It hadn’t occurred to him that he’d been searching for her. Not until he’d sprawled in her booth, emptied out all the little packets of salt, and order up a plate of spicy chicken wings. He’d been so relieved to discover that the diner actually did make them that it took a moment to realise his waitress was familiar, and that she was looking at him with an almost debilitating confusion. But then the rush of relief had him relax his shoulders and the hurt in his head shifted enough for him to finally see what Dru had claimed all along.

His head was filled with Buffy Summers. There was no denying that now, not when she stood before him dressed in an ugly little white uniform and with a vacant expression in her eyes. He couldn’t for the life of him find any evidence that she might be concealing a stake; he had to conclude that she wasn’t carrying one—her journey from her real life complete.

He’d expected some degree of snark with the taking of his order, and the disappointment when she turned her back and put it in to the short order cook was severe. He might have felt fury that she’d forgotten who he was—what he was—if he hadn’t caught her sneaking peeks at him when she thought he wasn’t looking. If he hadn’t picked up her frantic heartbeat over all the sluggish ones that fought past the grease on their plate. It was enough—he still carried enough of a rep to have her stealing glances and wondering if she was going to have to betray herself and fight…or not.

The diner was slow around him and so it was easy for Spike to engage the Slayer in an obvious staring game. He held her gaze intently, wondering if she even had a clue what he was doing here.

Not to kill her.

Not this time.

Not anytime, if how he was feeling of late could be trusted. Dru had dumped him on his ass as soon as they’d reached Brazil, flapping some twaddle about how he was all covered or some such rot, and in a fit of temper he’d driven his beauty all the way back, intent on hunting down the little destroyer of dreams and making her pay. Only now that he saw her, saw the sadness in her eyes, had his motivations been turned on a dial. It was hard to make someone pay when they’d sold their soul to Hell.

He studied her every move as the waitress, Anne, brought his order to him. She moved slowly, hesitantly, and yet displayed no real concern of the demon that was near. It was the drudgery of working on her feet all day that caused this lethargy, and Spike had never seen a sadder thing.

“Hey, Anne. Shift’s over. Why don’t you park your butt and chat up the hottie?” Malicious snickers were all too evident from the back of the diner; Spike felt himself wanting to defend her with a growl and a gnashing of teeth, but Buffy shot him a look of despair that held him quiet.

But she took the other girl’s advice and sat across from him—her wary, dull eyes never leaving his face. Spike liked that look—despite the fact that she looked half gone. There was no hate, no fury at his presence, and the acceptance made his admittedly pathetic day.

He’d figured on her jumping straight into the ‘why are you here, Spike?’ part of the conversation, so he felt all nifty that she forged ahead and saw something totally different going on in front of her.

“I so can’t believe I’m saying this, but it’s good to see you, Spike.”

He grinned. It felt bloody good to see her, too, but the words stuck in his throat. Now that he’d managed to make it past the possibility of her rushing him with a stake, he was all buoyed up with enthusiasm.

“Bloody brilliant to see you too, pet. Lost some weight, I see.” And now that his tongue was loosened there was no telling what kind of train wreck he could set in motion.

She pouted at him, and Spike wondered how he’d ever missed that potentially savage hook at catching a man. She looked delightful, all put out and sullen.

“It’s rude to comment on a girl losing her puppy fat.”

Spike almost laughed out loud at how light he felt now. This strangest of meetings was just perfect for what he’d been after and he couldn’t help but lean forward, catch her hand and bring it to his lips. After the surprising spontaneous kiss, he felt like singing. She’d borne his lips on her skin and all was bleeding perfect with the world.

“’M a bad, rude man, Slayer. An’ it wasn’t puppy fat. Was very delectable curves you’ve gotten rid of. It’s a shame.” He looked at the top half he could see above the formica top of the bland white table and whistled appreciatively, relishing her surprised blush. And then finally the spicy aroma of his meal beckoned him and he let go of her hand, wishing he could hold it longer but knowing he risked all his parts if he attempted to extend the play.

He tucked in, loving the oiliness and the light tang on his tongue as he stripped the bones bare. He enjoyed the way she watched it all, his fingers at his lips, his tongue licking the grease from the corners of his mouth as he studied her all the while. It was like a silent seduction when neither party had been aware it was possible—let alone taking place.

“Sticky fingers,” she said randomly, indicating his now stained and deliciously decorated digits and for a fleeting moment he got hard at the thought of her lips around them and sucking them clean.

“Yeah,” he choked before clearing his throat and trying again for manliness everywhere. “Yeah, happens like that when you eat greasy foods.”

She never said a thing, just reached for his hands and cleaned them off with her dish towel, taking her time finger by finger like she was being careful not to break a single piece of fine china. Spike was moved, simply watching the interaction and knowing in his gut that, though he might not have known he was searching for her, he definitely knew what he’d found. And now that he had, he was desperate to not let her go.

“You got any plans for tonight?”

Buffy looked startled, then before he could move he could see her withdraw into herself.

“I don’t slay. Not anymore. Don’t make me have to fight you, Spike.” A pause. “Please?”

He blanched at the tears in her eyes and cursed himself for his lack of lead in. Should have guessed she’d be all touchy about that part of their past. He didn’t have much of a clue what had gone down after he’d legged it with Dru over his shoulder, but the world was still as he knew it, and that could only mean that she’d destroyed Angelus somehow. And good riddance to poofy-haired wankers.

“Didn’t mean that. Thought I could take you out—go to a movie…or just walk. I can do that you know. Walk, I mean. Was touch and go there for a while, but I got the kickers movin’ again. As you know.” He was babbling and that was beyond disturbing. The Big Bad didn’t babble and yet he was making a royal fool of himself in front of a chit that he had no feelings for and who was so young he should have been able to charm her out of her dodgy uniform in seconds of meeting her. If she hadn’t been the Slayer.

“What are you doing here, Spike?”

Ah, so now it came down to it.

“You gonna believe me if I tell you?” He watched as she studied him carefully, and then that tiny almost missable flicker at her mouth and the look down at the table before she admitted it.

“Probably not.” And then she looked back up and stared straight at him, almost knocking him over with the power of her loneliness. “You still wanna go to a movie? If we walk, you’ll talk, and as much as you might think that accent is irresistible, I’m not up to conversation.” Big wide open green eyes sucked him in and Spike had sudden visions of happily snogging the slayer in the theatre and waited for the bile to rise in his throat.

Snogging the Slayer was not what he’d come looking for. Not that he was drowning in affection these days, but a bloke had to be a little choosy, and as miserable as the bint looked, it wasn’t his responsibility to make her feel good about herself.

It took the feel of her warmth beside him as they left the diner and walked toward somewhere that had Spike quickly altering his perception. Who was he to knock back a quick kiss if it was on offer? And then the idea became very palatable and he thrust his hands in duster pockets before he started attempting to hold her hand or swing an arm around her shoulders.

“At the risk of boring you with the sound of my sexy accent, what the bloody hell are you doing in a dive like this?” It was conversation at best, but a start to something he suddenly didn’t want to get awkward. Spike was relieved that she didn’t go looking for a handy sliver of wood, instead continuing to walk beside him as they went looking for movies and popcorn.

“A girl has to eat, even if she’s not the Slayer.”

That made him balk. “What do you mean, not the Slayer? If you’re not, then who is?”

She seemed frighteningly apathetic when she replied, and it disturbed him more than he ever thought he could be where the Slayer was concerned.

“Oh somebody is. Someone would have replaced Kendra.” That wrought some emotion from her and Buffy struggled to hold back tears, stopping their progress to quickly search her pockets for an absent tissue. Spike had no such thing to give her but turned her toward him and used his thumb to brush away the two tears that had begun their sad little slide down her cheeks.

“None of that, luv. How ‘bout we hold off on all the potentially nasty history lessons and go have us some fun? I’d wager that’s a foreign concept to you lately.” He took heart in her grateful nod and her easy acceptance of his touch on her face, and they were off again.

The cinema came into view and Buffy pulled him to a stop before he could even check out the posters. “Did you eat someone so that we could do this?” She was so earnest he almost laughed.

“Not nice to quiz a bloke on his funds, Slayer. How ‘bout we forget all of that and just go have some good old fashioned fun, yeah? Unless you’ve got a stake shoved up your ass that prevents you from doing that?” His brow inched up in honest curiosity, wondering if this would be the proverbial straw that tripped her up and made her one with the animated crowd, because the emotion that didn’t make it to her face was disappointing him no end.

Buffy glared at him for interminable minutes before finally flouncing up to the ticket box and putting in her request. To say that Spike wasn’t surprised when she picked a mopey chick flick was putting it mildly. He rolled his eyes, paid for the tickets then wandered over to see if they sold packs of tissues.

He had the feeling it was going to be a wet night.

She must have a death wish!

There was no other way to explain the vampire she found in her bed when Buffy woke up the next morning. She remembered feeling beyond miserable after that stupid sob fest movie and had welcomed him almost with open arms into her tacky apartment. The rest had been pure insanity. She had a perfectly good floor he could have bunked down on—wasn’t like he needed the comforts of a pillow and blankets. No, she must have been willing to die and that’s why she’d been so agreeable as to let him steal half her narrow sleeping space.

At least she still had her clothes on. Some perverted little pixie whispering in her ear had her stealthily sneaking up the sheet to check his clothing status, and she didn’t know whether to sigh in relief or sob in disappointment that his jeans were still completely where she’d last seen them. Though she was free to drool over his chest and those tight, hard, mouth-watering abs.

If she wasn’t suicidal, she might have done just that.

Buffy stumbled weakly from her bed, her head spinning over this new bizarre reality. She would have laughed herself silly for the weirdness that was her life if she totally wasn’t ready to face a waking vampire this early in the day. Keeping silent and keeping him asleep was very much of the good.

Despite the lock on the bathroom door, Buffy was very nervous about stripping her body and standing naked under the stream of water that dribbled through the pipes. It wasn’t like Spike had shown any real interest in her since he’d met her again at the diner. The few short moments of touching had been intense, but in a darkened theatre, where such expressions of interest were the norm—if not the expectation—he’d been almost disappointingly lacking with the amorous.

She pouted. Then got angry at the pouting. What was she? Some slayer slut that wanted to dive into another abusive, screwed up vampire relationship that had the potential of being much, much worse? All simply to aid the forgetting of her worst moment in life?

The ensuing tears over that particular topic were never a surprise. She let them fall: great silent drops of grief that she felt would never let her get on with the living. Buffy knew she was hiding here—that the crummy job that barely covered her rent and a small amount of food wasn’t a life-long decision of the best kind, but she’d always been the one to deal with the bad, and just this once it was so heinous that she just couldn’t face it anymore. Let someone else kill their lover—she really couldn’t care anymore.

The shower, with its inadequate force behind the almost chilly needles of water, was the place she ruminated best. Many times she’d thought about her mom, Giles and her friends—God, Angel had been the hot topic for months now—but it was never the place she could get any relief from the pain. The loneliness was eating out her soul, and now Buffy had the embodiment of that very sentiment lying dead in repose on her bed.

He still hadn’t told her why he’d sought her out; hadn’t taken the trouble to reveal if her days were numbered or if he’d flipped on the whole vampire thing and was making her his new best friend. It kind of felt like it, with the talking and the eating and the movies. Not to mention the stepping in at his frown at the approaching sun and providing him a place to bunk down.

Why hadn’t it occurred to her last night to wonder where Drusilla was?

God, for all Buffy knew, she could well be about to dress for lunch—with her as the main meal!

Feeling fresh and more emotionally prepared to face the challenge waiting for her in her bed, Buffy crept out of the bathroom and came face-to-face with a fully dressed, completely slick looking Spike almost jumping with excitement about something.

“Moon’s out,” he informed conversationally and Buffy repressed the urge to point out that yes, she did have eyes—and an alarm clock. It was her shift, and though tonight she wasn’t actually meant to work, she really wasn’t stupid enough to tell Spike that.

Well, no need really. Not when he held her schedule in his hand and treated her to that sappy enthusiastic grin that seemed totally peculiar on his face.

“Hey! What are you doing with that?”

He looked at the offending piece of paper with his own brand of cocky confusion, then dismissed it in the blink of an eye as his body almost seized with the repressed need to be active.

“Wanted to see if you’d be up for a bit of rough and tumble.” His expectant look sent lava howling through her veins.

Okay, despite her earlier completely sick lamentation of the lack of movie smoochies, she so wasn’t going there. “That better not mean what I think it means.” She felt the urge to growl, but tamped it down in case it did something to Spike’s demon and he jumped her in impulsive lustiness that he’d later claim to be unable to control.

His look of amusement was immediately irritating and intriguing.

“What do you think it meant, pet?” And he seemed to slink closer so that she was breathing into the interesting looking pale skin of his throat, her back finding that the bathroom door was actually vertical and made of reasonably solid wood.

Buffy felt breathless suddenly, like Spike was sapping her breath from just being close to her—from being inside her space and not making her do anything but shake.

“Th-that you want to fight to the d-death?” she almost whimpered and realised how bad that would be if it were true. Spike had been fun to be around, even if his hyperactivity was a bit overwhelming first thing in the night.

“Oh, I want to fight, Goldilocks. But bad guys. Bring on the bleeding monsters of the night and let’s go save the world, yeah?”

God, had his voice always been so husky and liquid sex? She almost felt like diving back under the showerhead, and then what he’d actually said caught up to her hormones and Buffy’s mouth fell open.

“Huh? You wanna wha? Did Dru hit you over the head and give you brain damage or something?” She raised her fist to knock on his skull, but as soon as his slicked back hair met the flesh of her fingers, she shuddered and bumped back into the door.

He was doing the head tilt and Buffy suddenly knew—guilty runaway and grieving girlfriend or not—she was in serious trouble.

“Dru didn’t see the good behind my truce with you. Tossed me out on my ear, she did. She’s shacked up with a chaos demon. You ever seen one of those things?” He barely waited for the uncertain shake of her head. “They’re all slime and antlers. They’re disgusting.” And he shuddered, whether because of the remembered slimy badness or at losing Dru, Buffy had no idea, but now she was thoroughly wigged.

“That’s so—” She was really about to offer her sympathies, her hand was raised to awkwardly pat him on the shoulder and everything, until she realised what she was doing. “God, Spike! That’s so pathetic. What do you see in a skanky ho like her anyway?”

At the impulsive baring of fangs and the snarl on lips barely a kiss away from her face, Buffy wondered what it was exactly that prompted her to goad a master vampire about the supposed love of his life when she had no stake in handy distance. She was about to squeeze her eyes closed and give in to the inevitable when with a little embarrassed cough, Spike shook off the demon and stepped back apologetically.

“Sorry ‘bout that. Guess I’m still in protector mode. None of that now, let’s go fight some demons. It’ll be fun.” His grin was infectious and Buffy marvelled at how innocent and misleadingly safe he seemed. Like he could be a little boy excited that Santa was on the way. Like he was a boyfriend eager to go and do happy things if it got his girl to stop moping about the dead love of her life.

She wanted to do that. In some dark place in her mind, the need to mope over Angel had long passed. She’d even started questioning the love and wondering how real it could be when it was twisted for so long. It hadn’t taken a scholar to observe her mom and how the strings of love became untied the second her father abused the privilege, and all he’d done was fool around. Angel had done that and more. While he’d found some other woman to take her place, he’d tormented her with murder and physical abuse. No matter how much she told herself that Angel was not Angelus, they both wore the same face and she knew enough amateur psychology to know it would be almost impossible to be able to see anything but Angelus in the sweet face of the vampire that had loved her first.

It was time to let go, and with Spike’s irritating persistence, she could see her spirits being salvaged right before her eyes. She still wasn’t so much with the understanding and that was bugging her.

“Spike, what are you doing here? And specifically? Here, in my room. And why am I still alive? I know nobody yanked your fangs out, so what gives?” Only when Spike seemed transfixed by her lips did she realise she was pouting and Buffy very slowly tried to lose it—with no effect on the vampire’s fascination.

“Needed a place to sleep. Not gonna kill you, so stop thinking like that.” And then his concentration broke and he was staring at Buffy in concern. “You didn’t think that, did you? It’s not why you invited me in, I hope? You’re too young to have a death wish.”

Buffy blushed guiltily and jumped as Spike growled, slamming a hand onto the door on either side of her face.

“Now you listen to me, Slayer. I may not know what went down with your sweetie bear at the end, but whatever it was it wasn’t worth you doing this to yourself. The world needs you, luv. Not goin’ to go all poetic and tell you what you mean to every git that knows you, but you’re being silly.”

He was ignoring her tears, though an ache seemed to be starting around his heart at her tiny sniffles of misery.

“I killed him, Spike. He got his soul back but Acathla was already open. I had to send him to Hell.” She fought the sobs that wanted to break her throat open with the violence of her regret and grief, so sick and tired of crying over something that had never been her fault. Not even the need to give it reign with someone whom she knew—someone who could understand what she was actually talking about—was enough to give her release. She’d spoken to no one since she’d left—not shared the most devastating event in her life with anyone until Spike ended up so oddly back in her life. And now he was glaring menacingly at her and Buffy felt an urgent need to gulp down fear, her tears forgotten.

“You know what,” he growled in almost spitting impatience. “You did a good thing. So what if your honey got his balls back on the big moment? He wasn’t blameless, Slayer. Wanker had a hundred years to learn about the noose around his neck. Was all sorts of wrong to go for you in the first place. But you did a GOOD thing. You saved this godforsaken miserable world and I, for one, am bloody grateful for it. Now get your ass into gear and let’s go kill things.”

He didn’t move, still had her positioned against the bathroom door, her mouth hanging open in shock and admiration, and Buffy, not for the not the first time, considered what it would be like if he put all this fiery manhood to good use. But he still hadn’t answered her question.

Knowing she’d almost believe anything right now, she breathed, mesmerised, and asked again. “Why are you here?”

He grinned, his lips soft and shiny in the dim light of her apartment, and then he leaned forward and so gently caressed hers with a kiss. He pulled back too fast, leaving Buffy tingling and almost brain-dead with shock and yearning.

“I came because I want a regular gig. Buffy, I want to save the world.”

He’d rendered her speechless, a feat she couldn’t have imagined in a million years. Since when did evil vampires, better used to draining the populace dry, want to throw in their fangs and side with the good guys? Never—that’s when. Buffy felt the surge of temper at his attempt to trick her and punched him square on the nose.

“Ow! Bloody hell, what was that for?” He looked so hurt that Buffy wondered if she’d got it all wrong—toyed with the possibility that Spike was telling the truth and really did want to be a white hat. Then rational Buffy kicked her butt and she went back to glaring at him.

“I am really, really not in the mood for any of your games.” Her voice cracked with emotion that she was struggling to hold back; she was so tired and angry at herself for almost falling for it. And disappointed—she couldn’t even admit to herself how disappointed she was.

