Chapter 1

Why couldn’t she kill him?

Buffy glared at Spike and he glared back with equal animosity. Behind her in Giles’ kitchen, Willow was putting away the dishes that she and Buffy had washed after Buffy’s mostly successful Thanksgiving dinner. Giles had gone out to get Spike some blood from a butcher’s that was open late, and Xander and Anya had already gone home. That just left this unwanted guest.

She should have killed him the minute they opened the door and saw him standing there with his ragged blanket and his insane request for sanctuary. Wouldn’t even have had to stake him. One tug on that blanket. That was all it would have taken. Poof! Instant soup mix. Problem solved.

Why hadn’t she done it? Why had she let him in? He had come to them in seething hatred. He had said that himself. He was dangerous, treacherous, would kill them as soon as look at them, wanted to desperately. Just look at the way he was glowering at her right now, his eyes slitted with the same cold dislike with which she was regarding him.

Except he couldn’t kill anyone, could he? Still evil, but currently suffering from an inability to perform, as Willow could testify. Buffy snickered and Spike gave her a deadly look, knowing full well what she was thinking about.

How are the mighty fallen! Poor Spike, so pitiful now. Can’t feed, can’t protect himself, can’t even bond. Hadn’t even been able to snow Harmony, of all people. Buffy had been able to read between the lines of the little—the very little—that he had told them about why Harmony had refused to take him in. Yeah, poor, poor Spike. How he deserved it!

Except...somehow he had gotten the better of her.

Spike’s going down. So not.

A breathtaking gamble on his part, if one thought about it. Would any other demon be so demented as to throw himself on the mercy of the Slayer—his mortal enemy, someone whose duty it was to kill him? Cast aside his arrogance and his pride, humble himself so completely that she could not refuse to let him in.

How often had they set out to kill each other? And somehow never did. He was evil, but she knew him. Was...comfortable with him. Made pacts with him. Invited him into the house and even left him alone with her mother while she went off to make telephone calls. Had trusted him even at his worst.

And he had proven he could be trusted.

So she could do nothing but invite him in. Over the threshold. Inside. And now, the laws of hospitality applied. Tied up in his chair, he was a guest. She could not harm him.

A survivor, that was Spike. Angel—of his own volition—standing outside in the cold, alone in the bushes by choice. Spike—of his own volition—coming in from the cold and, despite being tied up, still ending up sitting at the table for Thanksgiving dinner, amidst all her friends, somehow included in the extended family that she had created. How had that happened?

She studied him thoughtfully. He was pale, paler than she had ever seen him, his eyes sunken and red-rimmed, lips chapped, veins showing blue where the skin over the strong, prominent bones had gone thin and fragile from dehydration. She felt a moment’s compunction. It had been cruel to make him wait to be fed. If he had been human, would she have reacted that way? No. She would have found something for him right away. But, caught up in her preoccupation with getting everything perfect for Thanksgiving, she had discounted his requests for blood, thinking it was only his usual insistence on causing as much trouble as he could. But now she saw that he really needed it. She hoped that Giles would hurry, so that she could stop feeling guilty.

What was it in Spike that made him choose to come to the door of his worst enemy and make himself so completely vulnerable to her, whatever it cost him?

“Warrior,” she said aloud suddenly.

“What?” said Spike, bewildered by this apparent non sequitur.

“Willow was saying something like that about that Red Indian vengeance spirit,” Buffy muttered, caught up in her own thoughts and not paying attention.

“Native American,” corrected Spike and smirked at her.

“Whatever.” Buffy waved a hand in exasperation. “Haven’t we been round and round that all night? Enough already.”

“Hey, you and Willow were the ones who...”

“‘To a warrior, the leader means the strongest fighter.’”

“Well, yeah...”

Buffy wasn’t listening. That was why he had done it, why he had chosen to cross that invisible, uncrossable line. Still a demon, still evil. But the warrior in him, who would fight if he could, had recognized and chosen to submit to the strongest fighter, to the leader he could respect and trust to use him properly.

At the end of that fight with the Chumash, what had he said? ‘What happened? Did we win?’

‘We.’ Right there. Right there was when things had changed. He had switched loyalties.

Trust him? Not really. Yes and no. The way all her dealings with Spike had been. Always ambiguous, always a puzzle.

But she thought she could see where he was coming from. He could be useful. If she were wise enough to use him properly.

And he didn’t trust her either, not really, not completely. He had done it all instinctively, without thinking, just as she had taken him in instinctively, without thinking. Even surrendering himself to her use, he would still fight her every step of the way. Both of them had reason for distrust, she saw now. She, because of what he was—vampire, killer, soulless. He, because she was the Slayer and had so far seen everything in terms of black and white. And neither of them was very good at trusting. Both of them had been betrayed by those they trusted.

Time to grow up, Buffy. A knife could cut, was dangerous; but was useful in both offence and defence. One just had to know how to use it.

“You know who are the real indigenous people?” he was saying. “Demons.”

She blinked at him in surprise. “What?”

“Demons were here first. Even your Watchers agree to that. Then you humans came. Took it away.”

Now there was a weird perspective.

“Don’t get to call it yours unless you’re winning,” he said sadly. “Demons lost. Didn’t get any grants, golden handshakes or politically correct phrases to be called. Just get exterminated. And we’re the original Native Americans.”

She stared at him, her mouth open.

He grinned at her suddenly. “Got you.”

He was so damned exasperating! “You are such a...!”

“And proud of it.”

Giles came in with a bag from the butcher’s, presumably full of blood packages, and a sack that clanked.

“Oh, thank God! I’m bloody starving here!” Spike exclaimed. “There you were, stuffing your gobs, and me without a drop of anything, not even brandy! Heat it up quick, Watcher. Ninety-eight point...”

“You’ve got a nerve,” groaned Buffy. He did, making himself at home like that, just taking over everything, ordering Giles about in his own house, damn near terminally annoying. “What’s in the sack, Giles?”

“Chains. He can’t sleep in that chair and I’m not going to bloody well sleep if he’s loose. We can chain him up in the bathtub and he can sleep there.”

“Sounds like a plan. But where did you get the chains?”

“Angel’s old mansion.”

“Oh.” She didn’t want to think about Angel tonight. She was still too angry at him.

He had come to watch over her, but hadn’t told her directly about his friend Doyle’s vision that she was in danger, hadn’t let either Giles or Willow tell her about his presence, all for fear that she wouldn’t be able to handle it, that the distraction would put her in greater danger. Which might all sound good and caring. But, essentially, he was treating her like a child again, not trusting her to react with maturity and competence. Once again, he had made a unilateral decision about what was best for her. By withholding information from her like that, he had been—again!—dominating and controlling the situation.

She saw Spike grinning at her, his scarred eyebrow raised provokingly. He knew how furious she was. Of course, he would. Damn him!

Giles had poured some blood into a mug and was heating it in the microwave. Buffy went behind Spike and cut his hands free so that he would be able to hold the mug, but left the ropes around his chest and arms that tied him to the chair just as they were. The microwave dinged and Giles retrieved the mug, then brought it over.

Spike took it in one hand at first, then quickly caught it with both hands. Buffy noticed the way the mug shook when he held it with just one hand; he was that weak. He glanced sideways at her in embarrassment, then drank with his eyelids dropped to hide his eyes. It wasn’t the fact that they were watching him drink blood that bothered him, as it bothered Angel. Spike had no qualms about that. What bothered him was his weakness and that they might have seen it.

He drank it quickly in shuddering gulps, then sat for a moment with his eyes closed and his lips parted, just breathing. She hadn’t realized how vibratingly tense he had been until now, when the tension ran out of his body and he relaxed. All that cocky, defiant attitude had only been a cover-up. He hadn’t really believed that they would let him live, provide him with the sustenance that he needed.

She felt an unwilling compassion for him, bit it back.

“Want some more?” Giles asked and she saw that he was feeling the same way.

“Yeah, mate, thanks. But give it another thirty seconds,” he called as Giles took the mug and went back to the kitchen. “Disgusting stuff! Might at least get it to the right temperature.”

“Nothing like gratitude, is there?” she said pointedly and he smirked at her.

“Make it human blood, instead of pig, and then you’ll have gratitude.”

“Human? As if.”

He raised his eyebrows at her derisively. “How about Slayer blood then?”

“Dream on.”

They watched him sip slowly at the second mug Giles brought him, taking his time now that the first desperate need had been assuaged.

“Don’t you know it’s rude to stare?” he mocked.

Giles flushed and collected the chains, then went into the bathroom. Clanking noises began. Buffy just leaned back against the doorjamb and continued to watch Spike.

“As long as your hands are free, I’m going to keep an eye on you,” she said and he laughed.

“You still think this is some kind of a con. You can be blindingly stupid, Slayer.”

“But I’m not the one who’s tied up,” she retorted meanly with satisfaction.

The next ten minutes passed in unfriendly silence.

How he would like to break her neck! Spike thought. Drink her blood, drain her dry. Stuck up, arrogant, self-righteous prig that she was! Get this chip out of his head, he’d tear the lot of them into shreds, scatter the pieces from here to L.A.

His gaze slid wistfully to her neck. Nice neck. Smooth and supple. A real turn-on to a vamp. His glance slipped down to the off-the-shoulder neckline of her blouse. He didn’t know what they were calling that look these days, but it was enticing on her. Made his fangs itch. You wouldn’t know how strong she really was when you looked at those delicate bones. His gaze moved over the curve of her slender shoulders, the fine lines of her collarbones, lingered on the shadowed indent where his vampire senses could pick up her pulse beating so alluringly in the hollow of her throat.

Skin as silky as the material of her blouse. Angel was a bigger wanker than he had ever thought. Lose his soul if he had a moment of perfect happiness? Yeah, yeah. Just had to keep from being perfectly happy. Could still have fun. Could still get a happy, if not that happy. Spike could walk that line, do that balancing act with ease. He wasn’t clumsy like Angel; he hadn’t wasted a hundred years chasing rats. He was a bloody good lover, knew exactly how to play it so that both she and he would be satisfied without the soul doing a bunk.

Thank God he didn’t have to worry about that. No soul, no curse. His gaze slipped lower. Nice swell in the blouse there. Oh, yeah. Nice breasts. Wonder what they would feel like in his hands.

“What the hell are you looking at?” Buffy demanded.

His gaze jolted up in shock to her annoyed face. Sweet Jesus, what was he thinking about? She was the Slayer! You didn’t think that way about the Slayer. The Slayer was the enemy, to be fought, to be killed. Not....

It was sick.

Buffy couldn’t understand what had brought that horrified look to Spike’s face, certainly not just being caught staring.

“Your neck,” he said violently and jerked his head away.

“Turns you on, does it?” she mocked and wondered at the appalled look he gave her. “Well, you’re never going to get a chance at it.”

“Right,” said Giles, coming back into the room. “Everything’s ready. Let me just get my crossbow before you untie him.”

Spike sighed ostentatiously. “Watcher, if I could, don’t you think I’d have killed the lot of you already?”

“I would rather be safe than sorry,” said Giles inexorably and held the crossbow trained on him as Buffy unwound the ropes.

“Wait,” he said and took his red shirt off and went to hang it beside his duster. “Might as well be as comfortable as I can.”

They shepherded him into the bathroom and waited while he settled into the tub, then slid down until his neck was on the rim and he was lying as comfortably as he could before holding his hands resignedly out to be shackled.

Buffy snapped the shackles on his wrists and ankles, then stepped back to check the fastenings. They looked like they would hold, despite all his vampire strength.

She looked down at him as he lay amusedly testing the strength of the shackles. Angel lying down had just been Angel, no different than usual. Spike lying down looked oddly vulnerable. He shouldn’t have. The black of his T-shirt and jeans that contrasted so sharply against the white of the tub only emphasized the supple, powerful musculature of that lean body. Something in the angle perhaps—the bent knee, the long legs, the lithe hips and flat stomach all relaxed like that, the curve of his throat flung back against the rim of the tub. The man was just very tactile, lying there surrendered like that.

He looked up at her, giving her that sideways, sloe-eyed look. “And this turns you on, doesn’t it, Slayer? Always knew you were the dominatrix type. Bondage do it for you?”

She spun and stamped out of the bathroom. It was either that or kill him right where he lay. She could hear him laughing behind her as she stalked towards the front door.

The worst thing was that, just for a moment there, she had been turned on.

By Spike, of all people.

It was sick.

***

“Wondered where you’d got to,” Spike said when Buffy walked into the bathroom. He was lying in the tub, still shackled, watching the TV that Giles had set up for him. “Then Watcher said that you’d gone down to L.A. to tear a strip off Angel.” He grinned at her. “How’d that go?”

“Weird,” she muttered.

“Oh, yeah?” He thumbed the button on the remote that would turn the TV off. “How?”

“I’m not sure.” She paced about the bathroom restlessly. “I got there, told Angel to back off. Some Samurai-type demon leaped out at us. Angel killed it. I came home.”

“What’s weird about that? Just sounds par for the course.”

“Mm. Nothing unusual happened. But something happened. Don’t know what.”

She also didn’t know why she was telling Spike about it. It was just that her Slayer sense kept picking up vibes that something was off-kilter. Giles would think she was crazy, because it was nothing that she could put her finger on. It was the kind of thing she’d normally talk to Willow about, but Willow was in the kind of zone right now with Oz taking off on her like that, where even the slightest bit of additional stress might send her right over the edge. Spike, as a demon, seemed the closest thing to an expert on weird occurrences that she had right now.

“Feel like there’s a spell running. Wish I could talk to Willow about it, but...”

“Yeah, she’s hanging on by a thread.” Spike was watching her with interest. “What kind of a spell?”

“That’s just it. I don’t even know if there really is one. I just feel...” She shook her head. “It’s like a door opened and then closed.”

Spike frowned. “A portal? And you think something came through?”

“No, no. A door opened and then closed for me.”

“Um.” Spike considered that somewhat dramatic statement, then reduced it to practicalities. “You think there’s a spell on you.”

“I suppose. Oh, I don’t know!” She thumped the heel of her hand on the wall in frustration. “It’s just a feeling! It’s all so vague!”

“That nebulous, is it?” said Spike thoughtfully. “Wouldn’t discount that Slayer sense. Could be a spell. Tell you what. You wanna make sure, you go see this demongirl on Market Street, couple of blocks past Willie’s. Name’s Shaina. A Lister. Not a witch like Red, but psychic for all that. She can do a reading for you, tell you if there is or isn’t, maybe tell you what it is. ”

“I might do that,” she muttered. She sat down on the edge of the bathtub and sighed. “Okay. Leaving that aside. You said you had information to give us about the commandos. Right. Spill.”

She saw his eyes flicker and knew right away that he was going to be obstructive. It didn’t surprise her. She had known from the beginning that he would cross them if he could. That was not why she had taken him in. They did the obligatory dance anyway, she pressing the issue and he sliding away as adroitly as possible, giving her no answers at all.

Giles came in with a mug of blood for Spike and he grabbed at that distraction immediately.

“About time! I hope you got it warm enough.”

Pain in the ass. Abusing the laws of hospitality. Completely helpless, but still owning the room.

She held the mug of blood for him distastefully and he made a production out of drinking it through his straw, amused by her queasiness.

“I don’t know why you’re so dainty all of a sudden,” he mocked. “You’ve done this for Angel. You must have.”

That was below the belt. She pulled the mug away angrily.

“Okay, that’s it. The invalid amnesiac routine is over. The kitchen is closed until you can tell me something useful about the commandos.”

“I’m trying to remember.” All innocence. Then picking up right away on the word ‘amnesiac’ and clearly intending to use it to his advantage from now on: “It was very traumatic.”

She looked at him, exasperated. “How long are you going to pull this crap?”

He looked back, his face cold and hard. “How long am I going to live once I tell you?”

There it was. He had only that one card to play and he dared not give it up. They all understood that. He didn’t trust them. Knew only that if he gave up what he knew, he would be giving up his hope of shelter. And he had risked everything for that.

“Look. Look, Spike,” said Giles, trying to get through that distrust and reassure him that they were not the zealots he thought they were. “We have no intention of killing a harmless, uh, creature, but we have to know what was done to you. We can’t let you go until we’re sure that you’re...” he searched for a word, “impotent...”

“Hey!” exclaimed Spike, stung.

Giles was trying to backtrack. “ Until we’re sure you’re, you’re...”

It was too delicious. Buffy couldn’t resist.

“Flaccid?” she suggested wickedly and enjoyed the outraged reaction. Payback time for the Angel mention, for the dominatrix remark.

Secure in the knowledge that he was inescapably chained up, she could play, tease him with her neck, with double entendres, “Just look at my poor neck, all bare and tender and exposed. All that blood just...pumping away...” Watch his eyes darken and his lips part and his gaze grow intense, fixed on her neck. Watched him lean towards her, unbearably tempted. For the first time, she could really play with her sexuality, use it on him, turn up the heat, safe in the knowledge that they were obdurate enemies and that he hated her.

