something you like, luv?” Amusement made his voice thick, layered over the lust and wanting.

“Oh yeah!” She couldn’t tear her eyes away from him, her hands itched to hold and set her mark upon his skin.

With a childish play of ‘peek-a-boo’ she clapped her hands over her eyes.

“We so don’t have time for this right now.” She felt under and around herself, and with her eyes tightly closed she pulled out the grotty sheet and threw it at him. “Cover up, soldier. We need to get a move on.”

The quiet rustle of the sheet gave her courage and she again opened her eyes, stupidly disappointed that he had taken her advice and covered up. She pouted then jumped at Spike’s burst of laughter.

“Come here, pouty.”

She rose from the bed and made her way warily to him. Once she was close enough he flashed the sheet open and grabbed her, pulling her against his hardand naked body. She eeped before winding her arms around his neck and burying her face against his chest. More dried blood scratched against her cheek, and another grimace of revulsion held her in thrall.

“You really need a shower. All this dried blood is so not a turn on.”

He hissed, affronted.

“I’ll have you know, luv, that plenty of women out there would see this as the ultimate in sexiness.”

Jealousy gripped her heart for a moment before she realised he was teasing, and her eyes softened once again in affection. Offering her lips she briefly pecked his mouth and then his jaw, pulling away before her obsession with his skin became a problem.

“I’ll go find you some clothes.” Her voice was husky and she was consumed with a physical need to be with him, skin on skin, but the momentary flash of panic on his face brought her back down and she clung to him in a crushing hug. “I love you,” she whispered into his ear, her teeth nibbling playfully on the lobe. “I’ll be back soon…never leaving you.” The last was said as she stared with unwavering certainty into his eyes, and he nodded, strengthening his posture and taking a chance.

Another kiss and she was gone, the door clicking behind her. The bathroom loomed before him, and with a shrug he admitted to himself that water sounded like ‘the best thing on the bloody planet right about now’. He couldn’t remember the last time he had washed.

With an awkward sense of deja-vu, Buffy bumped into Angel on the other side of the door. They stood in silence until the sound of pipes groaning a protest told them that Spike was now under a flow of gushing hot water. For Buffy, the image set her heart thumping hard. Angel raised a brow in query, a very slight smile turning the corners of his mouth while he looked down at her face.

“I guess you were able to help him, then?” He looked at her wrist, the jagged wound healed but still on display. She rubbed it in slight distraction, unaware that his eyes had rested there.

“Yeah.” Her voice was saturated with relief. “It was touch and go there for a while, though.”

Angel nodded, grateful for his postponed grief.

“We are all meeting in the foyer in about twenty. I brought up some stuff for you and Spike. Had a feeling you might want to freshen up before we went out.” His eyes swept over the crumpled fabric of her clothing, the tiny flecks of blood covering most of the surface. Her eyes lit up as she spied her bag and she seized it gratefully. His other hand held a bundle of black. The fabrics were different, wool and leather. She looked up at Angel, a devious smile curling her lips as she imposed the outfit on her mind’s picture of Spike. She almost licked her lips.

“He didn’t have much stuff that hadn’t been slashed by the girls. Bought this for him in the hope he’d recover. Looks like a good thing I did. I’ve got his duster in my room. I’ll bring it downstairs.” He handed over the clothes and turned to move back up the corridor. “Remember, twenty minutes.”

An absent nod was his answer as she let herself back into the room. Poised outside the bathroom door, she stripped, determined to shake Spike up as much as he had her.

“Okay, you. Out you get. My turn to look pretty.” He stepped out of the shower recess and allowed his eyes to goggle at the sight before him. Words deserted him as his mouth hung open, his body turning as she walked with quiet confidence past him and under the spray of water.

“Can you get me a towel, baby,” she cooed and he melted further into the tiled floor.

He left the towel on the lowered toilet lid and made his way back into the other room, drying himself as he went. On the bed he found a pile of black and as he eyed it in confusion he moved to put on the articles. The leather pants slid up his legs in cool sensuality, the zip and stud closing him hard behind a wall of sensation he could barely control. A combination of Buffy’s nudity and the erotic slide of the pants made him desperately cling to held breath. The shirt was course, loose. It fell over his broad shoulders and draped over his torso like a curtain. But the air that circulated underneath whispered over his skin and prickled. He was so turned on he could barely move. Beside the bed he located his boots, partially tucked under the bed. Pulling them on he desperately tried to push back his horniness, thinking of Rupert in frilly dresses and Harris in a tutu complete with toe shoes, then he kept his back turned to Buffy as she entered the room and covered herself with clothing.

Her arms snaking around his waist brought him crashing back to awareness, her scent of fresh skin driving him wild, as the feel of her breasts against his back left their burning mark. He turned and seized her mouth, setting them both sizzling with the ferocity of his desire.

“We have to go meet everyone downstairs.” Her voice came out croaky, needy. “By the way…you look HOT!” Her mouth quirked in that way that showed she was smitten, and he clung to it with all the determination of a man who had found his salvation and would never let it pass by him again.

“Better go show off the new threads, then. After you, luv.”

With one last admiring look at his ass encased in black leather, she gave in to the lip licking and preceded him out the door.

A/N...coming closer to the end...begging for feedback...and if anyone doesn't know, Schehrezade and I will begin posting a collaborative fic in live journal on Thursday...come along and check it out...we are very excited about it. To find us, do a LJ search for megan_schez and please give us lots of lovely feedback...

song: Lay, Lady Lay by Bob Dylan


Chapter Eleven


He felt their eyes lift to watch the stairs before he and Buffy had even turned the corner. Once they had reached a spot visible to the group in the foyer, the silence became marking. It felt like the time and place of his rebirth, his third, fourth or fifth chance taking place down the curving steps toward reception.

Feeling timid and unsure, he failed to make eye contact until he felt the secure presence of his Sire, and he realised that-- though he craved more from these people-- all he truly needed now was his Sire and his Buffy. And he had them. They had given their all to bring him back, infused him with purpose and strength to be pulled back. So, once he reached a level he raised his eyes--and was humbled by the numbered expressions of relief and caring that greeted him.

Fairly blown away by the quiet acceptance that echoed around the room, his approach was aimed toward Angel.

“Thanks for the new threads, pops. Though traditionally, I’m more of a denim and stretch-interlock kind of bloke.”

“Well, sure, but obviously leather and the drape of that shirt suits you. You look very sexy. I’m sure Buffy is very pleased.”

Everyone had stopped to give Anya rather surprised but amused looks but then all turned back to greet Spike with a smile, no one commenting on Buffy’s hand that had slipped into his as they had descended the staircase.

Xander took the opportunity presented by the lull to step forward into the path of the blonde vampire. They looked warily at each other before Xander erupted into a goofy, relieved grin and offered his outstretched hand.

“The chip’s still in zapping order, I hope,” he offered lamely as Spike grasped his hand firmly, and they shook as friends for the very first time.