“Not playin’ games. Bloody tired of games. Dru made it—” Spike clenched his jaw and Buffy became transfixed at his effort to remain calm and collected, staring at the taut stretch of his neck and bobbing Adam’s apple. “She made it very plain that she didn’t believe my priorities were with her anymore, and no amount of my trying to prove I was still evil was enough once she knew what I’d done. Not much one for logical argument, is Dru, but make the wrong choice in loyalty and there’s no going back. ‘M not complaining. Got a taste for being the hero, an’ I liked it. Besides, was a bit of all right teaming up with you.”

“Teaming up with who now?” Buffy asked incredulously, desperately fighting back the part of her that wanted to give in to being impressed. “Pretty sure I remember me being all the t-e-a and the m in your little fabricated view of events.”

She so did not see sheepish Spike duck his head and toe the floor with his boot.

“Yeah, ‘m ashamed I didn’t hang around to make sure you were all right. My priorities were still with Dru and hey, guess it’s possible I had endless faith in you to do what needed to be done—because I wasn’t joking about liking the world as it is. I’m willing to bet there’s no spicy chicken wings in Hell.” The grin he shot her with was having an interesting reaction on her nervous system.

“You are a really strange vampire,” Buffy conceded, and then smiled her relief as he shrugged and bit his lip. He was still standing so close and the way she was feeling all warm and interested, it wasn’t of the good to be noticing things like Spike’s lips. But yummm, lips of Spike looked so delicious.

“That’s what makes me all the more interesting, luv.” He leaned in, sniffed at her hair, and while usually that would all eww, for some reason her temperature ratcheted up another few notches. Especially when his nose parted her hair and his lips ended at her throat, a frozen Buffy somehow still able to feel her flesh tingling under the softest kiss that she’d ever had.

When he pulled away, Buffy became aware that her eyes were squeezed shut and how much she’d enjoyed his body being close to hers. It had never occurred to her how much she would miss people—being close and feeling close to others. While Spike wasn’t a person in the strictest sense, now was he someone that she would have chosen to be close to, he was right in front of her. Whether he knew it or not, he fed her craving with a sweetness that took her breath away.

“P-patrol? I think I could really go for beating up bad guys right now. Spike?”

His eyes were glazed over and he was panting. Recognition slowly stole into his gaze and Buffy held her breath, wondering if this would be the moment where he finally remembered that he was a vampire who’d wanted her dead for the better part of last year, and would make good on that at last. She didn’t notice when his hand had moved, but she felt it like a scorching print on her waist as he settled and massaged her under the palm of his hand.

“Bad guys. Killin’ bad guys. Right, first step forward then.”

They didn’t move, confused crystal clear blue eyes hanging onto surprised jade for dear life; for some kind of reassurance that he’d still be safe if he turned his back to her. Buffy didn’t know what to do. He made her feel weak, yet itchy and she couldn’t help wonder how bad that really was. He’d appeared and ruined the unhappy quiet she’d settled into in the blink of a twitchy eye, and she had no idea how to handle it. He wanted her to go and do the very thing she’d refused to do since disembarking from the bus that had brought her to obscurity.

And there lay the impossibility of his plan.

With one less than gentle push, Buffy freed herself from the circle of Spike’s hold and stepped away from the bathroom door and into the apartment. She may have suggested it in a bid to grasp at some sanity and to remove herself from whatever strange spell Spike was wielding, but now the idea of resuming that part of her old life brought her out in cold sweats.

“I can’t do that, Spike. I don’t do that. Not anymore. I hung up my Slayer hat and tied on an apron. I serve people food now, not life. They all got along fine before I came along, and I haven’t seen any of them struggling since I stopped. The world is fine.” Buffy balked for a second, his disbelieving look suddenly making her words louder in her own head than they had been for the entire time she’d been saying them.

“You’re not fine.”

God, she really hated the way he did that observation thing.

“I am too fine.” Hands on her hips, bottom lip trembling, Buffy knew she was being childish and dishonest. She wasn’t fine. She was so far from fine she needed a map to find her way back—but she couldn’t tell him that. She couldn’t! As if finding her in a sea of faces in this city wasn’t enough, now he had to know her, too? Why couldn’t her mom—her watcher and friends—ever know her like an evil vampire apparently could?

His head tipped to the side and Buffy couldn’t help the betraying trip in her pulse. Sexy? Check. He totally was, and that knowledge was just dangerous to her peace of mind. She needed him gone—needed all reminders of who she was to disappear in a puff of smoke so she could return to the bland existence she’d taken great pains to establish. His stare was unbroken, seemingly stealing all her bravado while he waited for her to admit the truth—first to herself, and then to him.

Normally, she dealt with frustration by killing things, and despite not wanting to kill Spike just yet, if he kept pushing her, she’d have no choice. Still, her blood buzzed with the need to act, to deal with this build up of anguish; the longer he peered into her innermost secrets, the closer she was to breaking and giving him what he wanted.

It couldn’t happen.

“I’m fine, and I think you should go.” She couldn’t have made her voice any more decisive, and yet when he turned away and headed for the door, she felt something snap in her heart and an inhuman howl claw at her throat for release. The monster she was inside couldn’t take being caged any longer and so with a whimper and more than a tear, Buffy grabbed her coat and a stake and stalked out of the apartment beside a grinning vampire.

Damn. How the hell did he win that round with not even a snarky word or a show of force?

He strutted at her side with a huge grin on his face as they went, numerous cigarettes dangling from between his fingers. Buffy watched, bemused, wondering how on earth an apparently graceful, serene creature like Drusilla had put up with Spike the Energizer Vamp for a century.

She’d never actively hunted for evil prey since she’d been in the city, but Spike seemed to be the unelected leader on this expedition and Buffy found he’d taken her to all the usual haunts by instinct alone. Graveyards, parks, nightclubs were not safe from them as they swept in, staked, and disappeared on the whim of a truly psyched vampire.

He was like an overly excitable puppy, all that extra energy seemingly coming out of nowhere. Buffy was exhausted just watching him spin and kick and bounce his way through a patrol that ordinarily should have been pretty dull. And after more hours than her now-unconditioned body could cope with, she had to hand it to him. If he was telling the truth about wanting to save the world as his new gig through eternal life, he’d gone a long way toward achieving safety for all and puppies in just the one night.

Buffy had taken to sitting on whatever was available for the final spots they visited. She felt exhausted and it was easy to admit that it was more fun to watch Spike get bitch slapped and knocked around before he managed to get the upper hand. And he always did. He might be covered in bruises, but his thrill for the fight, his craving for the challenge, saw him as tenacious as a rabid dog. He always left his adversaries either limping badly in Buffy’s direction—or dead.

She didn’t need to be a vampire to know that morning was approaching, and Buffy giggled again as Spike tripped backwards over a headstone and landed hard on his ass. He was in demon face, blood dripping down the side of his face while he laughed at his last success.

“Did you bloody see that, Slayer? That bugger exploded into purple bubbles. That was just…neat!” His was ebullient when he jumped back to his feet, swaying slightly as he stumbled his way to Buffy, who remained perched on a stone wall. His human features slid forward as he grabbed her around the waist and tossed her in the air, falling backwards and thumping his head on the ground as her descending body impacted and knocked him off balance. She landed full length, squishing his bits in all the interesting ways and he couldn’t get rid of the grin that betrayed how happy he was. He wanted to cling to it, and before Buffy could adequately ‘eep’ her objections, he’d rolled and pinned her beneath him.

“I’ve just wiped out an army of evil, Slayer. You know what I feel like now?” The glint in his eye and the hardness of his body brought all sorts of images to her mind of what Spike might like to do now. The dominant one was as prominent as the hint of the not-so-little something she felt poking into her thigh.

She gulped hard. As intriguing as the idea of another exploration of a vampire’s finer points might be, Buffy felt a little at a loss about how to open her mouth and admit a certain degree of interest. Her focus fell to his lips and she prepared herself to make the move that would put behind her all these small tests of affection and go for the gold. And then she saw his lips moving and had to unscattter her hyper aware senses that were already half way along that happy place where she was kissing and it was feeling really good.

“Huh?”

“A milkshake, Slayer. Keep up. I feel like a really big milkshake. Chocolate even. Come on.” And then he was standing, pulling her to her feet and she was forced to follow, despite her befuddled mind and even more clutz-like feet.

He wanted flavoured milk, and not smooches? Either she was really slipping on the attraction radar or Spike was the weirdest male/vampire she’d ever encountered.

As his hand closed around hers and she warmed the palm with the overactive race of blood through her body, Buffy wondered if he’d altered her again. She’d hidden in the City of Angels and changed who she was so she’d be faceless and nameless in a sea of like-people; he’d found her anyway, bringing her closer to life than she had been since she’d screwed the soul right out of Angel.

Morning chased them as Spike tore down streets familiar only to him. He found a protected, dark little establishment that either opened super early to offer icecreamy goodness, or didn’t know the meaning of the word ‘closed’. Buffy didn’t care anymore. Suddenly the sweet flavours assaulted her senses and her stomach rumbled, angrily reminding her that she’d forgone the normal coffee and toast or apple for Spike and his insane pace through the night. She knew a milkshake wasn’t going to be enough, and if Spike was paying…

Missing out on smoochies suddenly didn’t look so bad, not when she was staring a multitude of flavours in the face.

It was only once a huge bowl of five of those flavours was sitting in the middle of them both, two spoons stabbed in and sticking up in the centre, that Buffy realised how tight her face was from the almost permanent smile that had been there through the night. Spike had made her happy, taken her mind off the hopelessness that had been overwhelming her.

They might not have been saving the world tonight, but in his own way, Spike had been saving hers. And all it felt was right.

The wind in her hair felt so good, but the arms that crept around her waist were even better. The sea crashing before her, wet sand squishing between her toes, and the love of her life squeezing her tight and passing his love through his body and into her. There was nothing that could make her happier but this moment, feeling his hard body behind her and the affirmation of his presence.

Buffy took a deep breath and welcomed him, feeling almost slack with relief that he was here—in the lowering sun, of all places, but with her.

“How did you find me?” She’d never lose that sound of miserable loss from her voice, not even with him back and his arms reminding her who she was. Yet as she rested her head against his shoulder and tipped back her lips in hope of a kiss, it was all so different than she remembered. Yet it seemed so right.

“If I was blind, I would see you.” His voice was so husky, so full of wanting and admiration that it brought a lump to her throat and a skip to her heartbeat. The relief—the relief was just and absorbing.

Eyes closed she breathed him in, mapped the hard plains of his body against her back and memorised every small whimper that said he was happy to be with her too. She felt his cheek rest against hers and was suddenly incredibly desperate to not lose another moment of her time with him, as new as it was.

“Stay with me.”

And he shuddered against her, overjoyed with acceptance, his trials over. They clasped hands and a jolt of electricity zapped through Buffy’s nervous system, making her feel weak and helpless in his arms. She waited, desperate for the words that would prove she wasn’t dreaming up another mistake right here and now.

A sexy British rumble delivered her hopes and dreams, and finishing off with her nightmare.

“Forever. That’s the whole point. I’ll never leave.” And his lips lowered to rasp against her ear, his breath tickling while his words horrified. “Not even if you kill me.”
~~~~~~~

It had changed. Even before she opened her eyes, Buffy marvelled at the difference in what had become her nightly despair. Dreaming of Angel in the lowering sun at the beach had been a fantasy come true, his devotion obvious until the last when his accusation was aimed at a heart too broken to retain it.

She could tell how some parts of the dream had altered. She lay in her bed, a vampire snuggled against her back with his arm cinched around her waist, and if she was honest, she’d never felt so warm and cherished in her life. It was a situation she shouldn’t have found herself in without the former consumption of alcohol, yet for Buffy, the copious amounts of ice-cream apparently rendered the same results. Foolhardiness was difficult to reverse when sanity had allowed it the night before.

Still, it didn’t explain how Angel had shifted into Spike in her most desired fantasy. It didn’t explain why she felt completely comfortable with his body pressed up against hers—even when it was totally innocent and sleep inspired.

Spike ‘mmmmed’ in her hair, and it reverberated through her body and left her toes tingling. He tugged her to him, sleepily snuggling her close and confusing totally her image of who Spike really was. This was so different, so unlike her belief of what an evil vampire was supposed to be, and Buffy was torn with uncertainty. He was making her feel things and want things that she’d resolved herself never to deserve, let alone clasp in desperate hands. Home. He wanted her to go home and fight on the Hellmouth—and he wanted to be by her side while she did.

He wanted to reunite her with her family and friends, blissfully ignoring the wig out that would come with her landing on her front doorstep with a vampire in tow. Actually, that would probably be amusing. That and if he did his eager puppy dog routine on patrol. She could see Willow’s mouth drop already.

When she finally opened her eyes, it wasn’t to the usual sad world that she woke to. It wasn’t with the ache in her heart that she’d killed every essence of love she’d known. While still feeling sombre and in pain, it was touched a little by hope and Buffy was big enough to admit that was almost completely due to the embodiment of weirdness that lay at her back, cuddling her.

He wiggled against her rear and Buffy’s eyes popped wide open in shock. Oh my God! That’s just…indecent! She gasped as the rough, calloused palm of his hand scratched over the skin of her belly, completely forgetting that just seconds ago he was resting above her clothes. Vampires awoke amorous apparently, and Buffy didn’t know how to react. So she stayed still, and waited.

His hand showed no like courtesy, moving compulsively to stroke her flesh higher and higher until he brushed against the underside of her breast. She’d never experienced such a flame scorch through her body, her skin feeling tight and sensitive. Every muscle tensed, every cell craved more and tears appeared behind suddenly tightly closed lids.

When his hand smoothed around the globe of her breast and his fingers reached a tightly pointed nipple, she repressed a sob of pleasure but let the tears of intensity flow.

His free arm pushed under her ribs so that he was hugging her, bringing her flush against his hard body with nothing between them. Explorative fingers teased the edge of her pyjama bottoms and finally rubbed across the flesh of her belly. Her lust ignited and shot straight to her needy core, prompting her head to fall back and allow him access to her lips.

A still sleepy vampire moved his cheek to rest against hers, dampened by tears, and he jerked awake in surprise. “What?” His eyes were confused for long seconds before horror made him tear his hands away from her and he leapt from the bed in disgust. He landed on his ass in an uncoordinated heap and watched the body of the Slayer shake uncontrollably.

Groaning in frustration more than horror, Buffy planted her face in her pillow and screamed. Her clit throbbed—not that he’d even reached that far, but God, why did he have to stop? He could, at the very least, have allowed her release and then she could have staked him after. That was a plan. Why couldn’t he be with the plan?

Her face red, Buffy jumped from the bed and kept her back to him, humiliated beyond belief. She should have known when his hands rested on her skin that he’d come to his senses and be repulsed by her. No matter how good he made her feel, no matter how loudly he told her he wanted to change his mission in life, he was still evil, and evil didn’t love her. Evil didn’t even like her and the thought of touching her was obviously more than evil could cope with.

She escaped to the bathroom and readied herself for work.

~~~~~~~

He could still feel her against his fingers. The path to her pussy so warm and inviting, her hard little nubs aching for a good pinch, and now that he’d torn himself away from that pleasure, he seemed to want it even more.

She’d left him to go to that dive of a diner to work, and he more than hoped it would be for the last time. She was killing herself in that place, wasting away on the misery of others while she allowed her own to fester inside. He didn’t have the patience for that. Didn’t want to start caring how she felt. She was supposed to be nothing more than a means to an end—or not an end if he was actually successful at the superhero caper.

Except he’d touched her and liked it. Kissed her and wanted more. It was disgusting and he should be sickened—but he wasn’t. He was intrigued right now, refusing to acknowledge the other parts of him crying out about how much fun he had while in her presence.

It had even hurt when she’d left the bed, fixed her face and that over-dyed hair job for that excuse she called work without even once looking in his direction. He could smell her tears and it was the only thing holding him back. By then he’d worked himself up into an almost painful state of arousal and wanted nothing more than to tackle her back to the bed and sink into her expected warm depths—except too late he’d realised what his violent reaction to his sleep-filled touching had wrought.

He wasn’t much of a thinker, feeling more than being a calculating prick about his motives, but even he realised that jumping away from the tantalising promise of the Slayer’s body was touching on issues the pontificating wanker had no doubt left her with. Well, that was a right pile of bollocks he’d got himself involved in. Now he’d have to soothe her sensitivities if he hoped to get another crack at her luscious little powerful body. And with one thought his cock was back to straining and he knew that was exactly what he wanted.

He figured it might be an uphill battle to prove it to her, though.

Spike was no stranger to wooing his way into good graces. Many a time he’d found himself on the outs with Dru over something he’d never hope to understand—being victim to her visions often had him at a disadvantage. But he’d always turned his luck around and until she’d grown weak from attacks in Prague, he’d managed to coax his way between her thighs more often than not.