“Oh, please,” groaned Giles, leaving the room in exasperation.

“Giles, make her stop!” Spike called after him. Buffy laughed and he glared at her. “I violently dislike you.”

Her own words to him a year ago. She couldn’t help grinning, saw the corner of his mouth twitch involuntarily. The one thing that made Spike bearable to her was his ability to laugh in the worst of situations, even at himself.

Curiously, the teasing had eased the tension and something in them both had relaxed. He seemed a little more reassured that they weren’t going to stake him out of hand. She realized that, for both of them, it was because of her, because she was seeing him as a person, not just as a thing.

She retrieved the mug and sat on the side of the tub, holding it for him as he drank. It was oddly companionable.

She found herself remembering how she had felt when she had lost her own powers that time when the Council of Watchers put her through that Cruciamentum test. How helpless and angry and despairing she had felt. But, leaving the test aside, all it would have meant to her really was that she could have become a normal girl again. She saw suddenly how for Spike, this was a devastating blow. Unable to fight, unable to feed, everything that he loved taken away from him. She found herself unwillingly empathizing with him.

And yet he was coping, finding ways around it, ways to deal. It took courage. She had to give him that.

She found herself thinking about that the next day, as she listened to Willow, drunk and hitting out at her friends because of her pain at Oz’s departure, listened to Willow saying, “Well, isn’t there some way I can just make it go away? Just ‘cause I say so? Can’t I just make it go ‘poof’?”

There wasn’t any way to make things like that go ‘poof’. No easy solutions. You had to work through them. She’d been where Willow was, when Angel had left. All those things—Angel’s abandonment of her, Spike’s ‘trip to the vet’, Willow’s pain—sure, you wished they would all just go away. But all you could do was deal.

She found herself thinking again of Spike’s stoicism the next night, with Willow doing another meltdown and not wanting to understand that Buffy couldn’t stay with her when Giles had just called and said that Spike had broken loose and was out there in Sunnydale somewhere doing God knows what.

When she found him, she was not at all surprised that he was looking for the commando lab. Spike always looked for solutions. But, unlike Willow, not easy solutions. The tough ones. Gamble on the mercy of someone dutybound to kill you. Somehow force the people who had damaged you to fix you again.

He didn’t make any attempt to get away from her.

“The door was right here where I escaped,” he said to her, giving away free the information that he had saved to keep himself alive in the enemy camp, trusting her.

She looked at the untouched grass all around. “I don’t think so.”

He fell to his knees, tearing at the grass. “Open up! I’m gonna kill you!”

“Spike, there’s nothing there.”

“Let me in!” Anger turned to dejection. “Fix me.”

She could hear his grief. She had to tie him up to get him back to Giles’ place, struggling all the way.

By the time they got through the front door, they were snarling at each other

Then the world turned upside down.

***

Willow with her easy solutions. Which backfired not on her, but on everybody else.

‘My will be done.’ Which turned Xander into a demon magnet and almost got him and Anya killed. Which made Giles blind and that, with his whole life bound up in books and reading as it was, would have destroyed him. Buffy honestly thought that Giles wouldn’t have wanted to live if he couldn’t read. And Buffy and Spike...

Getting married.

In love.

God! She didn’t even want to think about that! She glared at Spike. Who glared back. Then they both looked away.

They were both horrified, embarrassed right down to the core. Willow’s spell had broken when they were down on the floor, in really, really hot liplock. Buffy had jerked away, scrubbing at her mouth and gasping, “Spike lips! Lips of Spike!” Spike had rolled over and leaped to his feet, gagging and making spitting noises, trying to get ‘Buffy taste’ out of his mouth.

It was as bad for him as it was for her, if she thought about it. She was the Slayer. No vampire in his right mind would make out with the Slayer. A world of no. It was just not done. Okay, it was worse than that. It was a major transgression of the rules. Every self-respecting demon in the universe would be appalled at the thought.

She and Angel had broken the rules. But Angel had a soul and that officially made him not a demon anymore. So Angel didn’t count. But Spike...!

And they had been really sappy about the whole thing. With the wedding plans and the cooing and the cuddling—which had totally embarrassed Giles and Xander and even Anya, for God’s sake, who usually never got embarrassed about anything to do with sex or romance. And the first dance thing? ‘Wind Beneath My Wings’! Eeegh!

She had to get out of there. She couldn’t stand being with the Scoobies right now, with all of them knowing how she had behaved. Yeah, it was because of Willow’s spell. But still...!

She straightened things out with Riley somehow, telling him that it was all a joke. Regular kind of guy that he was, he bought it. Thought she was nuts of course, but that was just part of her charm. Uh huh. She watched him go and thought how nice he was. Sweet and solid and dependable and reliable and...

Kissing him would be sweet and solid and...all those other words. No fire. No passion. Just...

So dull after kissing Spike...And she so did not just think that!

Because that had been all fire and passion and tenderness. Even Angel hadn’t kissed like Spike. It was that total focus of Spike’s, as if nothing existed in the world but her, nothing but this moment of absolute delight. It was so erotic, melted her bones. She couldn’t help thinking: what would it be like to have sex with him and that intense focus? She had only had sex twice. Once with Angel and then she had been virgin and naive and unsure. And once with that jerk Parker and that had been disappointing, only mildly pleasant and nothing like what she had hoped for. If Spike could send her into meltdown with just a kiss, what would...?

Oh, God, she didn’t just think that!

What was it with her and bad boys? She had to get away from that! Normal. That was what she needed. Just like Angel said. Nice and normal and reliable and...whatever.

And speaking of nice and normal, Mom was back from Aunt Darlene’s. All of a sudden, she wanted very much to be with her Mom.

Joyce was delighted to see her, but it didn’t take her long to see that something was bothering her little girl. She watched Buffy fold up on the couch, her feet tucked under her.

“Oh, it’s good to be home!” Buffy said, spreading her arms wide on the back of the couch. “It’s nice to be in the dorm and out on my own, but every now and then I just want to be where there’s no pressure, no trauma, and I can just relax and be myself.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be here for Thanksgiving, but Darlene needed me,” Joyce said. “Did you mind very much being alone on Thanksgiving?”

“Giles and the Scoobies and me, we all had Thanksgiving dinner together. I made it,” Buffy said proudly. “With my very own hands. And, hey, everybody said it was good.”

Joyce laughed. “I’m glad. So everything went well.”

“Except for these Chumash vengeance spirits crashing the party with arrows and axes and bears. We had to circle the wagons and fight back. But we got them and they didn’t even ruin the place settings.”

Joyce was laughing helplessly. “Oh, dear. The drawbacks of being a Slayer.” She shook her head wryly. “I guess I’ve really come to terms now with you being a Slayer if I can laugh about it.”

Buffy smiled at her. “It went good. No one got hurt, except for Spike getting shot full of arrows. But they missed the heart, so he’s okay.”

“Spike? Do you mean that vampire from last year? That nice boy who was so sad that his girlfriend dumped him?”

“Nice boy?” Buffy sighed. “Mom, you really shouldn’t take people at face value like that. Spike’s evil.”

“Well, I liked him,” said Joyce stubbornly. “He was very sweet and he didn’t hurt me.”

“Sweet.” Buffy contemplated that word in relation to Spike and giggled involuntarily. “Well, he can’t hurt anyone else right now either. It seems there’s some kind of commando types running around Sunnydale these days and they grabbed him the minute he set foot in town. They did something to him that stops him from hurting anyone.”

Joyce frowned. “How?”

“Well, if he tries, he gets this blinding pain in his head. He can’t hurt people the least little bit. Which means he can’t bite, can’t feed. He was starving, so he came to me for help. And, well...”

“I’m glad you’re helping him, dear.” Joyce shook her head. “Poor boy.”

“Mo-om.”

“Well, it must be so traumatic for him.”

“It’s traumatic for us,” Buffy muttered. “I don’t know what to do with him. He’s over at Giles’ place and driving Giles crazy.”

“But that’s not what’s bothering you, is it?” said Joyce. “I can see that something is.”

Buffy sighed. “Yeah. Willow did this spell. You know that Oz broke up with her?”

Joyce nodded.

“Well, she was feeling so bad about it that she did this spell to have her will done. I think she was meaning to make the pain disappear. It didn’t. But she said stuff like Xander was a demon magnet and Giles was blind, and that did happen.”

Joyce was horrified. “Giles is blind?”

“Not any more. The spell’s been undone.”

“Oh, good,” said Joyce with relief , then looked at Buffy shrewdly. “She did something to you.”

“Yeah. She made me want to marry Spike. She said something like ‘Why doesn’t Buffy just go marry Spike?’ And there we were, all cuddled up together, making wedding plans.” Buffy shuddered. “It was horrible!”

Joyce’s eyes widened. “Cuddled up? Did you...?”

“No! It was just kissing and stuff. But that was bad enough.”

“You’re angry at Willow.”

Buffy sighed. “Yes, I am. I know it’s not her fault. She only did it because she wanted to stop feeling so bad about Oz. I can understand that. I’ve been there. I know how it feels when someone you love leaves you. But...”

“But you can’t help being angry that she made you do things you didn’t want to do. That’s only natural, honey.”

“I suppose.” Buffy drew her knees up in front of her and hugged them. “Willow’s starting to worry me. She keeps looking for the easy way out of things. And being a witch allows her to make it happen. The last time Spike was here, she was trying to do a spell to make her stop having the hots for Xander.”

“The easy way again,” Joyce nodded.

“Yeah. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately, unusual though that is...” She glanced ruefully at her mother.

Joyce smiled. “All those psychology studies seem to be paying off.”

“Mm.” Buffy grinned. “And it seems to me that easy solutions like that only backfire. You can’t just do a spell. You won’t grow as a person if it’s that easy. You have to go through whatever it is and then, when you come out the other side, you’re stronger.”

“Yes,” said Joyce quietly.

“Willow wants shortcuts. ‘My will be done.’ Sure, everyone wants that. It’s a natural desire, even if it is childish, like wanting Aladdin’s lamp or something. But it’s not real and it’s not healthy. The thing is, Willow can really make it happen.” Buffy frowned worriedly. “Power and control. That’s what she wants and that’s dangerous when there are no checks on it. At her...her emotional center, Willow always seems to go for those easy solutions.”

They were both silent for a while, thinking that over.

“She must be in a lot of pain,” said Joyce. “Maybe I should have a talk with her. Perhaps I can help. Her own family doesn’t seem to be very supportive.”

“Would you, Mom? That would be great. I’m a bad friend,” Buffy sighed. “I know I should be there for her, but there’s always so much going on and I’m so busy. I just don’t seem to have the time and I can’t figure out how to make time. And when I do, I seem to say all the wrong things.”

“I like Willow.” She looked at Buffy thoughtfully. “This thing about being a witch. You say that she’s teaching herself. Maybe that’s the problem. Why don’t you ask Giles if he can find a teacher for her? It sounds like she needs supervision. And maybe she won’t feel quite so alone if she has a counselor.”

Buffy thumped her forehead with the heel of her hand. “Now why didn’t I think of that? He’s a Watcher. He must have contacts.”

“You’re too close to the problem. And about Spike. If he’s giving Giles a hard time, why don’t you bring him here?”

“What?”

“He won’t give me a hard time and I’d like the company.”

“But, Mom! He’s a vampire! He’s dangerous!”

“Not any more. Isn’t that the problem?”

“But...but...I was thinking more of Xander...”

“Oh, that would work out well,” Joyce said dryly and Buffy couldn’t help laughing. “We’ve got plenty of space here. There’s the guest room upstairs...”

“Chained up in the basement is what I’m thinking,” Buffy muttered.

“I will not have a guest chained up in the basement,” said Joyce sternly. “He’ll have the guest room.”

“Sunlight...”

“Well, come and help me put stuff over the windows.”

“Mom!”

“It really is the best solution, Buffy.” Joyce was determined. “I like that boy and I want to help. He can stay with me until he finds a way to take care of himself.”

Spike in her own home! What could be worse? Talk about getting all cuddly and cozy! Buffy buried her head in the cushions of the couch while Joyce hummed her way upstairs happily.

TBC

Chapter 2



“You’re not serious!” Giles exclaimed.

“Mom’s made up her mind,” sighed Buffy. “And she’s not going to change it. You have no idea how stubborn she can be.”

“Must run in the family,” muttered Giles. “But have you explained how dangerous Spike is?”

“Well, he’s not anymore, is he? That’s what she says.” Buffy grinned at him. “I thought you wanted him out of here, Giles. Or do you like having him as a permanent house guest?”

Giles winced at the thought. “I do want him out of here. And I have company coming shortly. But...”

“Let’s try it for a while. And I’ll keep an eye on him.”

Spike was staring at her incredulously when she came into the bathroom.

“You heard,” she said. Of course he had, with that acute vampire hearing. “If you hurt my Mom in any way, Spike, you won’t just get dusted. I’ll lock you in a metal coffin where you’ll starve for eternity.”

“Wouldn’t,” he said gruffly. “She’s a lady, your Mum. I like her.”

“Reminds you of your Mom, I suppose,” she said sarcastically, unlocking his shackles.

“Yeah, she does. Caring,” he muttered, not looking at her.

She glanced at him in surprise. Somehow she had never thought of him as having a mother. But of course he had and he had loved her too, from the sound of it.

Giles was back with his crossbow. “Ropes,” he said curtly.

Spike rolled his eyes and Buffy sighed. But she went and got the ropes, and he submitted patiently to being tied up again.

They walked, no hardship for a Slayer and a vampire, taking the back streets to Revello Drive. They couldn’t take a cab, not with Spike tied up like that, and Giles’ Peugeot was a two-seater. Buffy was bad enough driving an automatic; there was no way she was going to deal with all that business of gears and clutches in a standard.

They got to the house and he hesitated at the front door. She shoved him through it impatiently. He stumbled in, then twisted to stare at the doorway. When he turned to look at her in amazement, she realized what it was that had stunned him. She had never revoked his invitation to the house. She had revoked Angel’s, but hadn’t even thought of Spike. Under his astonished stare now, she flushed.

“Oh, no, Buffy, really!” exclaimed Joyce.

“What?” asked Buffy in surprise.

“Did you have to tie the poor boy up like that? Take those ropes off at once! I won’t have anyone treated like that in my house!”

Spike grinned at Buffy, scarred eyebrow flying tauntingly. Buffy shrugged and started unwinding the ropes. She had thought them unnecessary all along, once they had established that he really couldn’t harm anyone.

“Let me show you your room,” said Joyce and Spike went with her agreeably, glancing mockingly at Buffy over his shoulder as he did so.

Joyce had made the guest room as cozy as she could, the windows carefully covered and every possible luxury that she could think of brought in. Spike’s eyes widened a little and he looked at Buffy in surprise where she was leaning sulkily on the doorjamb. She hunched a shoulder to indicate that she had absolutely no part in it.

“Can I get you anything?” Joyce was saying. “Hot chocolate perhaps? I’ve got those little marshmallows that you like.”

“Um, yeah, I’d like that very much. Thank you.”

They went back down to the kitchen. Buffy watched Joyce fussing happily over Spike and realized that she must have been lonely all alone here with Buffy too busy to visit often. She was enjoying having a house guest. Spike looked somewhere between shock and amusement, and was regarding Joyce with what Buffy realized was real affection.

It looked like it was safe to leave him alone with Joyce. Even last year, when he had been perfectly capable of harming humans, he hadn’t hurt Joyce. He had clowned around, pulling Angel’s chain by pretending to bite her, but he had never actually laid a finger on her.

They all had dinner together, Spike politely asking questions about Joyce’s work at her gallery and Joyce interestedly finding out his preferences in foods. Buffy was silent, thoughtfully listening to the two of them.

“Ninety-eight point six,” said Joyce triumphantly, setting his mug of blood beside his plate. “I’ve stocked up on blood, but you don’t seem to mind other food.”

“Doesn’t nourish me, so I can’t live on it,” Spike explained. “Have to have the blood. But I like the taste of other foods. Anything spicy with a strong taste. Back in the day, Victorian England was a desert when it came to things like that. Everything was bland. Didn’t have the take-out curry places that you’ve got these days. Had to be invited to dinner by some nabob who’d been to ‘Indja, don’t y’know?’ and brought back his own cook.”

“Angel never seemed to like anything but blood,” Buffy remarked.

“Oh, well, that wanker,” said Spike scornfully. “Unadventurous. Me, I like to experiment. Strong tastes work.”

“Victorian England,” said Joyce, fascinated. “Tell me about that.”

The conversation swung in that direction and then to the art of the period, their two specialties merging.

“Burne-Jones, yeah, he became famous three years before I was turned. Remember going to the Grosvenor Gallery in 1877 to see his work.”