“Not sure, whelp. You offering your services for a trial run?” Spike’s relieved and wobbly smile took the threat from the words and he laughed as Xander succumbed to a girlish giggle.

He was taken off guard by a blood-curdling high-pitched squeal and was relieved he didn’t have breath to lose as he found himself with an armful of colourful Dawn, Willow and Tara.

“What’s with all the glad rags? Thought we had to get to plannin’?”

Everyone noticed the hesitant way that Spike looked at them, the awkward but eager way he embraced the girls, and the warm feel of change that settled like a glutinous cloak over the room. Acceptance was a wondrous thing, especially when applied to a soulless vampire lowered to gracious tolerance of his human family.

“The plan is a nightclub called Caritas, Spike.”

Finally Giles had decided to take the plunge, himself mystified but not altogether repulsed by the presence of the once feared and hated vampire. He had experienced his own shift in perception these past few weeks. He had taken note of the increased demon activity, the increase in Buffy’s anxiety and sadness, and had taken it to heart. So many emotional blows put her at risk, and Giles knew that none of them in the room at present was willing to surrender her to her Slayer fate. He was stunned at how little he minded if Spike was the one who gave her the strength to persevere, to win.

“I hardly think it’s a time for partyin’, Rupert. We should be heavy into the strategisen’ right about now. Where’s the big table, Peaches? How does your lot come up with any plans when they aren’t parked round a big circle of hardwood?”

Giles stood flummoxed, incredulous that the vampire had adopted without prior knowledge the same argument--derived out of a sense of wasting opportunity--that he had put forth the day before. Shaking his head a little, bemused, he sat back to wait for the outcome and their guided trek to this demon club.

Spike was starting to grow a little anxious, feeling nervous with so many eyes fixed on him. After spending a number of weeks on display, albeit completely nude--though that would not usually have bothered him-- he was starting to prickle from being the focus of everyone’s attention. He wanted them to look down, or away, at someone or something else. But his mouth just wouldn’t close and more words spewed forth and fixed his place in the centre of it all. He could feel the panic begin to swirl within his stomach and he was sure if he was human he would be sweating, and probably on the brink of shitting cats. Great big Himalayans.

He needed a drink badly, something to help tone down the awareness a little, and suddenly he thought the idea of a club sounded pretty good. He spied his duster thrown casually over an armchair and turned without word to grab it up. Pulling on Buffy’s hand he was almost to the front entrance before the group realised he was moving.

“Come on, Peaches. Show us where this bloody club is.”

Despite the call, Spike sleekly strutted several steps ahead of Angel, turning abruptly and doubling back only when he was called and advised on the proper direction. He would return to the crowd of Scoobies, before walking faster to regain the front, the call of alcohol-- and the resultant dulling of this anxiety of being comfortable amongst the crowd who had always hated him--almost frenzied.

Buffy could feel the vibrating body of her vampire through the link of their held hands. She tensed against his almost manic movement and concern had her jutting out her chin in determined support. She strode along beside him, confusion in her steps, but refusing to falter in the wake of his agitation. She had seen so many variants on his mood over the past eighteen or so hours that her head was about to spin right off her shoulders.

Determined to try and claim calm, even if Spike was unable to, she focused her attention on the steady click clack of her heels on the pavement, the rhythm quickly becoming hypnotic. It tore her own awkward attention away from her friends, still a little -- well, not embarrassed exactly-- but tender to the witnessing of her closeness with Spike.

She fell back slightly, her steps slower as her breathing deepened, but he pulled her along behind him with the chain of their joined hands stretching taut. By her slackened steps she reeled him in; his steps slowed and the others finally could catch up. Just as well too, as they pulled to a halt with Angel at the doors of a club-- ‘Caritas’ flashing ownership.

Angel seemed to hesitate before reaching and pushing the door in, leading them inside. He made his way unfalteringly to a table, and only seemed to lose his determined step once he’d pulled out a chair and flopped down into it. From the expression on his face he was recalling unpleasant memories, and no one felt either confident or interested enough to ask for the story. A raised arm indicated a requirement of drinks and with something akin to being a psychic moment, everyone’s choice of beverage arrived at the table in front of them.

A quick look around took in the smoky atmosphere, and the mix of demon patronage, before eager and excited eyes alighted on the poor unfortunate melody- repressed demon squalling on stage. The vampires cringed in unison as the girls started to giggle. Buffy caught Spike’s expanding grin and followed his eyes to the uncomfortable shuffling form of Angel, realisation flowering over her face even as Spike confirmed her suspicions.

“An’ what piece of musical genius did you choose to sing, Peaches?”

Before the stubbornly closed lips could separate to tell Spike to shove it, an odd gaudily dressed demon of a pure hideous green with horns appeared at their table.

“Why, our little Peach Pie decided to give a murderous rendition of Mandy, with an amazing lack of credibility. How did you go with the little dumpling, oh proud warrior?”

Angel shifted in his seat; discomfort a word not quite strong enough to explain the rigidity that had taken over his spine at the veiled reference to Darla. He chose not to aim toward an answer and instead offered up another victim for the karaoke diviner.

“We need your help, Lorne.”

“Well then, Scrumptious. Somebody needs to stretch their legs and take a walk on the wild side. Who’s it gonna be?” He took a look around the table, finding faces eager and others bordering on horrified at the thought of singing in public. His gaze came to fall upon Spike, and already an excitement began to crawl up his spine.

“Oh you have got to be kidding me. Why, you are the most delicious little lemon meringue I ever did see. Take a step up there sunshine, I am simply dying to find out all your secrets.”

Everyone at the table served Spike with stunned and nervous looks. He had just survived though a particularly harrowing ordeal. Was he ready to open himself up and have all of himself on display? Buffy thought about his low, gravelly, husky and sexy voice, and prayed that he was. With an encouraging smile, she shoved him so that he almost landed on the floor from his chair. His eyes opened in incredulous realisation.

“What the bloody hell was that for?” he glared at her, all amusement slipping as he looked at her eager expression. Alarm surged within him and he bounced on his feet away from the table. “You can think again, Summers. I’m not about to sing some poncy nancy boy ballad.” He put his foot down in defiance and thrust his nervous curled fists violently into his duster pockets.

“Please?” she pleaded with him, her hands clasped under her chin as if in solemn prayer while batting her eyelashes at him. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

Lorne gave them an amused smirk, though the serious faces around the table quickly tempered it.

“Well, lover boy, depending on the nature of the emergency, you might want to postpone that promise. Now move on up there, soldier. Time’s a wastin’.”

“It certainly bloody is with me, mate. I’m not the right victim. You better read the littler one. Nibblet, get on up there and make us deaf with a boy band original.”

“No can do, sugar lips,” Lorne interrupted. “You’re the one the bar will be screaming for. Now make your way on stage. That a boy…” Lorne swept him away and those around the table sat open-mouthed, confused with the speed of the capture.