Thinking fondly of all the hot little escapades he could get up to with someone like the Slayer, Spike sighed and rubbed his crotch. He could take care of his itch now, but where was the real satisfaction in that? With a grin evilly reminiscent of earlier days, he resigned himself to a plan. He’d bed the little spitfire and save the world. It was the best kind of reward a turncoat could expect, and Spike was going to relish every second of it.
~~~~~


It was amazing how the drudge of her dead end job effortlessly brought back the familiar apathy that Spike’s odd presence had slowly been banishing. She walked the same way, delivered orders the same, poured coffee in the same dejected manner she had done since she started this job. It hurt to think of the morning, waking up in the arms of a killer and craving his touch. Feeling so much pain that he hated doing what he’d done—as soon as he woke up to who she was. It was wrong, wanting any kind of connection to Spike—other than the one where she started acting like who she was and settled his dust on the ground. Instead he’d become a link, a photo that stilled that one memory in time; a memory that was so painful to relive, but even moreso to release.

And that’s when the next surprise raised up and slapped her with a few coins for pie. It seemed her past just couldn’t leave her alone, and as far as Buffy ran from her identity, her past ran faster to keep up.

It was after seeing the ugliest of all tattoos that Buffy had the glimmer of recognition and wanted to run hard and fast. Unfortunately for her, there was a matching spark and the other long-haired blonde said the words Buffy wished she could stuff back into her mouth.

“Hey, do I know you?”

What was there to do but to lie to Lilly, or whoever she was?

Buffy looked away, searched every corner for escape and submitted to the swelling hopelessness that there was nowhere. She needed to work to be able to pay for her dingy apartment, and if she ran she wouldn’t be working here any longer. So with resignation, she used words to try and fight her way back into the box of anonymity.

“I don’t think so.” She took the first step away, almost crying that Lilly called her back.

“Really? Where’re you from?” She was inquisitive—kindly so—but it was too much and Buffy couldn’t stand being found. This human girl’s threat, for some reason, seemed far more severe than a possibly hungry, vengeful, evil vampire might have been when he’d plonked himself down in her section.

She didn’t want to be rude, but neither did she want to face the faces, answer the questions. She wanted to be alone—needed to be alone and somehow that was achievable with Spike, but not with any other.

“I’ll get your pie.” Buffy darted away, hoping and praying to a Power that had no interest in her pain that she would get her one wish and that she’d leave this diner tonight alone.

She really should have known better.

He looked sleek and beautiful propped against the wall, watching the door with all the intent of a killer waiting for suitable prey. Buffy held her breath as she stepped outside; she’d known he would be there. Seemed to be able to sense his presence now that he’d drowned her in it for days. Her breath hitched as she watched the play of moonlight on his face; it made his hair shine and painted him in an ethereal light that was somehow not surprising.

It wasn’t ethical for Buffy to look at him and think about what if’s. He wasn’t anything but a predilection to permanently end her pain, and that alone was a clash of moral dilemmas. She really wanted to prolong her torment with walking the streets lonely and aimless, and yet she enjoyed his company more than she had any right to do. She was being so stupid, courting this association, but she just couldn’t seem to get the will to stake his unbeating heart. Couldn’t seem to resign herself to never seeing his pretty face again or never hearing that accent that she didn’t want to admit was just the right timbre to incite her sexy thoughts.

Which were bad. Bad sexy thoughts. So much badness after what he’d done to her in her bed so many hours earlier. It was one thing to be devastated by the hatred leaching out of a newly resurrected vicious vampire, but to willingly allow another to sleep at her back and cover her body with his hands was nothing short of madness.

She knew it was predictable, and she knew that she probably already knew the answer, but Buffy asked it anyway. “What are you doing here?” But there was no heat of censure in her voice—no accusation that he’d breached her rights by being in the vicinity of her presence. In fact, despite her morbid wishes, she was almost glad to see him and hoped he would walk her home. That he would do as she wanted and not hound her too much to change and go expend her lack of energy on fighting the demons she wanted to pretend did not exist.

He answered her with a grin and then a hug, and once Buffy recovered from that shock, he lowered his lips to hers and stole away the last bit of her life that made sense. It wasn’t how she might have expected a kiss from Spike to be. It meddled with her senses, left her hot and weak and clinging to his coat so she didn’t collapse at his feet. He sucked gently on her lips, drawing them into his mouth to stroke and emblaze with his tongue before slowly, dazedly drawing away. They both opened eyes that had been glued shut, feeling drugged and relaxed and yet rejecting the possibilities of why. It seemed so much harder to admit an attraction to Spike than to just give into it.

“Came to apologise,” he told her huskily, relishing the flush of her skin and the pounding of her heart. She still clung to his arms and Spike felt no need to rush her away, finding his own hand cupping her cheek with a will of its own.

She looked stunned. “You do apologies?” She smiled with wonder and Spike marvelled that he didn’t get singed with the brightness. “Wow!”

“Yes I do apologies, you daft bint.”

Buffy waited, but he stayed silent and she frowned. “So where is it?”

“Oh! Right, yeah. An apology.” He seemed flustered now that the actual words were required, worried about how he could do it without pissing her off. Yet he knew that his tongue would twist whatever he wanted to say and put him in all kinds of crap. “I’m sorry. For touching you, I mean.” And there he went, her face draining of all that pretty colour, and the unhappiness that had clouded the light in her eyes when she’d left her job returned, and they were right back where they’d started. “Bollocks. That’s not what I meant. I’m sorry I acted the way I did.”

“Let me guess. It wasn’t me, but you?”

He nodded avidly in relief, thinking she got it and only realised his folly once she’d wrenched away from him.

“Wrong, Spike. It’s always me. It’s no biggie. I’m sure I’ll get over it in no time.” She started walking away, her pace angry and frustrated when he ran to catch her arm and spun her around to face him.

“Bloody hell, you’re an infuriating bint. I’ve never woken up with my hands on anyone but Dru before. Took me by surprise, is all.”

That uncertain look was loads better than the haunted one that implied she wanted to beat herself to a pulp. “Oh.” It was all she said and behind it laid worlds of meaning. Spike just couldn’t work out which world she’d handpicked for the occasion.

“The surprise wasn’t unwelcome—once I got my brain in the right place. But you’d scampered by then.” He loved it when she blushed—loved the little girl it betrayed—the one that was still inside. He felt softer in her presence, like saving the world wasn’t the only betrayal of his kind.

“What do you want, Spike? Because this thing that you’re doing is confusing the hell out of me.” Buffy stood, dejected and sad, and it was all he could do to curb the impulse to hold her tight against the horrors of the world and show her how bright the night could be. As long as he was by her side.

It hit him with startling clarity, a bolt of awareness that seemingly came from nowhere but his own head. He wanted to help her—and not just for the thrill and adrenaline that came with a big fight. He wanted to remind her who she was, help her locate that centre of steel that made her so special. That made her who she was and could be again. He wanted to bring her home and he wanted to be by her side while she discovered the world again after pain had tainted her soul.

“How ‘bout we take it one step at a time? I’ll scratch your back and you can return the favour?”

Buffy’s face scrunched up as that obscene thought raced through her mind. “Ewwwww. You are so perverted. I am so not scratching any part of you, and you can keep your hands far, far away from my body.”

A head tilt later had internal Buffy screaming at how much of an idiot she was. He’d done the apology—something Angelus would never have done—so what would be wrong with a little mutual scratching?

His lips were very nice when stretched around a smile. “I meant help each other out, pet. But we can work out some kinks in the process as they…come up.” He winked and put his hands in the pockets of his jeans, finding the tightening in his pants delicious as he refocused her attention on his lower bits.

“H-help each other how?” She was staring at his crotch and damn but he loved how red her face turned as his cock swelled under the attention. He watched as she followed the trail of his hand, lazily pulling it out of his pocket and stroking his ache on the outside of the denim. She unconsciously licked her lips and he knew without any more doubt that he wouldn’t be complete until he felt that mouth around him, sucking him into ecstasy.

“Oh, the usual ways. How ‘bout we try patrol first? I can help you with your aim. Was a bit off last night.” He was eyeing her up and down, drinking in the youthful curves under the horrid little uniform she hid under, and missed the energetic shake of her head.

“Nuhuh. Beside the fact that the only aiming I did was my butt to a stone wall, I am way too tired to pander to your sicko fascination with being weirdo world saving vamp. What I need right now is a hot bath, an all over body rub and some soothing television.”

The exhaustion that was bringing her down was obvious and Spike could see the benefits of a comfortable bed, a bath and some nicer surroundings to elevate her senses. Not to mention the rather vivid visual of that all over body rub—as long as he was the one administering it.

“Right then. No patrol,” he agreed, not bothered in the least. If he couldn’t have violence, he had no trouble settling for passion. “I’ve got another idea,” he told her and then began to drag her away from the moderately seedy side of town and into a hotel—a hotel much higher on the food chain to the place she’d been living since her arrival.

Buffy had been overwhelmed while he pulled her along, but once they crossed the threshold into a swanky hotel, she had to put on the brakes. A movie was one thing, but if Spike was killing and making this much money, the world savage plan had a really huge bug in it.

“Spike? Where did you get the money for this?” The determined glint in her eyes revealed a hardness that gave him shivers.

“Keep your knickers on, pet. I know a bloke.” And they were off again, Spike doing a funny wink and nudge, nudge combo that had them ushered through check-in and into a sumptuous room all without any flash of a fang or American Express.

“Okay, splainy?” She dug her heels into the really soft, luxurious carpet and demanded he get with the talky.

Spike rolled his eyes, then flopped down on the massive bed decked out with expensive coverings and unlaced his boots. “I saved the bloke’s mistress from being vamp food.” He shrugged like the feat had been no trouble at all. “He said any time I needed a place to get in touch.” He eyed her shocked pose and snickered appreciatively. “I know. I can’t tell you how neat this saving people thing is. Who knew it could be so easy to get a swish place like this from not eating a chit?” He chuckled and finished taking off his boots, standing and shucking off his coat.

It wasn’t the first time Buffy had seen him without his usual bad guy wear. Hell, he slept with her shirtless. But suddenly seeing him in a hotel room as he stalked toward her was a whole lot more naughty and decadent that in her dreary little apartment. Here, stripping had a different meaning and Buffy was finding it impossible to calm her pulse down.

He stood less than two feet away from her, his expression indulgent and caring and Buffy wondered when she’d managed to fall into another dimension without her knowing it.

“I’ll go run that bath for you. Why don’t you go check out what’s on the telly?”

Buffy nodded dumbly as he turned away, noticing the muscle over his back and shoulders and how firm his butt looked in tight jeans.

“I’m going to Hell,” she whimpered.

“No, you’re not,” he shouted from the bathroom where steam was belching through the doorway. “Stick with me pet and I’ll take you to Heaven.”

Oh My God! Ego much? Still, it put a smile on her face and an excited bounce in her step.

She was just starting to get into the movie on the screen, a comedy that required no thought and little attention, when Spike announced her bath was ready and swore at her about her ‘arse’ moving too slow.

He shut the door behind him, closing her up in the heat and steam to strip and slide into the tub. She felt so lethargic, so relaxed and the warm soapy water did wonders to soak away the aches from her body and the pain in her heart.

And she had Spike to thank for it.

The heated edge had been taken from the water with her prolonged soaking and Buffy briefly contemplated topping up with more hot water when Spike casually re-entered the room. Despite the jolt to her heart beat and the panic in every cell of her flesh, she remained tight lipped and waited to see what he would do. He was awake now—there was nowhere for him to hide if he reacted as badly to being in her presence as he had that morning. If he did, there would be no second chances.

“Out you get, Slayer. Time for that body rub you were whinging about.” He held out a huge fluffy white towel and leered at her in the water. She’d never been so glad for the presence of bubbles in her entire life.

“I do not—whatever that even is,” she objected, fire in her eyes even as she stubbornly remained in the tub.

“Bloody hell, get that delectable ass out of there now before I reach in and feel for the plug.”

Oh crap, she was sitting on the drain.

Buffy shot up straight, her arms hiding her breasts as she vowed she’d cause him so much pain for smirking at her discomfort.

“Close your eyes.” There was no arguing with her tone and she experienced some satisfaction to find Spike obeying her without question. As quickly as she could without slipping, Buffy stepped out of the tub and allowed Spike to wrap the towel around her. She clutched the soft fluffiness around her body and stepped away from him, not liking the haze that came over her when he was close.

“Thanks, but you can leave now.” Her lip was pouty, her eyes wide and innocent as she watched Spike. Not. Move. A. Muscle.

“That’s not how this works, Slayer. Follow me.” Only he didn’t let her go, his hand on her arm as he directed her to the main room and pushed her to the bed. “An all body massage requires all of your body. Now get on the bed and I’ll be back in a mo.”

This kind of panic could go straight to a girl’s head. Buffy saw Spike disappear back into the bathroom and knew he’d have no trouble ripping the towel from her body if that’s what he wanted, and she wasn’t dressed to fight him. So before he could come back and position her any way he liked, she rushed onto her belly and buried her face in her arms.

The room was warm and Buffy—despite the anxiety she felt about what could potentially happen here—was almost asleep when Spike finally reappeared. He didn’t speak; her mind was too sluggish to grasp anything once his cool touch coaxed the towel down her back. She wiggled slightly to aid its journey and vowed not to worry about it when it rested just above her ass.

A woodsy scent accompanied the warm liquid that quickly became smeared over her skin. Buffy gave in to the thumbs that gently dug into her neck, fingers soothing the stressed muscles as he worked her into a frenzy of sensual bliss. His fingers indulged her in long sensual strokes down her back, barely finishing on the curve of her rump before he was back repeating the move. And while he’d hypnotised her, he tore away the covering and busied himself with massaging the globes of her ass, smoothing out the tension in her thighs, and moistened the skin at her feet.

She didn’t even think when his husky voice rumbled in her ear, directing her to turn over, though once she’d obeyed sanity returned and she lay exposed and without a clue what to do with her hands.

Completely out of context, he poured oil on her belly, feather strokes brushing it up her ribcage and under her breasts. Buffy gasped as his head lowered, his nose tickling a trail between her breasts before slowly sneaking across to her nipple.

“Wh-what are you doing?” She was panting now, terrified and exhilarated at once.

“Rubbing your body,” he told her, his incredulous tone implying he thought she was the silliest brain-damaged slayer in the history of the world.

Her body was slippery against him, but she finally knew what to do as her fists clutched at handfuls of bed linen. Reason had deserted her in the place of his touch, and she failed to comprehend the true pace of his hands or face as he consumed her body. There was sensation on her inner thighs, bites on her nipples, brushes along her slit that were all so soft, so barely there Buffy wondered if she was dreaming it.

And then she was arching, her legs curling around his still clothed torso as her body erupted in roaring flames, her mind exploded with passion, and language reverted to cave Buffy grunts.

And then the world around her was cold and she closed her eyes to welcome sleep.

Tomorrow she would never know if it was all a dream, but for now, she was happy.

It was different heading to work from an expensive hotel room. It was even more so waking up naked next to a clothed vampire, receiving a groggy good morning kiss and allowed to ready for work without a harsh, insulting word to shatter her confidence.

Her memory was sketchy about what truly happened through the night, but she awoke, naked, under the soft bedding against Spike, who was almost fully dressed. And she’d felt good. Happy and content. Sexy.

She actually wore a smile throughout her day.

For the first time since being in LA, Buffy walked home with anticipation lightening her step. Spike had continually surprised her at every turn, and though it was still a struggle to fully believe he was on the fast track for a “Most Changed Vampire in the History of the World” award, the Slayer in her—the part that she couldn’t suppress no matter how hard she tried—still warned against the risks of allowing him so close. Not that she knew how to do disinvited spells, so now he had a way in, it was impossible to get him back out.

Seeing Spike again rushed her back through the past year—most of it good, but the bad made it more than painful to remember. He was forcing her, with his presence, to relive the events that had brought her here to this obscure, anonymous life. Just two days ago, she would have said that she’d kill anyone who tried to drag her back to the reality of her calling; now she was finding that she was dealing far more comfortably than she ever could have imagined.

She was grateful for that, otherwise seeing Lilly again might have been harder than it was. Not that she was keen on allowing little parts of her past to leak into her present, but that urge to run was all but gone.

It was being called Buffy that did it—the moniker of Anne went ignored as she walked home to her apartment. Spike hadn’t said where he was sleeping, but she knew better than to take for granted that she belonged at anyone’s side for long. She was intent on returning to the apartment that wasn’t doing her depression any favours. And when Buffy met Lilly again, this time she wasn’t so determined to fight who she was.

Being asked for money was more than a surprise. Only a few quick sentences and Buffy knew that Lilly didn’t have anything except maybe the clothes on her back and her boyfriend. But the need for her own company aside, Buffy liked living with a door on her room and a disgusting landlord she could lock out if she wanted. She wasn’t sacrificing this week’s rent for no one. If that made her hard, then she just had to get used to it. She had to look out for herself now. No one else was going to take care of her—even if the unbidden vision of Spike soothing away her aches and pains with his hands begged to differ.

Actually, telling Lilly that she had no intention of being the cash cow to any new friendship turned out to be a lot harder than she’d expected, and Buffy found herself offering the money anyway. It wasn’t like Spike hadn’t fed her the last couple of nights, saving her some much needed cash. The money she forked over could have paid for the Laundromat for this week, but generous is as generous does.

In the end, it didn’t matter. Lilly rejected the offer and they were distracted by a wandering, confused person, and Buffy resumed her duty painfully.

The impact of the truck was like…hitting a truck. Buffy moaned before she could get her eyes to open, wondering why she felt the need to save a person that claimed to be no one. Who was she to give them aim when she was as faceless as all of them?

The driver and Lilly rushed to her side and Buffy felt crowded, suddenly wanting nothing more than to see Spike’s face and have him coddle her bruises. There were too many people, a crowd of people that were all staring and she knew what they saw. A girl who constantly failed—failed her mother by not being normal, her watcher for being more normal than a slayer ought to be, and her friends for not being able to stay. And then there was her boyfriend—the supposed love of her life. Where was he now? Oh yeah, she’d sent him on a one way ticket to Hell. He had a soul and she’d sent him to the one place he didn’t deserve to go.

Tears clogging her throat, a cloud of futility strangling her once again, Buffy swayed to her feet, ignoring the suggestions to remain still, to lay back on the filthy road—oh crap, now her uniform was dirty—and felt the drive of panic aim her feet for home.

“No! I’m okay, I just…I need to go.”

Desperate to remove herself from the unwanted attention, Buffy ploughed into a tall man and sent his handful of leaflets flying. She was more dejected with every wrong move she made; Buffy quickly bent down to help pick them up, wanting nothing more than to just disappear and not have to deal with people anymore. For the first time in forever, she felt like this part of life was no longer hers; that what Spike represented was where she belonged and she’d been a fool to hide from it for so long.

“Where are you running to?” he asked, and Buffy flashed on an image of Spike, stretched out around her body in sleep, his face angelic and unassuming as he risked unconsciousness beside the Slayer. For the first time she realised how much of a chance he’d been taking around her; that she wasn’t the only one who could wake up on the wrong side of life.

“Sorry,” she replied absently, good manners to the last as she tried to sort out this mixed up revelation in her head.

“Maybe I should ask, where are you running from?”

She was tired of running, and finding it difficult to even explain to herself why she was still doing it. Spike hadn’t stopped bugging her about her duty and his wish to accompany her while she saved lives and a world that had no clue about the ever-approaching edge of destruction from forces they didn’t know existed.

The rest of the conversation passed in a blur. She knew she looked like one of the broken people that were plentiful on these streets, and only days ago she might have succumbed to this offer of friendship and support—if only to give meaning to herself. But now she had Spike and the necessity to admit that she belonged somewhere had dissipated. And that smile that had been nudging at her throughout the day was back and she felt lighter than she had since she’d kissed Angel the night of her birthday.

“Really, you’re wrong. But thank you for caring. There are people here that really need that.” And she left him on the street, nursing his messed up bundle of papers, without a backward glance. The desolation on the streets surrounding her for once had no impact—a sunniness bloomed inside her and she had no idea why it had taken an evil demon to coax it out. But it was warming her now and she couldn’t be anything but grateful.

She refused to consider Angel’s fate at her hands, refused to dwell on the possible ramifications of letting down her guard in the face of evil, and refused to believe Dru was out there biding her time to attack in Buffy’s most relaxed and trusting moments.

The face of her building was welcome. Not for the shelter it just barely provided, and not for the comfort that it certainly didn’t—and not for the vampire she thought might possibly be waiting inside. For the first time since Buffy had found this place, she could see the path home. Spike had drawn it for her, coloured it in and made it possible to consider the ramifications of returning. She wasn’t quite ready yet, but with his continual bugging and his enthusiasm for a change in destiny, she thought she might be soon.

And when she was…she just had to figure out where Spike would fit in.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

He could taste her. She was in his throat, in his gut, and he felt like his best laid plan—what little of one he’d had—had splashed and drowned in her.

He was used to taking care of the broken, spoiling the women of his life and seeing Buffy all twisted with her experiences and buckling under the life of normality was too much for his chivalrous nature. There was no denying his attraction to her—not even to himself—but Spike could admit that the little that went on between them last night had him questioning his motives.

This decision to team up with her and fight the baddies of the night—to buy into the adrenaline rush that came with fighting by the side of your equal rather than against her—to want to save the world as his new game of choice, admittedly hadn’t been thought out too well. Dru had booted him and he’d lost his century long purpose—lost his confidence in love and forever at the whim of his sire and her lust for slimy, disgusting blokes with antlers. It hadn’t beared thinking about; it had been so humiliating to be replaced with that. But he’d left—got that much of the idea that she wanted to be rid of him—and he’d been on his way, seeking a new thrill, a new purpose, and then he’d looked up to lose himself in the miserable sadness of Buffy Summer’s face.

She’d been nothing but a tool to reach this newest of interests. It hadn’t worried him so much if she’d questioned his motives—because they were far from good. He’d still planned on being the Big Bad—dining out on the locals, though maybe a little more discreetly with the Slayer around and watching his every step. Still, it was doable, and he’d been munching as he went along quite happily. The blood was just as sweet when siphoned from those who gave even less of a damn whether they lived or died. But then he’d taken a look at what the Buffy part of her had to offer and he wondered if he’d ever be the same.

She was perfect. She was beautiful, and he’d touched her—touched the lover part of her that could turn a bloke on his head in a heartbeat. Didn’t matter that he didn’t have one. He was just as affected as any other male of the species would have been. And best of all, she’d allowed him to help her. It was a thrill he hadn’t been expecting. And one he was loathe to cock up.

Spike knew that the heat of the water and the soothing motion of his hands had tipped the scales toward drowsiness, and the cute little look she’d given him before she’d shyly covered herself in the bedsheet told him that she had no clue what had actually happened. The demon in him wanted to crow that he’d bedded her—humiliate her in the manner of Angelus. But her trust went a long way in altering his responses and the devil inside had less control than he once might have. The man inside wanted to cherish the gift she’d given him with her trust, and he wanted to do things right. If he was going to change his life around and be all about the saving of happy meals for the sake of doing good, he’d have to go the whole hog and incapacitate his demon from the hunt of fresh blood.

He already felt hungry. It was like giving up smoking and he knew he was liable to slip—but she couldn’t expect miracles of him, could she? Wasn’t exactly like he could slap a patch on his arm and hope for the best.

There’d been a miracle last night. He could have rammed himself home inside her tempting depths, not caring whether she knew how he’d manipulated her senses or not. But the little he had done had crossed a line, and while his fingers may have redrawn it with a gentle exploration of her slick pussy lips, it was a far cry from what could have happened. He’d got her off, and neglected his own release. And he wasn’t resentful of that at all.

There’d come a time when that wouldn’t be the case. He could feel the tension between them now and it left him replaying their past encounters with a whole new spin. Had the attraction always been there? Was that what Dru had seen whenever she looked at him after they’d rolled into town? Was that why she’d been so insistent for him to kill the Slayer as soon as he’d found her?

He’d never been able to touch her—not in that decisive way that would allow Dru to crow over her death. He’d had no urge to fuck over her cooling corpse—though at the time he’d put that down to unexpected maturity.

His musing came to a sudden stop when a key turned in the lock and the door to Buffy’s room was pushed slowly open, and there she was. Straight away Spike could smell blood and he was on his feet, pulling her inside and taking her bag off her arm.

“Where’re you bleedin’?” He made as if to take off her uniform when Buffy pushed him gently, however decisively, away, her cheeks fiery with blush and her eyes wide and revealing. Longing. She wanted him to care for her—wipe away the hurts and make the world a less bleak place for her to survive in.

“I don’t know. I-I kinda got hit by a truck.” She smiled apologetically at his incredulous expression, then carefully moved to her bed, muscles starting to ache now that she’d stopped moving and started thinking and feeling.

“Didn’t anyone teach you how to cross a road?” His sarcasm was covering a swell of inappropriate concern and Buffy just grinned. How was she to know that seeing an evil vampire who had last year bayed for her blood, but now worried about her health, could be so cute?

“I was saving lives. You know, that thing you’ve been hassling me to do ever since you got here?”

He looked up at that, grinning like a madman and obviously absurdly pleased at his unusual influence. “Is that right? Might be hope for you yet, Slayer.”

Buffy felt warmth spread to her limbs, liking this interchange that had them ignoring whatever happened the previous night but remaining comfortable enough with each other to trade banter. Their eyes locked and Buffy lost the will to think anymore, liking the way her body became light and dizzy with sensation, buzzing with whatever influence Spike now had on her.

“Might want to go get cleaned up and let me have a look at what that great mechanical beast did to you.” The suggestion was out of necessity and consideration, yet it was delivered with the most deliciously husky tones and it sent shivers blitzing through Buffy’s nerves.

“A-are you staying?” she asked, fighting a losing battle to keep the hope from her voice.

“Nowhere else exists but for here, Buffy.” He studied her with his head tipped to the side, wondering at how easy it was to like her. To be friends. And knowing that he’d spoken the truth. Some force had directed his feet to her, and the same was making him find it impossible to leave her side. For thick and thin, he was her companion now. He wanted them to be friends—despite the advantage he’d taken the night before. He had a sudden epiphany that his life would never be the same now he’d changed paths—scaled fences and found his footing on the other side.

“Go, pet. You’re looking cold.”

And with big, shining eyes, Buffy nodded and went to experience the relief of hot water on her bruised body, confident that he’d be there when she returned. It was a long time since she’d been able to rely on something so absolutely.

It only wigged her a little that it was Spike.

If only she could get the naughty thoughts out of her head.

As small a world as it wasn’t, Buffy hadn’t expected to see Lilly again, let alone have her barge her way back into her life with stories about missing boyfriends. She didn’t want to be rude, but boyfriends that were of the gone was far from a situation Lilly had cornered the market on. So sue her for her lack of interest that Rickie had done the runner when Lilly’s clueless back was turned.

It was enough to have Spike’s ears prick in their direction—of all the diners in all the city…Spike had to be snacking in hers. Sure, he said he was going to hound her to patrol that night until she gave in, and when the sky was overcast, she shouldn’t have been surprised to find him in her section, as bouncy and enthusiastic as usual. But this thing with Lilly? She didn’t want to know that other girls even had boyfriends, let alone that they were being deserted by them. Still, Spike’s curiosity was piqued by the mystery and he came swaggering up to butt into her emphatic disagreement over helping locate the guy.

That didn’t stop her from trying to pass the buck before Spike actually reached them, though. He couldn’t argue if she’d solved the problem before he’d even opened his mouth and offered to help, could he?

“Well…did you call the police?” See? Sense-making Buffy was on the case. Totally nothing for Spike to gripe about. Why waste her weary resources chasing after a guy that had probably just gotten a clue and bolted?

The willowy girl sighed. “Rickie skipped out on his parole. Uh, they would just cause more trouble.”

Was there a handy wall she could beat her head against? Buffy could totally see how this would go. Spike would convince her to do the good deed—totally wig her out that he even wanted to be a part of this without someone’s neck as a service fee—and they’d find the guy macking on some other newly tattooed girl. Ugh! Perfect way to waste a night when she could spend it ambiguously restless and wondering what Spike’s next move would be.

“Trouble, huh? Just what none of us would be looking for, hey, pet?” Spike had closed in and slung an arm around a disconcerted Buffy, tightening his hold so that she knew exactly what his intentions were.

She was a stubborn slayer, though, and Buffy refused to give into Spike’s desire to do good. It just seemed so wrong—despite all the ways he’d made her body feel so right recently. “I don't know. Did you…did you ask around?”

Buffy knew it wasn’t meant to be as soon as Spike caught wind of there being a case to solve. It didn’t stop the tide of futility that nearly made her seasick when it hit. On the one side, she had an innocent—someone who needed help being looked after because Lilly was far from being an independent girl of the world—and a formerly evil vampire who was now promoting himself as a good guy.

“Can you help me?” persisted Lilly, and Buffy wanted so much to just run away.

“Uh, I-I can’t.” Buffy shrugged off Spike’s arm and started walking away. She was trying to work, after all. Unfortunately, that meant she couldn’t shake them off, and both were straight away following her and attempting to change her mind.

“But... but that's who you are and stuff, right? I mean, you help people, and, you know...”

Spike stepped up again, smirking as if he had Buffy caught fair and square. He confirmed the new girl’s assumption with a very British “too right,” and inadvertently grabbed Lilly’s undivided attention.

Buffy couldn’t fault the fear that suddenly struck her, recognition of Spike finally hitting her. She should have known it would happen sooner or later.

“Oh God, but he’s…he…he bit me. He was going to kill me and you saved me from him.” Lilly had paled and looked close to fainting, and Buffy was increasingly aware of how her words sounded to customers close enough to hear. However, she lacked any comeback witty enough to deflect the damage.

“Lilly, it’s okay—” was all she had, and as the trend went for her lately, it apparently wasn’t enough.

“Are you with him now?” Her eyes were wide and frightened and Buffy felt panic well up as she became the focus of several startled, curious expressions. She’d never wanted this—never wanted to be the centre of anything anymore—and as much as Spike had made things better simply by being around, she still wasn’t ready to be looked at. To be seen as anything but a faceless servant in a world busy ignoring the little people.

“How about we take this little chat outside?” Spike was trying to calm the situation, but Buffy knew not much could spare an escalated moment of screaming unless she took some action.

“Stay here,” she hissed at the vampire before taking Lilly’s arm and dragging her out of the diner.

On the street, the girl was close to hyperventilating. Tears made her eyes shine and Buffy felt a sliver of emotion kick back into her heart. She felt sorry for Lilly. It was tough being dumped—tougher being alone when you’d been secure in someone taking care of you. And that sympathy—more than Spike’s eagerness to solve the world’s puzzles in one crazy night—was enough for Buffy to give in and agree to help. But first, she had to allay Lilly’s fears—as well as her own—and make it possible for Spike to be a part of this little expedition. A screaming ex-victim was exactly what they didn’t need and Buffy knew that Spike wouldn’t stay behind, even if she threatened him with a really thorough beating.

“Look, Lilly, I’ll help. Okay? But you have to believe me about Spike. He’s harmless now. He’s not going to hurt you, and he might really be useful in locating Rickie. He has those gross skills, like sniffing scents and stuff.” Buffy watched as tears of hopelessness slid down the frightened girl’s cheeks and waited.

Lilly offered up a weak smile and Buffy’s heart went out to her. It wasn’t easy going through this. Too many times she’d wished she could convince herself that Angel had merely left her, not been swallowed up by a Hell dimension to save the world. Just once, she would like to live in denial and be the girl that everyone felt sorry for, felt sad for while she struggled to adjust to being on her own. She didn’t want to carry the burden of guilt; she didn’t want to be the one that had killed her boyfriend so that the world could go on spinning.

“Are you sure?” she was asked, and even though she really wasn’t, Buffy nodded.

Spike had done nothing to make her suspicious of his amazing back-flip, and as she had so few friends—like, none really—Buffy felt inclined to take him at face value. She knew that was wrong, dangerous, but there was no watcher waiting in the wings to ask for advice, no Angel to tell her that Spike was bad news and would probably kill her one day while she slept—though the way things had been going, one sign of Spike’s inherently evil nature would probably shock her to death and leave her a sobbing wreck.

“I really am.” And Buffy smiled confidently. She really was.

