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Author's Chapter Notes:
Just to warn you, updates may be only once daily or every other day this week. I have exams. Yay, fun...
Buffy stretched languidly. In her short stay with her family, her body had fallen back into the routine of an uneasy sleep, her limbs stiff and sore as she hung from her chains against the wall. Now she found herself swimming towards consciousness feeling warm, comfortable and deliciously sated.

Her eyes blinked lazily open, a deep, unneeded breath sighing from her chest. Focussing, she was met with the exquisitely beautiful sight of a peacefully sleeping Spike. His hair had broken free of the usual gel, riotous curls softening the hard planes of his face. His full mouth was turned up in a soft, tender smile, his naked chest moving gently with every breath.

She heard his heartbeat pick up as he began to wake, pressing a kiss to her fingers before reaching to touch them to his lips. Her hand halted in mid-movement, frozen in time as she stared at the red puncture wound on his neck, overwhelmed by a sudden rush of guilt. Just as his brilliant eyes opened, she shut the bathroom

Hopping into the shower, she leaned back against the wall, the water pounding her skin and plastering her hair to her skull. Remembering the dream she’d had, she pressed her thighs together to prevent the familiar ache from taking over. Uncapping the shampoo bottle, she let her hands move in a practiced massage over her hair.

While she’d been out of it, she’d had something similar to a Slayer dream, but it had been familiar. The First Slayer prowled in the flickering shadows at the edge of the firelight, her hissing, breathy voice seeming to come from nowhere and everywhere all at once.

“Death is your gift.”

It was in her delirium that the lines between reality and dreams blurred into one, and she couldn’t say whether she had indeed been dreaming or if a part of her had been sitting in front of that fire, watching her great ancestor’s endless pacing. She thought that the whole ‘death is your gift’ thing had been finished when she threw herself from Glory’s tower to save Dawn, all those years ago. Guess not.

She was shaken from her thoughts by a firm knock on the door. Quickly rinsing the suds from her hair, she turned the water off and stepped onto the bath mat. Grabbing a towel, she wrapped it around her body and tucked the end in under her arm. Reaching out, she opened the door, going still when a stake pressed into the skin above her heart.

“Buffy. I think we need to talk.”

****

Spike had finally hauled himself out of bed just as he heard the water in the bathroom start up. Scrubbing a hand over his face, he rolled his shoulders and winced when he felt the tug on his neck. Clapping a hand over the wound, which strangely hadn’t healed yet, he grimaced and stomped to the bedroom door.

Yanking it open, he sauntered into the kitchen, chest gloriously bare. He was a little surprised to see Xander was the only one there, eyes puffy with sleep. When he quirked an eyebrow questioningly, he received a grunt and a gesture at the half-eaten sandwich on the surface.

The Slayer had turned to reach up for a glass when Xander saw them. His eyes widened, the snack dropping back onto his plate with a squishy thump. Spike turned to look over his shoulder, that damned eyebrow rising again. (Just how did he do that anyway? It wasn’t fair that one guy should be so cool.)

He’d shrugged it off, mumbling a half-hearted apology as he picked up the sandwich and took a thoughtful bite. He’d heard the sound of movement in Buffy’s room this morning and he’d figured she’d done some miracle vampire thing and healed overnight. Seething, he recalled the sore punctures on Spike’s neck. Guess not.

Waiting until his friend vanished into the training room for his morning workout, Xander tiptoed into his own room, careful not to wake a sleeping Anya. Retrieving the stake from under his pillow, he paused on his way back to reassure himself that the Slayer was still engrossed in his ‘me Slayer, hear me roar’ exercise routine, he crept into the vampiress’ room.

Taking a steadying breath, he remembered the crusty blood still sticking to Spike’s neck and his wavering resolve firmed. Had she put him under some kind of thrall so he wouldn’t notice her drinking his blood? Well, that’s what friends were for. Steeling himself, he reached out and knocked.

****

Buffy just stared at Xander. The boyish goofiness he seemed to usually emanate was gone, replaced with icy anger. Looking down at the point of the stake that had just broken the skin directly over her still heart, she watched a single drop of blood well up and ooze down the wood. Meeting his eyes, she nodded in agreement.

She could turn the tables on him whenever she wanted. She knew it and he knew it. Something told her, however, that she wouldn’t have an easy time of it, and she didn’t want to risk hurting him. Despite his somewhat dubious acceptance of her, she liked the kid.

“What did I do?”

Her words were simple, meant to soothe him into talking about it and taking his focus away from the stake he held in a white-knuckled hand. Unfortunately, it had the opposite effect. His face became colder, the burning rage in his eyes glittering at her accusingly. His voice was a soft, controlled hiss.

“You fed from Spike. That’s how you repay us for taking you in? You try to drain our friend in his sleep? Christ, Buffy, how dumb do you think I am? Did you think we wouldn’t notice?”

She could hear his voice rising with indignation towards the end of his speech, and she waited for him to be silent before answering. “Yes, I fed from him. There’s no point in denying it. But I didn’t have a choice. He…” she paused for a minute, her face creasing with guilt, “I was out of it, there was a Slayer holding my mouth against his neck and I’m a vampire. You do the math.”

Xander absorbed this bit of information, his face shocked. Spike had let her drink from him? Spike, the Slayer, had offered his blood to a vampire just because she was sick? Buffy waited in tense silence until his hold relaxed, the stake dropping away from her skin as she winced, pressing a finger to the small wound to stop the bleeding.

She watched as he took a slow step back. His voice was still tight with confusion and a warning she would take seriously. “I’ll believe you, this time. But Spike, he’s one of my best friends. And if I thought someone was planning to hurt him…” His voice trailed off as he gripped the stake threateningly.

Buffy nodded her understanding, her eyes narrowed with the stirring of her own temper at the thought of anyone, let alone her, hurting the Slayer. She was falling, too fast, too hard and way too soon, but it felt so good she’d do anything to keep it safe. Anything. As Xander gently shut the door behind him, she gave a grim smile. It was good to know how much she was trusted.





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