“Please tell me Spike can sing,” Xander almost pleaded, a tiny whine evident in his voice. Everyone shook their heads, suddenly seeing how little they really knew about the newest inducted member of their group.

“Oh, he definitely looks like he can sing. I’m banking on smoky, sexy qualities. He looks like he could be rough.” Anya grinned in anticipation, oblivious to her boyfriend’s jealous and slightly disgusted looks.

Angel nodded miserably, the only positive amongst their shaking heads.

“Oh, he can sing alright,” he confirmed, his voice slightly pained. “Is there really anything Spike tries that he doesn’t do well? He’s going to be a show off, too. Oh no, no silly little karaoke back-up for him…”

The others watched his rant in confusion, but as soon as Spike walked out on the stage and sat with a guitar strap attached round his neck, they smiled in understanding.

Though Giles was feeling a little irked.

“He never told me he could play. He took over my bloody bathroom for weeks and didn’t think it was be nice to tell me he could play a guitar. And with mine sitting right there. The bloody cheek…” His voice petered out as the first acoustic chords drifted around the suddenly silent room.

Giles and Joyce shared a surprised gaze of recognition before their lips formed a smile of pleasured approval of Spike’s song choice. Until the words of the song brought meaning to mind, and the smile curved down into a frown of parental denial.

The first rasping notes hit Buffy way down low. Heat sheared within her and she felt molten with need for him, his voice merely stoking the desire and creating a spastic dance of her inner nerves that had not fully banked since she had finally made right with him. Looking around the table at the awestruck expressions of surprise she felt the warmth spread throughout her inner sexual paths and find release in all her limbs. As the words began to register, she flushed with both embarrassment and shaking promise.

Lay lady lay, lay across my big brass bed
Lay lady lay, lay across my big brass bed
Whatever colours you have in your mind
I’ll show them to you and you’ll see them shine

Lay lady lay, lay across my big brass bed
Stay lady stay, stay with your man awhile
Until the break of day, let me see you make him shine
His clothes are dirty but his hands are clean
And you’re the best thing he’s ever seen

Buffy glowed, her heart lifted with the truth tumbling from his lips. He really loved her, cherished her and she had almost been too stupid to take what he offered her. She really did want to sit back and watch him shine, let him rejoice in the fact that finally his hands really were clean. He was bathed innocent anew by his momentous decision.

His turning to good.

Tears formed in her eyes as she looked away from the stage briefly to note the green demon sitting silently along with them at the table. Seeing his devoted expression, she turned once again to the vampire she pledged to give her all.

Stay lady stay, stay with your man awhile
Why wait any longer for the world to begin
You can have your cake and eat it too
Why wait any longer for the one you love
When he’s standing in front of you

Lay lady lay, lay across my big brass bed
Stay lady stay, stay while the night is still ahead
I long to see you in the morning light
I long to reach for you in the night
Stay lady stay, stay while the night is still ahead

Heat roared across Buffy’s cheeks as she felt all eyes trained on her responses, trying to glean some kind of confirmation. Deciding to brazen it out she turned to each one and was relieved to find mostly amused chiding glances rather than glares of anger or distrust. But as revealing as Spike’s song was, it billowed with truth and reckless abandonment of outside restraints. It told of passion and undying love that so captured her heart that she wanted to drag him straight back to the hotel and say ‘to hell with Glory’. But her eyes fell upon Dawn and she knew that it wasn’t yet something they could indulge in. She just prayed they got through this fight alive so that she could finally taste and accept all of him. She felt near to death in her desperation to show him how deeply she felt about him.

Angel shared an anxious glance with Lorne and he decided to dismiss all the jovial jibing about Spike’s song choice and cut straight through to the issue that brought them here. As bewildered as he felt about Lorne choosing to read Spike instead of Dawn--considering it was her fate that they were all anxious about-- he knew the demon well enough to trust his judgement.

Just as it seemed that his sharp, hinting looks would be ignored, Lorne turned to him, his face arranged in an uncomfortable grimace.

“Well, Angel cakes, looks like a questing ye shall go, yet again. Or at least your blond baby is set to go.”

“What?” Angel was filled with a sense of protective urgency. “There is no way William is strong enough to go through that just yet.”

“He’s going to have to be or there will be an awful lot for him to grieve over.”

Everyone at the table looked shocked and scared, just as Spike ambled back to his seat with his irrepressibly over-confident swagger.

“So what glaring bit of barf about my future are you all discussin’ with unhappy looks?” On the outside he was gruff, swimming in high humour, but on the inside he quaked, shook with a sense of doom that all he held dear and irreplaceable was about to be ripped away from him. It stood to reason after all. By some fate that was clearly out of whack, he had Buffy in reach of his arms, permanently fixed in his heart--and with her beaming permission--that it only stood to reason that everything was about to be cocked up good and proper.

Nothing stayed straight for William the Bloody, nothing ever remained good for long. Everything in his life and unlife had been shadowed with uncertainty, clouded with the darkness of jealousy, hate and pain. Even when he thought things were perfect with Dru, she had never stopped thinking of Angel. Now it was time to wonder if he would experience the same again with Buffy, had she really put Angel out of her heart enough for him to occupy any kind of major space. The way she looked at him suggested that she had, but past luck was enough for him to have doubts.

“Okay, sweetcheeks, it’s like this. The only way you can give this lovely green delight her chance is to go on a quest.” All eyes darted to the nervous form of Dawn, attempting to shrink back in her chair away from them. “Our little champion can show you the way, and I’ll wish you all good luck. A trip for four though, family only.”

Angel looked up at that.

“You can chaperone them to the site, but beyond that point only Summers women and our shining silver Knight can gain entry. Don’t sweat it, there will be plenty for you to do later.” Lorne stood, moved a fraction of a step away before turning again to the group with some urgency.

He caught eyes with the Slayer, holding her in an intense stare before feeling her sense of embarrassed need to turn away. Before she could he reaffirmed what he had just said. “All the Summer’s women…don’t forget now.” And he was off catching Seabreeze from his mingling barmen and customers, encouraging the plaintive wail of another demon’s voice to fill up the club, but occasionally glancing back with worry and sympathy.

“That boy’s got soul!” Lorne shook his head at the struggle of trials that lay in their path as he moved away.

A/N...Almost at the end...keep up the feedback..I love it.

Chapter Twelve

Spike pushed himself back on heels, hands thrust deep in the pockets of his leather duster, and treated his companions to a look of comical incredulity. Balanced precariously on the edge of the rather large pool he pointed a finger disbelievingly at the emptiness before him.

“You have got to be bleeding well kidding me.”

Angel’s smirk reeked of insider knowledge.

“It’s a leap of faith, Spike.”

“I hardly think Joyce or the Nibblet are up to that kind of faith, Peaches.”