~~~~~

“I’m not sure.” Lilly squared them off, her lip wobbling with grief, too scared to move and avenge her boyfriend’s death like she probably felt she should. Her vulnerability lay in her lank hair, her hunched shoulders and the sobs that occasionally broke through her voice and died at her lips. She was shaking, and yet Buffy had to keep pushing her back from going to find Rickie’s murderer.

“Look, you asked for my help,” Buffy reminded, her slayer hat pinned firmly to her head. “You want this guy that killed Rickie? I can get him. Spike can get him. But if you come with us, we’ll be distracted and I can’t have you be in danger like that.” Buffy knew what she was requesting was reasonable. She’d had enough of innocents being taken because they followed her—because they knew her. If she could save Lilly’s life and her own sense of responsibility, she was already walking out of there a winner.

Spike stood impatiently at the door, a completely inappropriate grin on his face. Buffy understood, though she knew that Lilly didn’t and she was likely reassessing just how much of Buffy’s confidence in the vampire should be taken at face value. He was pumped for the fight—eager to jump into the fray and take down some evil. Buffy still couldn’t understand his change in tune, but right now she wasn’t arguing with it. But he could tone down the mega wattage just a little and be respectful of the girl’s grief.

Buffy shot him a filthy, disapproving look and he was confused for a moment until she spoke, offering her commiserations and sorrow to Lilly who was finally taking a seat on the bed, her legs giving into the weakness of her uncertain position. Spike rolled his eyes and opened the door, not even waiting for her as he strode down the hall.

“Would it kill you to be just a little bit contrite? Have some sympathy? Her boyfriend is dead.”

Spike stopped dead, then turned abruptly to pin Buffy with the most menacing look he’d risked around her since he’d shown his face to her again. “I’m a vampire, Buffy. I couldn’t give a bugger about humanity’s pain. I’m here for the thrill—for the fight—for God and freedom and the American way. I’m evil. I couldn’t care less about her bloody feelings.” And he turned his back on a stunned Buffy and kept moving toward danger with an eager spring in his step.

She shouldn’t have felt hurt. Shouldn’t be feeling any of the shock that his sentiments forced upon her. His vampirism and evil nature wasn’t a smoke screen—wasn’t a party trick he could surrender at will. He was irrevocably both those things and Buffy wondered how she had come to blind herself to those facts. Not once had he tried to argue he was any different; instead, it had been Buffy—all too prepared to not question his new objectives and accepted him in her life and room without a second thought.

Spike had just whipped off her rosy glasses and stomped them to a mangled, crunching mess on the floor, leaving Buffy clear-eyed for the first time since she’d really allowed him space in her life. And the sight before her—a strutting, powerful and dangerous force of evil with a twisted agenda to be the world’s saviour—was the most painful image she’d seen in months. Only seeing the soul flash in Angel’s eyes before she speared him through had been more gut wrenching.

It stung like a bitch to be wrong—and left her questioning every little thing since she’d invited Spike into her boring life. Since she’d given him access to her body. God, why hadn’t he attacked her? Was he after some greater prize? Was he waiting until her humiliation was great before he struck and made her his third trophy slayer?

Even as she followed him out onto the chilly, angry streets, Buffy felt sick. She didn’t catch up to him proper—couldn’t while her gut churned and fought to find relief. Seeing the smooth black coat at his back kept her in focus, reminded her who she followed and who she’d claimed to trust a mere hour before. If she’d struck a path at his side, chanced a glance to the side and saw such blue, intense sincerity in his eyes, she knew she’d forget easily all over again. Having Spike around allowed her to hide from her pain—allowed her to run from who she was, buried under a name like Anne.

The tears that began to prickle at how thoroughly she’d been tricked were pushed stubbornly away for another time.

They’d reached The Family Home and rather than waiting for the invitation Buffy thought he needed, Spike barged in and had their target by the neck and dangling in the air in a matter of seconds.

“Spike!” There was a world of meaning in that exclamation. Resentment, irritation, jealousy and anger, all underlined in hurt. Buffy rushed forward just as the demon decided it was time to play rough, and in a tangle of limbs, the three fell into the sludgy looking pool, only to find out what hell looked like in the flesh.

Buffy felt the thud of the impact in her bones and wondered if retiring from being the Slayer actually meant that someone could take away your powers. Though she was foolish to start thinking about being weak as the hideous face of the leader of Family Home was revealed. Buffy struggled to keep down her lunch and she vowed to not be so dismissive again of the destiny she had been gifted with to protect people from freaks like this.

The arrival of guards moved them further out into the actual operation of the place, and Buffy was shocked at all the faces growing old and tired before her eyes. But Spike stood tall, a weapon suddenly in his hands as one of the guards went down and didn’t get up.

“Now this is a fight. Pet, choose a weapon and let’s get to the killing.” Spike sneered at the leader, Ken, and baited him into coming closer. “You picked the wrong kids to lure into your little enterprise. Slayer was friends with one, and now you’ve got two seconds to surrender before I cut off your head.” His eyes flashed brighter, his tongue curled behind his teeth, and Buffy struggled against her attraction for the evil killer. The muscle in her chest that she no longer could think of as her heart clenched, resignation leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. She was here to save lives—Spike was here to have fun. And while that resulted in the same thing, Buffy was angry that she’d allowed Spike to buy his way into this by purchase of her body and sentimentalities.

No time, she reminded herself, and Buffy joined Spike’s side to fight, feeling the satisfaction of killing those that didn’t value life like she did. Destroying those that used life to further their own ends. And the futility and the hate made her stronger.

With bone cracking strikes, Buffy scattered the opposition, left some moving painfully and other’s moaning but moving even less. She struck back at those that were responsible for taking the one Lilly had handed her dependence to, and it made her senses soar. This was who she was, what she was made for, and no matter what the motivation was of the fighter at her side, he was doing the job and saving lives. Did it matter that they meant so little to him in the long run?

She stepped aside at a blood curdling battle cry, and almost smiled as Spike hurtled past and jumped into the fray, his body collecting a number of undirected demon guards and taking them down into the bowels of the iron works.

There were too many people to save, and Buffy was struck with hopelessness. She stood on the platform and watched as Spike leapt to and fro, taking as many demons and glorying in their spilled innards as he went. Buffy was both amazed and disgusted, and turned her back on it. She fought her way back to the inner chamber, eyed the surging black pool that was the exit to this world and slowly counted to ten. She reached nine and prepared to leap back through the sludge, her inner steel prepared to never see Spike again if he didn’t make it back in time. Bending her knees for the jump, Buffy had almost released the energy that would set her free as Spike hollered and raced Ken back through the place. There was the grating of steel and the sickening screams of agonised defeat, and then a nauseating crunch that had Buffy feeling slightly sick. In a whirl of pace and confusion, he was there, white blond head flaring into her vision as Spike streaked the final length to her side, his hand reaching around her waist and leaping with her back to their world.

With a flash of ceremonial light, the pool solidified behind them. Buffy slowly regained her feet and took a step away from Spike, the vampire lying on the floor and laughing with success.

“Bloody hell. That was fun.”

And the sickness of dread settled even heavier as Buffy kept on walking.

Part Eight

She didn’t want to be touched.

