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Author's Chapter Notes:
Hope you guys like this, I wrote it quickly over a few drinks, so hopefully it still makes sense.
Spike walked along the strip, kicking papers and various litter out of his way as he went. He'd just left a pub on the corner where women had thrown themselves at his feet, feeling sickened by the thought of touching anyone but his goldilocks. At the mention of his nickname for her within his mind, tears threatened to spill over his bottom lids and onto the shaggy bit of a beard he'd begun to let grow on his once clean-shaven face. Why couldn't she just have listened to him, why couldn't she just stand up and be Buffy?

He'd heard about her from a million sources, from random bints in the bar who were jealous, to stupid blokes who'd known her in a way that made Spike's blood boil, down to her best friends and accquaintences, who'd come to him for advice on helping her. "Damned if I know how to set the girl straight," was always his casual response, whilst inside he wracked his brain for any way to make her stand on her own two feet. That's what it really came down to for Spike, he saw his slayer turning from a powerful goddess into a broken piece of a girl who was hanging off of his arm, and he knew right then that he had to leave.

She'd begun her old tricks almost as soon as she believed he was really back, taking advantage and losing touch with him; but those were all things he could take in stride, seeing her lose parts of herself to become what she thought he wanted was what really fueled his decision to leave. He knew Buffy blamed herself and her selfish actions for his leaving, god, she never could understand that he'd take anything from her, as long as it was still authentic. He'd never be "that guy," the one who leaves when the going gets rough, but he thought it easier to allow her to believe that was why he was leaving. He'd rather her hate him any day if it made getting through everything easier. If she was going to be the hero he'd fallen in love with, she had to do it for herself.

Spike's tears were more than prevalent by now, and he could hear passerby's whispering. Everyone in this town, it seemed, loved everyone else's business. He'd quickly become known throughout the area as the "deep poetic guy who's girlfriend really pulled a doozy on him." Normally he wouldn't have minded what people thought of him, but the image they'd built up for him had women in a craze, and he never wanted Buffy to think that he had moved on. He looked around and made his way across the street into a skanky club that had a reputation fit for a convict, taking his jacket off and checking it at the door, he lit a cigarette and parted the sea of people to form a path to the bar. Lights flashed in all directions and the bass pumped so deeply that he almost felt like he had a heartbeat, he scanned the crowd quickly before taking a seat and ordering himself a few shots of Jack. The hair on his forearms stodd on end and he knew what that meant, she was near. Before he had the chance to spin around on his stool and search the crowd for her face, he heard a small gasp from behind him and turned aroudn to come face to face with the girl who occupied his every thought.

She was a sight, allright. Maybe if it were another girl, anyone but her, he'd have thought about how perfect her body looked under clothes that barely covered her tiny curves. He stared into her eyes, she had far too much make-up on them, and instead of the familiar gleam he remembered, they were red and glossed over, a result of far too many drinks in one evening. Her hair was up (except that one strand above her ear that he found terribly irresitible), and maybe it was the lighting, but it looked like she had dyed it darker. He looked down to see her outfit, a halter with no back and one of the strings coming loose, a jean skirt that barely covered her ass, and stilettos that looked like they could kill a man if she stepped the wrong way.

"Spike..." was all she could manage, feeling immediately embarassed at her choice of clothing.

"Hey pet," he smiled a crooked half smile and cocked his head toward her. He wanted to pick her up and clean her face off, to tell her she was beautiful without all that junk all over it. He wanted to take her home and put her back in jeans and one of those button-down shirts she used to fancy, to let her hair fall loose around her shoulders and curl just a tid bit at the ends. He wanted her to be his Buffy, but instead, he let her run the show, silently hoping she'd jump into his arms and beg him to fix everything.

Tears had already formed in the corners of her eyes, but she promised herself she wouldn't let him see her cry. She just wanted him to pull her into his arms and save her from the mess she had made of herself. She needed him to tell her to knock this "bloody stupid" behavior off and let him back into her life. Instead she said, "how've you been?"

Spike took a deep breath, despite the fact that he didn't need to, sighing silently to himself, "she's going to be stubborn about it then." He decided to give in and try to break down the walls that had been built between them the past few months. After a moment of hesitation, he said, "Let's go talk...," feeling more like a lost little boy asking a question than a master vampire telling his slayer to come with him.