“Not them, William. Just you. This is your trial.” Angel’s smug smile fought to hide his tremors of uneasiness. He was extremely unsure about this, noticing the still involuntary shakes that Spike’s body succumbed to periodically. A glance to his right proved to him that Joyce had seen it too, and the look in her eyes matched his worry.

“What kind of trials are you talking about, Angel?”

Joyce didn’t look at him as she asked, her gaze lost as she peered into the darker recesses of the empty pool, hypnotized, looking like she almost wished for water to fill it and allow her to fall, sucking her down into the swirling depths of forever. He felt there was something peculiar about her; knowing that she had recently been ill perhaps had him more on guard, but still, his musings were wasting valuable time. They had no idea how long they would be safe from Glory.

“I really can’t discuss it, Joyce. I would assume, though, that it would be different for everyone that attempts them. Probably depends on the rewards sought. Or the warrior seeking them.”

He turned reluctantly to Spike, and took in his pale weakened stance, even while standing with a determination that was hell-bent on achievement. Before him stood a Childe he’d had little hope for recovery just a day ago but who now stood rigid with the force of solid steel. With a small smile of approval, he watched the four, one vamp and a flock of Summers. A step back had him contemplating William and his family. It made his heart ache as well as sing. He was torn with the incongruity, and now that the test was to be undertaken, his nerves began to show.

“Just watch yourself, Spike. Whoever is in charge down there will likely double-cross.” His audience startled at the unrepentant bitterness in Angel’s voice.

Spike answered him with a confused but resigned nod and turned; without one final look at any of the women, he kept his eyes wide open before jumping forward and down, his duster flapping like bat wings in the inky night. Angel grinned when the site of bleached hair disappeared through an invisible floor and was lost to their view. In unexpected amusement he couldn’t help but wonder why Spike had taken the jump feet first when he was renowned for his ‘head first’ entry into every situation. His own leap such a short time ago seemed to have them swapping roles, and for the first time adopting a trait that was so strongly Spike didn’t infuriate him with disgust.

Within the minute, the rest of his companions vanished-- he knew-- to the waiting room like he had expected, and he took up a spot beside the pool to sit and wait it out. Whatever the outcome would be.


Spike couldn’t help but laugh at the butler-like man who addressed him.

“Are you for real, mate?”

“Perfectly real, sir,” he answered dryly.

“Right then. So what’s this all about?” Spike busied himself taking in his surroundings, caution screaming at him in bold. He was out of his element here, and on an extremely important mission with a body that was still feeling the aftereffects of his extended torture and starvation. And the prissy little butler type that seemed to be his guide for the night was just too serious to be true.

“You have shown us your faith, sir. Now we will see if you have the valour. I will be assisting you through the trials.”

“What…” Spike’s eyes boggled and his question stalled as the three women he would give his life to protect appeared like a ghostly apparition before gaining solid form. He hadn’t expected Buffy to be here, let alone the other two. For some reason, her presence made this harder for him. The guilty look he had spied in Angel’s eye earlier at the club made him feel on edge, wondering if this might be the last time he had to lay eyes on her. If she was going to be there, reminding him of what he had just gained, he might not be strong enough to do this. Strong enough to do whatever it took to ensure their safety. He didn’t want to have to stare goodbye in the face.

Temporarily mute, he turned back to the funny little butler type and gave him a hardened Spike stare, one indicating that he knew he wasn’t going to like what was ahead but was determined to face it no matter the cost.

“Why are they here?” he finally asked in a huskiness revealing his anxiety, relieved only at having reasonable control over his voice.

“You wish to save a life. They are here as your collateral.”

Ah, bargaining! A language that Spike understood, even though on this occasion it turned his stomach. Long ago, he would have sanctioned the use of humans as bargaining chips-- their continuing mortality of little interest to him as long as he gained his spoils. But now, with the eyes of Summers women staring at him one haunted with the fear of loss and desertion, one with motherly concern about his strength, and the other with all her hopes of him as her savior it loaded him down with the extra burden of their pain and he felt too whipped already to take the first step of challenge.

And his devil may care attitude raised up to bite him on the arse. Comprehension was a bitch.

“Ah, what happens if I don’t make it through these trials?”

“Then you forfeit a life. In the meantime, your guests can take a refreshment in our antechamber.” Dawn and Joyce shimmered then disappeared, leaving Buffy to watch him with horror stamped revealingly on her face.

“No,” he shouted out in denial and a frantic need to cling to life. “Bring them back.” The feral snarl of Spike’s response momentarily flustered the Jeeves reject and the women were again united.

“Oh, it’s better this way. In a few moments, no living thing will be safe in here.”

“You can’t bloody do this. I won’t let you. Peaches didn’t tell me this would happen.” His eyes pleaded with Buffy as they clashed with hers, brimming silently with tears.

“Life is the bargain here. You have put hers in the balance.” And he was lost again in the urgency of saving Nibblet, of letting her face life as a teen devoid of supernatural specialness, letting her grow old on her own schedule rather than die young at the hands of an insane hellgod. His eyes scorched the women with their heat, pumping forth a signature goodbye that required no voice. He hoped that Buffy could accept it if this was the end, and remember him for the gift he wanted to provide her family. And then it was that the thought of her new love for him gave him the courage to take that step forward, shrug off that hesitant hope that he wouldn’t have to do this. Just the reality of them all, the Scoobies, being in LA told him that there was little help left. No other hope, save his efforts. They had to do something-- he had to do something-- or Dawn could be lost.

As if the staid guide understood his thoughts in detail, he hurried things along with his own interjections.

“You’d best get ready now, Sir. Now is not the time to dwell on the negative.” The short pause allowed Spike to wonder if he was to die now when would he get that chance to dwell, to face the emptiness of perpetual torment? The cardboard recitation of the stranger also caused him to suspect that the guy was going by rote and he wondered if this was exactly what Angel heard on his own visit to this place. Darla. Spike had guessed whom Angel had come here for, and his continued existence told him of the failure of Angel to save her life. She was dead after all. Well, undead. No point arguing semantics.

He watched Buffy’s face as the voice continued on, watching her struggle to hold herself strong and steady, her arms clinging to her mother and sister like they were all she had left to hold her up. All evidence of the Slayer had left her as she surrendered to the fear of being a girl, and a girl about to lose her new love. Her fright was terrifying to him.

He didn’t think he could do it.

Suddenly there was silence and he realised the man had stopped talking, and that they were all watching him expectantly.

“What was that, mate? Drifted off a bit.”

Spike received a grim look of forbearance from the other male in the room before he was reminded of the earlier request.

“There will be three separate challenges. I’ll need your shirt and shoes.” The proffered arm stayed still as he tore off his shirt and pulled off his boots, his eyes stubbornly avoiding the women now that he had to enter a fight.

“You better send them off to thatantechamber with the beverages. I’m sure the ladies are a mite thirsty about now.”