When they got back to her apartment—back to where Lilly waited for them—Buffy didn’t want Spike to be anywhere near her. Didn’t want his touch that had begun to feel so good, and yet now he wanted to be all territorial and macho with an arm around her shoulders to show them as a united front, celebrating victory against the bad guys. It made her sick to her stomach. Made her resent his presence—resent his influence that had her accepting what she’d had to do to Angel and dealing with the need to be home again.

As soon as Buffy saw Lilly waiting in her apartment, barely having moved in the hours they must have been gone, it all finally came crashing together in her head. While the reasons she’d left Sunnydale hadn’t been resolved, she still felt it was time to return and face the music. And she had to get away from Spike. She needed to get away from him so she could make things have sense again.

A world of meaning was exchanged in the look between the girls when Buffy returned, offered her uniform and apartment to a girl that was shedding one life and assuming the next. It was funny in a way. Buffy had donned the waitress hat in a city where it was easy to get lost, clinging to the one part of herself that others might not think of when searching for her, and here she was giving it away to a girl who couldn’t even admit her true identity. It was sad—but Buffy understood. She shed the Anne persona and created another sad, aimless girl in the process.

“Um…I’ll call and check up on you.” Even as she said the words, Buffy wondered how long it would take for her to move on and forget the newly christened Anne’s plight.

“I'm not... great…at taking care of myself.” The vulnerability in Lilly’s eyes was stark and Buffy couldn’t help but feel sorry for her—this girl that continuously found herself the victim.

“Gets easier. Takes practice.” And yet, before Spike came along, it had seemed so much harder—more of a struggle to not go insane with the fear that what Ken had trained his human slaves to believe was true. She was nothing here—she fed patrons who didn’t give her big tips, and barely existed in her apartment. It was no place for a slayer—a Chosen one with a destiny to protect the world and those humans that walked blindly within it—to blithely ignore reality. She was who she was, and it was time she started remembering it. Proving it.

She didn’t know what it was he’d done that reminded her of his presence. It had been so quiet that Buffy had nearly forgotten he was there. Or had hoped he’d seen fit to disappear and leave her to deal with things on her own.

“Was a nice thing you did for her, Slayer. Shouldn’t knock yourself out with guilt on that one. She’ll be fine.”

Because all the homeless needed was the kind word and a little hand stepping up from their local community slayer.

Buffy barked out a derisive laugh. “Gee, you think? I didn’t know you were the authority on how everyone was going to make it. So glad you can be the confident one. Makes my pessimistic little job so much easier to do.”

She turned her back, disgusted that she still had an evil presence with a twisted will standing in her doorway. She couldn’t kick him out, and didn’t have time for that anyway. She’d sent Lilly home to pack her things, and by Buffy’s calculations, that would mean a quick stroll around the block to make the trip look good.

“What’s wrong?”

She knew without turning around that he’d be leaning on the door frame, studying her with apparent concern and his head tipped to the side, studying her. And it choked her—because two days ago, hell, a day ago, she’d fallen for it. Had wanted to. She’d allowed fences to fall and sensual hands to soothe her neglected flesh.

“Can we just…not do this? You did your thing—fought the bad guys and you won. Can’t you just…leave now? You’ve had your fun. Go back to doing what evil, bloodsucking vampires do and leave me the hell alone.”

He was in front of her in a second flat, his motion nothing but a blur that Buffy was unable to keep up with. It infuriated her—how dare he force her to show her tears and betray just how much he’d hurt her by being himself?

He looked shocked at the glistening tears on her cheeks. “We did good things here today, Slayer. Why are you crying?”

Because you don’t care.

There, she’d admitted it—at least in her own head. He didn’t care—about people, about the good he wanted to do or the lives he was saving. And he didn’t care about her. He’d brought her back to a place where she could see the sun shining and the stars twinkling when, for the past months, she’d seen nothing but clouds of smog, and he didn’t even care at all. It hurt so much more than she’d ever thought possible. His indifference tore at her heart and her body until she was gripped in an attack of uncontrollable shivers, and all she wanted was to beat him out of her room.

Except the second his arms went around her and he crushed her to his chest, her limbs became too weak to push him away. In between her submission and his lack of understanding the situation, he lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her. Tears flowed and yet Buffy couldn’t stop the compulsive caressing movement of her lips, desperate for the hungry passion he’d introduced her to and craving the indiscriminate pleasure that helped her forget. She’d invited him inside once, and now there was no turning back.

His lips were soft. Buffy moaned as her fingers found the stiffened strands of his hair and diligently set to loosening a path through the curls, combing it softer as she sought a closeness she was afraid she’d never find again. He sucked on her bottom lip, capturing her in a duel of wills over how right this felt. Tasting his tongue, stroking the inside flesh of his mouth—Buffy was almost on fire from his touch, from his kiss, and she couldn’t let go despite her tears. Couldn’t stop her mouth straining to be closer, struggling to be further inside him—more than he’d allowed.

Desperation to block out all the uncertainty of their situation had Buffy clinging to his shoulders, her hands gripping hard through the leather even as Spike’s hands spanned her waist. And then he tugged her closer and Buffy blurred the barriers between herself and the demon with a silken caress and the devil’s tongue.

When he finally pulled away, Buffy was mortified at how hard she wanted to hold on and forget everything that she knew. Banish the ideals that said everything about Spike was wrong and that she should stake him before he flipped on the head of a pin and took it out on her throat.

But she wanted more of those kisses, wanted to explore fully the rip in the universe that allowed a vampire who was unashamedly evil but with a twist of a hero complex. And wanted the manual that told her how to deal with that conflict of interest so she could better judge which way to deal with the situation.

Spike stared into her eyes, and Buffy almost melted at the look of raw emotion he revealed. He looked torn between wanting to dive in for more pecks at her bruised lips, and talking his way out of the mud they’d slipped in. He compromised, ducking in close and resting with almost irritable closeness against her mouth, his tongue barely caressing her bottom lip before he spoke.

“I like you,” he confided, voice raspy with warring desires to snog and to bite. “Bloody shouldn’t, but I do. Now let’s go home.”

Buffy was speechless as he picked up her bag and tugged her out of the building. His step was light and full of purpose. Fifteen minutes of ducking and weaving the LA nightlife, and Spike dragged her into a very suspect looking underground garage. He nodded at the strange scaly-looking attendant and then held Buffy’s hand as he relocated his black beauty—the car from some hideous design mishap.

That was enough to remind Buffy she wasn’t some Harmony-like bimbo that would blindly follow danger until she ended up in a car wreck and dead. But the harsh objections died on her tongue as Spike looked at her expectantly, eagerly—like a little boy that was taking his girl home to meet his mom. Except if he did that, Buffy thought mommy would likely try to eat her, rather than welcome her living and breathing into the family. Okay, so bad example, but she was trying here, and Spike really looked like he was excited to hit the road with her as his enthusiastic passenger. Even if he did drive an escaped hell beast.

“This thing better at least have seatbelts.” Buffy glared, though there wasn’t much heat in it, and climbed into the car. Her skin was already crawling and she hadn’t even identified half the crud that was scattered on the floor space near her feet.

Spike was sweeping it all out and onto the ground of the parking lot in an instant, and Buffy had to hold in a random giggle that might make him suspect she was feeling better.

“Sorry ‘bout this. Was a bit preoccupied when I first got in, I guess.” He looked around the interior, hiding his sheepish expression with a nervous bark of laughter, and while Buffy thought it was the sweetest, cutest guy thing she’d ever seen him do, it just confused her even more.

For every step of his swagger around the car to the driver’s side, Buffy contemplated making a run for it. She couldn’t justify what she was doing by being beside him at all. Sure, a free ride home when you’d skipped out on your last paycheck was nothing to sneeze at, but taking a vampire home when she’d been the absentee daughter for months didn’t seem to fill her with the warm fuzziness a homecoming likely should have.

She was scared to introduce Spike as a part of her life when she got home. Scared that her friends would judge her as some vampire ho that couldn’t stay away from the pulse-challenged hotties, or that Giles would turn his disappointed eyes on her while he attempted to usher everyone she cared about into safety from her and her new houseguest.

It crushed the joy she should have been feeling about going home and reclaiming her life, and that still didn’t even address the issue of Spike’s ambiguities. She had enough of her own tangled web to straighten out when she crossed back into Hellmouth territory, and the added complications of Spike tagging along was almost too much for Buffy to calculate.

The car started with a furious roar and nearly startled her out of her skin. Spike grinning as he stroked the dash and allowed the great chunk of metal to idle away. “Bleeding reliable car, this one. Brace yourself, Slayer,” he warned as tires squealed and the car burst out of its parking space in reverse, slamming to a halt and leaving Buffy’s stomach way back in her abandoned apartment.

She braced herself against the dash and the door, it being the only thing stopping her from smashing her head on something as Spike violently stopped and started for the exit of the demon underground parking.

“Spike!” She couldn’t help the scream that signaled her fear of random people crossing in front of the speeding wreck, and Buffy spent the first ten minutes gasping and shouting terrified insults as Spike gloried in being behind the wheel of his car again.

Luckily for her, he seemed to know a red light when he saw it, and he howled at the enforced stop. The car coasted while Spike waited, his hand starting to tap some silent beat to a song Buffy just knew she’d hate before his foot slammed down on the accelerator the split second the light turned green.

“God, take a pill already,” Buffy groused once he’d steadied in the stream of traffic and allowed her to breathe out without fear of getting whiplash.

He actually had the nerve to cock a brow in question.

“Geez, just chill. We don’t have to get to the Hellmouth in twenty minutes or die. What’s your rush, anyway?” Buffy combed her fingers through her hair, trying to pat it back into some kind of order, even though she suspected the tossed salad look was what Spike had been hoping for with his derby driving efforts.

“Slayer, some bad piece could be trying to open the mouth of Hell right this minute and we could drive up to a city under siege.” He drove on, his lip curled in concentration and she could see his brain actually ticking over.

“Oh God, you’d actually enjoy that, wouldn’t you? Arrive in the nick of time to save the world. Has anyone ever told you you’re sick? Are there vampire doctors? Ooh, or psychiatrists?”

Spike’s disparaging look did nothing to halt her tongue.

“Oh, guess not, huh? What, with Drusilla being a loaf short of a stack of toast.”

He ignored her barb, probably recognising her attempt to anger him—even if he didn’t understand its motivation. Spike kept his lips closed, instead turning to the tape deck and flipping in his favourite.

How to make Buffy barf in under five seconds!

There was no way he called this crap music. Buffy slapped hands over her ears in an inadequate effort not only to save her eardrums from exploding, but also as a defense from this clash of instruments he seemed to find entertaining. That just proved Spike wasn’t in his right mind.

He chanced a glance sideways at her, and then with a low growl of irritation, turned down The Ramones—but just barely.

“So, what was with the waterworks earlier?”

Buffy’s eloquent answer was to stick her tongue out at him before she turned to the blacked out window, and wondered how much she was risking if she forcibly removed the paint so she could see the black of night for real.

As the great city lights began to fade into the distance and the car settled into a steady rhythm back toward Sunnydale, anxiety took up passage on her spine. Just a few more hours and the months of solitude would be over. Her actions would be judged, her cowardice frowned upon—and her return, dragging a not-so-repentant vampire along who claimed to want to help—would more than likely have her friends contemplating how much of her mind she’d actually lost while she’d been away.

It was a reunion that Buffy was dreading—though she couldn’t pinpoint why. She’d missed her friends dearly, had felt a deep, resounding hurt at being misunderstood by her mother, and Giles—well, Giles and his opinion mattered more than she’d ever expected a watcher’s to. So the thought of seeing them all again should have filled her with joy, should have had her dancing with anticipation, yet all it did was flood her with foreboding.

All the way there she felt like she was making a mistake. She could only hope it wasn’t true and that her homecoming would be everything she wasn’t expecting. She was being stupid, anyway. How bad could it be? Even with Spike on a lengthy leash—if he even was. If she risked taking him out and allowing him contact with anyone she knew.

One casual glance at a grinning, almost manic-looking Spike and Buffy knew that that tactic was a pipe dream. There was no way he was going to stay in a box marked ‘secret’ for any length of time, and she just had to deal with all possibilities before he mowed down the ‘Welcome to Sunnydale’ sign.

When the hours flew by along with Spike’s loud, obnoxious car, and he didn’t slow as he passed over the line and into civilization, Buffy squealed at the crash of tin on the bodywork.

She so hadn’t meant that literally, Buffy thought as Spike slammed on his brakes, his monster of a car crunching the sign underneath its wheels.

And now her anticipatory period was up.

It was showtime.

A/N: I realise it has been a very long time since I updated this fic. I have found it very difficult to write lately, but I’m hoping by watching the show again that I can warm up to it again. I look forward to hearing what you think of this chapter.

Part Nine

“What’s this?” Buffy eyed her present in disbelief, holding it away from her body as if it were a snake.

Spike rolled his eyes in exasperation and clenched his jaw. “Are you being intentionally obtuse? It’s a bloody mobile phone, Slayer. A bloke’s going to find it more than a little difficult to save the world if he’s not even in the bleeding loop now, isn’t he?”

In one bold move, Buffy recognised that there were no limits to the weirdness that Spike would stoop to be super-hero vamp. It almost made her smile. Would have, really, if she wasn’t staring down the front door of her house. The one where her mother might be doing normal, homey things behind it.

Not for the first time in the past hour since they’d arrived in Sunnydale and parked in the street did Buffy feel terror ice her veins and some desperate coward inside of her scream at her to leave.

“Can’t we just go somewhere else tonight? I can come here tomorrow and do the peace-making thing.” Her eyes were appealingly wide, and yet Spike showed no sympathy.

“I’m plannin’ to bunk down in a crypt. You’re more than welcome to join me, though I wager it might be cold. Got plenty of warm blood to keep us toasty, then?”

“Oh, I see how it is,” Buffy accused a little loudly, lowering her voice immediately to a low hiss as a shadow passed by the living room window inside. “In LA, it’s all with the swishy hotels and the…the seductive massage oils, and here it’s the cold, dark, way less-than-seductive home of the not-so-recently dead. Way to woo a girl.”

Buffy realised too late that Spike could construe that as total willingness to be wooed, and a blush stole over her cheeks. When she was brave enough to face him again, he was staring straight at her. Then he blinked.

“I brought the oils.” He buckled under Buffy’s look of outrage. “What? It was a hotel. They bloody beg you to pinch stuff by not having it bolted down. Now get your ass out of my car and go make happy with your mum. I’ve got things to do.” His petulant, impatient tone delayed the difficult part of their goodbye, but it fast came back to taunt the responsible side of the Slayer.

A shiver inched its way up Buffy’s spine, settling into the base of her skull with an irritating iciness. “I know we’ve never discussed it, but—”

“Oh, let me guess. I can’t go about saving the world, only to knock off the meals in the quiet time? I’m not daft, Slayer. Wouldn’t put myself at risk by snacking on the locals while joined with you at the hip.”

Not that that was where Buffy had pictured them joined—and her face flamed red again with the unbidden lustiness of her imagination. She didn’t have much to work with—nothing reality based at least. But there was enough there to get her mind ticking with possibilities—and she of course knew the basics.

“Yeah, that was kinda—” She drifted out of the conversation, bordering on stunned that Spike had apparently given up his on-tap menu, and being terrified that her mom wouldn’t really be happy she was back.

“Look, your mum isn’t getting any younger. You want me to come in with you? She seemed to like me the last time.” His cocky grin gave her the confidence to pick up her bag and put her hand on the door handle, twisting it slow and light until the catch released and the door creaked open.

“Do you have a number programmed in here? You know, if I have to call you for some reason?” She couldn’t believe how hard she was shaking, and that it had more to do with the fact that she wouldn’t even have Spike sleeping at her back anymore. It was an oddity she’d fast come to cherish.

Spike didn’t answer with words. He reached out and took the hand that held the candy pink phone, flipped it open and scanned the address book until he came across ‘SPIKE’ and chose it, waiting for the seconds it took for his own newest toy—bad in black—to play the theme to Phantom of the Opera. He grinned as he disconnected the call gently, and held Buffy’s hand.

“Your mum’s going to be happy you’re back. Probably throw you a party and everything.” He bit his lip as he watched her, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “I could crash it anytime. All you need to do is call.” And then he kissed her, a sweet devotion to her lips that had Buffy giving in and craving more. It was so new, so heart-thumpingly innocent and scary, kind of first-datey but it made her courageous enough to leave him behind with a tortured release of his lips as she finally left the car.

He drove off as soon as she stood at the door and Buffy had to smile at his refusal to be her crutch, or allow her somewhere to run to if she chickened out. She frowned. At least, she hoped that’s why he’d gone, though she really should make more of an effort to remember that he was still evil and probably had left through nothing more sinister than thoughtlessness.