Buffy listened, bemused, as names like Burne-Jones, Morris, Rossetti, flew past her dazed head. Spike seemed surprisingly knowledgeable about a lot of esoteric subjects. Insatiably curious, she realized. And Joyce was having a wonderful time.

She slept at home in her own bed that night, instead of at the dorm, still reluctant to leave Joyce alone with Spike. Nothing happened. She woke up around three to hear a whisper of sound coming from the television downstairs. He was watching TV, the sound turned down to almost nothing, only her Slayer and his vampire hearing capable of picking it up. Joyce would not be disturbed by it at all.

Daytime was no problem. Spike went up to sleep, Joyce to the gallery and Buffy to her classes. Buffy made sure she got home to Revello Drive before Joyce was due back. Something hard rock from the late seventies was blaring from some weird oldies station on the stereo, but no one was in the livingroom. Buffy winced and turned down the volume, then went looking for Spike. She found him in the kitchen.

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like? Making dinner, of course. Your Mum will be tired when she gets home.”

Buffy stared. “Why would a vampire learn how to cook?”

“‘S not rocket science, Slayer. I’ve watched people and your Mum’s got some good recipe books. Throw something into a pan, add a few spices, fry it up.”

“Um,” said Buffy. Guess vamps never had to worry about things like cholesterol. Well, it was only for the once.

“Just common sense. ‘S not like I’m doing anything fancy. Set the table, would you?”

She did so, then realized that the place had been neatened up.

“You cleaned up.”

“Straightened a few things. Was bored.”

“What would you normally be doing?”

“Raising hell.” He sighed. “Can’t now. Can’t even go to Willie’s ‘cause any sodding twirp, human or demon, can bust my chops. Gonna be a dull life. No booze. No poker. No fun. Least I can get some decent conversation when your Mum’s home and in the meantime she’s got some very good books.”

“You read.”

He slanted a scornful glance at her. “Been known to do that.”

Joyce was delighted that dinner was ready when she got home and the food turned out to be not so bad at all. After dinner, Joyce and Spike sat down to watch TV and talk. Spike had taped some sort of weird daytime soap opera called ‘Passions’ that he and Joyce both seemed to be crazy over. After that, they got into a conversation that went all over the map and even succeeded in pulling Buffy in; and Joyce loaned him her library card so that he could get more books if he wanted.

Buffy watched him in amazement as he talked animatedly to Joyce, wondering whether somehow, without knowing it, she had fallen down a rabbit hole into Wonderland. The Big Bad persona was gone, and the prickly, abrasive, in-your-face attitude that set everyone’s teeth on edge when he said even a word to her or Giles or the Scoobies was nowhere in evidence when he talked to Joyce. She saw now that it had been a defence. He didn’t need defences with Joyce and the guard came down. He was relaxed, laughing, downright charming, teasing Joyce, almost flirting with her. He was...likeable. The way he had been likeable when they were under that spell of Willow’s.

Buffy winced, thinking of that spell. But what had that spell really been about? ‘Why doesn’t she just go marry him?’ That’s what Willow had said. But marriage didn’t necessarily mean love, so why had they both fallen so hopelessly, ridiculously, in love? Okay, she had always connected marriage with love somewhere back in her head. But then that implied that Spike...No.

Except...

The moment the spell went into effect, there he was down on his knees, not the slightest hint of hesitation, offering her everything—his heart, his love, his life, himself. Predators, warriors, enemies, lovers, that posture always meant the same thing: surrender. ‘I’m yours.’

Giving himself away. That’s what he had done with Dru, she thought suddenly. Gave himself completely into her service, until she had rejected him. He always threw himself headlong into everything, never stopping to count the cost, holding nothing back.

Angel held back, always counted the cost, kept himself in check, kept his emotions in a cage. She had offered him everything—herself, belonging, family. And he had turned away from that, because he defined himself as a vampire, because he was not human. She had never cared about his not being human.

Neither Spike nor she had cared that he was not human when they were under that spell. Spike didn’t define himself as being a vampire. All those impenetrable barriers were only minor irritations for Spike, who didn’t believe in rules and chafed at regulations. Spike never saw limitations: sunlight was only an inconvenience; grab a blanket, find a way around it. So he was a vampire, so she was human; it was simply something they had both been willing to work around.

And family? She watched Spike with Joyce. He valued it. It meant something to him. Under the spell, without a thought, he had accepted Giles as his father-in-law, accepted the Scoobies, her extended family, as his. No longer under a spell, here with Joyce, he was still doing the same. Angel had rejected family, choosing to stand in the bushes, outside, isolate. Spike embraced it, cherished it, rejected isolation and came inside.

Home. He recognized it when he saw it, reached for it, even in freefall grabbed at connection.

“What?” demanded Spike, becoming aware of how she was staring at him.

She shook her head. “I was wondering whether a bit of Willow’s spell was still hanging in there. You’re not so bad when you’re not trying to rip my throat out.”

The scarred eyebrow shot up. “And you’re not so bad when you don’t have that stick up your ass, Slayer.”

“Children,” scolded Joyce and they both laughed.

That evening set the pattern for the next several days. They would go about their various affairs during the day and then regroup in the evenings. Buffy realized she was starting to look forward to the dinners and the talk and his company. How weird was that?

“Keeping an eye on Spike,” she explained when Willow asked where she had been that evening. Buffy was back to sleeping in the dorm again, now that she was sure that Spike was no threat to Joyce.

Willow accepted that without question. Buffy was relieved. She didn’t want to think about this strange détente that existed between Spike and herself, and she certainly didn’t want to discuss it. Putting anything about it into words would be way too stressful.

“I’ll be late tomorrow,” Joyce said the next night. “I’ve got a new consignment coming in. A couple of heavy crates that I’ve got to find someone to help me unpack.”

“Could do that for you if you like,” Spike offered. He slanted a mocking glance at Buffy. “That is, if the Slayer will let me out of the cage. Going stir crazy here. Be good to get out of the house for a while.”

“You’re not a prisoner,” Buffy muttered. “You can leave whenever you like.”

It was pretty well established by now that he was not a threat. Even Giles had finally agreed to that. So no one had any objections to his leaving. But he had nowhere to go and they both knew it.

“I could come help too,” she suggested to Joyce when he said nothing, just glowered at the floor.

Joyce smiled at both of them. “That would be nice.”

The crates were filled with heavy metal sculptures that Joyce would never have been able to move. Buffy and Spike though, with their extra strength, had no trouble unpacking them and getting them set up where Joyce wanted.

The phone rang just as Spike was setting the last one up on its display stand.

“Buffy, it’s for you,” Joyce called.

Buffy took the phone. “Oh, hi, Giles! What’s up?” Her eyes widened as she listened. “Biker demons? You’ve got to be kidding!...Yeah, yeah. All right.”

“What’s wrong, dear?” Joyce asked worriedly as Buffy put the phone down.

“Giles says there’s a gang of, get this, biker demons rampaging through Main Street.”

“Hellions,” Spike nodded. “That’s what they call themselves. Go from town to town, tearing up the place. Probably don’t know that Sunnydale has a Slayer in residence.”

“Not very bright of them.”

“Aren’t,” said Spike simply.

“Giles and Xander are meeting us at Revello Drive. C’mon, Mom. Let’s get you and Spike back home where the two of you will be safe and then the bunch of us can go after these morons.”

Spike winced at the thought of having to be kept safe while Giles and Xander could go out to fight and was completely silent as Joyce turned off the lights and keyed in the security system. They headed down the street to where Joyce had parked her car.

Wheels screeched a little ways up Main Street and headlights wove and twisted. They could hear yells of laughter and shouts of malice resounding against the walls of the buildings, clear in the silence of the night. Spike looked that way wistfully.

“Sounds like fun,” he muttered and Buffy swatted the back of his head. “Hey! Just saying!”

“They’re coming this way,” Joyce said worriedly.

The bikes were racing down the street towards them. Buffy glanced towards the car and knew that, one, they would never make it and, two, even if they did, they would be blocked in and hassled.

The phone company’s office was right beside them.

“Spike!” she said sharply. “In the alley behind. They always have reels of cable back there. I want several yards of it.”

“Right,” said Spike without question and went.

He was back in a second with his vampire speed, cable looped in his hand.

“Hold one end,” she said. “If you just hold it, this shouldn’t hurt you.”

She grabbed the other end and ran across the street, feeding the cable out behind her so that it lay loosely on the ground. Spike grinned, seeing what she was about.

“Buffy, they’re coming!” Joyce gasped.

The bikers had seen them, were racing towards them, yelling with satisfaction at having found prey that they could harass.

“Get behind a car,” Spike said quickly to Joyce.

Joyce did and he hoped that would give her enough protection.

“Now!” Buffy yelled and they both pulled the cable taut.

Held at waist-level, the cable was completely effective. Either bikes or riders slammed into it full tilt. Bikes went skidding, sparks flying up as metal screeched on the asphalt; riders hit the ground, squalling with fury and dismay. The force of the fall broke one biker’s neck outright; the rest came staggering to their feet in disarray.

Buffy flung herself at them.

“Dammit, dammit, dammit,” muttered Spike, bouncing on his toes in frustration at not being able to join in.

Joyce screamed as one of the demons ran at her. Buffy, fully occupied with the others, couldn’t help.

“No!” Spike threw himself in between and swung at the demon with all his might, determined to make the blow count if he was going to have to pay for it, his face already wincing in anticipation of the pain.

His fist connected solidly. The demon staggered back. Spike’s hand went automatically to his head, then stopped.

“No pain!” he exclaimed, shocked. Then realization dawned. He hit the demon again, testing and confirming his discovery. “I can hurt a demon!”

He vamped out and tore the demon’s head right off its shoulders, yelling with glee.

“That’s right! I’m back! And I’m a bloody animal!”

He flung himself joyously into the fight, making up for all the violence he had missed out on and having a wonderful time.

Giles’ Peugeot skidded to a stop beside them, and Giles and Xander tumbled out. But there was no need. The only surviving demon, their leader, Razor, grabbed at his bike and hightailed it out of there.

“Coward!” Spike yelled after him, laughing maniacally.

“He can hurt people again!” Xander gasped. Both he and Giles aimed their crossbows at Spike.

Spike flicked the back of his hand lightly at Buffy. His fingernails snapped her shoulder and he gasped in pain, catching at his head.

“Nah, just demons. Good enough!” He raised his head and howled at the moon. “Willie’s, here I come!”

Before they could stop him he had grabbed one of the bikes and was off at high speed, weaving back and forth in elation across the street.

“Let him go,” said Buffy, pushing up the crossbows. “He can’t hurt humans and we don’t care if he hurts demons, do we?”

She was grinning. Spike’s high spirits were contagious.

“Well, I guess not,” muttered Giles. Xander sighed regretfully; he would have loved to have been rid of Spike permanently.

Joyce was smiling too. “I’m so glad,” she murmured quietly to Buffy. “The poor boy was so unhappy. Should you go after him? Make sure that he’s all right?”

“Oh, he’ll be fine. He’ll just get stone drunk in celebration and be back when he’s done.”

Four hours later, he was still not back. Buffy, having decided to sleep at home that night in case Razor came back and tried to retaliate against Joyce, heard movement in the livingroom and went down to see what it was. It was Joyce, pacing worriedly about in her dressing gown.

“It’s past midnight,” she said to Buffy. “Do you think something could have happened to him?”

“C’mon, Mom. Night’s the time for vamps to prowl. The worst that could be happening is that he’s probably just passed out somewhere.”

“Oh, dear. I don’t like the sound of that either, Buffy. It’s not safe. Would you...?”

Buffy sighed. It was clear that Joyce was not going to settle until she knew where Spike was.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll go find out what he’s doing.”

She went up and changed into tank top and jeans. Willie’s was the place to start. That’s where he had been going and, if he wasn’t still there, Willie would be able to tell her where he would have gone to next.

When she got to Willie’s, she could hear the sound of a loud brawl inside. Something came flying through the doors of the bar and crashed onto the ground in front of her. It was a very battered Riherejk demon. It rolled over onto its back and gazed dazedly at the bar.

“He’s a madman,” it said.

“Noticed that,” Buffy agreed and the Riherejk turned its head to stare blearily at her.

“Slayer!” it squeaked suddenly as its gaze finally focused on her face. It scrabbled backwards frantically, then found its feet and ran.

Grinning, she went into the bar. Several demon bodies littered the room, most of them extremely dead. Willie was cowering behind the counter. He saw Buffy and waved at her desperately.

“Slayer! Thank God! Am I glad to see you! Stake him!”

“Stake who?” She leaned comfortably back against the counter, elbows on the bartop, and surveyed the room thoughtfully. In the center of a mess of smashed tables and chairs, Spike was squaring off against a demon that stood three feet taller than he did and massed some three or four hundred pounds.

“Spike, of course!” Willie gasped.

“Why? He seems to be doing my job for me.”

“You’re the Slayer! You’re supposed to kill vamps!”

“What kind of demon is that, did you say? Doesn’t look the peaceable type.”

“Well...”

“Mmhm. I wonder if I should help Spike out.”

“He’s killing all my customers!”


“Hazards of running a demon bar.”

“Look, Slayer, look,” Willie said despairingly. “He comes in here, starts tearing the place apart. Says he’s taking on all comers. So of course they came. Now the place is all smashed up, I don’t have any clientele left and he didn’t even give me time to get any bets going. It’s just not fair!”

“My heart bleeds.”

“The S’vek will take him,” Willie muttered. “Half-pissed and outmatched. Yeah, yeah. The S’vek will take him.”

Spike slid back to the furtherest distance he could get from the S’vek without running into the wall or the remaining tables and chairs, some twenty feet. Buffy watched the easy confidence with which he was moving.

“I wouldn’t count on that,” she said.

“Then you take him when he’s done.”

The S’vek was lumbering towards Spike. But he was running at it now, going very fast. He jumped, his legs coming up so that he hurtled at it feet-first, body parallel to the ground. His crossed feet locked around its neck in the instant it started to duck, then his extended body twisted fiercely in the air, arms spread to give added torque to his legs.

The S’vek was spun over in a cartwheel, its neck the hub of the spin. Spike dropped face-down towards the floor, forearms spread flat to break the fall, pulling the S’vek with him. The top of the S’vek’s head smashed on the floor. There was a crack as its neck broke, then the body thudded to the ground.

Spike came smoothly to his feet and swiped an unbroken bottle off a table, upended it happily as he dropped into an undamaged chair.

Buffy clapped her hands and he grinned at her.

“Some move!” she said, impressed. “Where’d that come from?”

“Thai-style. Learned it back in the sixties. They teach you to fight with everything—fists, knees, elbows, feet. Could show you some time if you like.”

“Yeah, I’d like. And you half-drunk and all.”

“Oh, I’m way more than half-drunk, pet.” He held the bottle out towards her, brows lifting enquiringly.

She shook her head. “A world of no. Booze and Buffy don’t mix.”

“Gotta drink with me, Slayer. ‘M celebrating. Got any wine coolers?” he called to Willie.

“Yeah,” sighed Willie in resignation. Every other entity remaining in the bar now was either out cold or dead. These two being his only customers left standing, he might as well make the best of it. “Peach or lemon?”

“Peach.” Buffy dropped into the chair next to Spike. “Got it all out of your system now?”

“Great day.” He tipped his head back and smiled at the ceiling. “What are you doing here, Slayer?”

“Mom was worried about you.”

“Your Mum’s a luv, Slayer. Pity you don’t take after her.”

“Hey!” She hit his shoulder and he laughed. Willie set the peach cooler on the table beside them. She took a sip. “Not bad.”

Willie was looking at the shambles of his bar. “Who’s going to pay for all this?”

“Ever heard of insurance?” mumbled Spike.

“Who’s going to give insurance on a demon bar?”

“Don’t want fights, get a bouncer.”

“Might invest in that,” Willie muttered, heading towards the back room.

“No bouncer I couldn’t take,” Spike said under his breath, watching him go. He turned his head to grin woozily at Buffy. She saw that he had been telling the truth. He was way more than seven seas under.

“Hey,” she said and he lifted an eyebrow questioningly at her. “Thank you for taking care of my Mom. When you slugged that biker who was coming at her, you didn’t know you could hurt demons.”

“Owed her,” he said gruffly.

“Still. Thanks.”

“Was nothing.” He took another pull at the bottle, looking thoroughly embarrassed.

“Ready to go home?”

“Yeah, I guess. Looks like things are going to be dead around here.” He grinned.

But he didn’t move to get up, stayed sprawled in his chair, his eyes half-closed in lazy satisfaction, like a big cat replete after a good meal. He was even purring; she could hear it; a low vibration halfway between a growl and a purr.

“Fresh air might clear your head a little,” she coaxed, amused.

“Finish our drinks first.” He looked her over. “Good thing you’re wearing jeans. Can ride the bike easier.”

