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She came back, less than a week later. It had been five days, in fact. He’d been counting each merciful hour that went by without her making some kind of unannounced intrusion. He was savoring the silence that stood in the wake of their one, brief morning together.

Still, he knew it was her when the door banged open in the middle of the day, and he could hear her brown leather boots click-clacking over his stone floor. He kept his eyes away from the advancing Slayer and feigned disinterest as well as she feigned confidence.

“Spike.” She came to a stop in front of him, crossing her arms resolutely over her chest. He glanced up, and saw that she was wearing the age-old expression and her usual, flinty eyes. He arched a brow, and knew what was coming.

“Easier to say no to when you’re wearing pants, luv.” He sneered, stretching back and giving her a slow once-over. She flushed. Not the reaction that he would’ve expected, but he sensed that this version of the girl had a bit more give in her than she had done, before. Now that he’d shagged her, he at least had something over her. Ha, he could’ve laughed.

The Slayer tightened her crossed arms, and shifted from one foot to the other.

"Riley's sick with some Initiative thing and he's missing," she said, the words coming out all fast and jumbled. She looked anxious as she regarded him and he marveled slightly at her nerve.

“Thought I said that you-” he started, rising lithely to his feet and looking dangerous “Were to stay the hell away from me.”

The Slayer reached abruptly for her back pocket, and Spike anticipated a stake- the kind she was always waving about in front of him. He was amused, then, when she produced a wad of cash instead, and held it up between them like a peace offering. Spike wanted to scoff, but instead, raised a brow. “Riley’s sick,” she said again. “And missing. I think he's in the caves. No one knows those caves as well as you do… If you could find him, and, and get him to the hospital. I have a doctor from the Initiative. He’ll-”

Spike plucked the stack of bills from between her small fingers, counting it through callously.

“So your hulking hall monitor of a boyfriend’s sick,” he said as he counted. He shuffled the notes, then looked up, unblinking. Frosty. “And I should, what? Give a damn?”

Buffy stared at him, her eyes glossing slightly as she blinked. For Christ’s… what did she expect? That she could just click her fingers and he’d come running again? Well, he’d told her hadn’t he? Things had changed.

Spike narrowed his eyes and then he tore the bills clean in half, shoving them back against her chest.

“Screw you.” He said, his voice taut. He clenched his fist around the bills pressed to her chest, then, in a flash he let them fall. They fluttered to the ground silently, and his hand remained pressed over her heart. Buffy stared at him, her breathing hitching in such a way that he could feel it under his hand, and it made the air around them shift.

Slowly, like he didn’t even mean to do it, Spike flattened his hand so that he had one of her soft breasts under his palm. He watched her eyes fall shut as he cupped it through her shirt, and then he took a slow step closer.

Her breaths came hot and fast, and he slipped his other hand up and under her shirt, brushing a thumb over her nipple. She was flushed and stunning again, beneath his hands. Spike cursed himself for doing it, but he took another step closer still, and then slid the shirt gently up over her head, meeting no resistance.

“Christ,” he groaned, laying his hands on her bare waist and feeling her heat. Her eyes slipped open, and then she looked startled, as if she hadn’t realized what was happening. She looked at Spike like a deer in headlamps, and he knew that he had the power this time.

“Riley-" she started, and he cut her off with a hard kiss.

He pushed her back against the wall, kissing her insistently until she slackened and let him do as he pleased. He ran his hands all over her front, pulling away to look at her greedily, then swooping in to kiss her neck.

“Riley,” she said again, with her tongue free. But he ignored her and she didn’t say anymore.

He pinned her wrists above her head, smiling, with a glint in his eye. Then he trailed a hand over her belly and down beneath the waistband of her jeans. Buffy gasped, feeling his fingers creep beneath the thin cotton of her panties. Feeling his cool fingers slide over her and then inside. She moaned, her legs going weak, but his other hand kept her pinned.