And before she knew it, her mom was opening the door and hugging her, and months of misery just washed away.

~~~~~

It was awkward.

This settling-into-being-a-dependent-thing after being on her own for so long? Not as easy as it would seem. Unpacking the few things in her bag, Buffy felt like each of her possessions no longer belonged where it had lived only mere months earlier. That she no longer belonged where she had lived only months earlier. She’d found new places for her things, had even made room in her apartment the few days that Spike had been with her for his duffle bag of grunge. Though he had hair care products. Expensive ones.

The point was, in her mind she’d grown up in between the sleazy slaps on the ass at her place of work, and that massage that blew her fuses back at Spike’s hotel room. She felt like she’d outgrown so much—possibly even her friends—and the thought of facing it simply terrified her. She was seventeen, almost eighteen, and had supported herself after the most devastating experience of her life. And while she’d made some really suspect decisions regarding allowing Spike so much potential power in their sort-of relationship, they’d been her decisions to make. The realisation that all of her decisions from now on would return to the initial passage through the friend-filter was suffocating.

What were they all going to think of Spike being back and not so much with the killing them? How would they deal with her reappearance like she’d only been away at her dad’s for the summer? Would they even want her back after what she’d put them all through with her Angel heartache and misjudgement?

Would Giles?

Buffy felt chilled thinking about it and reached for a cardigan. Funny, she hadn’t even missed this outfit when she’d rarely had the chance to change out of her uniform. And this shade of blue? So did not match Spike’s uniform of black if they were going to be the slaying superhero duo of the Hellmouth. She needed something sleeker, clingier and sexier. And now she just needed a quick trip to the nearest psychiatrist to explain to her why she was thinking of dressing appropriately to fight alongside the evil undead.

Creeping down the hallway, Buffy felt almost scared to ask permission to go out and find her friends. Finding her mom beating a hole into her bedroom wall really should have clued her in to the repressed anger simmering under the surface, but she had to wait for the subtle barbs pointed straight at her in conversation.

Tiptoeing over the eggshells in the hall, combined with the racket of the hammer, meant that Buffy had surpassed the unnecessary test for stealth and she felt a flush of guilt as she made her mother jump and twirl in surprise.

“I-I guess I just got used to all the quiet while you were gone.” And even if it wasn’t meant to, it made Buffy feel small and wrong. Joyce’s smile went nowhere near to clearing up the discomfort. “But, it’s no problem.”

Buffy nodded, her gaze following the hideous decoration her mother was covering the hole with and wondered if she’d be needed to slay it at some point. The teeth alone gave her the heebie-jeebies and she just knew it was the kind of thing to give Xander nightmares.

“Uh, look!” The mask dangled on the hook and began an inventory of the room. “It's, uh, Nigerian. We got a very exciting shipment in at the Gallery.” Joyce looked around at the few other bare spots on her walls and implied they’d be the perfect places to hang some of the scarier pieces of the collection. “I, um, thought I'd hang a few pieces in here. It cheers up the room.”

Well that explained why Buffy never allowed her mom to take over decorating her space. “It's angry at the room, Mom. It wants the room to suffer.” Although, it was more than possible it was just tapping in to Buffy’s natural gloomy energy that she hadn’t been able to repress since walking through that door earlier in the evening.

The uneasy smiles segued seamlessly into the uneasy inquiries about her current destination. She almost wished she’d left the cardigan in her closet and decided to not brave finding her friends. She badly wanted to postpone this feeling that everything she’d done since sleeping with Angel was wrong on a scale of one to ‘end-of-the-world’ disastrous for just that little bit longer. Or for years—whichever she could get away with. She reneged on the slaying, offering some witty quip to try and end the awkwardness and refusing more food in an effort to just get out of there.

But the second the cold air hit her face, she felt like crying tears of defeat. This felt so wrong—like everything had lived on without her and it wasn’t just Angel she’d discarded from the Hellmouth, but herself as well. She couldn’t even think why she was out looking for Willow. The ease of a ‘best friend’ relationship was gone and Buffy didn’t know the first thing about approaching a group of people she’d skipped out on without even a goodbye. She couldn’t explain her actions to herself—only knowing that she’d needed to get away rather than be forced to tear herself apart between the looks of censure for not killing Angelus sooner, or the ones of sympathy for losing her boyfriend along with her innocence.

Just as she was calculating the distance between where she stood and the still open bag on her bed, Buffy felt the weight of a heavy, leather-clad arm drape across her shoulders.

“Thought you’d be off schmoozing with your mates, not dragging your bottom lip along the footpath.”

He was here, out in the night and near to where the card-carrying heart beating humans all hung out. Dread shimmied the length of her nerves and Buffy stiffened under his loose embrace, knowing his dietary habits was a thing she should be diligently questioning him on, but she was too desperate to hold onto the one thing she’d known so solidly in recent days.

“Hey,” she began, hardly daring to look up in case she spied a speck of blood at his mouth, robbing her of the comfort of having him at her side when she was too scared to face anything else. Spike had been largely responsible for directing her home, had encouraged it and given her the strength to return to her mom, but did she have to go further than that and renew her old life completely? “I thought you were out looking for somewhere to stay?”

“Was. All set up in a very comfy crypt with a view. Just out and about for a little nourishment before bedtime.” His arm didn’t tense, remaining relaxed. He was oblivious to her turmoil.

The decisions he was forcing on her were making her crazy. On some wild urge, she was back home—her desperation to get away from him backfiring when said vampire bundled her up in his car and acted as her chauffer. How could she focus on how evil he was when he kept doing sweet things to disarm her? Like buying snack food because her belly rumbled, or providing a scruffy blanket that smelled far too much of scorched flesh for her peace of mind, but which kept her warm while he had the windows down to air out his smoke?

But she couldn’t let him kill and then discount it because he was saving more lives than he was taking. She couldn’t take the responsibility of bringing him to her family and friends, only to have him eating them behind her back.

With tears in her throat, and dread making her feel light-headed and body-heavy, Buffy stopped their strolling pace and turned to stare straight into eyes flickering with a jovial spirit.

“Use me.” Her tone was loaded with sacrifice, but if she’d known just how much of herself she’d seemingly offered, she wouldn’t have remained the light, easy colour of health.

Spike did his recognisable head tilt and Buffy’s breathing became a little more laboured. “Rather not, pet. Not really into meaningless sex. If I was, I’d go for some bimbo vamp I could stake before she annoyed me to death.”

The mention of sex brought the mistaken meaning of her words right out into the open and Buffy’s eyes opened comically wide. “Bite me, moron. I meant you could use me to feed from if it will keep you from snacking on the citizens of Sunnydale.”

She didn’t realise how much she had actually thought the possibility had merit—and for reasons other than saving the lives of people she didn’t know—until he declined.

“No.”

There was dumbfounded silence, and then Buffy took a step back and let Spike’s arm fall from her body. She felt humiliated and rejected—and cold—and as far as it was from the first time, the experience wasn’t any easier to accept. It was totally obscene, but Buffy felt like she was going to cry and Spike was the last person she wanted seeing her tears.

“I think you should go.” Her voice was crackly with the strain of trying to hide her disappointment, and Buffy took another protective step backward.

“Just hold on a bleeding minute, you presumptuous bint. I’m not gonna use you like some cow. The ONLY way I’ll bite you is if I’m draining you dry or fucking you raw. No middle ground—nothing to prove. Besides,” he taunted, taking a step closer to her very accurate statue impersonation. “I got me some take-out.” And he held up some blood bags that could have come from nowhere but the hospital—complete with blood type stickers on them.

She was stunned into stupidity. “You aren’t eating people?”

Spike stalked closer, resting his hand on her shoulder and bending down to her eye level. “Let me say this slowly, just so you can understand. I know you can’t let me live if I’m hanging around, knocking off the produce while I’m trying to save the herd. Give me some bloody credit, woman!”

Buffy blinked, and all she could see was a blood bag with no neck hanging from it, and his lips, and she’d never been so hungry or relieved in her life. “Oh,” she gasped and collapsed in his arms.

He hugged her tight, an absurdly happy grin on his lips.

And then Xander burst around the corner.

Thank you so much to Holly whose continual enthusiasm keeps this fic going.

Part Ten

She was scared.

Seeing Xander as he acted as a vampire decoy made her throat burn with guilt. And then there was Spike, his arms warm and comforting around her as her friend first fell into view. Cloaked and mysterious, she’d initially thought it was a shady character; then she recognised his shape, his walk and realised what he was doing.

Spike squeezed her reassuringly before Buffy took that first step, hesitant but determined to make her presence known.

“Didn’t anyone ever warn you about playing with pointy sticks?” she asked as she dragged Xander up from the pavement, the nerves making her feel weak and stupid. “It’s all fun and games until someone loses an eye.”

What did she have left with her friends but the puns?

There was no joyful surprise that she was back—all she could read on Xander was shock followed by a watered down smile of greeting. He’d even missed seeing Spike before the vampire melted into the shadows.

“You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that!” Xander exclaimed with only a small delay.

Buffy could see his gasping, adrenaline fuelled muscles struggle to come down from not being attacked by a vampire, and guilt choked her. It was her fault that he was out here pretending to be bait. Her fault he wasn’t at home hiding from his parents, or at the Bronze being a teenager. Fleetingly, she wondered if Giles knew that her friends were out fighting the good fight or if he’d packed up and left. Without a slayer, he had very little to watch. She couldn’t blame him if he thought it was time to move on.

“Geez, Buff.”

Before Buffy could brace herself for either censorious words, or a relieved hug, a fixture of the night came bounding around the corner, about to set his fangs into an almost certain conquest. That is, until Buffy stepped in, beat him down and saved Xander’s life once again.

It made her feel dirty, and she didn’t have the words to explain why.

“Come in, Nighthawk. Everything okay?”

It was the third familiar voice that Buffy had encountered since being back on the Hellmouth, and its mode was quite simply astounding. The words? Vaguely funny, but definitely confusing. It seemed really bad—now that she was confronted once again with her existence—but she’d failed to even think of Cordelia in the months she’d been away. Not that she’d spared much more energy than that worrying about Willow and Xander. It was hard to care when your emotions were in deep ice.

“Nighthawk?”

The fact that Xander had taken on some superhero guise while he was out just barely not being eaten by the nightlife was admittedly kind of amusing, but Buffy bypassed the funny for a more tangible feeling of anger. She resented this. Did they think she was having fun every time she left her bedroom window to save lives? Did they think she wanted this for her life? To lose everything again and again simply because she wasn’t normal and would never be allowed to be? Did they think it was fun to risk their lives every night?

Vibrations of irrepressible rage bolted through her body and it was all Buffy could do to not start screaming—to not snatch Xander’s hokey little walkie-talkie and smash it beneath her foot. All she could do not to attack her own friend for not once understanding the depths of the pain she’d been forced to subdue every day since she’d met them.

While she boiled in anger, Buffy hadn’t noticed the vampire rising once again to his feet, following a one way course to his meal. The guilt she’d felt initially was washed away with the first punch from the vampire’s fist, knocking him back on his much-abused ass. A snide grin almost made it to her lips before the reinforcements came careening around the corner, and once more the anger swelled up to a burn.

She didn’t feel like stepping in and helping, but when one after the other was thrown to the ground or into each other—Buffy even managing to get an armful of Cordy with the girl’s easy recognition more irritating than pleasing—she felt the urge to just slay and be done with it. And then it was done, she the only focus, and all eyes saw every part of her presence as an intrusion.

There was no happy welcome—no cries of relief that she was still alive, even though they had no knowledge how close Spike was to them all. Buffy could still feel him, knew he was watching this interaction and monitoring her reception. As much as it reassured her that he hadn’t just bailed the first chance he had, it was similarly embarrassing that he would see everything—even the small glimpse of resentment her friends couldn’t contain that she’d reappeared on the turf they were apparently trying to claim as their own.

After a wait that was minutes too long and even more humiliating, there was the semblance of love, the relief, and the conviction that she shouldn’t do anything else before she saw Giles and let him know she was back and alive.

Buffy shivered just at the thought of this meeting. She was surprised he was still in town, and scared about what he would say to her. Even more afraid of what he would think of her. And all of that was before any of them got wind of the knowledge that she’d brought Spike home with her. Somehow, she didn’t think that was going to bring on the love that was glaringly short-changed at this reunion.

She felt Spike follow along at a distance, and not once did she feel like he was stalking her. As much as she warred with herself about the dangers of relying on his presence, and the ramifications for this town if he became bored with fighting on the side of good, Buffy couldn’t let go of how comforting it felt to have an evil slayer-killing vampire look out for her.

Buffy wanted to kid herself that this apparent devotion he had to her safety was something more than just him protecting his investment. She wanted to believe that he might actually care about her welfare. That all his actions weren’t just about getting her back to the centre of evil, but because he was concerned about how she felt and what she needed. The impromptu hugs and the searing, heart-thumping kisses went a long way to convincing her there was much more to Spike than a master vampire responsible for the vicious killings of two of her sister slayers. Just as there was more to her than being the Slayer, and now that she walked beside her friends to face her watcher, she realised that Spike had been coddling the Buffy part of her—the girl that had needed touch and communication to thrive—since he had shown up in her diner. As much as he’d been encouraging the Slayer to go out and do her duty—but for sport, rather than destiny—it had been the damaged girl he’d been holding through the long, cold nights.

It was as though there were sharp, physical consequences of having an epiphany. A blanket of gloom had been suffocating her ever since she’d arrived home—probably even before that. Possibly as far back as Spike’s reminder of what he was—still proudly, irrevocably evil. That saving the world was just something ‘neat’ he could do while he thought of what was next in line for his eternity.

Her Watcher’s not-so-familiar door loomed ahead like a big, scary fire-breathing demon and all Buffy wanted to do was run into the open arms she was sure Spike would offer her. It made no difference to him, she was sure, if Buffy could never again relate to the people that had been her support and strength for the past two years. He’d sit back and smirk at their efforts to don the dress and adopt the personas necessary to run down evil—her evil—and unsuccessfully. And he’d reassure her that they were bumbling idiots that couldn’t hope to make a dent in protecting the world from big evil—not like the one she’d already made.

She didn’t hate them, though right now she wasn’t happy on too many levels to count. It wasn’t even really something she could name, just some deep-seated belief that things were far from right between them. Before she’d left, Willow was unconscious after attempting to do the witchy thing and be their big gun. Xander had saved Giles where she couldn’t—save her bargain for time with the devil—and almost ordered her to do some ass-kicking inspired damage to Angel while she had the chance. She’d often wondered, when thinking of the flash of soul in Angel’s eyes during those last, tortured moments—because what else was there to think of on those lonely nights in her bed—if Xander had maybe known that Willow was going to attempt the spell again. She knew it was Willow. No one else had been prepared for the spell. No one else even knew of it. Being lost to Jenny’s tribe kind of ruled out the Gypsy clan, and Buffy knew of no one else who would have even known to do it. Or who had the determination to try one more time to save her friend’s lover. Xander had been at the hospital with Willow. Why wouldn’t he have known if that’s what Willow had decided to do?

They’d reached Giles’s and Buffy was terrified of the pressure heaping on her head. It seemed like nothing ever changed. No one could wait until she was ready before trying to shoulder her into a situation she wasn’t prepared for. Sure, Giles wasn’t a nasty demon that could make her see the last of her life before the blood seeped out of her veins. But his words could cut to the quick if he chose to go that route.

She didn’t want to knock. The door was there, but the really big thing was, it wasn’t going anywhere. She could have done this later—like tomorrow when she’d had the chance to sleep off the apathy of just being back. When she’d been able to gather her confidence and run through her reasoning for running out in the first place.

When she could explain why she’d brought them Spike.

It was weird, but right now the subtle reassuring presence of Spike in the darkness gave her more courage than this group of friends who were telling her what to do. She felt like the titles were all mixed up—that Spike was truly the friend and the only one really concerned, at this point, for her welfare. She got that they were hurt that she’d left—that she hadn’t contacted anyone while she was gone. But that had been more an essential than a plan. If she’d contacted Willow, she knew her whereabouts wouldn’t stay a secret and the healing she’d needed would’ve been cut short. That the healing really only began when Spike showed up with his dismissive wit and energy was so not the issue, and Buffy was still refusing to think too closely on it.

“What if he’s mad?” Buffy knew it was a stupid thing to say. Of course he’d be mad. Of course he’d be hurt that she’d left and, more than likely, left him the victim of her mother’s sharp tongue and pointed questions about the slaying gig. Didn’t mean Xander had to be a total pig about pointing out her faults. And it certainly didn’t mean he had the right to take the high road on his quest for martyrdom.

“Mad? Just because you ran away and abandoned your post and your
friends and your mom and made him lay awake every night worrying about
you?” Xander couldn’t have held back the venom if he’d tried—which he obviously hadn’t, and Buffy wasn’t surprised at the final little dig. “Maybe we should wait out here.”

It wasn’t like he’d shown any kind of understanding or support since he’d set eyes on her earlier.

With her stomach in her shoes, and the collective wind of her not-so-cheering squad at her back, Buffy knocked. Despite the alert her body was on for the appearance of another familiar face, Buffy didn’t know what she’d expected from her first meeting again with Giles. Some kind of emotion would have been nice, but belatedly she remembered he was British and would force that stiff upper lip on duty, even if he did want to welcome her home a little more boisterously than with a cup of tea.

He stepped aside and allowed them in, Buffy peering over her shoulder for some small spark of evidence that Spike would be there if she needed him. If the guilt trip got too long and bumpy for her to handle and she needed him for the long walk home. The tip of his cigarette burned in the night and Buffy withdrew, satisfied.

She would never have figured Spike as the one she’d turn to when her friends and family became too much, but she was almost positive that she was going to be needing his special brand of comfort and support in the days to come.

Readapting to life on the Hellmouth wouldn’t be the breeze it was the first time around. This time she was filled with expectation, was flanked by friends and judgments that would temper her every move. But the biggest change was that this time she’d have a warrior at her side, not some ineffectual cryptic warning guy who did little to save her life while he was stealing her heart.

This time she had Spike, and strangely, that made her happiest of all. It was enough to be sure of, and Buffy allowed herself to be led inside.

Part Eleven

“They don’t want me back.” Buffy clung to Spike, desperately trying to lose herself in his embrace. She steadfastly ignored the mixture of confusion and betrayal she heard in her voice, and instead tried to soak up the comforting chest under her cheek. She was giving him so much fodder to use against her, but as his arms tightened like a band around her, she couldn’t seem to care. All that mattered was that she was back. She was back and her mother felt uncomfortable around her, her friends didn’t want to spend time with her, and the only comfort willingly given was within the arms of her once enemy—an evil monster with more feelings than he apparently knew what to do with.

“Buffy, I expect they’re just a bit wrong-footed. Surprised to see you again, is all. Give ‘em time to come around. In no time, you and Red will be swapping stories about boys and shoes like you’d never even left.” Spike’s words were accompanied with a squeeze and a soft brush of lips at her temple.

