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Author's Chapter Notes:
The final chapter *runs screaming from the pitchforks* Just remember, there IS an epilogue!!
Chapter Seven

“Hey, Spike! Where’s the little woman tonight?”

Spike glared at the newly-endangered Garouka demon and growled, clenching his fists in spasmodic bursts.

“Bugger off,” he snarled before taking a menacing step toward the slithering shell of the smartarse demon.

“Don’t tell us she’s too ashamed to be seen in public with you?” a voice shouted, inspiring laughter from a crowd of vamps drinking heartily near the back door of Willy’s.

He didn’t bother with words this time, just stomped over and slammed his fist into the gut of the smallest and shoved his stake into the heart of the largest. The ensuing brawl was just what he needed to pacify the bloodlust he’d been struggling with ever since Miss Prissy Pants had done a runner on him, leaving him alone and frustrated with her heady scent lingering on his skin and clothes. Twenty-four hours had not been enough to cool his temper and receiving taunts from his fellow demons was just the thing to set him right off.

His ire didn’t dim until there was a choking haze of vampire dust swirling around the bottom of his coat as he made proper use of the backdoor, leaving Willy’s outraged objections in his wake.

There’d been no let up on the destabilising thoughts that had rushed through his head since he’d snapped out of that bleeding head damaging spell. Buffy lips hadn’t tasted as hideous as his first reaction had implied. There’d been a tantalising sweetness to her kiss that he’d been keen to recapture the second she’d pulled away, and in many ways he’d been grateful for what her quick thinking self-preservation had handed him on a silver platter: the chance to partake in more glorious snogging. What had happened beyond that he considered as much more than a bonus. It had been a bloody revelation—just like he’d told her—and something Spike was unwilling to lose just yet.

Truthfully, getting the chip out of his head was secondary to sorting out this new motivation to be near the Slayer. Thanks to the misguided witch, a new scenario had provided possibilities and situations that ran on repeat in his head, giving him no peace and an almost painfully permanent erection. Continuing this pretend engagement gave him time—to kiss her, to shag her blind, to sort out this new devotion he had to preserving her life, or to renew his plan to kill her and claim his third slayer. There were too many things he needed time to work out, and she was threatening to take it away from him because she was scared of how things were changing.

Yesterday she’d needed him to keep her alive—even if indirectly—and today she wanted him gone. The speed of it was whiplash-inducing and Spike wanted to rip her head off her shoulders for making him feel so uncertain about himself and what he wanted.

What he needed.

He’d enjoyed being seen as her beau. He’d enjoyed seeing the shock on the idiot boy’s face and then the stilted acceptance. The guilt on Red’s face had fed his need for vengeance, and his liking of her dimmed accordingly. No one bloody manipulated him with witchcraft and got away with it—and nobody was going to be stronger than Buffy and get an even more swelled head.

Rupert knew. The way the older man hadn’t raged had been the vital clue, and though Spike was disappointed the git hadn’t fallen for the plan, he couldn’t hold back his admiration that this watcher actually watched all the salient events—even when struggling with magically-induced blindness. It meant he cared and that he was looking out for Buffy. One day someone would work out the Slayer was vulnerable to magic, and Spike wouldn’t put it past the witch to be the one who did, or for her to use the knowledge against her supposed best friend. She seemed to be all about the quick fix and the healing of her own pain to the detriment of others.

Spike strutted down the street, swearing under his breath. Bloody inconvenient he couldn’t just snap her neck and save a couple years of possible unrest and pain. The girl was arrogant and Spike just had a feeling that it would be the end of her. What he didn’t want—what he’d go to the ends of the earth to prevent—was for it to be the end of Buffy.

He could hear the spill of music from the Bronze as he turned the corner and ambled down the alley. There was no way he was allowing Buffy to end this engagement. No one would believe it was real if it was over in a blink. Spike needed it to continue so he could feed his own fantasy that it was real. He needed Buffy to be his for just a little bit longer. He wasn’t so stupid as to believe he could make her see it as a forever option. Bint was too hooked on Angel for that to ever be a possibility.