Butler Jeeves nodded in relief and the women again disappeared form the room, a gasp of outrage from Buffy whispering from her lips as she was forcibly removed from his sight.

“Don’t suppose you could give me a bit of a clue about what’s going on here?”

The proper accent sounded inquisitive as the man tilted his head to the side in order to contemplate the newest challenger of the trials.

“I’ve never given information to a challenger before.”

Spike knew that he was lying, no way would Angel have gone through this without pushing for hints of what he’d be up against, but he bought into the atmosphere of the thing, and continued.

“First time for everything then, isn’t there.”

He gave a curt nod, revealed a small amused smirk before telling Spike that the ‘unarmed combat’ mainly pertained to his own condition. Spike barely had time to flinch before he was face to face with an ugly demon swinging a metal chain with a hook attached in one great meaty club, and a nice sharp sword in the other. Spike upped the stakes on his own survival by setting his eyes on the sword, determined to gain possession as soon as he possibly could.

With a rush of pure adrenaline, Spike turned and narrowly avoided the slash of the hook as it singed by and scraped the concrete walls behind him. He had seconds of recovery time before he was on the move once again, keeping steady eyes on the demon and trying to interpret the next move. Spike had always been good in a fight, and since being with the Slayer and taking on regular fights with demons, his strength had improved and his skills sharpened. However, he had just undertaken the slow return to health that this endeavor threatened to destroy, and as the demon made swift contact while Spike lost his concentration, he found himself screaming in pain as he hit the wall hard.

He felt himself weaken gradually, but the ugliness of the thing got his goat and he wouldn’t let himself go down just yet. He scraped himself off the floor and with a battle cry that rebounded off the walls, he grabbed the sword that the demon had unwillingly surrendered and sliced the thug through the middle, two halves falling detached to the floor. Falling to his knees and panting his relief, he allowed his eyes to linger on the two halves of the body and smirked in satisfaction.

Almost immediately, however, the smirk slid from his face and pure panic directed his ungainly return to his feet as he saw the slide of each severed end try to reattach itself. He grabbed a hook and shoved it into the flesh of one of the moving halves. In a desperate attempt to prevent the body from reassembling, he dragged his captured end to one corner of the room and fixed it there on a light fixture before returning and repeating the process with the other half to the opposite side of the room.

Skittish eyes watched for a few moments before he released a breath of pained deliverance and gave heartfelt thanks for the reprieve gained from not allowing the demon to become whole again and thus being forced to continue the fight. He felt rather proud of himself for thinking of the solution so quickly, and he stood with a cocky grin as the demon growled ineffectually against the wall.

Behind him he heard the crank signalling the opening of the gate and he slowly ambled over and through. His body hurt though it revealed no real injury at this point, and from the bottom of his blood, he was grateful.

“One down, two to go,” he called out to no one, though he was sure that he was being watched. “Did Peaches get this far?” His irrepressible humour fell to the forefront and he laughed, his exhilaration over the first pass buoying his spirits.

He jumped as the gate behind him closed suddenly and he was left alone facing down a corridor. Light spilled into the room from the silver glaring moon as the ceiling drifted to the side. The romance of the moment tugged at his lips, until he saw the room lined with crosses every where he looked. There was no way to avoid them.

Choosing for once to observe before diving into the situation, he decided that the basin situated in the middle of the cross-lined path must contain something important, and if he had to guess it would be the key for the door at the end. And if these people were as evil as he was beginning to suspect, it must be filled to the brim with holy water. Suddenly all those sessions of dripping holy water on the minions, and even that time on Angel when he came to the Hellmouth to save Dru, weren’t particularly funny.

“Bollocks,” he spat with feeling as he began his run to the basin, smoke rising around his bare feet. He paused just seconds to thrust his arm in the water, screaming as his arm burned and the water bubbled around his searing flesh. He retrieved the key and was off again, limping now, and unlocked the door. Falling through it he once again collapsed to his knees, pain roaring through his body as he vaguely took notice of the ugly red burns over his hands. Tears fought to reach his eyes but he held them back, clenching his jaw so as to not give away the degree of his torment. The corridor did little but to remind him of the evil that he was. All he needed now was a mirror to show that he shouldn’t exist and a stake to prove that he did.

He dragged himself back to his aching feet, and looked nervously around the room, not knowing whether to expect another demon to slash him to pieces or another form of torture to take him out. He did know that this was the third and final trial and he didn’t expect to make it through this one. A monotonous litany tore through his head, ‘an eye for an eye, a life for a life’, and he understood that the meaning of the balance was that he must give up what he hoped to save. For Dawn to be safe, he had to surrender himself to his own end.

A solitary tear escaped his eye as he took that final stephis one physical goodbye to the woman he had hoped he could admire and share her life for however long she had and was captured by automatic manacles clamping his wrists and ankles, restraining him spread-eagled vertically in the room. Spike bowed his head in defeat, acknowledging that he had reached his end, and accepting it. Really, by now he found that the decision was not that hard.

But then Jeeves was back, clapping in his understated approval, with Buffy crying freely at his side.

“Well played. You fielded our strokes from beginning to end. And might I say, Sir, you are cleverer than the other vampire. Are you sure he didn’t give you hints?” At Spikes arched brow and gleaming yellow eye, Jeeves stepped back out of snapping distance. “Of course, Sir. We know he didn’t. My hat’s off to you. You worked out the puzzles so much quicker. But there is one final challenge.”

Spike gulped hard as the wall of stakes was revealed, then he burst out laughing.

“Right then.” Spike nodded toward the wall, ignoring Buffy’s increasingly loud sobbing. “That ought to do it then.” Then he sucked up his courage and faced her, allowed his eyes to gaze over her face, taking in the smoky green of her eyes, the plush poutiness of her lips, the flat little end of her nose. And her glistening tears of fright, for him.

“There’s no need to explain this one. A life for a life. I expected it.”

His easy acceptance startled the butler type for a moment, but then he pulls the lever that pulls the wall of stakes back, ready to spring forth and make dust.

Buffy jumps and steps forward.

“Don’t do this,” she begged, her hand reaching out to stroke softly against his chest.

“Buffy, luv…there isn’t any choice.”

She shook her head against his words, denial straightening her body into taut preparation.

“There is another choice,” she stalled as words shared not too long ago circled in her mind. Resigned to her fate, she turned to the strange uptight man and offered him her solution.

“Death is my gift,” she whispered to him and he nodded at her, a smile on his face that could almost be seen as sad.

“Yes, Miss. So I have heard.”

“What?” Spike couldn’t believe the words she was speaking, and then realisation hit him like a tank and he began to fight against his restraints. “Buffy, I already made my choice. The Bit needs you. Your mum needs you. I’m evil, Buffy. The world can do without me.”