“No way in hell! You’re not driving! And I don’t know how to drive a motorcycle.”

“‘S my bike,” he said stubbornly. “I’m keeping it.”

“Not arguing. But we’re not riding it tonight. And I’m not pushing it home. Not when I’m probably going to have to hold you up too.”

He turned his head to look at Willie who was glumly sweeping up broken glass. “You keep that bike for me and I’ll come pick it up tomorrow.”

“What do you think this is? A p...”

“You keep it safe or else.”

“Or else what?” said Willie snidely. “You can’t hurt me. I’m human.”

“Mistake to tell him,” said Spike to Buffy. He smiled sweetly at Willie. “Can bust up your place though. Tomorrow night and the next night and the next n...”

“But of course I’ll take care of your bike!” blurted Willie. “Did I say I wouldn’t? I’ll just go put it somewhere safe right now!”

They both grinned as he hurried out of the bar.

“He’d probably prefer you bust him up every night instead,” murmured Buffy.

“Hates losing money, Willie does.” Spike held up his bottle and squinted at it. “Just a mouthful left.”

He reached out and caught her arm, held it horizontally in front of him with her forearm bent upwards.

“What...? Hey!”

He had tipped the bottle against her wrist and let the last little bit of whiskey run down her arm to puddle in the bend of her elbow. She tried to pull her arm away, but he had it fast.

“Never understood why they use shoes,” he remarked. “Skin is so much better.”

He pulled her arm to his mouth and sucked at the pool of whiskey in the hollow of her elbow. She felt his cool lips move against her skin and gasped.

“See?” He gave her an upward-slanting, sloe-eyed look, all heat and drowsy amusement.

“Spike...”

His tongue ran the bend of her elbow and she shivered. It was raspier than usual, more like a cat’s tongue than a human’s. She realized that there were golden sparkles going off in the blue of his eyes. His pupils had dilated and the irises were flickering back and forth from blue to yellow.

“You taste good, Slayer.”

His tongue rasped up the wet track that the trickle of whiskey had left down the inside of her forearm. She didn’t know why she didn’t pull her arm away. Except that it felt good. Really, really good. A ball of heat was growing in the pit of her stomach.

“You’re drunk,” she muttered.

“I am very drunk. And I feel great.” He licked the pulse point at her wrist. “Slayer blood. Right under the skin here, yeah. I can feel it. I can smell it.”

“And you’re not getting any of it.” She tried to pull her arm away, but he just kissed her wrist. “Spike...”

“It’s an aphrodisiac, y’know.”

“You don’t need an aphrodisiac,” she muttered and he laughed.

“That’s true. Got loads of staying power, pet, even without. I could make you feel so good.”

She knew he could. That spell of Willow’s had made that evident.

“Spike, stop it.”

“Could make you feel so much better than those other two wankers. That Parker git? Human. No human could ever do it for you, pet. Don’t have the power. And Angel? No imagination.”

She jerked at her arm angrily. His tongue rasped her wrist once more before she succeeded in pulling it away.

“Feel that, pet? Think of that all over.”

Oh, God.

She jerked to her feet, backing away. Her skin felt hot everywhere. How the hell was he doing this to her?

But he wasn’t, was he? She was doing it to herself.

“‘What did it take to pry apart the Slayer’s dimpled knees?’” she flung at him. Those words that he had taunted her with after the Parker episode had always rankled.

He looked up at her, surprised, then frowned, considering that.

“I think I was...jealous,” he said with wonder.

They stared at each other.

She was the Slayer and he was a vampire; this was just not done. But he had never had any respect for rules and regulations, and he was severely drunk, the booze removing every inhibition.

But she was not. She didn’t have that excuse.

“Come on, damn it,” she growled, grabbing the lapels of his duster and yanking him to his feet. “Let’s get you home.”

Big mistake. His arms came around her, pulling her to him.

“Wanted to do this ever since that spell,” he muttered and kissed her.

No spell this time. But, God, the man could kiss! Her knees turned to water, her arms clenched across his back, her mouth opened to his without a thought. Passion flared, insistent, imperative, demanding. Their mouths twisted together. Their bodies fused. They just about ate each other alive.

A latch clicked. Buffy tore herself away, leaned against a table, gasping. He was breathing hard too, and he was a vampire, he didn’t need to breathe.

Willie came in and stared at them, puzzled by the tension between them.

“All right. This stops here,” Buffy said forcefully. “Willie! You have a car.”

“Yeah...”

“Drive us home.”

Willie’s mouth opened to protest, then he thought better of it. Anything to get rid of them, he thought, and waved a hand towards the door.

TBC

Chapter 3


“You’re leaving?” Joyce looked regretful.

“Yeah,” Spike muttered. “Found a way to support myself. Found a place to stay. Just a crypt. But I’ve got it shaping up nicely.”

Buffy wasn’t looking at him. They had been carefully avoiding each other’s eyes since that night at Willie’s and Buffy hadn’t been to Revello Drive for several days. The only reason she was here today was because Joyce had found a really good new artist for the gallery and wanted to celebrate. This was the first indication that the flowers and the chocolates that Spike had brought her were not just because of that.

“And is it legitimate, the way you’re supporting yourself?” Buffy asked the air.

“Got a job,” he shrugged. “Bouncing demons.”

That made her turn to stare at him. “A bouncer? At Willie’s?”

“Nah. Wouldn’t work for that git. Smack him upside the head before half an hour had gone by. Wouldn’t care about the pain. There’s other demon bars, y’know. Ones where they won’t let humans in. Private. And, no, I’m not telling you where they are, Slayer.”

“Wasn’t asking.”

“Not exactly an official bouncer.”

Buffy frowned. “What does that mean?”

He grinned mockingly. “More...enforcement.”

“Ah!”

His brow tilted. “Gun for hire. Don’t worry, Slayer. No humans involved. Just demons.”

“Um.”

“Not your business, Slayer. Humans are your bailiwick, aren’t they? Demon affairs? Stay out of them.”

“So not wanting to take on any more duties.”

“Will that pay enough to support you?” Joyce asked worriedly.

“Keep me in blood and booze,” he shrugged, but from the amused, slanting glance he gave her, Buffy thought it would pay considerably more than that. Beating up on demons. Well, she couldn’t call him on that, could she?

“I’m going to miss you,” said Joyce sadly and he smiled—that vivid, genuine smile that always took Buffy’s breath away, long creases slashing down his cheeks.

“Could drop by every now and then.”

“I’d like that,” said Joyce and they smiled at each other. Buffy felt oddly left out.

Okay, it had to be a spell. This whole damn thing with Spike. It had to be the remnants of Willow’s ‘will be done’ spell. Even though Willow swore up and down that there shouldn’t be any aftereffects. There just had to be. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be feeling this way. Wouldn’t be ... tempted like this. Thinking of his mouth and the way he kissed and the way he might be in bed. Constantly thinking how hot he was.

What was the name of that psychic demongirl Spike had told her about? The one on Market Street. Shaina, that was it. A Lister. It was weird going to a demon for help, but there was no one else to ask and she had to find out. If there was a spell, maybe Shaina could tell her who could take it off.

There was a spell. But it wasn’t the one Buffy was expecting.

Angel had become human and they had been able to be together. And he had taken it back. The reason that he had given for leaving her and going to L.A. was that he wanted her to have someone normal. And there he had been—normal. But he had taken it back!

For her own good. Again, for her own good. But those words were starting to lose their meaning to her.

“But he always said...” she whispered and Shaina, looking down at her hands, murmured very quietly:

“It’s not really what the man says that’s important in a romantic relationship. It’s what he does.”

And what did Angel do? Press reset, escape, delete, break. Angel with his unilateral decisions. Angel, static and unchanging, bending the world and her and everything he cared about to that iron will of his because he was incapable of bending himself.

‘My will be done.’ Not that far apart in their way of thinking, Angel and Willow. Power and control. That was so important to them.

Clearly, for Angel, more important than she was. He hadn’t even made a real effort to adjust. Just taken it back in less than a day.

She wandered through the cemeteries in a daze. In Restfield cemetery, activity could be heard in one of the crypts. She paused, frowning.

The crypt door opened and Spike came out with a wheelbarrow full of rubble.

“Spike? What are you doing here?”

“Slayer. Just fixing up my crypt the way I like. Be right back.”

He trundled the cart down the graveyard, then tipped its contents carelessly into an open grave and pushed the barrow back.

“Wanna see?’

“I guess,” she said vaguely and went into the crypt when he waved a hand at it.

When she looked around, she had no idea what he was working at. The interior looked untouched, still dusty and cobwebby, with the usual stone benches, urns, statues, couple of sarcophaguses (sarcophagi?)—all the things one would expect to see in a crypt. The only things he seemed to have added were a small fridge in one corner and several banks of candles, their flames lending a warm, golden glow to the place.

“Gonna do the upstairs last,” he explained, pushing the barrow along to park it beside a large hole at the back of the crypt. She realized that there was a ladder leading down to an area below and lamplight coming up from it. “Wanna take a look?”

She followed him down the ladder.

“Be right with you,” he said and went into an opening on the far side of the area. She heard water running and guessed he was cleaning up.

She stood looking around. The lower level was clearly what he was concentrating on. There was a big bed with lighted lamps on the night tables beside it. He had somehow managed a power hook-up to somewhere. There were rugs and tables and shelves of books. Even though there were roots twisting through the walls and the ceiling, everything was cosy and comfortable. Rubble lay scattered about the opening Spike had gone into and she realized that he had tapped into the mains there and was now taking the tunnel further, constructing an escape route to the sewers.

“Clever,” she muttered as he came out, pulling on a clean black silk shirt and tossing away the dusty tee that he had been wearing.

“Thanks.”

He waved a hand at the ladder and she went up again, stood leaning against a sarcophagus while he went to take a beer out of the fridge.

“Something wrong, Slayer?” There was a crease between his brows as he watched her.

“What could be wrong?”

“Don’ know. You look kinda shook.”

She looked down at her hands resting on the sarcophagus. The knuckles showed white, she was pressing her fingertips so hard against the stone.

“You know that Shaina lady you told me about?”

He nodded. “The psychic. What about her?”

“I went to her because I wanted to find out whether Willow’s spell was still doing something.”

He laughed, giving her that sideways, mocking glance, knowing exactly what she had been worried about. “And is it?”

“No. It’s gone. But there’s another one running.”

His brows rose. “There is?”

She told him what Shaina had seen, about the Mohra demon and how its blood had turned Angel human and how he had gone to the Oracles and had them turn back time so that he could be a vampire again.

“All for the best, you know,” she said. But her voice shook. “For my own good.”

“I see.” He was frowning. He came and took her by the elbows and pushed her gently down on one of the stone benches. “Stay there.”

He went and picked up a bottle from beside the fridge, tipped a little of its contents into a glass and brought it back to her. She shook her head.

“No...”

“It’s only brandy, Slayer. A little won’t hurt you and I think you need it.”

She sipped at the glass and gagged at the taste. But it sent a warmth through her shaking limbs. She hadn’t realized how cold she was until the warmth of the brandy began to ease the chill.

“Shock,” said Spike simply.

“Spike...why?”

He didn’t pretend not to know what she meant. He swung himself up lightly to sit on the sarcophagus and sighed.

“I’m not the one to ask, Slayer.”

“Because you’re his enemy. Because you hate him. But you know him, Spike. You’ve known him for a hundred and twenty years. If anyone can tell me why, it’s you.”

“For your own good, huh?” he mused. “Means he thought he’d be a liability to you in your fight. Your weak point. Give the devil his due. Noble really to reject that.”

“All his rejections are noble!” Buffy spat. “He left me because he wanted me to have a normal boyfriend. And I accepted it because I thought he was right. But any normal boyfriend would be a weak point. I can see that now.”

“Could be made a hostage against you,” Spike nodded. “Normal. What a crock. Always thought that was daft. You’re the Slayer. You’re special. You need someone as fast and as strong and as powerful as you are.”

“Kinda limits my choices,” she said bitterly. “The point is, after all that talk, he didn’t want to be that normal boyfriend. That’s what it comes down to.”

“He can’t stand being second banana on anything. Likes to be in control.”

Angel had always wanted her to submit to his judgment, do as he told her. Never liked it when she made the decisions, always tried to angle things so that they would go the way he wanted.

“Is it a vampire thing?” she asked, trying to understand.

Spike shook his head. “Gender is unimportant when establishing dominance among vampires. Vampire females are as strong and as fast as the males. Age and experience and cunning are what matter.”

“Then why didn’t Darla rule your pack? She sired Angel.”

“She didn’t want to. She was essentially a loner, wasn’t really interested in a pack. Also she was used to being ruled by the Master, a dominant male. When Angelus wanted to be boss, she let him. Angelus always wanted things his way. Angel does too. But for a different reason. He wants order. Needs to be in control to keep things in that order.”

“He doesn’t really change,” she said quietly.

“Not really.”

“You do.”

He was always changing; always Spike in his essence, but still always in flux. Constantly trying out new things, searching for and embracing whatever worked best.

“I adapt,” he said simply.

“These male dominance games,” she said scornfully, unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice. “Angel, Xander, Giles, they all try to tell me what to do. Only Giles has any excuse because he’s my Watcher. The truth is that Angel can’t accept any relationship in which I’m dominant.”

“He’s two hundred and forty years old, set in his ways, old-fashioned. Dominance? I’m a good fighter, Slayer. Better than Angel, though he doesn’t know that. Back in the day, I didn’t have a chance against him. He’d been around for a hundred and twenty years and that made him a Master, while I was just a raw fledgling. And when he turned into Angelus again a couple of years ago, I was in a wheelchair, with a busted back. But if we got it on right now, I’d take him. He wouldn’t rule the pack anymore.”

She suspected that he was right. And that would shatter Angel’s worldview, shake him right down deep, where he lived.

“But you can take me, Slayer. I’ve fought you and you’re better. Gender has nothing to do with it. Excellence is what counts.”

She studied him with interest. He never failed to surprise her. “If you can see that, why can’t he?”

“Doesn’t want to. We’re different people, Slayer. Almost polar opposites. I never wanted to be important. Just wanted to be me. Angel, he wants to make a difference, wants to redeem himself. Can’t if he’s human.”

And that mattered to Angel more than being with her.

Spike swung around to lie back on the sarcophagus, frowning thoughtfully at the ceiling. “He’s afraid of passion and he doesn’t trust himself. Passion is Angelus’ gambit. He uses it. Twists it. Manipulates you with your own emotions. So Angel distrusts it. Only problem is, passion and trust are what love is made of. Deny that and you throw love away.”

“You’d never do that.” The Council said that demons couldn’t love and yet here was Spike who had loved an insane Drusilla for a hundred and twenty years, never leaving her in sickness and in health until she had rejected him. Angel keeping himself to himself. Spike giving himself away with both hands.

He turned his head to smile at her. “I’m love’s bitch, Slayer. May not have a soul, but I have a self. Angel’s always fighting his demon, always split in half. Me, my self’s intact and love’s the only constant.”

It was. For him.

“Never thought I’d hear a demon say that.”

“There’s demons and demons, Slayer.”

“Getting that.”

She looked at him as he swung himself off the sarcophagus. The one button that had been holding his shirt together had come undone and the shirt hung open on either side of him. He was beautiful under it, totally ripped, alabaster satin skin, solid supple muscle, strong clean bone. The shifting candlelight washed gold down the planes of his body, threw those spectacular cheekbones into high relief, lit tiny flickering flames in the intense blue of those intent eyes watching her so narrowly.

God! Why couldn’t she have met him first instead of Angel? There wouldn’t have been all this pain and anger. This abandonment. He would never have left her. How strange was it that, even without a soul, Spike should be a truer lover than Angel was with one!

“Dru was a fool for dumping you,” she said. She hadn’t meant to say that. But it was true.

He tilted his head, with a little, sharp, indrawn catch of breath. There was an odd look on his face, as if he were nerving himself up to something.

“She said I was covered with you. That she could see you floating all around me. That when she looked at me, all she could see was the Slayer.”

Her head came up in shock. “What?”

“Thought she was crazy. But she was right. Always did see what nobody else could. She knew, even back then, when I didn’t.”

“Spike...” She was on her feet, staring at him, her eyes wide.

“Willow’s spell showed me what I really wanted.”

He moved towards her with that flash of vampire speed, was standing right in front of her, just inches away but not touching her in the slightest. She was intensely aware of his body vibrating so close to hers, so quick and fine, undead but so much more alive than any living being she had ever known. His pupils had dilated and his eyes were all black intensity with a thin rim of flame-blue. She found herself falling into them, drowning in them.

She could hear the shudder of his breath between his parted lips. Vampires didn’t need to breathe. But Spike did, as if it were hardwired into him, that need to breathe during passion, the depth of his feeling so profound that it needed some outlet and found this.

