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Author's Chapter Notes:
Once again thank you all so much for the reviews! I meant to post this yesterday, but I got so busy.

I know some of you were hoping I'd continue from the point where I left off. There was a big reason why I didn't, that mainly being that there was a lot of anger and hate in their encounter, which this chapter will talk about, and I really wouldn't have been too comfortable writing something like that.

Sorry if you're disappointed. But hopefuly my awesome writing skills make up for it. ;) :)

Also, I hadn't been planning on putting up a new chapter until after thanksgiving, but if I get enough feedback on this, I'll get another chapter up. Thanks so much, everyone!
She could feel the aches before she even opened her eyes. Honestly, she expected to wake up in her own bed, feeling the aftermath of a bad fight.

But when she opened her eyes, it all came rushing back to her.

She was still at Spike’s house. Still in his bed.

Still unnaturally close to the still-sleeping, broken man next to her.

Realizing where she still was, Buffy slowly sat up, cringing slightly at how the ache seemed to continually build instead of get better. It shouldn’t have surprised her, though. Last night was not the picture of a gentle, honeymoon lovemaking.

It had been about him getting his comfort, sure. But it was obvious at points that it had also been about his anger against her.

Luckily for her, she was the Slayer. Otherwise her few occasional bruises would have been worse.

What bothered her more was the fact that he hadn’t known that she could take it. And while Spike was angry, she knew he wouldn’t do anything to hurt anyone. Especially not like that. Which led her back to last night, the points where he’d shown he had strength as well. Shrugging it out of her mind again, she was determined to not let it bother her.

Holding the sheet over her chest, she ran a hand through her hair and let out a quiet sigh.

Hearing a soft groan, she turned to look over at him. He was just beginning to wake up. And if the small whimper that escaped him was any indication, Buffy knew he was feeling the pains of his inevitable hangover.

It didn’t surprise her. In fact, she had prepared after he had passed out the night before. Reaching over, she picked up the glass of water that she’d gone to get a second time and the pills.

“Here,” she said softly, holding them out as he turned over. He seemed startled for a moment, most likely forgetting anyone had even been there.

He stared up at her for a long moment, and it all came rushing back to him.

“Oh, bloody hell,” he muttered, eyes wide, but took the glass and pills. He stared at her through narrow eyes for a long time before he finally took the pills and put the cup on his nightstand.

Silence. And more staring.

This was something she hadn’t prepared for. The awkward silence.

And more staring.

“How much do you remember?” She finally asked.

“Pretty much all ‘f it,” he answered with a long sigh, but at least he wasn’t freaking out like she thought he would.

Maybe he hadn’t been as drunk as I thought, or at least, sober enough to remember.

But she could see it in his eyes. Last night had meant nothing, and he probably just wished she would leave.

But she knew that the same thing was probably reflected in her own eyes.

For some reason, he was all with the quiet. Which probably meant he was feeling somewhat guilty for being so rough the night before. Sighing, she realized she needed to make this a little easier for him.

“Want to turn around? I need to get dressed,” she asked him in a bored tone with a raised eyebrow, which he returned.

“What’s the matter, pet? Not like I didn’t see it all last night.” He smirked slightly and she rolled her eyes. Why was he making jokes about this instead of shoving her out of the house? He was being incredibly calm for a man that blamed her for the death of those he loved.

“Turn around or I’ll pull your eyes out of your head, Spike,” she said flatly. Sighing, he dropped his head back on the pillow, pulling the blanket over his head as she got out of the bed.

She had to bite her lip to keep from letting out a cry of pain, not wanting him to feel guilty for it.

That was weird.

She wouldn’t have cared a few weeks ago how guilty she made him feel. But he had gone through so much, that she didn’t feel like adding anything to the weight on his shoulders. Closing her eyes tightly, she pulled her jeans on, buttoning them up, and then pulled her shirt down.

“Done now,” she mumbled. He brought the blanket down, but she didn’t notice as she picked up her shoes and socks. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she brought her foot up to put them on and cringed as a shot of pain went through her.

“What’s wrong?” His voice startled her, and she looked back to him with slightly wide eyes.

“What?”

“I suppose you don’t make those faces every time you put your socks on. So what’s wrong?” He smirked slightly, then. “Worn out, pet?”

“No. And nothing’s wrong,” she mumbled, and looked away as she finished putting her shoes on.

He sighed deeply, annoyed that she seemed to be acting like normal, bitchy Buffy.

“Was I that...” He trailed off for a moment, a look of guilt crossing his face for a moment. He hated her, and sometimes he really felt like he wanted to wring her neck. But he didn’t actually want to hurt her. “Was I too hard?” He asked finally.

In truth, he hadn’t been. That wasn’t the problem. He hadn’t been gentlemanly; that was for sure, but it hadn’t been unbearable. “No,” she answered, shaking her head. “It was just...a lot, but not too much,” she told him, but he didn’t look convinced.