Buffy was glad she had her face hidden against his tee, because the thought of swapping stories about boys didn’t bring Angel’s face to mind. And for once, the fact that she’d forgotten him for more than ten minutes of her day didn’t cripple her with endless guilt.

Her face burned in reaction to the sole image that blotted out all others at the mention of ‘boys.’ In so incredibly short a time, Buffy had ensconced Spike completely in her life and had come to rely on him in the way she had when Xander had been a failsafe. Granted Spike was a failsafe, but with a very disturbing alteration.

The meeting with Giles himself had been less awkward than she’d expected, but just as Buffy had been settling back into the normal routines of being with her friends, things had turned weird and she soon caught onto their discomfort. When she’d asked any of them their plans, they were all suddenly busy. It didn’t take long for their aversion to spending any actual time with her to hit. She didn’t know if it was because she’d done something totally unforgivable, or if it was teething trouble to having her back in the mix.

And then they’d all been leaving and telling her to go home. There was suspicion there, and Buffy could see the glare of distrust in their eyes. Could see it, but couldn’t forgive it. How did they dare?

Just to be contrary, she’d headed in the opposite direction once they’d left the front gate of Giles’s courtyard. She’d hardened her heart to their judgmental looks and headed as far from home as she could, and as soon as they couldn’t see her anymore, there was Spike. Just like she’d known he would be. Looming out of the night-time shadows with a cigarette in hand and a smirk on his lips.

She’d never felt such relief to run into potential death in all her life.

His face did things to her belly that Buffy could have sworn was forever ended for her. Butterflies whipped their way to life inside and she felt frantic flutterings before forcefully choosing to drown out the existence of pleasure in favour of wallowing in the reality of rejection. And he’d been there as soon as the tears had stung her eyes, discarding the burning cylinder in the dirt under his boot and remoulding that smirk into a frown of concern as he’d protected her within the circle of his arms. And Buffy had felt it. Safe. Protected. Wanted. With the vampire who had originally blown into town with the agenda of leaving with her notched on his belt.

The groan of leather under her hands brought Buffy back to the now with a suddenness that gave her mental whiplash. She was crowding out the scent of her fear—that she’d made a horrible mistake in coming back to the Hellmouth—with the scent of Spike. It was a revelation to almost taste him as the flesh at his throat came closer to her curious mouth. Confidence was slowly returning and Buffy felt her hands slide along the smooth leather of his coat arms, over his shoulders to slowly wind around his neck. The myth was that vampires were hot—they exuded mystery and immortality and Angel himself had been the epitome of that for her. But she’d never smelled life on him. She’d never scented him as a man. Spike blew her senses out of the water—had her on overload so that the buzz that vibrated through her body just didn’t end.

“Spike?” She felt drugged when he was this close to her. Buffy wished their upper bodies were naked so that she could feel her bare skin against his, so that she could smother in the heated bliss of whatever this was that was taking over.

He answered with an intimate hug, drawing her ever closer to his body until she could swear the heat she felt between them was going to singe her clothing. Buffy gave in and before he’d even attempted to press an advantage, she brought her body as close to his as she could get while still dressed. Breath caught in her throat as suddenly aching breasts found purchase against his chest, and she felt something hard and not-so-still poking against her crowd of overactive butterflies.

There were lips against her cheek and Buffy gasped out a moan, wanting more than anything for the inevitable to happen. She was already drugged—she wanted the overdose, if only to quench this misery of need. They’d barely moved and then his lips were there, hovering indecisively over hers before Buffy tipped up her face and exploded into his kiss.

Her chest was thumping out of control and Buffy was momentarily worried that she was about to faint. Spike’s arms released her waist and she slipped against him, terrified he’d let her fall to the ground before one hand cupped her face and the other inflamed her ribcage just under a vulnerable breast. She ached everywhere for him. In too short a time, Spike had replaced her visions of a tortured Angel with his own presence and she hadn’t even put up a fight. In fact, there was welcome stamped all over her. She was all Welcome Buffy for the Spike kissage.

His lips were made of sweet wine and spice and Buffy could feel her addiction seeping into her veins as her fingers explored the curling clumps of his hair. There was no resistance as his tongue teased the seam of her lips and Buffy couldn’t stop the compulsion that overtook her natural need to protect herself. Instead, she opened her lips to allow him inside her. And once he’d gained access, Buffy was lost to the rhythm and heat of it. He caressed her inside and out and Buffy felt her body throb with a fierceness that had been missing since the morning Angelus had destroyed her.

It was Spike that finally pulled away, and Buffy wanted to scream at him to return her coveted mindlessness. It was easy to forget everything when he was kissing her. Forget her friends and her mom; forget her destiny—except that Spike’s focus on her destiny was what had brought them back in the first place.

She landed back to earth with a butt breaking slam into the ground. As gentle as their parting was, Buffy felt all the stabs of rejection that she’d been suffering from all night. Only this was worse—so much worse being pushed away from a vampire with no soul than a group of people who had made her life bearable the past year.

“Spike?” And then the pinpricks of fear scattered in the warmth of his reassuring smile and the slow sweep of his hand through her hair.

“Should be getting you home, pet. Your mum’ll be worried.”

A little of her normal fire returned and Buffy stepped back, observing Spike under a shroud of confidence and playfulness that she’d never have pulled off earlier in the night. His kiss had given her that.

“You sure are worried about my mom.” The vulnerability was still there, and the softening of Spike’s smile was the first hint that he’d caught her out.

He stepped close once again and let his finger run the length of her arm from her shoulder to her wrist until his hand encompassed her own. “I’m worried about you too, goldilocks. Lots of nasties out here looking for a succulent bite to eat.” And to emphasise his point, like a striking cobra, he was at her throat, teeth clamped and mouth sucking on her flesh while Buffy clutched at his shoulders and tried to remember how to breathe. Giddiness robbed her of strength and her hold slipped to his biceps, fingers digging in and hanging on for dear life as he left his mark in a bruise on her neck. She could feel the sting in her skin, and happiness jolted her heart.

There was nothing but dazed receptivity when he pulled away and observed her giddy smile.

“Wow. I like how you worry,” Buffy said breathlessly, her knees weak and her body hungry for more Spike contact.

There was a strange flicker of something that Still-Swimming-In-Lust Buffy couldn’t quite discern as she drifted back down from her high, hidden behind an amiable Spike who clasped hold of her hand and subtly tugged her back in the direction of home.

“I’m a gentleman, Slayer. ‘Sides, I brought you back to the Hellmouth, and it wouldn’t do to have you picked off by some lucky demon before we even get a crack at the first half decent apocalypse to pass our way.” He wasn’t looking at her, and that was Buffy’s first clue to not allow the shards of ice that were battering at her heart for entry. He was holding her hand, walking at her side like a boyfriend, but he’d scared himself with his actions. Or maybe he’d been shocked by the strength of emotion that had resulted from that kiss, but whatever it was, Buffy could see his belated attempt to scramble back to the position he’d been comfy on just ten minutes beforehand and ignore it.

“You know, any other girl would be thinking you only wanted her for her connections to End of the World fights to the death. But I know what you really want.” Buffy felt the jerk in her arm as Spike almost skidded to a stop—only then was she able to see the naked fear in his eyes and feel the tightening of his clasp on her hand.

“And what’s that, Slayer? What is it that a Big Bad like me really wants?”

His eyes shone with glints of amber and Buffy wondered if he even admitted to himself how cuckoo this plan and agenda he’d adopted actually was. There were moments when the reality of his position apparently hit him, and he couldn’t totally tamp down his panic about the situation. But before Buffy could jump on the moment and explore it to its ugly end, the imp in her that wanted to tease and get rid of that dark speck of fear from his eyes jumped in.

“You’re just in it for the Post-Apocalypse parties.” She grinned, and hung onto it through the very obvious breath of relief and lightening of his load as she did.

“As if your little posse has any idea at all how to live it up after almost perishing at the end of the world. Give me a good apocalypse, and I’ll show you how it’s done.” He was nervous, and Buffy felt the bloom of dread. She didn’t want this now. Not now that she’d attempted to reconcile who Spike had proclaimed himself, rather than the vampire he had been since he’d met up with her again.

The moment was short lived and Buffy was glad. They continued on, clinging to the shadows and ignoring all nocturnal sounds while they progressed toward Revello, hand in hand and ignoring the implied intimacy.

When they reached her front door, Buffy wasn’t in any rush to go inside. Behind the door was a life that had been in her past, an existence that would put rules and judgements on every tiny thing she did. Somehow she didn’t think that making out with Spike while she was down about the lack of enthusiasm her friends displayed at having her back would be met with approval. Buffy felt pretty sure that her mom would have quite a few things to say about it—especially after the whole Angel thing.

As reluctant as she was, Spike prodded her closer to the steps and hung back, despite still holding her hand.

“You’ve got the phone, Slayer. I’ll be here if you need me.” And amidst his lightening quick movement, Buffy thought she felt a kiss ghost her lips and then the flapping of leather tails as he disappeared into the night.

If all vampires adopted half the stealth of Spike, it would be so much more difficult to rid the Hellmouth of its evil.

Part Twelve

As soon as her mom mentioned that she’d invited the Scoobies for dinner, Buffy knew it was going to be awkward, not to mention so not what she wanted to put herself through. Rushing back into the accepting bosom of her pals was not something she was going to do; every time she said something to Willow or Xander right now, she felt like she had penance to pay for all the worry she’d put them through.

They wanted her to crawl or something; beg their forgiveness for deserting them in order to heal from her emotionally devastating wounds. Every time she saw Willow’s brand new and painted Avoidy Face, she felt like hijacking a loud speaker and screaming that she wasn’t about to grovel. And while she lay in bed at night, Buffy spent hours counting the ways they’d forfeited the right to condemn her for running rather than supporting her.

They hadn’t been there for her when Angel went all damage-bound. And she understood it. Really, she did. She knew that she didn’t have the right to expect sympathy for losing her boyfriend when the monster wearing his face had been off killing certain soulmates and pretty fish. Her pain was less important to what Giles was feeling, or her friends and classmates at the loss of a favoured teacher. At least, it was less important in their eyes. In hers, it took up great chunks of her confidence and screamed at her with pain every day that she had let Angelus live.

They couldn’t empathise with losing a lover—a friend—like Angel. They couldn’t empathise, and even now Buffy didn’t think they were capable of sympathising with her experience. She’d known it on a deeper level of consciousness, and that’s why she’d run. Why she’d ensured time enough to start the process of healing. And now they were punishing her for grieving. Oh, not actively, but she could feel it simmering under all the usual banter and Xanderisms. And it was so close to the surface that she knew she’d be facing it soon enough.

So, she just knew dinner was gonna be awkward. The real question was, why did they agree to it? It had been their recent mission to find as many excuses as possible to get out of quality Buffy time, so why were they choosing now to be available? It wasn’t like her mom’s cooking was that great.

Buffy found herself eyeing the candy pink phone Spike had bought for her, considering why she would have preferred spending her night eating food alongside him without wigging at the image of his consumption of blood. For the first time, Buffy recognised Spike’s level of emotional maturity and realised he was the only one who had let her grieve without condemnation. He’d understood the reason behind her leaving—he’d just decided to appoint himself her purpose for going back.

It was beyond strange to think of a vampire as being mature, but in this instance, Buffy could see that Spike had experienced enough similar pain that he’d surpassed her friends in understanding. He was her equal in this, and Buffy felt no guilt in recognising it. He was her emotional equal and more of a friend than her alleged real friends had not even tried to be.

While a dinner party with her friends as reluctant guests was the last thing she could even imagine wanting, it was so of the preferable to the party of strangers that somehow took over her house. Yet despite the lack of respect for her mom and even her own wishes, Buffy stamped down the irritation with Willow and Xander and tried to embark on a good time. Right up until they decided to not partake in the goofy funness that so wasn’t her right now.

Willow stood in the Summers’ living room, making googly eyes at Oz and Buffy recognised it as the opportunity it was to try and put some of the badness behind them. She loved Willow. It wasn’t the redhead’s fault that Angelus had become Angel again after he’d melted the barriers between the Hellmouth and actual Hell, and Buffy harboured no resentment toward her friend. Which made her confusion over the collective cold-shoulder even sharper. Life was going to get really old really fast if she didn’t make peace with her friends soon, and if she could do it through this stupid party, who was Buffy to object? At least it meant she wouldn’t have to beg.

“This is large,” Buffy manoeuvred slowly.

“You like?” Willow replied, her tone all with the friendliness, but her body language giving the Ice Queen a run for her furry coats.

“Yeah. It’s great.” And it was. In a world where she hadn’t been gone for months with no contact, largely because she’d put a honkin’ great sword through her boyfriend’s belly and sent him on a one way zap to Hell. “I-I was just sort of hoping it would be…us.”

“Sorry. What?” Willow made out like she couldn’t hear, but Buffy couldn’t see any efforts to actually try. Apparently the boyfriend she’d heard play all summer was way more interesting than the supposed bonding session going to waste right in front of her face.

“This is amazing, but I was sort of hoping we could just hang together. The gang.”

Yup, no doubts how interested in the ‘gang’ Willow was. Buffy could have been Harmony for all the attention she gave her. Hadn’t she decided she wasn’t going to crawl back to them? Okay, so she’d left. So what? Was her pain really worth so little to them? Were they that selfish that they couldn’t allow her the time she’d needed to deal?

Two steps away and Buffy envisioned the scene continuing on for months, with Spike the only one in her corner. And strangely enough, thinking of him gave her the courage to approach Willow head on. Marching straight back, Buffy tapped Willow on the arm and indicated that the redhead should follow her into the other room, all the while mentally gearing herself up for an argument. She had no idea what was going to fuel Willow’s side of it, but she was ready, willing, and able to get things right out into the open.

Once they’d reached the dining room, a little of the puff wheezed off the Buffy Train of Determination. Nervousness was making her feel dizzy, and the clenching in her belly made her want to flee rather than hear whatever grievances the gang felt they rightly harboured against her.

“Is everything okay?” She was officially a wimp. A gutless, little girl wimp that couldn’t face her friends and their disappointments. “You... You seem to be avoiding me, i-in the one-on-one sense.” And her confidence flew right out the window. God, she so needed Spike to back her up here. The weight of her pretty pink phone pressed against her as she palmed it nervously.

“What? This isn't avoiding. See? Here you are, here I am.”

That surprised tone was so fake and Buffy cringed at how awkward this was. She could never have imagined this. Of all the hurdles she’d thought would be in the way of her return, getting back on track with her friends hadn’t been one of them. Nerves had her fiddling with the phone in her pocket and Buffy flipped it open and pressed buttons almost in a daze.

“So we’re cool?” Please say we’re cool. Even if it’s a really big, scary lie.

“Way! That's why, with the party, 'cause we're all glad you're back.” Willow smiled, but she was avoiding again and looking back toward her boyfriend and Buffy couldn’t be bothered doing anymore patch work. All the fight left her and she felt limp and dejected.

“Okay.

“Okay. Good.” And she was gone. Willow beelined straight back to the band and Buffy caressed her phone, tears biting at her throat. She wished she could go hide in Spike’s arms.

She’d already relegated the party a massive disaster as far as ‘Welcome Home, Buffy’ was concerned, so encountering Xander and Cordelia in a sloppy, kissy moment almost turned her stomach. And as her luck would suck, Xander called attention to them as she’d tried to pass.

“Hey, Buff, uh... What are you doing?”

Because that question was just so original and filled with genuine interest. Not. Anger was bubbling now at the resentment that, no matter what she did, no matter how much she didn’t deserve this, she was going to be stuck in the middle of fall out anyway.

“I was just taking a break from all this wacky fun.” She was so tired and her face hurt from all the fake perkiness that had been her all night. The need to be back in her not-so-homey home in LA was building every time one of her friends spoke, and she had no idea how to calm the raging swell of irritation. And why couldn’t Xander even see that she was so far from thinking anything in her house was of the wacky fun, and take a break from being the wounded male for just a second and help her readjust?

“Some kind of party, huh? I guess a lot of people are glad to have you back.”

Buffy could feel the insincerity like a knife in her back. She still couldn’t believe her mom hadn’t burst out of the kitchen in an inebriated frenzy, screaming at all these people to get out of her house and stop touching her things. She was either working up to a massive fit when they’d all gone, or she was lapsing because of the guilt.

“It seems like people I didn't even know missed me.” Her sarcasm totally missed the mark, but she figured it was hard to concentrate with Cordy gnawing on your neck.

A few inquiries about Giles, a reminder of the ewwwness that was Nighthawk Xander and how it was beginning to turn Cordy on, and Buffy had had enough. She was a stranger in her own house, wandering amongst people that had no right to be within these familiar walls, and friends who may have had the right but who she no longer wanted there. Not until they could make the effort to put themselves in her shoes and cut her some slack.

Her aimless search for some meaning in the gathering had her on the edge of rumours—those claiming she was just out of rehab were so not cool—but then she found herself outside the kitchen door just in time to hear her mother tell another stranger how difficult it was to have her daughter once again in the house.

“Having Buffy home, I-I thought it was gonna make it all better, but in some ways, it's almost worse.”

With tears in her eyes, Buffy knew one way to make it all better. No one wanted her here. She was a dilemma that none of them knew how to deal with. And she was different. Being on her own for months and being forced to deal with the heaviness of her grief while supporting herself had changed her—and she thought for the better. But everything here was so negative when it really shouldn’t have been. Giles seemed to be the only one truly happy to have her back, and it hurt Buffy’s heart to think that it might be solely because he had his eye back on her destiny and the aim of his job was once again on an even trail.

With a mind to retrieve her bag and quickly pack, Buffy almost jogged past more people she didn’t know but who were welcoming her back, and clicked her door shut once she made it to her room. Thoughts of packing disappeared the second her eyes fell on Spike, standing straight and sexy against her window.

She didn’t question the urge that had her in his arms, shedding her tears of disappointment against his shirt. She didn’t care that he’d risked revealing his presence by visiting her when her home was filled to the brim with people. All that mattered was that he was there when she needed him, and it was a trend she was more than happy to accept.

“Thank you.”

His arms tightened around her and Buffy decided once and for all to ignore any new claims he might make to being evil. He may say he didn’t care, but the strength of his arms told a different story; a story that Buffy wanted to read until her eyes closed for good. That realization came as less of a shock than she might have expected, but within a very short time, Spike had become the only solid thing she could depend on. The only friend who could bear to be near her. The only presence that could make her feel anything but hurt.

“No need to thank me. Told you I’d come.” His voice was clipped with barely repressed fury and it was the first indication that Buffy had that his appearance wasn’t so simple.

“What?” she started before pulling back and seeing the strain around his mouth and recognizing how livid he was. “What’s wrong?”

“Turn off your phone, Slayer.”

Buffy flushed and reached into her pocket to snap off the signal that had brought him to her, and wondered again at how fast he could move. And at how automatic it had been to call for him by any means necessary when she’d been feeling weakened and uncomfortable.

“Oops. Sorry.”

He kissed her fiercely and Buffy forgot what she’d been running to her room for in the first place. Forgot everything until the music from downstairs broke through and reminded her of her original plan, and she pulled away. All this kissage was playing havoc with her emotions and Buffy realised she’d have to take time out soon to assess what exactly it was that she was doing.