Her hands came up, hovering over his chest, caught between wanting to touch him and knowing that she should push him away.

“What do you want, Buffy?”

Her hands moved higher and dropped onto his shoulders, sliding under his shirt, over that cool, smooth skin, pulling him to her.

“I want you.”

And then they were kissing, mouths fused together, avidly devouring each other, passion flaring insistently, imperatively. She had never known kisses like this before, so intense, so raw. When they had kissed during Willow’s spell, it had been sweet and romantic, both of them sure of each other, willing to wait for the wedding, playing with each other, all easy and happy and unaware of repercussions.

Here they knew that what they were doing was forbidden, knew the rules that they were breaking, knew that they should be enemies—and didn’t care. They were both risking too much, risking everything; and the knowledge of that added an intensity, a raw hunger, to their encounter that turned every touch to fire, every sensation so acute that it was on the edge of pain.

She pushed his shirt off, her hands sliding and clenching over his body. He shoved her denim jacket away, pushed her head back for his mouth to rake down her throat. Her whole body shuddered and melted against him, her bones turning to water.

“Oh, God,” she muttered. “I never knew it could be like this...”

He gasped against the hollow of her throat, then caught her shoulders and held her away a little.

“Is that so?” His eyes were very dark, gold flickering within the blue. “Buffy, are you sure you want this?”

“Yes.” She was. She wanted it very much. Just once.

“And tomorrow?”

There was a long pause.

“I don’t know,” she said wretchedly at last.

“Yeah,” he said and stroked her face very gently. “All right. If we’re going have just one night of it, let’s do it right.” He turned her to lean against the sarcophagus. “Wait.”

She watched him, puzzled, as he went and barred the door of the crypt securely. Then he came back to her and scooped her up in his arms.

“I don’t understand,” she said.

There was an odd little smile in his eyes, a hidden edge of triumph. “You don’t know, do you? You don’t know what it can be like. Those other two wankers, they didn’t do right by you. Gonna show you.”

He carried her over to the entrance to the lower level and she expected him to put her down so that they could climb down the ladder. But he just stepped off the edge. She felt the rush of air as they dropped, then he landed with an easy flex of his knees and recovered himself smoothly. He took her over to the bed and laid her down carefully.

She started to sit up and reach for him, but he pushed her back gently.

“No. You just lie there.” He trod off his Docs, reached out to unzip her boots and pull them off. “Gonna take my time.”

“Spike...”

“If we’ve only got one night, gonna make it memorable, pet.” He put one knee on the bed and leaned over her on his straight arms, smiling. “Any objections?”

“N-no, but...”

He bent and kissed her deeply. “Good.”

He was pulling her top over her head. She raised her arms to help him, then purred as his lips ran the swell of her breasts above the cups of her bra. A moment later her bra was gone. He looked down at her, his eyes darkening.

“God, you’re beautiful, luv.”

His head dropped, then his lips were moving and suckling upon her breasts. Her hands clenched on his shoulders and her body arched involuntarily to his mouth.

“Oh, God...”

“Just getting started, luv. Gonna take your jeans off, yeah?”

“Mm.”

He drew both them and her thong off in one smooth movement, sliding down to the end of the bed, then stood up to remove his own jeans. Her eyes widened and he laughed.

“Like what you see?” He came back up the bed in a lazy, leopard prowl.

“Never really saw properly before,” she confessed. “It was always sort of dim.”

“Always in the dark? Those gits really blew their opportunities, didn’t they? I like to look.”

She put a hand down to explore, but he caught it and pulled it away.

“Do that later, pet. Gonna do you proper a couple of times and then you can play.”

She blinked. “You can do it more than once?”

He folded up in laughter. “Oh, pet! You’re serious, aren’t you?”

She blushed. “Uh...”

Spike couldn’t stop laughing. “I can understand Angel. He went all Angelus right off, didn’t he? But that Parker git? Even a human should be able to do it more than once. And you with that Slayer stamina. What a waste! Well, you’re gonna need that before we’re through tonight, pet.”

His mouth came down and his hands slid over her body, kneading and caressing, and she gasped and gasped again as he turned and twisted her to that wicked, knowledgeable tongue. She had never realized before that the whole body could become an erotic zone, that the back of a knee or a shoulderblade or the small of the back or even just a middle finger sucked into a knowing mouth could become an incredible turn on.

“Oh, God, Spike!”

“Gets better, luv.”

His eyes had gone gold and the tongue had turned raspy. ‘Think of that all over,’ he had said. Now he showed her, that tongue working her from brow to ankle, coming back again and again to scour and suckle on breasts and belly and pelvis.

“Oh, God!” Her hands clawed down his back.

He gasped, then caught her hands and pushed them above her head, closing them gently about two of the rails of the headboard.

“Hold onto that, luv. Not half through yet.”

“I am!” She was arching and writhing helplessly under him. “Oh, God, Spike, come on! This is torture!”

“But you like it.” He was smiling against her navel. “Still. Wouldn’t want to be cruel, I guess.”

He slid suddenly downwards. Then that raspy tongue was on her clit and two long fingers had slid into her, precisely locating her G-spot.

“OhmiGod!”

No one had ever done that to her, let alone a wickedly knowing vampire with an evil tongue and sinful expertise. She just about came apart, her brain shorting right out.

She came back to herself to find him leaning over her, laughing.

“Oh, God. Oh, God. I think I stopped breathing. Thought I’d died...”

“Not dead yet, Slayer. Maybe by the end of the night.”

“You’re evil.”

“I do love compliments. Let’s get back to where we were.”

“Oh, God, I don’t think I can.”

“Haven’t learned your own stamina yet, have you, Slayer?”

Fangs joined that cat tongue and those big, clever, sensitive hands. The light, sharp pinpricks of his fangs in her flesh was incredibly arousing. In only a few minutes she was twisting against him again, panting helplessly. How the hell could he do this to her so easily?

She must have said that aloud because he laughed against her breast where that raspy tongue was flickering once again over her nipple, hardening it almost to the point of pain.

“Hundred and twenty years of practice, pet.” He looked down at her, his eyes going from gold back to blue, a quiet still smile in them, a look she couldn’t understand. “All working up to this one night.”

She smiled. “With a Slayer.”

His lips opened as if to say something, then he bent and kissed her.

“Buffy. Let me in.”

“Oh, God, yes...”

His hands hit the bed on either side of her and he thrust into her in one smooth stroke. She gasped and arched to him. She hadn’t expected how big he would feel inside her; he filled her to the point where it was almost too much. But it wasn’t too much, it was just exactly right, perfection.

“Spike...”

For a moment, she saw him watching her with that strange, dark intensity. Then his eyelids shuddered shut, surrendering to her, and he gasped against her face. They strained against each other, driving each other higher and higher. Her hands clawed down his back as he pistoned into her and her sheath clenched involuntarily with Slayer strength upon him. He groaned in helpless rapture.

“God, those Slayer muscles...”

They both laughed breathlessly, then lost laughter in passion, lost thought in pure sensation, striving higher and higher up that hill to fly free an eon later into the golden air beyond. She felt him shudder violently against her as he came, flared over the edge herself, her brain blanking out in utter ecstasy.

“Again, Slayer.”

“You’re mad,” she groaned.

But he was still partially erect within her and rapidly hardening, starting to move again.

“Vamps recover fast. And so do Slayers.”

“I think I’m gonna die.”

But her body was already responding.

“One night? Gonna make the most of it,” he muttered.



TBC

Chapter 4


“Will I see you tomorrow?” he asked when she was leaving.

She put a hand on the wall because her knees were wobbly. He grinned at her and she blushed. But he was about as unsteady as she was. They had worn each other out.

“Just see you,” he murmured. “In the sense of running across each other in a cemetery. Not expecting more.”

She looked down, wishing she would stop blushing. “Willow wanted me to go to a frat party and I said yes. She needs to get out and have fun, stop thinking about Oz so much, and she wouldn’t go if I didn’t...”

He nodded. “Want me to do patrol for you?”

Her eyes widened. “You’d do that?”

“Kinda in that line of work now. Enforcement.” He was smiling. “I like fighting, Slayer. Demons give me a proper workout.”

“Uh, sure. If you want to. Thanks.”

She fled.

So here she was at the party, having a perfectly...dull and boring time. For the first time, she wanted to be out on patrol.

Because Spike would be there.

Damn it, damn it. If she could only stop thinking about him. This would be a great party if she only stopped thinking about Spike.

“Buffy?”

She found herself looking up at Riley. “Oh, hi, Riley. What are you doing here?”

“Willow said you’d be here, so I thought I’d come. Would you like to dance?”

“Um.” Normal didn’t cut it anymore. She’d finally recognized that. “Well, see. I met this guy and...”

She was sorry to see the hurt look on his face and was glad that it hadn’t even gotten to first base yet. They had barely stepped onto the field, hadn’t even shared a kiss yet, which made this easier. As gently as she could, she made it plain that things were definitely not going further and sent him off with a dejected look on his face.

She turned around to see Willow staring at her, mouth open.

“Buffy, did you just dump Riley?”

“Well, it hadn’t gone further than a picnic and a little casual conversation, so I don’t know if you’d call it dumping exactly. I just kinda explained that I wasn’t interested.”

“But you were all so freaked out when he thought you were marrying...”

“Yeah, well, I just had second thoughts. He’s just not my type. And, if you think about it, T.A. There’s something ethically squicky about a teacher’s assistant getting involved with one of his students.”

“You never thought about that before!”

“Well, y’know. All that psychology and ethics we’ve been taking. I started to think. Remember that article we had to read a couple of weeks ago about the problems with a general sleeping with a noncom in his or her army. Same diff.”

“Ethically wrong. I do see.” Willow looked around the room. “Well, there are a lot of cute guys here.”

“So not going there. A normal guy would be a hostage to fate. Angel just recently demonstrated the problems with that.”

“Angel? When did he..? Are you thinking of getting back together with Angel? But I thought you said seeing Angel meant hello to the pain.”

“No pain anymore. Too pissed off for that. A lot of anger, but no pain.” Buffy glanced at Willow and hurriedly changed the subject before she could start asking questions. “You’re not enjoying yourself tonight either, are you?”

“Not really,” Willow sighed. “I guess it’s still too soon. Your Mom said I shouldn’t rush into anything. She’s really great, you know that?”

Buffy smiled at her. “Yeah. How’s that counselor Giles found for you working out?”

“Awesome! I was really nervous about her, but she’s cool and she really knows her stuff and it’s great being able to talk about magic with someone who knows and can show me what I’m doing wrong.”

“No more ‘will be done’?”

Willow glanced at her worriedly, then relaxed when she saw that Buffy was smiling. “Swear. I’m glad you’re not mad about that anymore.”

“It kinda had a few not unpleasant results.” She looked with a distinct lack of interest at a couple of guys heading their way. “Wanna mix or call it a night?”

“Oh, let’s call it a night,” sighed Willow. “I’m really not in the mood.”

Once they were strolling towards their dorm, Buffy said suddenly, “I think I’ll do a quick patrol.”

“Really?” Willow glanced at the skirt and halter top that Buffy was wearing. “I don’t see any stakes on you.”

Buffy reached casually up to a tree branch and broke off a sharp stub that would do. “Stake. Just want to walk a bit. You know how it is. Feeling kinda antsy.”

“Oh. Okay. Don’t be too late coming home. You’ve got an early class tomorrow.”

“Right.”

She had walked right past the Shady Rest cemetery before she admitted to herself that the cemetery she was really heading for was Restfield.

“Slayer! Wait up!”

She spun and saw Spike coming quickly out of Shady Rest’s gates. The sight of him brought a sudden vivid flash of sensory memory—the feel of his mouth on hers and his naked skin against hers and his body on her, in her. She blushed.

“Thought you were off duty tonight,” he said, coming to a stop beside her.

“It was a dull party.”

“Dull night out here too. Nothing much happening. Took out a fledgling digging itself out of its grave a while back, but aside from that, zilch.” He looked her over with appreciation. “Like the outfit.”

“Uh, thanks.”

He walked around her. “No back. Nice. I do like your back when it’s naked, Slayer. Lovely line.”

“Spi-ike.”

He came around to the front again and she resisted the urge to cross her arms over her breasts when she saw where his gaze was lingering.

“No bra. Even better.”

“Spike! Behave.”

“Behave how? Way I’d like to behave with you dressed like that...?” His tongue curled behind his teeth. “Was that the idea? Freeze every vamp solid with lust till you can get close enough to dust them? Would work.”

She couldn’t help grinning. “Come on. It’s not that sexy an outfit.”

“I can see your nipples through that thin material, luv. They just went hard.”

She blushed vividly, then found herself laughing. “I wasn’t going patrolling.”

“Trying to change the subject? Okay. If you’re not patrolling, then why are you here? ‘S a long way from your dorm.”

She tilted her head sideways teasingly. “I was going to Restfield.”

His eyes flared. “Were you now?”

“Yeah.”

“C’mon then,” he said softly.

They fell into step beside each other. She could feel his intent gaze on her face, kept her lashes down because she knew she wouldn’t be able to keep from blushing if she met his eyes. His cool hand took hers and their fingers interlinked. Their shoulders brushed as they walked along.

“One more night, is it?”

“Maybe I just want some conversation,” she murmured.

“Wouldn’t mind that either, pet,” he said quietly.

She glanced at him. “Wouldn’t you?”

“Anything you want. Don’t you know that yet? You call the shots.”

She saw in him suddenly the patience and the gentleness he had given Drusilla for a hundred and twenty years.

“You’re a very strange vampire, Spike.”

He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Well, of course. ‘M unique.”

They both laughed. But there was truth in that. He was. Right from the beginning.

He opened the door of his crypt. It was pitch black inside.

“Wait. Let me light a few candles, so you can see.” He lit one bank, then went to the next, shrugging off his duster. He glanced back over his shoulder to where she stood beside the door. “Want something to drink? I got some soft drinks in and some...”

He stopped short abruptly when she closed the door and carefully barred it. She heard his breath catch. A second later he was in front of her in a burst of vampire speed, his hands braced against the door on either side of her, hemming her in.

“Not just talk then?”

She laughed and put her arms around him. His weight came on her, heavy and vibrant, pressing her back against the door.

“Not just talk,” she agreed.

They kissed deeply, tongues weaving.

“Never ever acted this way before,” she muttered. “Must be something about you. Addictive.”

“Something about us, Slayer. Don’t you feel it?”

Heat. Desire.

“All wrong,” she said, but couldn’t stop kissing him. “Forbidden.”

“Adds to the rush, yeah?”

It did. It was crazy and wrong, yet she wanted it, couldn’t stop.

Their mouths were twisting together; their bodies strained against each other demandingly. The world spun away; she lost all sense of time. There was nothing but his mouth on hers and his urgent weight and their bodies grinding together.

He bent and his mouth took her nipple through the thin, slick material of her top, suckling on it.

“Oh, God!”

She arched to him involuntarily, her hands clenching on him. His hands were sliding all over her now, kneading and caressing.

“A skirt. Should wear skirts more often,” he muttered and she laughed involuntarily. He was pulling it up.

“On patrol?”

“Convenient.”

“Nothing else convenient about all of this,” she growled, then gasped as he snapped the sides of her thong and pulled it away. “Ohh.”

He caught his breath as her hands raked down his stomach, yanked down his zipper.

“Oh, Christ,” he muttered as her hands closed on his length. “Buffy...”

“Yes...”

His hands slid under her, lifted her up. He came into her hard and they both groaned at the feel of it, so perfect, his thickness within her, her tightness around him.

“Oh, God, Spike!”

Then there was nothing but sensation, their bodies lost in the thrusting, pounding rhythm, driving each other relentlessly higher and higher, gasping against each other’s faces. She came hard, biting at the junction between his neck and shoulder. His whole body jolted violently against her; anywhere on the neck was an erogenous zone for a vampire. His eyes went golden and blind. She felt him shudder and pulse within her.

“Y...” Then he suddenly clenched his teeth together, cutting off whatever it was he had started to say.

“What were you going to say?” she asked an hour later, lying flat on her stomach in his bed and stretching luxuriously.

“When?” He was lying on his back, smiling vaguely at the ceiling.

“Before. When I bit you on the neck upstairs.”

“Oh!” He laughed wryly under his breath. “That bite. That was the start of the claiming ritual with vamps. Darn nearly got us permanently linked together, biting me like that.”

“What?” She had a feeling that was something she had better look up in Giles’ books.

“You wouldn’t want that.”

“Would you?”

He turned his head to smile at her for a moment. “Wouldn’t mind. Always wanted to claim and be claimed. Barely stopped myself in time. That would really have been wrong.”

“Why?”

“Think about it. Slayer linked permanently and irrevocably to a vampire.”

She thought about it and saw that he had managed to stop them from making a really big mistake.

“Thank you,” she said ruefully and he looked back up at the ceiling.