He saw her the second he passed through the door. The lights were low but she was pride of centre, moving her hips and arms in a dance that he well remembered. Her friends surrounded her, but Spike never saw them. A soft affectionate smile graced his lips as he watched her—watched her shine like the true flower she was.

It was strange to see her this way and not contemplate the slayer blood that flowed through her body. Not see the design of her corpse in his mind as he plotted ways to achieve her death. Those thoughts merely fed his nausea all the sudden and Spike felt like cursing.

She’d neutered him.

She’d been the beacon in the night that had lead him back to this town time after time, the one that occupied him to the point of distraction against the new evil forces of the night. Thanks to her, he’d been bagged and tagged and crippled to his way of life and was chock full of conscience. And it was her fault he was falling for her. Her lips, her quips, her tight, packed little body had him whipped like a little puppy wagging his tail behind him as he trotted after her.

Without breaking his gaze, he watched her while gravitating toward a free seat. Just seeing her absorb the surrounding beat made him hot and certain parts of his anatomy throb for her. He saw what he had the first night he clapped eyes on her. Shining hair, lithe limbs moving with grace and a body made for love. Except then he’d wanted to snuff her out. He’d seen her attributes, of course he had, but he’d been oblivious then. How could he have expected that a petite blonde would make him buzz with life and make him ache with death?

An indulgent smile settled on his lips. Yeah, there were all the telltale signs of a blooming attraction and he was well past preventing them or fighting with himself. He knew how he worked, and now that he’d reached this point it was unlikely he’d be able to regain a footing in his previous train of thought. No matter what she did, he was beyond thinking of her as a meal; beyond thinking of her as a slayer notch on his belt.

Trust Buffy to test his realisation as soon as he’d made it. In a split second the music figuratively stopped as her body halted its dance and she giggled at something some insipid-looking hulk said to her. There was touching as she laid her hand on his forearm and Spike was livid. The git looked like Angel too much for his peace of mind. There was the height, the blank stupidity and the nauseatingly sweet lusting after Buffy. His Buffy. Whether it was fake or not, she was his fiancée and no brooding wannabe was going to march in and divert her attention from him.

Spike’s jaw ticked in irritation and he felt the muscles of his arms bunch in anticipation. There was nothing he’d like better than to punch this one through the floor, even if it did catapult him into a sure brain meltdown. Stepping away from his stool, Spike made his way to Buffy, murderously intent on preserving his engagement at all costs. There was an air of expectation that buzzed around his head but he was so lost now in his raging anger at her touching another male that he was beyond calming down.

“Get away from her, you pillock.” Lip sneered perfectly, feet spread and fists clenched, Spike knew he looked pretty imposing and his temper wasn’t something most people ignored and kept their lives to brag about it.

“Hey, ease off buddy. I’m just talking. Hey, do I know you?” The jovial confusion set Spike’s teeth on edge and he could feel his mask tickling to take over his face.

“Spike!” Buffy jumped in urgently, clamping hold of his arm and holding it against her body hard. “What are you doing here? I thought you were at Giles’s place tonight.” She smiled nervously, pinching through his coat hard on his arm.

“Turns out Rupes was a bit distracted, so I skipped out looking for you. Didn’t expect to see you cosying up to this wanker though, did I?” He nearly growled at how betrayed he felt, despite knowing he had no right to be. Her friends were here, though, watching her flash come-hither glances at the overbearing hayseed standing over them.

It was small comfort to see that Buffy looked embarrassed, but then she flushed guiltily and he saw red. Literally too as Willow hesitantly approached and tried to distract him with offers of coming to join their table. He shook her hand off with a slight wince and vowed to make her bleed out when he got the chip out of his head. He was so filled with hate and fury right now that he was well imagining a blood bath—but it was made worse by the earlier avowal that he would value Buffy’s life rather than seek an end to it.

“Piss off, Witch.” Spike snarled at the redhead and Buffy looked frantically at the waste of everyone’s space with the bugging eyes before urgently slapping at Spike’s chest.

“Don’t be so rude, Spike,” she pouted prettily, batting her eyelashes like she had a license to thrill.