“I want to leave with you.” She licked her lips and ducked her head, suddenly shy in the face of asking a vampire if she could come be his live-in-buddy. “I mean, is that okay? Can I stay with you for a while?”

The relief Buffy felt at his smirk was profound and her shoulders sagged.

“You mean, we live together, save the world together?” He tilted his head, looking at Buffy’s frantic nod while he contemplated the idea. “Sure. Sounds bloody brilliant. Not to mention convenient.”

Convenient? She so hoped he was referring to the world saveage with that remark.

“Okay, good. Thanks.” And then she was a whir of supernatural speed and action, snatching out her bag from under the bed and loading it up with freshly piled clothing. Buffy nearly fell over her feet as she saw Spike sifting through her underwear drawer, his hands filled with multi-coloured lace and cotton. “What are you doing?” she squeaked, embarrassed as he held up a scanty piece of nothing that she often wore as a bra.

“Saving you time by helping you pack. Put some backbone into it before I go down there and rip the heads off all your supposed friends.” The amber was flashing in his eyes, but Spike remained gentle on her underwear. He shoved handful upon handful into the inside pockets of his duster and Buffy’s face flamed even hotter. There was no stopping the internal movies that had her naked, freshly showered and searching those pockets while his duster remained on his back.

“O-okay.” That husky, breathy compliance meant nothing. Really.

Before she could zip her bag shut, Willow was behind her and the guilt that she shouldn’t be feeling surged up and brought the emotions back full force.

“You’re leaving again?”

Buffy flinched at the look of betrayal, but her hurt weighed heavier. If Willow didn’t want her to feel so unwelcome that she chose to move on, she should have been more…well, welcoming, just for starters.

“What, you just stopped by for your lint brush and now you're ready to go?”

“Now, there’s an idea. You got one of those, Slayer? No matter what I do, my tees always get fluff on them. You’d think I’d be safe with an all dark wash.” Spike stepped into the limelight and a feral growl of satisfaction rumbled in his throat. His fangs were itching to slice into the neck of this one, and it had nothing to do with hunger and everything to do with vengeance. He’d worked hard to get Buffy to want to come home, and now these idiots were doing everything to remind her why she couldn’t have stayed and played out her grief for losing her wanker boyfriend the old-fashioned way. Making his life Hell.

“Spike?”

Her eep of terror was satisfying, and even Buffy’s tears stemmed the flow for a little before starting up again.

“The one and only. Now, if you don’t mind, the Slayer and I have somewhere to be.”

She ignored him, even though her heart was pounding hard in her chest. “You brought Spike home with you? You’re with Spike now?”

What words were there to get her out of this situation? Buffy felt herself succumbing to a panic attack. She’d been caught leaving, and now everyone would know that she’d chosen to leave with Spike. At least no one had seen that kiss or him stuffing his coat with her underwear.

“You wouldn’t understand,” was all she had. But it was the truth. Nothing she could say about this would be comprehensible for any of them. Oh, Giles might have tried, but she was pretty sure he was still freshly wounded and unreasonable on the whole ‘vampires kill people’ gig.

“You know, sure, this would take a lot of effort to understand, I admit that. But you could have tried me. Maybe I don’t even need to understand. Maybe I…I just need you to talk to me.”

“How could I talk to you when you were avoiding me?”

“This isn't easy, Buffy! I know you're going through stuff, but... so am I.”

She knew it was unfair, but Buffy had nothing left in her to care about hearing her friend’s pain. She had great gaping Angel holeage in her heart and she was only just beginning to sew it shut—and strangely with the help of Spike’s presence and his kisses. He’d given her meaning each and every day she’d woken up breathing, the sun shining, and him just being there. For her.

And world saveage.

“I know that you were worried about me, but—”

“No! I don't just mean that. I mean, my life! You know? I, um... I'm having all sorts of... I'm dating, I'm having serious dating with a werewolf, a-and I'm studying witchcraft and killing vampires, and I didn't have anyone to talk to about all this scary life stuff. And you were my best friend.” The tears did it. Willow’s sobs and tears broke Buffy’s resolve to defend herself and she felt the guilt leak into all the cracks in her self-esteem and sting.

“Boo-bloody-hoo. Do you have any idea how self-centred you are?”

Both girls looked at Spike in shock, Willow flinching at his obvious disgust while Buffy couldn’t help stare at him as if he were her saviour.

“So you’re dating a werewolf. Has he gone all shaggy the morning after? Has he told you how worthless you are in bed? Has he been out killing your friends? Have you put a whopping big sword through his gut and waved him off, all soul-having, as he got sucked into the great gaping maw of Hell? Have you watched him die knowing that your friends couldn’t be bothered telling you that he’d possibly be getting his soul back beforehand?”

Willow slumped against the door in devastated shock. “Buffy?” She shook her head, an argument obviously going on behind closed doors as she tried to resolve the pressure of Spike’s words. “But…I told Xander. He said he caught you before you went inside. He was supposed to tell you.”

“I guess he forgot that part when he told me to kick Angelus’s ass.” Buffy was shaking, new and sudden fury making her fists clench and unclench, but before she could release any of the tension, her mom was in her face and just as accusatory and ignorant as Willow had been. And still her panties were bunched up in Spike’s pocket. The knowledge was the only thing that kept her from losing it completely and screaming all the way to a straight-jacket.

“What is this? Is this some sort of a joke?”

Spike stood back and watched how easily these humans could become unglued, but he kept his arms folded and tried to hold his tongue, suspecting the Slayer would be happier if he stayed out of this meltdown. It wasn’t easy, though. Not by a long shot. He’d overheard all the slights and the things that had been hurtful and his first thought as he’d raced over to save her was how much he’d enjoy seeing the exact shade of their blood. His rage had calmed only slightly as he waited for her in her room, but as they piled up their arguments against her again, he wondered if they had even one tiny clue how bloody grateful they should be he’d convinced her to come back at all. Right now he had half a mind to take her back to LA. Tossers were emotionally manipulative to the last and needed a lesson or two in humility.

“Mom, please, could you, could you just—”

“No, Buffy. I can’t just. What is this?”

“She was running away again.”

Spike really wanted to snap the little redhead’s neck, but before he could give into that overwhelming impulse, he stepped up behind Buffy and took her hand and grabbed her bag. There was no point arguing the point. He’d take her away, put her up for the night, and then when everything had settled, he’d bring her back to talk sense with her mom. Though Joyce was heading to the top of his list of revenge munchables. He settled for glaring at Red as he tugged on Buffy’s hand.

“No, I wasn’t.” Buffy looked at her hand in Spike’s almost in a daze. Her eyes were blurred, her feet were cold, and things were very much out of control. “I’m not sure.”

“Well, you better get sure and explain yourself right away! If you think you can just take off any time you feel like...”

Spike wasn’t listening to any more. Buffy babbled behind him, hardly knowing what she was saying in an effort to both explain herself and please everyone, but he’d had enough. She was the Slayer. She shouldn’t have to explain herself to anyone. She provided a world for these people to live in, breathe in, sleep in.

“Just bloody fuck off, the lot of you.”

And then they reached the downstairs.

Part Thirteen

Harris.

The first bleeding person they bump into during their attempted escape would have to be Harris. Spike was positive the only reason he knew the git’s name was because he irritated him so much. He had the face and body of an American footballer, puffed up and purple. But that could just be because he’d suddenly come face-to-face with a pissed off vamp intent on taking Buffy somewhere much quieter and less judgemental.

Not that he knew that.

Spike resisted the urge to sucker punch the whelp out of his way, but he could feel Buffy shaking as an extension of his hand and he decided it would be best to just get the hell out of there without taking on more friction.

“You know what? That’s it.”

Or Joyce could go all Hitler on their asses and drag Buffy to an abrupt stop just shy of the front door. Spike felt his arm jerk as it was almost ripped out of the socket, Joyce spinning her daughter around. The glaring mother didn’t even spare him an angry glance.

“You and I are going to have a talk.”

Spike rolled his eyes at the melodrama before stretching his neck, grinning wickedly at the menacing crack of his bones. He was kind of glad at the sudden quiet that descended. He wanted to hear the pin drop when they were all shot down.

“Mom, please—”

The only thing that really bugged him about this step to independence was that Buffy was being hurt. That fact tugged at all his emotional triggers and he recognised, probably for the first time, that her happiness truly meant something to him. He was here at her side as more than a means to protect an interest. He wanted to protect her, and that, strangely, made him feel warm all over.

“You know what? I don't care. I don't care what your friends think of me—or you for that matter—because you put me through the wringer, Buffy.”

Buffy tightened her grip on his hand and Spike felt his demon howling at the injustice this lot kept throwing at her.

“I mean it. And I've had schnapps. Do you have any idea what it's been like?”

Spike’s eyes narrowed and waited.

“Mom, this isn’t the time.”

He observed the twitchy witch looking around anxiously, grasping hold of her werewolf. Her werewolf. Spike wanted to laugh at the hypocrisy that was choking just this one room.

“You can't imagine months of not knowing. Not knowing whether you're lying dead in a ditch somewhere or, I don't know, living it up...”

Well, he could vouch for the not living it up. When he’d stumbled upon the Slayer, she was barely living. Let alone enjoying the steady exhalation of air everyone took for granted.

Buffy trembled against his side, the shock of her mother’s betrayal all the more harsh because it was unexpected. “But you told me! You're the one who said I should go. You said if I leave this house, don't come back. You found out who I really was, and you couldn't deal. Don't you remember?” Buffy’s body was rejecting his every attempt to calm her. She shook on her feet; even the usual arm snaking around her shoulders wasn’t working. So far he’d gone forgotten, but now he was getting plenty riled and was going to show these little caricatures of perfection what they could do with their phony understanding and non-existent gratitude.

“Buffy, you didn't give me time. You just dumped this thing on me and you expected me to get it. Well, guess what? Mom's not perfect, okay? I handled it badly. But that doesn't give you the right to punish me by running away.”

“Punish you? I didn't do this to punish you!” Buffy’s heart was thumping and Spike could sense her fear, could taste it on the tip of his tongue and it sickened him.

“Well, you did. You should've seen what you put her through.” Xander stepped forward, his face twisted in his favourite expression of late as he stood over the proud slayer and actually caused her to wilt.

“Great. Thanks. Anybody else want to weigh in here?” She scanned the room hurriedly, not having any trouble locating a face that seemed incongruous to her humiliating hour. “How about you by the dip?”

His mouth full, and the recipient of the beginnings of one of Spike’s snarls, the startled partygoer refrained. “No, thanks. I’m good.”

Xander huffed forward, righteous indignation burning a hole somewhere that was obviously pretty painful. “You know, maybe you don't want to hear it, Buffy, but taking off like you did was incredibly selfish and stupid.”

And finally a vein in his neck popped and Spike let go. “Of all the sanctimonious piles of crap I’ve heard tonight, that one takes the cake. You’d know all about selfish and stupid, wouldn’t you, Harris?” The room descended immediately into a stunned hush and Spike lost focus of all except the suddenly pale boy whose blood he really wanted to taste. The brainless git was attempting to make Buffy feel the brunt of the pain he’d caused her by being the jealous little wanker he was, and Spike wouldn’t stand for it.

“What? Buffy, that’s Spike.”

Spike liked that he backed away—that he actually had enough intelligence to shut his gob and make with the backpedaling. Not that it would help him, of course. The twit had opened his mouth far too wide while slashing strips of skin off his slayer.

“She knows who I am. But that’s not the issue here. No, the issue is not how selfish and stupid Buffy is; it’s how ungrateful you lot are.” Spike’s eyes roved the room and he zeroed in on Joyce, liking the flushed shade of pink on her face as he stared her down. “You tell a girl whose responsibility it is to save the world to never come back if she walks out that door, and expect her to…what? Come begging for a roof over her head after she’s plugged up the mouth of Hell? She kept your bloody world spinning so you even had a roof. She only had to kill the love of her life to do it, but that’s no small sacrifice, right? He was evil, so what did it matter?”

Fury twisted his lips and burned in his gut as Spike turned back to the one he’d decided would make a perfect little bloodstain in the carpet—if Buffy wouldn’t stake him for it.

“But then, he wasn’t evil, was he. You knew Red was stuffing the soul back into the gigantic wanker, but instead of warning Buffy, you left out that little piece of info, didn’t you? You figured the quicker she dusted Angelus, the better. No more love interest for Buffy.” Spike nodded at that, thinking the git might have had the right idea but not forgiving it because it had put the Slayer out of commission for too long. Had stripped her of the confidence to go on. “Still hasn’t occurred to you that she might’ve had to dust Angel, has it? Have any of you even bothered thinking about why she left? Or did you all really believe the greatest slayer that I’ve ever known would do a runner because she was wanted for murder and because she’d been kicked out of her house by her only relative in town?”

He liked the shade of guilt on faces other than Buffy’s. Liked the way it humbled them and made them quiver. Liked how it stilled their tongues and made their hearts contract.

It was the chatty brunette that stepped forward first, probably suffering the least because she’d done nothing by way of condemning or tricking Buffy into anything.

“You had to kill Angel after he got his soul back?” Her expression softened as Buffy nodded in a daze. “That’s so harsh.” She turned her intent and disapproving gaze on her boyfriend and Spike enjoyed just how much he withered. “You knew that Willow was doing the spell. You have serious issues, Xander Harris.”

The boy showed no signs of compassion for what Buffy might have gone through to save the world, nor was he buckling under a guilty conscience, though obviously being found out by his friends for the manipulating fake he’d been in that moment struck a powerful nerve. “Am I supposed to feel bad because Buffy had to skewer Dead Boy? Come on, it had to happen sometime. There was no point just souling him up. One more happy and we’d be back to looking like his lunch.”

“That’s…so cruel.” Now it was Red’s turn to weigh in, and Spike rather liked the tears that were spoiling her perfect porcelain complexion.

“Not so much, Red. I mean, Harris could easily shove a big shiny sword into his little sweetheart if it meant saving the world. Couldn’t you, Whelp? An’ you lot would be just as understanin’ about how much that might actually hurt him.” Spike’s smile held ice, not happiness, and the room gulped in horrified understanding. Finally there was realization and an example they could relate to, and yet it didn’t draw enough blood for Spike’s vengeful streak. They may understand sacrificing love, but the significance still dropped by virtue of the fact that Angel hadn’t been human. Demon would always mean expendable to this lot, and it was an eye opener Spike hadn’t realised he’d needed.

“I—” The boy was obviously speechless and it just made Spike angrier.

“I’ll give you some advice for free. The Slayer isn’t in any way responsible for your maladjustments. She has the responsibility of life and death on her shoulders every night of her life. She saves the world. It’s what she does. And yet you lot want to put her in braids and a box and pretend you’re all superior to her because you don’t date demons.” Spike couldn’t hold back the reproachful smirk as he swept a glance over Red and her boyfriend.

His glare was heated and had all the impact of a shot gun as he mowed each one of them down. “Buffy is not meant for a box. I won’t let you try and stuff her in one.” Grasping her hand, he didn’t let Buffy wallow in her friend’s and family’s condemnation, instead tugging her to the exit.

“Hey!” shouted Xander, his tongue finding a second wind and his feet doing the flying as he grabbed hold of Buffy’s arm. “What do you think you’re doing? She’s our Buffy. Not your Buffy.”

Spike turned in full vamp face and Buffy stared at him in wonder. His devotion to her seemed boundless, and it was, quite frankly, far more sexy than disturbing. In fact, Buffy wondered if Spike’s actions could ever resemble disturbing for her again. Well, unless she caught him snacking on people, which was so off the track in view of the fact that Xander’s fingers were giving her bruises and Spike was looking like he was about to go for the throat in her honour.

“She’s not a fucking crispy cream, you git!” Spike was almost frothing at the mouth, just waiting for the boy to step up and pretend some more to be the big man, but was happy to go for wolfboy in his stead as he stepped forward to be mediator.

“Okay. I'm gonna step in now,” Oz said as he positioned himself beside Xander and tried to pry his fingers from Buffy’s arm. “Being Referee Guy.”

There was a little bit of terror mixed in with the angry bravado as Willow dived in. “No, let them go, Oz,” she ordered in the eye of the musician’s incredulous glance. “Talking about it isn't helping. We might as well try some violence.”

Spike rolled his eyes at the cue and the inevitable baddie that chose then to explode into the Slayer’s home, and threw himself into the fight as soon as the first Zombie crossed his path, tossing Buffy’s bag to rest near the front door for exit as soon as the current ridiculous situation declined.

“Help your mum, pet. I’ve got your back.” And he did. He wasn’t letting anything get in his way of taking her away from this unappreciative and blind lot. He might have nothing to offer her but his respect, but he thought tonight that might at least do.

The partygoers were falling—albeit slowly—as they tried to push the intruders out. Or at least the walking dead intruders. There was no organisation about it, but the job was getting done, despite the odd zombie breaking through and striking deadly in attack. But then the success waned and the crowd of murderously-intent-recently-dead pushed on and up, crowding their prey into the second story of the house.

With a bloodcurdling war cry, Spike charged and took down a crowd from Joyce’s bedroom door, allowing the Scoobies sanction while he tossed them back down the stairs. He grinned at every sickening crunch as they jolted against each step and finally landed in a pile at the bottom.

The group had collected someone else behind him, though the frantic way Joyce and Red were dragging her into the room was a waste, but he didn’t think they’d appreciate his fine-tuned abilities to recognise the dead when he saw it.

Spike held his back against the bedroom door, cursing zombie’s that recovered rapidly and got determinedly back to the job of killing, and was jarred over and over again for his troubles. He looked up and caught Buffy’s eye, and went soft at the look of wonder she couldn’t hide. His lapse cost him and he was flung unhero-like across the room, sending some godawful-looking mask to the floor.

“Looks right nice underfoot. Loads better than terrorising the wall,” he murmured, jumping back to his feet and brushing himself off.

“What do we do if they get in?” Joyce asked and Spike felt disgusted at the woman’s ignorance. Had she truly done nothing but drink schnapps while Buffy was away? She’d had the perfect opportunity to learn about her daughter’s world. Mum’s not perfect, be buggered. Mum didn’t want to know.

“I kind of think we die.”

So Harris wasn’t completely stupid, then. Spike refused to be impressed. Refused to be anything but annoyed at the prat. He was easily sidetracked as a flash of red from near his feet seemed to summon the dead woman and she became animated. He wasn’t quick enough to prevent her grabbing the mask and placing it over her face. But he was plenty quick to get out of the way and get the message that staring at the flashy lights that were her new set of eyes wasn’t the best plan.

“Right, Spike. Because plans are truly your friend.” He rolled his eyes at the spectacle of Red being caught in the evil gaze of the head honcho and prepared to strike, but before he could act the hero, Buffy dived for the newest demon and they crashed through the window. Turning to Joyce, he couldn’t help but rub in the damage. “Hope you’ve got a good builder that does mates rates. But please, can I be there when you tell your insurance bloke that zombies destroyed your house?” And then he was diving out after Buffy, happily anticipating the show.

Spike shouted his approval as Buffy backed away and held her hand over her eyes, protecting herself from the obviously mesmerizing thrall of the flashy red orbs.

“Not looking,” she muttered while looking around for a weapon.

“Buffy!”

The entrance of the short wolf boy was only mildly amusing, but it picked up as he stood rooted to the spot in the glare of the head zombie’s power, until his slayer distracted her and ended it once and for all.

“Hey, Pat?” Buffy readied herself for the renewed attack of pretty laser eyes, and stabbed the shovel she’d found in the garden, lodging it firmly in her protagonist’s head. “Made you look,” she declared in satisfaction, and Spike considered only briefly the impulse that had him across the yard and tossing her easily into the air.

“You’re bloody marvelous when you’re all violent.” And he kissed her hard on the mouth as he heard her watcher calling in the background to go for its eyes.

The older man stumbled out onto the porch beside Red’s boyfriend and Spike considered him before handing him a hefty dose of mocking. “You had to read a book to find that out, did you, Watcher? No wonder you needed the Slayer back in town.”

Shooting them all a defiant glare, Spike took hold of Buffy’s hand, squeezed it reassuringly before seeking approval in her eyes, and tugging her away.

The fight was over and now it was time for some distance. And Buffy followed gladly along without a backward glance.