Her tears hadn’t ceased their flow and her lips trembled with the gravity of the situation. But she shook her head even as she wrapped her arms around his waist and let her head fall against his chest. The tugs on the manacles become more urgent as Spike tried in earnest to release himself and stop her offering. He started to murmur frantic words to her, begging words, all of which she ignored as she sobbed onto his chest. Then he heard the words that he knew were going to break him completely, his body already useless in holding her still.

“I love you,” she whispered into the skin and, as he rubbed his mouth into the hair at her crown, she raised her eyes and let him sink in her despair.

“I will always love you. Take care of them for me?”

He felt his own eyes blur as he took in her plea and he could do nothing but agree to anything she wished of him.

“Always,” he croaked, his throat clogging with the onslaught of emotion and tears. “Till the end of the world.”

With one gentle hand she cups his chin, fingers caressing and passing down his neck but her eyes never leaving his lips. And for the sake of continued heartbreak she took from his mouth one final time, taking all his passion and love inside her to keep forever wherever she was going. Pulling back, their lips clung to each other, both eager to forget the situation and just indulge in their feeling for the other. She hoped her death would take her to heaven, but she isn’t entirely positive. Some of her past actions made the prospect a little iffy in her book, but as long as she could retain some essence of Spike, she would cope.

Her greedy eyes took him in, sliding knowingly over his exposed skin and regretting now that she hadn’t taken the chance to truly experience him. She accepted it was too late, that maybe it was never meant to be, otherwise the monks wouldn’t have made Dawn’s image so spectacularly prominent in her mind. If left to herself, without the supernatural spell of interference, she might have chosen to not go through with it. But the weight of the world was once again her deal, and the choice as Slayer was hers. Knowing it was time, she stepped away from Spike and allowed herself to watch the other man without trying to go for his throat.

“How do we do this? As elegant as a wall of stakes might be, don’t think the clean-up would be as mess free with me and my annoying blood as it might have been with the dustiness. Also, a corpse, so not easy to explain to the authorities.”

Jeeves stepped aside to show that the wall of stakes had been replaced with a shimmering gateway that looked suspiciously like a portal. Crackles of intense white light pulsed around the edges of the gateway and Buffy stared at it transfixed.

“Death is my gift,” she repeated to the men, almost as if trying to talk herself into the prediction. Her arms hugged her own body as swirls of defeat climbed up her tiny frame, starting her to tremble with the momentum of what she was about to do. Die. She was giving her life to save her sister, to save her man. And those words finally released the tightness around her heart, and she felt herself break. She had only just found him in her heart and now she was to give him up to save the world. She so hated her life, but that didn’t mean she wanted it to end.

“By stepping though this portal, Miss, you will die, thus safeguarding the life you came here to save.”

Buffy nodded, her body swaying slightly to the rhythm of the throbbing lights. Her mind went blank as she focused on what she was about to do. What she had to do. This wasn’t Spike’s calling. Underneath it all she felt that he did have a calling, his passage of change could not be for no reason. He had a purpose, and right now-- standing before his imprisoned form-- she grieved. No one had passed yet; no death had visited their present, yet the pain of permanent separation shook her chaotically.

And she grieved.

Mesmerised by the light, she took one step toward the portal, not hearing the metallic ‘shing’ of Spike’s restraints retracting.

“Buffy!” he shouted, but his imploring halt fell stunted in the air as she stepped closer. With a boatload of determination and a lack of sense he took off after her, grabbing her round the waist just as she stepped through the swirling mass of electric heat and light, pulling him along with her. He felt the splintering heat of fire as his body began to crumble and then disintegrated, felt her screaming cells as her body jerked spasmodically in death.

Then he knew nothing more.

Until they fell in a tangle of limbs on the floor of what could only be the antechamber. Both rolling together to their backs their eyes took a few minutes of silence to recover from the glare of the light before they could see their audience.

The white faces of Dawn and Joyce shared their stunned disbelief that they still existed, their bodies tingling from the after effects of being dead, of being nothing in the cosmos. Their tear-streaked cheeks told the tale of their knowledge of what Buffy had just done, and Buffy flinched at the look of anger causing her mother’s lips to scrunch and the little lines around them pronouncing her age to deepen and furrow.

The mounting fury of her mother was thankfully eclipsed by the arrival of Jeeves as he stepped in between the two groups, calling attention away from the decision of the act toward the result of the achievement.

“Congratulations. You’ve passed the third testby accepting deathI’m told no one has ever gone that far before in terms of sacrificekudos! You’re friend, of course, did accept his final challenge, but you were offered freedom and still chose death. Utterly amazing.”

Spike ignored him as he first crouched, then sprung to his feet, the pain in his body pulling his attention in many different directions but focused on the act of pulling Buffy to her feet.

“We did what we had to do, so ante up, mate.”

“Of course, though we have a bit of a dilemma. Two for the price of one wasn’t originally agreed upon. However, you did both agree before the vampire decided to be extra heroic, and we were unable to help your vampire friend with his quest, so we will grant yours.”

He stepped away from the two blondes, both clinging to each other in a shaking grasp at renewed existence, and stood in front of the other two Summers women. His hands reached to hover around Joyce’s head and Buffy jumped forward in sudden anxiety.

“What are you doing?”

He didn’t turn to her, or even stop what he was doing.

“Your mother has been living on borrowed time, Miss. I am making her aneurysm disappear and strengthening her life.”

Buffy gasped her shock.

“Mommy?” she asked her mother in her little girl voice she was unable to repress when she became frightened.

Joyce stood as surprised by the words as Buffy appeared to be, but slowly she closed her eyes as a feeling of warmth and peace swept through her body and settled in her head. Something popped and her limbs weakened, allowing her to slide soundlessly to the floor. She didn’t quite make it as Spike dived for her. She ended up sprawled within his arms while he sat down hard, his own injuries lending him only enough strength to make the leap, but no further. Her lack of consciousness lasted barely a minute before her eyes opened once again; she took in her position and tried to get to her feet. Spike helped by pushing from the floor but his own weakness meant he’d rather remain sprawled on the tiles for the present time.

Joyce made it again to her feet and she looked around at her daughters, feeling the change like a dirty gray veil had been pulled back from her eyes, allowing her to see clearly for the first time in months. Then the words and implications of this enterprise sank in and she felt like collapsing back on Spike.

“I…I was going to die?”

Her voice revealed her horror at the close call, but Jeeves smiled reassuringly as he patted her hand. “You are in tip top condition now, though, Madam.”

Joyce fell forward and encased Buffy in a special mother/daughter hug that lent the illusion of strength, and the reality of power.

Then all eyes turned to Dawn as she shifted from foot to foot nervously.

“Ah yes, the Key. Rather selfish and unthinking of your creators to leave you in such a mess.”