She nodded weakly and followed him to the coat counter, he retrieved his duster, and waited for her to get her coat.
"I didn't bring one," she told him after he raised an eyebrow in her direction, waiting for her to check out a jacket. Without hesitation, he pulled the duster over her shoulders, making both parties feel butterflies in their stomachs at the contact.

While they were walking to her apartment, not much was said between them, both of them becoming incredibly fascinated with the sidewalk. Just as Spike was about to speak, a huge bloke was blocking their path. Without thinking, Spike pulled back his arm to throw a punch, but Buffy reacted faster and stopped him.

"Where's my money, Buffy?" the guy demanded, in a husky tone that Spike could tell he'd practiced for hours at home.
"Charlie, it's...I'll get it okay, can we talk about this another time? Privately?" she shot him a pointed look, making sure he knew that she didn't want Spike to know who he was or why she owed him money.
Charlie smiled a smile that Buffy knew meant nothing good for her before he swung, catching her bottom lip with his ring. Keeping her hold on Spike's arm, tightening her grip when she felt him try to break free after Charlie had hit her, she looked up at him with defiance in her eyes as he spoke,

"No, you stupid cunt, we cannot talk later! I want my money, no games this time princess," he said in a quiet voice that was still somehow deafening. Off of the look on Buffy's face he continued to belittle her, and then said the one thing she'd hope he'd keep to himself. "Or is it that you don't want your little boyfriend to know his bitch is a coke fiend."

He looked over at Spike cooly and spoke, "hey man, lose her while you can, everyone and their brother has passed this gate."

That was it, Spike broke free of Buffy's grip and knocked the tough-guy out with one punch. With tears in his eyes he looked over at Buffy who looked even more worried than before, with a steady stream of blood running along her neck from the busted lip Charlie had given her.

"This is what you do now, luv? You throw your knots in with blokes like this and get yourself beat up on?" he shrieked, not caring that his voice was shrill and obviously filled with emotion. "Bloody hell Buffy! Guys like this will kill you and not think twice about it! And hey, while you're at it, after you get drunk and high and beat up on by a dealer, maybe then you can wait on the boulevard for someone to pick you up and make an easy thirty bucks, oh, and maybe we'll find you a pimp to beat up on you, too!" he spat at her, his voice seeping with a brilliant mix of sarcasm and pain.

"I can take care of myself, Spike," she whispered, feeling more ashamed than she'd ever felt in her life.

"Right you are, pet....I saw you really doing a swell job of that when he was punching you in the mouth," he replied, dryly. "I see you've been doing well then Buffy, I guess this life is really working out for you then...hell I think it's exciting, what fun is an ancient calling only delivered to one girl in all the world anyway, it's so blase." he shrugged, hating himself for being so harsh, and hating her for making him be.

"Fuck you, Spike!" she looked up at him with mascara running down her cheeks. "You left me! I have to deal with things and sometimes I'm not so good at it. Do you know how bad it hurts? Do you even care? No, all you care about is coming around here and judging the choices I've made in your absence. You think I don't know that this is wrong?" she gestured to herself, and her outfit. "I can't do it anymore, Spike! I can't make ANYONE stay, I'm that impossible! So go ahead and pat yourself on the back, you were right, I'm not the person you fell in love with, you took her with you when you left me and just left this shell!" she took a choppy breath and continued, "Oh, and why don't you call Angel and Riley, too...you know, just to let them know that you're in the club now, and you realize you made a terrible mistake wating your time with me. So yeah, fuck you, Spike. You did this to me!"

He was taken completely stunned. She lumped him into a category with Angel and Riley, men who had ripped his princess' heart out and stomped all over it until it was flat, and she considered him one of them. He'd never wanted to hurt her so badly, and he never wanted her to think she wasn't good enough to make him stay. Spike stepped toward her, slowly and silently wrapping her into a bear hug as it started to rain. There they were, she was where she wanted to be, he had her where he wanted her, and the rain poured down in sheets as if baptizing the moment for them. Where they'd go from here or what happens tomorrow is of no concern, she was his again and he was hers again, if only for a footnote in time.





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