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

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

She actually wore a smile throughout her day.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No! I’m okay, I just…I need to go.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Go, pet. You’re looking cold.”

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

It only wigged her a little that it was Spike.

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





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