His hands hovered around Dawn’s head in a replica move of the action he took with Joyce, his eyes tightly closed as he concentrated. All in the room held their breath and bodies still, anticipation of the feat almost crippling. The impact of swirling green energy sizzled in the air around Dawn’s head, eliciting gasps of wonder and concern from the onlookers, before the last small trail of liquid mystical green disappeared within the fist of butler Jeeves. All remained quiet for a space as they all struggled to deal with the strange phenomena, but then they all stepped forward to embrace Dawn as Jeeves fell back. The relieved cries and laughs simmered until they eventually shifted away from the girl, and then they all looked to the other man for reassurance that the ordeal was finally at an end.

His first true, genuine smile visited his lips as he opened his fist and revealed a rather large emerald situated within a claw around a shiny new golden ring. The women admired the beauty of the stone, and then began to fight over who got to wear it. He held it away from their tangling, reaching hands and passed it to Spike.

“Here you go, Sir. I feel positive you will know exactly what to do with it to keep it safe.” Jeeves winked as he passed the stone over to Spike.

“Why, you cheeky devil!” But then his expression of awe fell on his girl and she smiled sweetly, holding out her hand palm down in silent encouragement. “Ah ah ah, not so fast, pet.” He tucked the piece of jewelry in a secure pocket of his duster, starting in surprise when he finally noticed that he once again was fully clothed, and the burns on his hands and feet felt like they had never happened. Buffy’s face fell at the disappearance of the ring, but Spike stepped forward and grabbed her and tossed her in the air, catching her safely on her descent. “Plenty of time…”he whispered in her ear before claiming her lips in a heated kiss, the purpose of which to hold and secure what he would never let go.

A nervous ‘hmmm’ and a variety of throat clearing exercises took place in the background and Buffy giggled once her lips were yet again her own.

“Yes, Miss. Death is indeed your gift. And now I will show you the way out?”

A flight of stairs materialised before them and they fumbled their way to the top, euphorically on high as their troubles finally dissipated. Only at the top, facing a much relieved Angel, did Spike realise that he still held Buffy in his arms.

And he felt that that was perfect balance.

A/N...okay, one chapter to go. Let me know if you want it!

Chapter Thirteen

The crypt door slammed open with an enthusiastic kick from Buffy’s boot. They stood together, just outside the entry, and he watched her nervous, slightly haunted look.

“I knew, Spike. Even before I left the crypt. Even before I got the ropes untied. I knew I made a mistake letting you go with Drusilla.” She looked at him with sadness compromising their homecoming, but as he was about to reach around and pull her into a reassuring and forgiving embrace, she turned on the happy and beamed at him.

“Not exactly responsible of me to let you go off with an evil ho-bag like Dru.” And she tippy-toed up to his lips, giving him a quick peck before preceding him in.

He wasn’t quick to follow her. Inside echoed memories of pain for him: memories that told him he was unworthy, evil and soulless. This crypt had housed the shell of a killer, had eavesdropped on all his evil intentions, his indiscretions with Harmony, his rages of hate and plans to kill the Slayer. It had been the interloper of his need to reclaim himself just the dark side of himself so that he could go back to understanding the demon that he was.

It was some kind of whacked out feng shui deal for demons, but now he didn’t fit. He’d had all the candles in the right positions, the great lengths of chains stored downstairs, manacles decorously hanging from the ceiling, the lack of comfort other than a rubbish tip reject of a chair so he could watch his soaps in glorious black and white. All that to usher in the evil, encourage it to wallow and infiltrate, and yet the outside influences that he spent minimal time amongst were so strong that it counteracted it all. One sip of light from the cup of Summers and he felt himself glowing, maybe…a little, effulgent?

Now he didn’t fit.

It wasn’t like he felt himself above this now-- although he kind of did. But the darkness here, as superficial as it was, didn’t feel like home to him anymore. It didn’t give him that rush of welcoming that the hideously simple ‘Welcome to Sunnydale’ sign had given him. Even the run around to homes of the Scoobies and scouting for signs of Glory gave him that sweet taste of belonging, and finally the fond farewells bid by the majority of the group left him feeling inspired, needed, wanted. Friends. He had them. Or was beginning to have them. The change in everything left a warm coiled ball of feeling in his belly that he just knew would exit through great unmanly sobs. And for once, his William weakness didn’t make him want to go out and maim.

Once he was done with his reverie, he looked up and caught Buffy’s concentration on him, watching thoughtfully his lack of progress through the door. Her brow furrowed in question before understanding made her smile at him encouragingly.

“Spike, I don’t think you live here anymore.”

“What’s that, Slayer?”

She grinned at his stubborn use of title, and jerked her head in a motion to indicate behind her.

“I cleared out your stuff.” Her smile broadened at his look of horror.

“You bloody what?” His eyes had turned to blue arctic chips, but it just made her smile brighter.

“Sold it all, too.”

“What?” His voice cracked on a series of expletives as he finally noticed a few choice possessions missing from their usual spot.

“How did you think we were able to fund the trip to LA? Some of your buddies at Willy’s were really keen to take some of your books.”

His eyes narrowed and she could tell that he was balancing on the edge of fury that just might get her into a fight.

“Where the bloody hell is my blanket, Slayer? If you’ve given it to someone and they’re scarpering around bleeting on about having William the Bloody’s blankie, I’ll bleeding well skin you.”

His threats came to an abrupt end when he was hit in the face with Buffy’s top. She stood before him, naked to the waist with her bared breasts pointing full straight ahead. Right at him. His eyes zeroed in on the hardened nubs signaling the lack of warmth of their surroundings, and his eyes lit up in evil revenge.

“Too bad I’ve got nothin’ to keep you warm, luv. Some evil wench took all my bedding and passed them out to the evil doers on the Hellmouth. Guess those lovelies’ll just have to go cold.”

His amused ribbing came to a screeching dead end as he copped a face full of Slayer jeans. He rewarded her with an awe filled expression of pure want. But still he attempted to rally against her.

“You wanna go bare back against cold stone, pet? Don’t think it’s too pleasant without some padding.” As he spoke he was loosening his belt, pulling off his duster, kicking off his boots. He advanced on her as she took a number of back steps till they were at the cold, hard sarcophagus to the side of the top chamber.

“Thought we could do it on top of your duster?” she asked, her skin prickling in goosebumps from the lustful need in his eyes.

“Oh you did, did you?” His eyes never left her, mesmerised by the glowing skin she had chosen to allow him to touch.

And his heart swelled.

Even to this moment he had felt something would go wrong, that she’d change her mind, come to her senses that she had been fooling herselfthat she was under some kind of spell to make her only think that she loved him. But the change within him was so persistent in its plea for trust that he felt himself hopelessly tied in to her belief. He wanted her, and even if things were about to go to Hell in a hand-basket, he wanted to be by her side for the ride. Besides, now he had family. She had given him family. And Angel had given him acceptance. The soppiness of it all brought tears to his throat. So, to change tack, he grabbed his duster from the dirty floor, shook it violently before allowing it to billow and cover in one neat sweep the surface of their makeshift bed. Ahhh, he thought, could it get any more perfect?