Suddenly, his eyes widened in realization. “Bleeding fu...” He let the curse die on his lips as he stared at her. “Last night was your first, wasn’t it?” He asked. But his tone wasn’t teasing or trying to victimize her like he usually would. He sounded shocked and a little alarmed.

“What?” She said, a little too defensively. “No, no. Of course not. Please...”

“Buffy,” he said flatly. “Were you...”

She sighed, looking away for a moment. “Yeah. A virgin,” she answered for him, then looked back over. “Does it matter?”

“Does it...Hell, I may hate you, but...Bloody hell...I wouldn’t want to...A girl’s first time hurts anyway. And I...bloody...”

“Spike,” she said, cutting him off from any further rambling. “Don’t worry about it. Buffy’s a big girl. She can take it.”

He didn’t look like he believed her. “Does it hurt too much?” He asked, knowing that he had used the night before as a way to take out his anger on her as much as he had wanted to just feel something besides pain.

“No,” she told him. “I promise. I’ve felt worse.” When he only continued to stare at her, she rolled her eyes. “What?”

“Well...you’re a girl.”

“Really? I never noticed,” she said sarcastically.

“I’m just saying,” he started irritably. “Don’t chits dream of roses and satin sheets for their first time?”

“I suppose most normal girls would,” she replied with a shrug. It’s not like she hadn’t wanted that. Quite the opposite. But she was the Slayer. No daydreaming for her.

“And what...?” He prodded

“Well, I gave up on trying to be a normal girl a long time ago,” she muttered.

“What’s that supposed to mean? Bloody hell, you’re in high school, your whole life’s ahead of you. Enlighten me, Summers, why can’t you have a normal life?”

She looked over to him, suddenly very aware that he was poking into her personal life instead of threatening her to get out of the house.

“Why do you care?” She retorted. “You got what you wanted last night. We don’t need to make this any weirder than it is by pretending that we care. I don’t, and I know you certainly don’t.”

He glared at her, his eyes darkening a little bit. “No, I don’t. But I figured that I should probably try to make you feel a little less like a whore.”

He watched as she pretended that the comment didn’t bother her, but he caught the flash of pain. “As I recall, you’re the one who threw himself at me.”

“And you were the sober one that let it happen,” he retorted. “Bloody hell, just leave. Last night didn’t-”

She rolled her eyes, then cut him off. “Yeah, I know. You still hate me. You still blame me for the things gone wrong. I’m not stupid, Spike. Last night wasn’t you having a change of heart. I knew that as soon as you started it. You think I expected you to wake me up with kisses and promises of forever?” She snorted slightly and stood up, looking around to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything. “I know the deal, Spike. You needed it, and I gave it to you. Nothing more. It meant nothing. I get it. And if you think it bothers me, then-”

“Then once again, I ask, why the bleeding hell are you still in my house?”

They stared at each other for a long moment, neither wanting to admit that their words to each other were actually hurting a little bit. Without saying anything else, Buffy turned from his bedroom and started out.

When he heard the front door slamming, he was left to stare blankly at the wall. He had to wonder why her saying that it meant nothing had hurt him at all. He wasn’t ready to break out into tears over it. But it had caused him the smallest amount of hurt.

But why?

“Bloody hell, I’ve still got to be completely drunk,” he concluded and sank back under the sheets.

-----

By the time she got home, her enhanced healing had kicked in on overdrive, and the ache that had been there before was nearly gone.

She would honestly have to say that was one of the only perks of being the Slayer.

Slowly, she opened her front door and carefully made her way inside.

“Well good morning.” She winced at her mother’s tone and shut the door before turning to face her. Buffy opened her mouth to speak, and Joyce simply held up her hand. “Where were you?”

“A friend’s,” she lied. Spike was definitely not a friend. “She was a friend of Faith’s and needed someone.”

“Is there a reason you couldn’t have called?”

God this was the last thing she needed right now.

“I’m sorry,” Buffy said with a sigh. “I just didn’t get the chance until late, and I didn’t want to wake you up.

Joyce sighed, moving to go into the kitchen. “One day, you’ll learn Buffy,” she told her and Buffy rolled her eyes a little.

“Can I just go up to my room?” Buffy asked quietly, not wanting to her mom to continue with the reasons as to why she was such a bad person.

“Fine.”

Without waiting for Joyce to say anything further, Buffy quickly moved up the stairs and into her bedroom.

Sitting down on her bed, she stared blankly down at the floor as she let the events of the night before and that morning catch up with her.

She’d had sex. With Spike of all people.

And she didn’t regret it.

The only thing she regretted was the fact that it had been her first time, and it hadn’t been what she’d always dreamed of.

Now, her not regretting it is not to be confused with her liking him. Even though she would have had the previous night go exactly the same, she still couldn’t stand him.

Yet she had felt the tiniest pang in her heart when they’d agreed that it had meant nothing. So tiny that she almost didn’t notice it.

But she did. And it was seriously wigging her out.

She’d realized that their long, silent battle of hate had changed. While she wasn’t going to fool herself into thinking he liked her, she knew that things wouldn’t be the same as they had always been before.





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