“Ever get claimed, I don’t want it to be an accident.”

It meant that much to him. She definitely had to do some research into it.

“Why didn’t you ever claim Dru?”

“She belonged to Angelus. I knew that. Never asked ‘cause I knew what the answer would be.”

“Did you want to?”

He said nothing for a moment. “Wanted to belong to someone.”

Belonging. That mattered to him. Angel rejected belonging. Spike yearned for it.

She rested her chin on her folded arms and stared into space for a while.

“I’m using you,” she said in a small voice at last.

He smiled faintly at the ceiling. “I know.”

She lost her breath. “How...?”

“You were angry at Angel and you wanted to get back at him. I was convenient and we turn each other on. Plus, you couldn’t have picked a better person to get his goat than me. If there’s one person in the universe Angel wouldn’t want you taking up with, it’s me.”

“Spike...”

“It’s all right, pet. That was yesterday. Tonight, it was just me.”

“Yes,” she breathed.

“Addictive, wasn’t that what you said?” He turned onto his side to face her, his eyes smiling, put out a hand to stroke her hair. “Gonna be as addictive as I can. Gonna make you crave me like I crave blood.”

“Ego much?” She turned to face him, running a hand lightly over his shoulder, then back and forth over his chest, enjoying the feel of him. “There’s no future to this. It’s all wrong.”

“Think I don’t know?”

She traced his cheekbone delicately and he pushed it against her fingers, smiling. “Don’t want to give it up. Not yet.”

They kissed slowly, lingeringly.

“Just go with the flow, pet. Enjoy it while it lasts. You’ll walk away in the end. I know that. Just gonna try to keep it from happening as long as I can.”

She frowned. “Maybe you’ll walk away.”

“No.”

“You say that, but...”

“Haven’t got the pressures on me that you have on you. Your calling, your Watcher, your friends. I can do what I like, live in a dream world forever if I want to. I’m a fool when it comes to love, pet. Stupid, sodding romantic. Nothing else matters. I fall fast and I fall hard. And when I’ve fallen, I stay.”

He had stayed a hundred and twenty years with Drusilla. For all his changes, his constant flux, the essence of Spike remained. His core values were steadfast, never changed. And love was a core value for him.

“But you?” he said. “Sooner or later, reality will rear its ugly head and you’ll walk.”

“If you think that, how can you...?”

“I’m used to losing things, pet. There’s a lot of ups and downs you go through if you live as long as I have. I’ve had some really bitter nights and some really sweet ones. The trick is not to let anything keep you from enjoying the sweet ones. Not to let worries or fears or even hopes get in the way of enjoying the moment. You’ve got to learn that, luv. To keep the moment unclouded. That way you’ll always have it shining like a gem whenever you look at it. You don’t feel for me what I feel for you. But you want me and I’ll always have that moment, shining bright.”

“What do you feel for me, Spike?” she whispered. But at the same time she was terrified of his answer.

He smiled at her and stroked her face with rueful delicacy. “You don’t really want to know.”

She didn’t. She caught his head and kissed him fiercely hard, wanting to drown out thought in sensation. He kissed her back as intensely, his eyes smiling but very dark when she looked at him.

‘My will be done.’ Angel and Willow’s mantra, their own needs and desires taking priority. With Spike, it was ‘Thy will be done’, his desires subjugated to her needs. She came first, even before himself. It was both humbling and terrifying.

“You scare me,” she muttered and he laughed.

“One human I can still scare. And it’s the Slayer. That’s something, innit?”

“How can you laugh?”

“Gotta learn to laugh at the pricks, Slayer. Nothing’s so bad if you can laugh at it. You’re always too serious.”

“Duties, responsibilities,” she muttered.

“Not so bad if you take ‘em with a grain of salt. They can be fun if you stop obsessing about them. That’s the trouble with your friends. Giles and Angel and your Scoobies. They all keep hammering away at how dire and dreadful and awful it all is. Another apocalypse. The end of the world as we know it.” He shuddered dramatically. “‘Course you end up feeling burdened, carrying that load.”

“But it is serious...”

“Hell, pet, it’s fun! Tell me kicking demon ass isn’t fun!”

Buffy grinned involuntarily. “Well, yeah, that is.”

“You’re faster, stronger, more powerful than anybody anywhere. ‘S gotta be a rush, Slayer. And you enjoy fighting just as much as I do. If you ever lost your powers and became ‘normal’, you’d hate it.”

Truth to tell, she would. She had, during that Cruciamentum test.

She looked at Spike thoughtfully. “You’d never want to go back to being human again, would you?”

He really did shudder this time, at the very thought. “Bloody hell, no! Give up all this power and strength? For what? To be a useless git again? Never!”

“Well, that’s honest,” she muttered.

“Advantages and disadvantages to everything, pet, no matter what. Might as well enjoy what’s good about the situation. Being a Slayer can be fun.” He cocked an eyebrow at her. “I’ll show you.”

He did over the next couple of weeks. Patrolling suddenly was fun with someone to share the job with her. Angel had always told her about problems in the Hellmouth, but he had never actually fought the fight with her. Sometimes the Scoobies would come out on patrol with her, but, being human, they were more a liability than an asset. Not only would she have to do the slaying, but she would have to look after them too, constantly keeping an eye out to make sure that they were safe.

She didn’t have to look after Spike. With his vampire strength and abilities, he was a ferocious fighter, more than a match for any demon that came along, and he adored fighting. Battles with vamps and demons turned into competitions—who would succeed in taking out a demon first, who would use the cleverest moves, or the dirtiest, or cheat the most outrageously. It was a real shame that he couldn’t fight her. She would have loved sparring with him, testing herself against him. That would have made things perfect. But the chip prevented him from making any move against her, even in play.

And all the time he would be talking, taunting, teasing her. She had never laughed so hard in her life. Having a partner, someone to share things with and who truly understood both the problems and the triumphs made such a difference.

“I’m getting too used to having you with me on patrol,” she said wryly. “Enjoying it too much. I’m going to hate it when you’re not there.”

“Always be here, pet. Don’t dust that easily.”

They were back in his crypt again after patrol. He never touched her while they were on patrol, not wanting to distract her even in the slightest. But after patrol was over, they always ended up in his crypt, making love. Fighting got them both horny.

“I didn’t mean that. I meant when you leave.”

“Not gonna leave. You’d have to dust me.”

“They always leave.”

“They?” He turned his head on the pillow to look at her. “Who they?”

“People I care about.”

“That’s why you don’t allow yourself to care anymore, innit? But Angel’s a one-off.”

“Angel’s not a one-off,” she muttered. “Guy I knew back in Hemery High did the same thing. Oliver Pike. Left me for my own good. My Dad. But that was for his own good. And even that jerk, Parker. But he was just an asshole.”

He frowned. “I’m not one of those wankers.”

“Didn’t mean that.”

“I don’t leave.”

“You will. Something will happen. Something always happens. Life, I guess.”

He ran a strand of her hair through his fingers, then laid it carefully over her collarbone, tilted his head to study the arrangement thoughtfully. When he looked up at her again, his eyes were vividly blue and penetrating.

“You’re liking this too much, aren’t you? What we have right now. It’s cutting too close to the bone. Makes you nervous.”

She bit her lip and looked down. “I...”

“Wanna be sure, don’t you? Won’t give in to it, won’t take the chance unless you’re sure.”

“Look...”

“‘Something will happen.’ Start thinking like that, next step you’re distancing yourself. Then you’re gonna talk yourself into walking, just so it won’t happen to you again.”

“Spike, stop it!”

“Running scared, Slayer.”

“Have reason,” she muttered rebelliously.

“There is a way of being sure.”

She pushed herself up on one elbow to look down at him, frowning. “How can there be?”

He was smiling faintly as he watched her, his eyes soft and his body relaxed as a cat’s.

“Simple.” He turned his head a little to expose his neck. “You could claim me, Slayer.”

Her brows shot up. She had looked into this claiming business in Giles’ books. A claim was permanent and irrevocable, a link between the two of them that was like but way more than a marriage.

“But didn’t you say that would be a mistake?”

“A double claim would be. That would bind you and you wouldn’t want to be bound. A single claim however...”

“Single claim?” She hadn’t read anything about that.

“One way. It’s like a minion link. The one making the claim has the power, You’d own me. I wouldn’t be able to leave unless you said I could go.”

“Good grief!”

His eyes were very blue and intense, amused. “Like a chain around my neck. You’d have all the power. Could tell me what to do. Tell me come or go.”

“I couldn’t do that to you, Spike!”

“You want to make sure. That would make sure. I literally and physically would not be able to leave.”

That struck her as wrong in the deepest and most fundamental way. For a Slayer to be bound to a vampire was definitely wrong. Giles would have a heart attack at the very thought. But for Spike to be bound like that, subject to her every whim, was even worse. A double claim, wrong as it was, at least kept the playing field level; they would meet on it as equals. A single claim was unjust, reprehensible.

“That’s not right!”

“I’d let you.”

“Spike, why?”

“Makes no difference to me. I don’t leave. But you don’t believe that, Slayer. Well, here’s your guarantee.”

She pushed him onto his back, her arms around his sides, cradling him against her. She pressed the side of her face against his, then slid her lips along his jaw to his neck just under his ear. His lashes brushed her skin as his eyes closed. He was surrendering himself to her. She slid her mouth down his neck, sucked lightly at the junction between his neck and his shoulder. He just turned his head a little to allow her access.

“There, yes?” she murmured against his skin.

“Yeah.”

“You really would let me.”

“Sure.”

She kissed his neck very gently.

“No,” she said. “No. I won’t use you like that.”

She felt him smile suddenly against her temple. His arms came around her.

“Growing up, are you?”

“A little late, but yeah.” She wanted to give him something in return for everything that he was giving her, wanted to find some way to demonstrate how much she trusted him now. “Bite me.”

His whole body jolted against hers in shock. “What?”

“Not a claim. Just...You said Slayer blood’s an aphrodisiac.”

He rolled her over and stared down at her. “You want me to drink from you.”

“Mm. Kinda curious. Heard about these vamp girls in bite-shops. Humans pay them to drink their blood. Can’t really understand that. Doesn’t it hurt?”

“No. It’s a rush for both. Real turn-on.”

She shook her head a little. “Hurt me both times I was bitten.”

He looked down at her, surprised. “You were bitten?”

“By the Master and then by Angel. Hurt each time.”

He was frowning. “The Master I can understand. He would have been trying to kill you. But Angel? Didn’t think the wanker would be that clumsy.”

“He was out of his head at the time. Poisoned and Slayer blood was the antidote. He took too much and I ended up in hospital.”

“Hamhanded sod.”

“Do you want it?”

His face softened and he bent and kissed her slowly, lingeringly. “You know I do. Of course I do. But...”

She ran her hands up and down his back, smiling. “Go ahead.”

“You sure?”

“Mm.”

He bent slowly to her neck, giving her every opportunity to change her mind. She flattened her hands on his shoulderblades, mutely urging him on. His lips brushed her skin over the vein and she heard the tiny, grating noise when he went into gameface. Then his fangs slid with exquisite delicacy into the vein and she felt the draw as he drank.

“OhmiGod!”

The sensation was incredible, a voluptuous sensuality, a breathtaking, languorous rapture singing through her veins, setting every nerve on fire. Her whole body arched to his.

He only took a couple of sips, then retracted his fangs and licked the wound to close it.

“God, Spike! I never knew!”

He raised his head and looked down at her, smiling, his eyelids sensuously half-closed over eyes dark with heat, their pupils dilated within a thin rim of blazing, intense blue.

“Something else, isn’t it?”

“No wonder they keep coming back for more,” she muttered.

“That’s the whole idea. Seduction.”

She could feel him vibrating with passion, heavy upon her, his breath shuddering in his open mouth.

“It affects you too.”

“That’s the Slayer blood. Aphrodisiac.” His mouth took hers, demanding, tongue sliding along hers sensually.

“Mmm...” She strained against him, arms clenching across his back. “Oh, yes. More.”

“Think this is a rush? Should bite you when you start to come, pet. Would blow both our minds.”

“Do it.”

He laughed against her mouth. “Don’t have to be told twice.”

They were both way past the point of foreplay, so aroused that it was painful, every nerve on fire and flaring with desire. He took her hard and they both gasped with satisfaction, straining against each other.

“Oh, yes...!”

He thrust into her hard, the deep drives of his cock rubbing every sweet spot in her body. She bit his shoulder helplessly, clenched on him hard, and he groaned against her face, his forehead falling against hers.

“Oh, Christ, pet. Don’t stop doing that. So tight...”

She was almost at the edge. She saw his eyes go suddenly golden and blind behind his shuddering eyelids, then his head came down and his fangs slid into her neck.

“Oh, God!”

It was like being hit by lightning. A blaze of white fire shot through her entire body. Pure rapture. She came and then came again helplessly as his fangs kept up that slow draw that turned the whole experience into delirious ecstasy. She felt him shudder and pulse within her and then her whole brain blanked right out, unable to support that intensity of pleasure a moment longer.

“Oh, my God, oh, my God,” she muttered, coming back to herself an eon later. “That was ... unbelievable. Oh, God, don’t move. I want your weight. I want all your weight.”

He was limp and heavy upon her and it felt wonderful.

“Don’t think I can,” he breathed. “Feel like every string in my body’s been cut.”

She laughed breathlessly, holding him tightly to her. His lips moved on the bitemark on her neck, dazedly sucking on it. They both shivered with pleasure.

“How much did you take?” she asked curiously and he smiled against her skin.

“Couple of sips.”

“That’s all? Oh, we’ve got to do that again,” she purred. “That was amazing.”

He grinned. “Anytime, Slayer. No objections here.”

She laughed. “Slayer blood. Guess you won’t mind that as an addition to the pig’s.”

He closed his blunt, human teeth on her shoulder lightly and teasingly. “Powerful stuff, Slayer blood. Won’t need to feed for two days.”

Her brows rose in amusement. “So we make love and you bite me and that’s all you need?”

“Well, if we keep on making love as often as we do...” He was laughing at her. “Sure won’t miss human blood if I’ve got Slayer on tap.”

“And it was my idea,” she muttered.

They were both laughing.

She kissed him suddenly, fiercely hard.

“What was that for?” he asked, amused.

“I’m happy,” she said with wonder. “You make me happy.”

She couldn’t remember a time with Angel when she had been really happy. Not once. It had all been angst and agony. Now here she was with Spike, laughing, talking, fighting, loving, and it was fun. All of it.

She was happy. Of course, it couldn’t last.

She remembered that thought two weeks later. They were in Shady Rest cemetery and it was raining and she had just taken out a fledgling vamp. It was a very clumsy vamp, tripping over its feet and falling face first into a mud puddle before it dusted. Unfortunately it managed to pull her down with it. She rose, dripping with mud and furious, to find Spike sagging across a tombstone, weak with laughter.

“It’s not funny!”

“Slayer, if you could see yourself...”

Buffy looked down at herself. The raincoat she was wearing had protected her from the light rain, but hadn’t been any good whatsoever in the mud puddle. It was covered in mud, and so were her jeans and thin top. There was even mud in her hair. She started to grin.

“Guess it is funny. Would be even funnier if...”

He backed away as she advanced on him. “Oh, no, you don’t, Slayer.”

“Would have thought you’d like mud wrestling.”

“Don’t like getting my duster messed up. Hey!” He jumped sideways as she swatted at him with one filthy hand. “Quit that!”

“You covered in mud. Now that really would be funny.”

He spun on his heel and raced away towards the street where there wouldn’t be any wet grass or muck that she could use against him. She chased after him. They were both laughing helplessly.

She closed on him just as he reached the gates. He was stripping out of his duster as he ran and that slowed him up just enough for her to get to him. He flung his duster on top of a gate just as she tackled him. They both hit the pavement and rolled, wrestling and laughing, ended up with her on top, rubbing herself all over him so that the mud on her clothes transferred itself to his jeans and T-shirt until he was as dirty as she was.

He caught her head and pulled her mouth down to his. They kissed fiercely, laughing and ardent.

A odd, choked sound made them look up. Then they both froze.

Xander and Anya were staring at them.


TBC

Chapter 5


“Spike! You’re kissing Spike!” Xander gasped.

Buffy leaped to her feet. Spike got up more slowly, glanced at her flustered face, then turned without speaking and went to recover his duster from the top of the gate. He was leaving it up to her how she wanted to play this.

“It’s that spell again!” Xander was exclaiming. “Willow’s spell! It didn’t come off!”

Buffy took a deep breath. “It’s not a spell, Xander. I wanted to kiss Spike.”

“Well, he is hot,” muttered Anya. “Wouldn’t mind kissing Spike myself.”

Spike grinned at her. “Thanks, luv.”

“And that vampire staying power,” she sighed regretfully. “So many orgasms...”

Both Buffy and Spike laughed.