He kissed her mouth, and slid his fingers up inside of her. She was slippery and warm, and it amazed him, for a moment, to find that she was so aroused by him. His brow creased, and he forgot that he was angry with her. He slowed his movements down, and let her wrists go, feeling her hands fall to his shoulders. She held him tightly, and he looked up and touched his lips to hers. She kissed him like he was everything. It frightened him. This wasn’t at all what he’d meant to do.

“Oh, Spike-” she groaned, her hot breath melting his insides. “I’ve wanted-”

Wanted. Want.

The word reverberated around his skull, and Spike yanked back abruptly. Remembering, then, the sting of feeling used. She doesn’t want you, he chastised himself roughly. You idiot, he grimaced, watching her pant and lean forward, grasping her knees. Look at her. She’s a kid. You gave her a glimpse of the world, and she came back for more. It’s a mistake, getting involved with the likes of her.

The Slayer recovered slowly, looking up at him and abruptly wiping away a sharp tear as it crawled down her left cheek. “Riley,” she said, for a third time. She looked incredible, staring at him, topless and flushed and suddenly angry as hell. Christ, but if she were anyone else.

“Get out of here,” he said. Tiredly.

She snatched her shirt up off the stone floor and fled without looking back.

It was a while after she’d left that he realized what she’d said. The hospital. The Initiative doctor. Stupid bint, Spike thought, with a stab of something strange. She’s given me the bloody answer. Stupid, stupid bint.




He heard the chip clink into the bowl, just minutes before Buffy came bursting through the doors with her meathead of a boyfriend in tow. She met his gaze, coming to an abrupt stop in the doorway, her eyes clouding over as they shifted between his face, and the hands of the doctor who was tying off the final stitch.

“Thanks for the heads up, pet,” he said, rising gracefully to his feet as she began to move again. Her expression, which had been one of stark shock, had now settled behind a mask of determination and anger.

Spike thought, for a second, of the flushed, topless girl, writhing beneath his hands just an hour ago. And then he blinked fast, chasing the images away.

“Seems the good doctor here was able to figure out the cause of my little headaches. I know you’ve been awful worried, but chin up, Summers-” he narrowed his eyes and fixed her with a dangerous smirk, “I’m all better now.”

The Slayer’s chin quivered, but she didn’t let her determined expression break. “Means I get to kill you,” she said.

He shifted, then, into his demon guise, and he watched the Slayer’s lips stiffen into a hard line.

“It means you get to try.”




In the background, Spike was vaguely aware of Harm facing off against Finn, and the doctor quietly attempting to make his escape, but for the most part he could see only the Slayer. She hadn’t changed her clothes since earlier. Hadn’t fixed her hair. Hadn’t washed off the slight smudge of a tear-track on her cheek.

She was the same girl that he’d had, half-undressed in his crypt. And yet, she wasn’t. This one was more familiar. Angry, and buzzing, and strong. Thank bleeding Christ for that. He didn’t know if he could fight the other one- the pathetic one, he made himself think. The girl he’d shagged, who flushed and told him ‘sorry’, and said his name, ‘Spike’.

This was the one that he wanted to fight. The angry enemy with venom in her eyes and a sting in her left hook. Oh yes, he reminded himself. The bloody bitch of a Slayer.

She hesitated when he leapt up onto the operating table, and it was all of the opening that he needed. He threw himself down, hitting her by the shoulders and knocking her flat onto her back so that the length of his body was pressed hard against the length of hers.

She arched up against him, trying to throw him off, but he pinned her flat. “Spike-”

He grinned into her belligerent expression. Then he swooped down fast with his fangs itching for the kill. He felt her go lax, saw her chest lowering in defeat, then felt the pain that split his head wide open like a festering sore. “ARRRRGHH-” he tore back from her, grasping his temple, hardly seeing as the light came back on in her eyes and she kicked him off of her with a solid foot to the chest.





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