He was in raptures, William battling with Spike as he argued with himself. Should he softly gather her in his arms and lay her back, bestowing loving tender kisses from the hollow of her neck to the valley between her breasts, while huskily reciting love poetry? Or should he grab her like a supernatural being and fling her there, diving on top of her and rubbing all his hard bits against her vulnerable skin?

His own naked protrusion decided his urgency and he went for Spike Spike the almost gentle as he dived into her mouth, his hand roaming over her shoulder before finally alighting on one firm breast. Her moan of relief finally the feel of his hands stroking and twisting her nipple until she thought she would scream from libidinous frustration. Her legs fell open and he dropped between them, a growl of excitement rumbling in his throat turning her on more than anything she had ever witnessed before. Fluid flowed and she thought she might drown him if he didn’t take her soon.

But he was cruel.

She wanted to feel him thrust into her, take rough possession of her and show her what it felt like to love one who had more than a little monster within him. Instead, he devoured her flesh, leaving raised red welts where his teeth grazed and his mouth sucked, and the little episodes of pain raised the bar to new erotic heights. She wanted so much from this, wanted the sexual gratification of bringing William the Bloody to his knees, of being fucked like never before. She wanted to feel the essence of Spike, the one who had tied her in that chair almost a month earlier, determined to make her understand his feeling for her. She wanted to feel the sleek lines of Spike as he swept her up in a sweaty affirmation of all they had been through to find each other. And she wanted the sweet words of love and devotion, whether they came from William or Spike, she no longer felt it necessary to define. He had become whole as far as she could see, both entities existing in him in a meld so perfect that it made her heart mourn every second that he wasn’t near her.

And right now, he wasn’t near enough.

“Spike, if you don’t get…ah…move on…oh…like that, baby…Oh God…I think…uhh…I’m gonna…EXPLODE!” His mouth had sucked a hard hello to her clit and without any build-up she came, great gushing waves of pleasure rocking her from her safety but showing her the wonders of the world. As she came down she felt him nuzzling her pussy, avoiding her overly sensitized clit as her hands began to search for his hair. She pulled on a handful, hard and in retaliation he turned his head into her inner thigh and bit down even harder.

“Argh,” she screamed in reaction but finally he rose above her and she reclaimed his lips, her gasps and pants doing nothing to slow down her frantic need to consume his taste and tongue.

She forced him at a roll to his back and she straddled him, lips glued to his as her tongue swept through his mouth, sliding hungrily over his teeth. She had both hands gripped with purpose in his hair, her breasts rubbing urgently against his chest. At last letting go, her hot wet tongue licked down his neck, her teeth scratching the skin as she went. Down, down until her teeth latched on to an erect nipple and she alternated between soft licking and sucking and harder bites. His moans and growls spurred her into a frenzy and all willpower disappeared as she allowed herself an end to torment by slowly sliding down his cock. He stretched her insides and fizzled her nerve endings until she felt the sensation alone was nearly enough in itself to make her come.

“Bloody hell!” he shouted, bringing her out of her exile of ecstasy, and she smiled and laughed in a happiness so pure that it brought tears to her eyes and sobs to her throat. Her body shuddered with every rise and fall of her slide against his thrusts, her skin so hot and prickly that she felt the buzz of orgasm building steadily until a final rush of bubbles reached their spot and erupted, swishing her insides with the heat of her juice and the cool of his ejaculate. Her body, resplendent in a sheen of sweat, remained motionless, eyes closed as she grasped hold of every sensation that just blew her to the stars. She was sure she was no longer in the crypt, that they had both suffered through the meltdown of their bodies that let them slide their way into Heaven. When she finally let her eyes blink open, her ‘oh’ was filled with such surprise that Spike was left wondering at its meaning.

“Well, that was a bit of alright.”

Buffy spiked him with an outraged look.

“Alright? Is that all it was?” Her bottom lip wobbled with sudden uncertainty and paranoia. “Wasn’t it very good?” her voice had shrunk in on itself, scared and insecure.

“Buffy, stop!” Spike sat up, alarmed at his thoughtless pillow talk, and embraced her with all the strength of a man desperate to make amends. “It was unbelievable, baby. Phenomenal. I have no words to tell you how incredibly fantastic and special that was for me. I’m an idiot. I know it.” He rubbed her back in a circular motion, cursing himself for the git that he was.

He was rendered useless still as her flooded greens raised to search his eyes for truth.

“Do you mean it? Because I have never felt anything like that before. I wanted it to be the same for you, too.” The emotion began to swallow her volume and she buried her face, wet with overflow, against his neck. “It felt like Heaven, Spike.”

He kissed her hair, her cheek, searching for her lips, wet and slippery from her fearful tears.

“Just looking at you is Heaven for me, Buffy. I’m sorry for teasing you. It was wrong.”

She hiccuped, a relieved short laugh exiting her mouth seconds before he claimed it again in a slow, sensual kiss that made her want to curl up and never leave his lap. He gave her tingles, allowed balls of heat to expand in her stomach, and made her heart pump rapidly enough to be concerned for her health.

“So,” he started when he thought they had gotten back on a less intense track. “Think I could get some more of that ‘alright’ in the extremely near future?” His face was molded into a picture of perfect love and serenity, eyes sparkling with achievement for the end of his struggle. He finally had her in his arms, and he wasn’t going to let her go. Not without one fuck-buster of a fight.

“How ‘bout right now, Big Bad,” she teased, leaning forward and again sucking his tongue into her mouth, her eyes drifting closed as the wash of sexual anticipation claimed her again.

On the edge of complete surrender, one thought provoked him into demanding clarification before he could give in and give her everything. He pushed her back, holding on to her arms until clarity returned to her eyes. Once he had her attention, his eyes narrowed in serpentine intent.

“Where’s my bloody blanket, Slayer?”

Her smile was sexy and teasing as she drifted back to his mouth.

“I’ll give you all your stuff back when we get back home.”

“Home?”

“Yep,” the ‘p’ popped.

“So, this was just like a send off for the crypt?”

“Or, a beginning acquaintance with a secret little getaway in-between patrols.” She arched her brow suggestively.

“Yeah. Don’t s’pose your mom would be eager about us sharing a room?” His voice was intensely hopeful.

“Sorry, basement for you…be glad she’s letting you in the house.” He could swear he saw a glint in her eyes. “Little steps, baby,” she whispered knowingly against his lips.

And he was again lost in her kiss.

Home.


A/N: and thats all she wrote folks. Phew...another end! I have a huge request though, as you know many more people read this than comment. If you read this and liked it, PLEASE let me know because it has been completely eclipsed by Taste of Juliet and I am rather eager to know if people enjoyed it as much as I loved writing it. So, comment. It only takes a minute.
And Thank You to all the loyal reviewers...you got me to a hundred reviews!