“Buffy, are you out of your mind?” Xander yelled, not even hearing this byplay in his horror at Buffy’s behavior. “That’s Spike! Vampire! Evil! No soul! Killer!”

“Yeah, yeah. Heard all those words before. But he’s not killing anyone but demons now and he’s helping me. So back off.”

“Are you crazy? You can’t...!”

“I’m a grown woman. I can do what I like.”

“You can’t get involved with a vampire!”

“Have before and no one objected.”

“And look what happened! We had an apocalypse, Giles got tortured and Jenny Calendar died!”

“That was way below the belt,” Buffy growled. “No one could have predicted that. Spike doesn’t have a curse. I don’t have to worry about him going all evil on me.”

“Because he already is!”

“He’s reformed,” said Buffy dryly. Both she and Spike grinned.

“Reformed? Spike?” Xander stared at her. “It’s a thrall, isn’t it? He’s done something to you.”

“Don’t have a thrall,” said Spike scornfully. “Never had the touch. Dru was the one who did.”

“This has nothing to do with you, Xander,” Buffy said flatly. “It’s none of your business.”

“I’m your friend! You’re acting crazy! I can’t let that happen!” He glared at Spike. “You did something. I know you did. I’ll fix you!”

He jerked a stake from his coat pocket and leaped at Spike. Buffy knocked him away and struck the stake from his hand.

“You leave Spike alone! You hurt him, Xander, and I’ll hurt you! That’s not a threat. That’s a promise.”

“No,” said Xander, sagging against one of the concrete pillars of Shady Rest’s gate. “No. This can’t be happening. I won’t let...Gotta stop this.”

“What I choose to do with my life is my business, not yours, Xander.” She turned to Spike. “Let’s call it a night and go get cleaned up. I’m all over mud. We’re close to Revello Drive. Mom won’t mind us using her shower.”

“Yeah, okay.” He glanced at Xander still leaning against the pillar and muttering to himself. “He’s not going to leave it where it is, pet.”

“I know.”

As if in confirmation of that, Xander yelled, “This is not over, Spike!”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Spike dismissively over his shoulder as he and Buffy walked off. He was grinning a little. “Life should get interesting from now on. Gonna be a cat and mouse game, it looks like. Think I’d better change my crypt. Wanker knows where I live. Don’ wanna wake up and find a stake heading at my heart.”

“Um.”

Buffy was very silent the rest of the way to Revello Drive. Spike glanced at her and was quiet himself, because it was obvious that she was thinking hard.

“It’s no good,” she said abruptly as she opened the door of the house. “I can’t see any way around it. Changing your crypt won’t keep you safe, Spike. Xander, and probably Giles as well, won’t give up. They’ll just keep tracking you down and you have no way to defend yourself. You’ve got to leave Sunnydale.”

“No.”

“They’ll find you and they’ll stake you, Spike. You’ve got to leave.”

“I told you once, pet. I don’t leave.”

“You have to! It’s not safe for you here!”

“‘Something always happens.’ That’s what you said. Yeah, well, I don’t care. I’m not like those other wankers, pet. I don’t leave. You’d have to dust me.”

“They will dust you, Spike!”

“They can try. It won’t be easy. Haven’t lived this long without picking up a few tricks on the way. I’m not leaving.”

“Spike!”

“I love you, Buffy.” He put out a hand and cupped her cheek very delicately. “I know you don’t want to hear that, but it’s true. What am I going to do out there somewhere when my heart’s here in Sunnydale with you?”

“You can exist!” She grabbed his T-shirt and shook him hard. There were tears in her eyes. “I don’t want to see you dust!”

He stroked a thumb over her eye. “Tears. For me. Care just a little, don’t you?” He kissed her very gently. “You just made it worthwhile. Not going to leave, pet.”

“Spike...”

“What’s going on?” Joyce’s voice asked behind them.

They both jumped and turned. They had both been so absorbed in their argument that they hadn’t realized that she had been in the livingroom the whole time.

“Mom!”

“Is there something you haven’t been telling me, Buffy?”

Spike ducked his head and rubbed his forehead with his fingertips, giving Buffy a rueful, laughing, sideways look. “Guess the game’s up, luv.”

Buffy closed her eyes and groaned. “Oh, God, this is getting more complicated by the minute.”

“Am I right in thinking the two of you are involved?” asked Joyce dryly.

“Um, yeah. Sort of.”

“I was wondering why you’ve been so happy the last couple of weeks.” Joyce sighed. “Well, it’s not what I would have wanted. I was hoping for grandchildren and a normal life for you. But I guess Slayers never do have a normal life and, who knows, the human boy you might have picked might not have had viable swimmers anyway either. No guarantee about that really. And I do like you, Spike. Very much. So...”

Spike was laughing helplessly and Buffy looked totally flummoxed.

“Am I right in thinking you approve, Joyce?” Spike asked, using Joyce’s own phrasing with amusement.

“You make Buffy happy,” said Joyce simply. “And you seem to really care for her. So, yes, I do approve.”

“I love her,” said Spike as simply.

“Don’t say that,” said Buffy feebly.

“You see the problem,” Spike said to Joyce.

“Mm,” Joyce nodded. “But that will resolve itself one way or the other. There’s another problem, isn’t there?”

“Xander saw us kissing,” Buffy sighed. “Giles and the Scoobies won’t be happy about it. Xander and Giles will want to stake Spike. I want Spike to leave Sunnydale and he won’t go.”

“But surely this has nothing to do with them,” Joyce said, frowning.

“They won’t see it that way,” said Spike ruefully. “You know how they’re always interfering with Buffy’s life.”

“Yes, I have noticed that. Why do you let them, dear? It’s your life. They all seem to do what they want without asking your permission. Why shouldn’t you?”

“I have to let them. They’re my friends...” Buffy stopped. That sounded lame even to her. Why was she allowing the Scoobies to dictate her choices? And Giles wasn’t even her official Watcher anymore, having been fired by the Council.

“They can’t let a Slayer get involved with someone who’s just a thing.” Spike explained to Joyce. “Vamp without a soul here. Evil. Should be put down like a rabid dog.”

“You don’t really seem that evil to me, dear,” Joyce told him and he grinned and winced dramatically.

“Don’t have to be mean, Joyce.”

Buffy’s eyes had widened. “For my own good. Again for my own good. I am so fucking sick of this ‘my own good’ business!”

“Language, Buffy,” said Joyce severely.

“Duck,” muttered Spike to Joyce. “Blood in her eye.”

“Whatever I say, whatever I do, they’re still going to find a way to get rid of Spike and I can’t stop them!”

“We’ll figure something out,” said Joyce soothingly. “Why don’t the two of you get cleaned up first though? You’re all over mud.”

Buffy looked down at herself. “Good idea. Spike, you take the shower in the master bedroom and I’ll head for the other.”

“You left a pair of your jeans here, Spike,” Joyce said. “So you can change into that. But I don’t have a shirt for you unless I’ve still got one of Hank’s tees somewhere. I can look.”

“Don’t bother, Joyce.” Spike held up the duster he had been carrying over his arm. “I’ll just wear this until I get back to my crypt.”

Half an hour later, Buffy was blow-drying her hair when she heard a car pull up in front of the house. It was Giles’ Peugeot, with him behind the wheel and Xander in the passenger seat, Willow shoehorned on his lap. Anya was nowhere in sight. Buffy guessed that Anya, caught between Xander and her own fellow-feeling towards Spike as another demon, had decided to stay out of whatever confrontation the Scoobies had planned. They all got out of the car, then Giles went around to the trunk and pulled out two crossbows, one for him and one for Xander.

Buffy went quickly into the master bedroom. Spike was sitting on the bed, in a clean pair of jeans but no shirt, pulling on his Docs.

“Giles, Willow and Xander are here.” She picked up his duster from where he had dropped it on a chair and tossed it at him. “With crossbows.”

Spike laughed. “Gunning for me, are they?”

“Looks like. Go. Out the window. Down the tree. I’ll try to keep them here long enough for you to get whatever you need out of your crypt. Stay low for a while, okay?”

“Right.” He yanked on his duster, then kissed her quick and hard. “See you later, luv.”

The doorbell rang. Joyce had apparently seen who their visitors were as well, because she called up at once, “Buffy? Should I...?”

Buffy ran down the stairs. “Let them in, Mom.”

“Where’s Spike?” demanded Xander the minute he stepped through the door.

Buffy yanked the crossbow out of his hands and broke it over her knee. Then she did the same thing to the one that Giles was carrying. They both gaped at her, shocked to the core.

“Any stakes you might also be carrying stay in your pockets,” she said with cold fury. “I see one, I shove it where the sun don’t shine.”

“See? See?” Xander gasped to Giles. “He’s done something to her!”

“Spike has done nothing to me that I haven’t wanted him to do,” said Buffy flatly. “I am not under a thrall, not out of my mind, and right now I am seriously pissed by the three of you barging in here and planning to murder someone whose only crime is that he’s sleeping with me.”

“Sleeping?” exclaimed Giles. “I didn’t believe Xander when he accused you of that! Buffy, have you lost all sense of who you are?”

“You didn’t believe Xander? Then why the crossbows? You were planning on murdering Spike just for kissing me?”

“Murder?” snarled Xander. “He’s a vamp! Dusting a vamp’s not murder!”

“Killing a defenseless creature who can’t hurt you is murder. And the action of a bully and a coward. He can’t even fight back and you were going to do that to him,” she said furiously. “I’m ashamed of you!”

“You’re ashamed! You’re sleeping with a vamp—again! It was bad enough with Angel! But with Spike? That’s...that’s just disgusting!”

“Who the hell are you to judge me, Xander? There you are, sleeping with a vengeance demon who’s killed thousands of people...”

“That’s different! She’s human now!”

“And is Oz human?” Joyce asked behind them. “He’s a werewolf, but I don’t see any of you going after him with silver bullets.”

Everyone stared at her, then Buffy started to laugh.

“That’s...” began Willow, horrified.

“Different.” said Joyce. “Again different. Why?”

“But...”

“Xander can’t keep away from demongirls, Willow falls in love with a werewolf, but no one tries to intervene there. Buffy doesn’t say a word, certainly doesn’t try to run your lives. Why are you all interfering with hers?”

“Buffy’s the Slayer,” said Giles, but some of the wind seemed to have gone out of him with Joyce’s opposition and he seemed not quite as zealous and self-righteous as before. “She can’t involve herself with a vampire.”

“She involved herself with Angel and no one objected to that.”

“I did,” muttered Xander.

“I don’t like Angel,” said Giles. “And I have reason not to. But he has a soul.”

“Do werewolves have souls? And if so, do those souls go missing three or four days a month when the moon is full? Willow, if it was determined that werewolves don’t have souls, would you kill Oz if he came back?”

“Never!” gasped Willow. “I love him!”

Joyce looked at all of them. “So the real difference is that Oz is your friend and Spike is not. Oz is one of you, a known quantity, and Spike is a stranger, an outsider you don’t bother to get to know. That’s very...insular of you.”

“That’s not it at all!” Xander exclaimed. “Spike’s evil!”

“And that can’t change?”

“No!”

“But he is changing, Xander. He protected me, he’s helping Buffy...”

“But...but it’s Spike!”

“What’s wrong with Spike? I like Spike,” Joyce said. “I didn’t like Angel, but I do like Spike.”

“A naive personal preference is not the issue here,” said Giles.

Joyce drew herself up to her full height, her eyes flashing. “Don’t condescend to me, Rupert Giles! Naive? I may be naive about demons and magic and all this other foolishness of yours! But I’m not naive about anything else. I’ve managed to bring up my daughter all by myself these last few years, and keep a roof over our heads and food on the table. I’m a darned fine business woman and my gallery is successful. Can you say as much, Mr. Giles?”

It was a measure of how angry Joyce was that she flung Giles’ unemployment in his face. Giles winced and deflated.

“Spike has behaved decently to me. And he’s been helping Buffy in her duties on the Hellmouth. That chip in his head may be the reason that he’s doing it, but the fact remains that he is doing it. You see a vampire, evil, without a soul. I see a man who’s trying to change, who is doing good. And that soul business? Angel seems to have a problem with it, running around killing all and sundry when he loses it. Spike certainly doesn’t act that way, even though he doesn’t have a soul!”

“If that chip were gone...”

“But it isn’t gone, is it? You might be justified in killing him if the chip were gone. I don’t agree, unless he harms someone. But that would give you some justification. But it isn’t gone. It’s right there. And as long as it’s there, you have no excuse whatsoever to harm him!”

She glared at all of them and even Xander quailed.

“Naive? I might be naive, but what I see is that for the first time in a very long while my daughter is happy. Spike may be a vampire and evil and without a soul, but he’s made Buffy happy! While all of you just lay burdens on her and harass her and think you have the right to tell her what to do with her life. And none of you, not even you, Rupert Giles, because you’re not a Watcher anymore, have the right to do that!”

“Go, Mom!” said Buffy softly. She looked around at all of them. “Okay. Bottom line. No one hurts Spike. If any one of you lays a finger on him, I’m done. You won’t have a Slayer anymore. I’ll quit.”

“You can’t mean that!” Giles gasped.

“I never wanted to be a Slayer, Giles. I wouldn’t mind at all having an excuse to quit. I don’t know what I feel about Spike. I’d like to have the opportunity to find out. Without interference or pressure from any of you.”

There was a charged silence. Then Giles made a small, resigned gesture.

“All right,” he said heavily.

Xander stared at him, then sagged back against the wall, defeated. Willow looked relieved and Buffy guessed that her heart hadn’t been in this.

“I’m sorry to be inhospitable,” said Joyce when no one seemed to know what to do next. “But it’s late and I have to work tomorrow. So if you don’t mind...”

“We’re going,” nodded Giles and they all did, Willow looking anxiously back at Buffy and Joyce as she went.

“I’ll see you back at the dorm, Will,” said Buffy and Willow looked happier when both Buffy and Joyce smiled at her.

“Well, that’s that,” said Joyce with satisfaction as she closed the front door behind them.

“They’re not done,” said Buffy.

“What!”

“Willow’s come around, but then she was hesitating right from the beginning. I don’t think she really wanted to be here, except the other two convinced her that an intervention was necessary.”

“You mean, after all that...!”

“You were magnificent, Mom, but they’ll say you’re just being emotional, not rational.” She smiled crookedly at Joyce. “They think Spike’s won you over with his fatal charm. You haven’t convinced them. Both Xander and Giles have closed minds on that subject.”

“But, honey, Giles gave in.”

“Only because I threatened him. An agreement made under force is null and void. He’ll be trying to find a way around it.”

“So Spike’s still in danger.”

Buffy nodded. “That threat’s not really a threat. Giles knows I can’t stop being the Slayer. If a Slayer’s needed for some reason, I’m going to jump in. I won’t be able to help myself and he knows that. The threat will give him pause though. He won’t do anything openly harmful to Spike, just in case I really meant it. It’ll be something sneaky and that will take a little while to figure out.”

“Oh, no,” sighed Joyce.

“There’s got to be a way,” growled Buffy. “I just have to find it.”

The next few days were uneventful. Giles and Xander kept giving Buffy sorrowful, reproachful looks whenever they ran across each other—which suggested that they hadn’t come up with any plan yet, otherwise Xander would never have been able to keep from looking smug. Buffy and Spike had fallen back into the habit of having dinner at Joyce’s before going out on patrol and Willow dropped in a couple of times to join them. Willow was getting along fine with Spike. Things seemed to be going well.

Too well, thought Spike. It was the calm before the storm. Don’t think he hadn’t noticed how much on edge Buffy was. Even her anger and her defiance of the Scoobies was brittle. She cared about their opinions and they would beat her down in the end. He had no hopes otherwise. He had known from the moment Xander and Anya saw them that he wouldn’t be allowed to stay with Buffy very much longer.

Joyce and Willow were of the opinion that Giles and Xander had accepted the inevitable. Buffy was still wary, but beginning to relax. Spike didn’t relax. He just redoubled his efforts to finish extending the escape route from his crypt to the sewers and didn’t sleep easy until he had that completed. Even without that chip in his head that kept him from defending himself from Giles or Xander if they came after him, he considered any place with only one exit a trap. When he finally broke through into the sewers, he let out a breath of relief.

Only just in time, he thought, running into Xander and Anya while buying a pack of smokes at the corner store. Anya gave him a rueful look and Xander gave him a wide berth. But there was a small, satisfied smile on Xander’s face that Spike recognized. It was a ‘something’s coming to get ya, asshole’ look. Xander never could keep things to himself. Looked like Watcher had come up with a plan.

Nothing happened that night, but Spike’s radar was still on high alert. Which was why when the stake slashed at him as he was leaving the crypt the next night, he was able to avoid it. He ducked it with blinding speed, then threw himself into a diving roll that brought him up on his feet in a clear area of ground uncluttered by tombstones.

“Angel,” he said, smiling. “Watcher give you the glad tidings?”

“You son of a bitch,” said Angel between his gritted teeth. “How dare you put your filthy hands on her!”

“Ah, but she wanted it, Grandpa. Consensual sex. Know you’re not familiar with that concept. Angelus always liked rape, didn’t he?”

He was aware of Giles and Xander standing in the shadows some distance away. Watcher might hate Angel because of Jenny Calendar’s death; but Giles was nothing if not pragmatic. He would use any tool that came to hand. Spike reminded himself to keep one eye on the two of them, just in case they ran up and staked him in the back while he was occupied with Angel. Their concept of honor didn’t extend itself to vampires. But he thought they would leave it to Angel. Buffy’s threat still held good.

“I’m not Angelus!” Angel was snarling.

“Could have fooled me.” He gave Angel a nasty smile. “My girl’s one hot little number. Got tired of sitting around like a nun, waiting for you to get it up. Wanted to be shown the ropes. I really had fun showing her.”

He was using words like the darts the horsemen in a bullfight drove into the shoulders of a bull, enraging and weakening him for the matador. He had always gone up against Angelus in hot blood before, in a blind, unthinking heat of rage, and that had put him at a disadvantage against Angelus’ cold malevolence. This time Spike was icy cold and thinking clearly, and he intended to win. Drive Angel into a blind fury and take him down.

“She’s mine!” Angel yelled.

“Had her once and think she’s yours? I’ve had her a hundred times.” And she’s not mine, he thought sadly; I’m hers. But Angel didn’t know that.

Angel snarled into gameface. “I’m going to kill you!”

“Yeah, yeah. Still won’t make her yours.”

“I love her!”

“Sure don’t act like it. And what has that got to do with it anyway? It’s not what you feel that matters. It’s what she feels.”

“She loves me!”

“But she’s fucking me.”

Angel roared in blind rage and threw himself at Spike. Spike got in one good shot, a solid body-blow, then slid away smoothly.

“You had it all and you threw it away. Wanker.” He easily rode the blow Angel smashed at him. “And now you’re all dog in the manger about it.”

Angel was bigger, stronger, had the longer reach. But Spike was no longer the raw novice that he had been when he and Angel squared off before, and he had spent the last hundred and twenty years fighting while Angel groveled in the sewers, beating his breast and eating rats. Angel had brushed up on his fighting skills the last couple of years, but Spike had spent decades studying it, making it an art form. And, unlike Angel who saw it as a necessity not a pleasure, Spike loved fighting.

He took the savage blows deliberately, because that allowed him to get in close enough to reach the nerve clusters in solid, precise shots that, even on a vamp, were painful. Angel meant to kill. The stake in his hand nearly connected several times before Spike got in an elbow strike at Angel’s wrist that made him drop it. Angel let it go almost with relief. What he really wanted was to rip Spike’s head off with his bare hands; he was that enraged.

And all the time Spike was talking, taunting, needling Angel, keeping him on the boil. He was angling for that one blow he needed, that one opening, calmly enduring every murderous punch Angel threw at him. Angel was powerful and, when his timing was right, his hands and feet held the force of an axe. Against that, there was no simple blocking in defense. The parry must either be a deflection or a disturbance of balance by pre-emptive strike. Spike deflected or rode the blow so that all of its force wouldn’t reach him.

Then there it was—the opening that he needed. The heel of his boot smashed against Angel’s knee-cap. Angel’s leg folded under him and he crashed sideways onto his knees. Spike’s hand slashed obliquely down in a shuto strike, the edge of his hand hammering against the side of Angel’s neck, just under his ear. It was a blow that would have killed an ordinary human. It paralyzed Angel. He fell forward onto his face, unable to move.

Then Spike’s knee was in the small of his back and Spike was holding the point of the stake he had recovered between Angel’s shoulderblades.

“I should kill you,” Spike said. “I hate your guts, Peaches, both as Angel and as Angelus. But she wouldn’t like it. God knows what she sees in you. All you do is hurt her. Can’t even count how many times you’ve done a number on her. And she keeps on letting you.”

“Spike,” said Buffy coldly behind them.

“See?” said Spike, then threw the stake away and got up. He looked at Buffy resignedly. She was in a cold fury and he knew with absolute, despairing surety that any chance he had with her had just flown out of the window. “You heard.”

“All of it.”

He nodded, not even bothering to protest that every word he said had been meant to enrage Angel. There was no point. He moved away from both of them and sat down wearily on a tombstone, not looking at them.

Angel recovered the use of his limbs and staggered to his feet. He turned and glared at Buffy.

“Why? Why him?”

She didn’t answer, just looked him up and down.

“You meant to kill him, didn’t you?” she said. She cast a contemptuous glance to where Giles and Xander were trying to hide in the shadows. “Those two tell you that Spike and I are involved and you come running out here to kill him. You didn’t care anything about my feelings.”

“You can’t have feelings for him!”

“Sleep with someone, you have feelings for him. Can’t help it. Even if they’re only the mildest possible, one still has feelings. But you didn’t care what I might feel. You didn’t care that I might be hurt. Spike cared. He let you live, even though he has every justification for killing you. And he did that because he cared about how I might feel about it.”

“Spike!” he snarled. “How could you take up with Spike?”

“Because he loves me.”

“Spike? He doesn’t have a soul. He can’t love!”

“You and the Council. You both keep trying to sell that crock of shit. You can’t love without the soul, Angel. Spike does perfectly well without it. He loved Dru for a hundred and twenty years. Don’t even try to deny that.”

“Buffy...”

“You keep interfering, Angel. You walk out of my life, but you won’t let me live it my way. You keep on coming back, trying to run my life the way you want it. You have no right! And if you say it’s for my own good, I swear to God I’ll kill you where you stand!”

They stared at each other. Then Angel changed tactics suddenly and put on the wounded, puppy-dog eyes.

“You couldn’t wait?”

Buffy’s brows rose. “Wait for what?”

“There’s this prophecy. Wes translated it. It says that a vampire with a soul will shanshu once he fulfills his destiny. Become human. That’s his reward.”

“And that’s you.”

“I’m the only vampire with a soul around.” His eyes were shining. “Just think, Buffy! I’d be human! We could be together!”

“But you were human already, Angel. Just a little while ago. And you rejected it.”

Angel looked at her in shock. “You know about that? But how? No one was supposed to know!”

“I came back from L.A. feeling strange. Like there was a spell on me. So I had a psychic look into it for me. And guess what she told me? That you were human for a day, but then you had the Oracles turn back time so you wouldn’t be human anymore. So why are you now obsessing about turning human again?”

“Because...because...Buffy, we could be together!”

“We were, but you took it back.”

“Buffy, we love each other!”

“No,” said Buffy flatly. “I wonder if we ever did. I don’t know about you, Angel. I don’t really understand what you seem to think is love. Love is caring about the other person, putting that person’s needs ahead of one’s own. Spike does that.” She smiled at Spike rising to his feet, his eyes alight.

“Buffy, wait!” Angel said desperately.

“All you care about is yourself, Angel. Your pride, your feelings. I don’t love you anymore. That turning back time thing? That was the straw that broke the camel’s back for me.”

“Buffy!”

“No! Go away, Angel. I don’t want to look at you right now. I’m so angry, I might do you some damage!”

She spun away, then found herself staring at a lush, dark-haired woman standing behind her. Everybody jumped.

“What...?”

The woman smiled widely at Buffy.

“Yes. Perfect,” she said. “When Anya first contacted me, I thought there was no real chance of vengeance here. But she was quite right. All that anger in you! There really is potential in this situation.”

“Vengeance demon.” Spike jerked forward protectively. “Pet, be careful!”

The woman transferred her smile to him. “Hello, William.”

Spike blinked. “Cecily?”

“Well, Halfrek, really. But call me Hallie.” She smiled at Buffy. “You know Anya, so you know what I can do. You want vengeance on Angel here. I can give you any wish, any wish you want against him.”

“No!” exclaimed Angel, but Halfrek just flicked a finger and he froze in place, unable to move.

“No interruptions, please. This is up to the lady. She wants vengeance on you and I really think she deserves to have it.”

“No!” Spike said sharply. “Pet, listen. If there’s anyone I’d like to see roasting in hell it’s Angel. But vengeance isn’t healthy. There’s always a backlash on your psyche. It’s not good for you.”

“Mm,” said Buffy thoughtfully. “Any wish at all?”

“Any wish,” Halfrek nodded, smiling.

“Buffy!”

“Shut up, Spike. I’m thinking.” She nodded suddenly and decisively. “Got it.”

Halfrek beamed. “Lay it on me.”

“Buffy!” four voices yelled. Giles and Xander were running forward. Halfrek flicked a finger at them too and they froze before they could reach the group.

“I wish,” said Buffy clearly, “that you would take that chip out of Spike’s head.”

“But that’s not...Oh, subtle! I like it,” nodded Halfrek. “And I do owe you one, William.”

“No!” Xander yelled. “Buffy, take it back! He’ll start eating people again!”

“That wish looks like it has even more potential for trouble than I expected,” remarked Halfrek approvingly. “Excellent.”

“Wouldn’t eat people,” said Spike scornfully. “Don’t need to. Got Slayer blood on tap.”

“Buffy! You let him drink from you!” Giles gasped.

“It’s a real rush,” grinned Buffy.

Giles and Xander were looking appalled. Angel looked hurt to the quick. Halfrek made a little movement of her hand.

“Ow!” exclaimed Spike. Something tinkled on the ground, a tiny piece of plastic and metal about the size of a dime. He looked down at it dazedly. “It’s so small!”

Buffy put out a foot and crushed the chip into the ground. It splintered into sharp-edged shards.

“Just to make sure.” She reached out and put her hands on his shoulders. “Chains are off. You don’t need me any longer, Spike.”

His lips tightened. “I’ll always need you, pet. But you don’t need me.”

“I need you,” she said softly. “You make me come alive. You give me a reason to live. I’m not just going through the day, feeling miserable, having nothing but duty and obligation. You make me happy. Do you love me, Spike?”

“I love you,” he said intensely. “You know I do.”

She took his face tenderly into her hands and kissed him. “I love you too.”

“Buffy!” His arms swept about her, crushing her to him.

“Learned that now. Learned that when I saw you fighting Angel and thought he might kill you. Couldn’t have borne it if you’d been killed.” She wrapped her arms about his neck, leaning into him, brushed her lips down the strong cord running down the side of his neck. “You said you’d let me claim you once. Will you let me claim you now?”

“God, yes! Anything. You know that.”

“Buffy!” Angel yelled.

Halfrek snapped her fingers. Angel’s mouth still moved, but no sound came out.

“I did say no interruptions, didn’t I?” She smiled at Buffy and Spike. “This is so sweet.”

They weren’t listening to her, weren’t listening to anything else, totally focused on each other.

Buffy pulled the neck of Spike’s T-shirt aside. “There, right?”

“Yeah,” sighed Spike on a lost breath.

She smiled and bit him hard at the junction of his neck and shoulder, sucked at the blood that welled up.

“Mine.”

“Yours,” he breathed.

She tilted her head to expose her own neck and his eyes widened.

“No!” yelled Giles and Xander at the same time.

Halfrek sighed and snapped her fingers. “Really. They never learn.”

In the sudden silence, Spike bent to Buffy’s neck. “You’re sure?” he murmured.

“Yes. I want this. Want to belong to you. Want you to belong to me.”

His fangs slid into the bitemark already on her neck and they both shuddered in pleasure as he drew delicately at her blood. He only took a couple of sips, then retracted his fangs and licked the wound to seal it.

“Mine,” he whispered.

“Yes. Yours,” she smiled.

They could both feel the click as something locked irrevocably into place between them. They leaned their foreheads together, holding each other tightly.

Hallie flicked her hand. The invisible bonds that had held Angel, Giles and Xander fell away. Angel gave one final glare at an oblivious Buffy and Spike, then spun on his heel and fled away. Hallie looked after him thoughtfully.

“Yes, a good vengeance,” she remarked. “He’ll never forget this his whole life. And he’s a vampire. He’ll live a long, long time.”

Giles had sagged down onto a tombstone. “What you’ve done, what you’ve done,” he muttered plaintively.

“What have they done?” Xander asked, bewildered.

“They’ve claimed each other. Linked their lives together. A Slayer claiming and claimed by a vampire...”

“But what does that mean?”

“It’s like a marriage, except more so.” Buffy turned her head to smile at them. “You can’t hurt him now. If you kill him, you kill me.”

Xander’s jaw dropped. “She’s kidding, right?” he said to Giles, then was horrified when Giles shook his head.

“It’s the truth. We can’t touch him. Oh, Buffy!” he mourned. “Why did you do it?”

“Because I love Spike.” She wrapped her arms even tighter around Spike and he kissed her hair. “My partner. My mate. Get used to it.”

“We’ll have to,” sighed Giles and got to his feet. “Let’s go home, Xander.”

Halfrek smiled as she watched them walk numbly away.

“That went very well,” she said with satisfaction. “Are we even now, Spike?”

Spike smiled faintly. “Oh, yeah.”

“I really didn’t intend for Dru to turn you.” Halfrek grinned at Buffy. “We’ve both paid off a couple of debts. Vengeance isn’t so bad, is it?”

Buffy laughed. “No. Thank you, Hallie.”

“De nada. Made mega points by doing a wish for a Slayer. I think I’ll drop in on Anya and tell her how things ended up.”

She swept her arms in a dramatic gesture and vanished.

“We owe Anya big time,” Spike remarked.

“But don’t rub it in where Xander can hear. Wouldn’t want to get her into trouble.”

They kissed slowly, lingeringly.

“Ohh,” Buffy sighed. “What’s happening?”

She could feel him, not only physically here in her arms, but the sense of him vividly in her mind, her body, as if her every cell was permeated with the essence of Spike.

“The claim,” he said. “And I can feel you, inextricably mixed with me. Doesn’t matter where we are in the world, how much distance there is between us, we’ll still feel each other. Might even be able to talk to each other in our heads after a while. Happens sometimes.”

Never to be lonely, she thought. Never to have to worry about abandonment. To belong utterly to someone and have him belong utterly to her.

“Yes,” he said.

“You heard that?”

“Felt it.”

He kissed her deeply, their tongues sliding together. She shivered and melted against him. She could feel him, but she could also feel his pleasure, feel him feeling her. So many layers of sensation.

“Oh, God!”

“Like coming home,” he whispered, and she felt that longing in him, for home, for belonging, find fulfillment and turn into pure joy. A hundred and twenty years he had yearned for that, so much longer than she.

“Love you,” she said and felt his happiness flare out, a blaze of warmth and tenderness enveloping her. “Spike, if we don’t head for the crypt this minute, I’m gonna jump your bones right here!”

He laughed delightedly and scooped her up. “Promises, promises.”

In no time, they were in his bed, naked bodies sliding and coiling around each other, hands kneading and caressing and worshiping each other, every touch reverberating across the claim in seismic tremors that built and built until every nerve ending in their bodies was on fire.

“Love you,” she murmured against his mouth. “Love you so much.”

“Oh, God!” His forehead dropped against hers and she saw his face, utterly open and naked to her, helpless in its joy. “Buffy, I love you so much. Always wanted to be loved. Never was.”

“Are now.”

“Bloody miracle.” He shook his head in wonder. “How the hell did it happen? How did we get here?”

She ran her fingertips over the hard, beautiful planes of his face, slid her hands across the clean, strong lines of his body.

“I think...by trusting each other.” She kissed him softly. “By opening up to each other.”

“Yes.”

He came into her smoothly and their nerve ends flared. The claim flared too, stripping away all defenses, laying them open and naked to each other, minds sinking into each other like hands interlocking, bodies fusing as they strained together. One being.

His fangs slid into the claim mark and a surge of rapture shot through her as he sipped her blood. The claim picked up her pleasure and threw it to him, picked up his and threw it to her, sensation ricocheting back and forth in mind-blowing passes. She clenched on him as he pistoned into her, felt him shudder and pulse within her, bit the claim mark on his neck and felt him blank right out in white-hot ecstasy just as her brain shorted out in a flare of blinding fireworks.

“Oh, God,” she whispered, coming back to herself. “I don’t know where you stop and I begin.”

They were clinging together helplessly.

“Doesn’t matter,” he muttered. “Lose myself in you anyway.”

She kissed the corner of his eye as he sighed with contentment against her cheek.

“Both of us were lost, I think. But now we’re found.”

Both of them lost, lonely, searching. Enemies and yet feeling the pull. Inevitably drawn to each other because they were essentially the same. Mirror images, the shadow sides of each other, every line and bend matching perfectly.

Partners. Mates. Nothing could stand before the two of them. Whatever they faced in the future, they would defeat—the two of them standing together, shoulder to shoulder.

Nothing in the future but joy. They laughed in triumph against each other’s mouths.


The End