“So your fiancé’s kind of possessive then,” asked Riley with his own pout of disappointment.

If that didn’t grate… “Wouldn’t you bleeding well be possessive of your woman?” Spike growled, dismissing him, then twisting around to grab hold of Buffy’s hand and tug her to the exit. She yanked free before pushing him away, staring furiously at him.

“You’re dancing a little close to the edge if you think you can He-man your way in here and cause trouble.” Buffy’s eyes narrowed at his unhinged laugh, stepping slowly away as Spike stepped too far into her space.

“Oh you are not telling me to leave you here to tart it up with that wanker.” His eyes glittered dangerously and fangs itched to descend and scare the crap out of all their onlookers.

“What I’m telling you is that you can’t force me to do anything.” Buffy stared him down, her lips tight and her eyes hard.

Spike studied her expression. It could be that she was using this opportunity to stage their break-up, painting him into a corner and making him look like a wet-behind-the-ears loser who had no respect from his partner. He tilted his head to the side and contemplated her heaving breasts and her flush of anger.

“You want me to just turn around and leave you here? With him?” There was no concealing his hurt. The fake engagement wasn’t even an issue to Spike anymore. This was a rejection no matter which way he looked at it. She wanted freedom to audition new Angel stand-ins and she wanted him gone so she could do it.

Buffy was lost for words.

Saying she was confused about how she was feeling was an understatement she didn’t want to look at any deeper. She couldn’t have faked an emotional upheaval like this. Even though it had been her intention to use Spike to hide the fact she was vulnerable to future magical attacks, things had been shared between them and there hadn’t been enough time yet for her to truly think about what the consequences were to such actions.

She knew in her head it was wrong, but when Spike was touching her, kissing her, the concept of wrongness was lost on her. Which part of her did she trust? She didn’t know what to do, didn’t know if spending time getting to know Riley was even worth it, but Spike’s caveman routine in the Bronze was more than a little humiliating and she wasn’t ready to deal with anything that was promising a taste of finality.

“I think you need to just cool down. Come in and sit with us, dance with me—” Only as the words spilled out did she realise that she really was hoping he’d take her up on it. Buffy wanted to spend some time with Spike, not Riley, and the defensive stance he adopted just made her heart lodge painfully in her throat.

“I don’t think so, Buffy. Maybe you were right an’ this really is a mistake.” They stood frozen staring at each other, panic making Buffy want to rush into his arms and self-preservation causing Spike to take a step back toward the door.

Now that he was leaving, Buffy felt crippled with anxiety. What was he doing? He hadn’t wanted to do the necessary break-up in front of her friends. He’d wanted to continue their engagement and now that it was looking pretty much over, Buffy felt an urgent need to preserve it. She wasn’t ready, and Spike was backing away.

Riley and her friends were forgotten as Buffy rushed after him, catching him just as he was about to disappear around a corner. Her body tingled with memory, his touch something she was beginning to realise meant more to her than convenience. There was emotion here, something more than hate, something softer and kind.

“Spike?” She felt like the tears that were tightening her throat were not entirely out of place with the look of defeat he shot at her.

“Look, Slayer. It was good while it lasted, yeah? But we both know I’m not what you’d call desirable to your little Scooby gang, and I’m not gonna hang around and watch while you get caught up with something like that…human,” he spat distastefully. “I know that’s what you want, so let’s just pretend you sent old Spike packing and forget we even had this thing between us, okay?”

He was leaving.

Everything went cold and dark and Buffy struggled to breathe.

He was leaving and she shouldn’t care—but she did. There was so much confusion, and even if she planned on sorting it out in favour of hating Spike again, it was too early to see the back of him.

Besides, she’d promised to help him get out the chip.

“But what about the chip? I said—”

“Know what you said, pet. Doesn’t matter. This place is destroying me. Think it might be better if I skip out now before…”

“Before hearts get broken?” Buffy supplied in a low, cracked voice, wondering as her nose itched and her eyes began to sting if maybe it was already happening.

At least it made the hard, unforgiving look soften on Spike’s face. He smiled a sad, gentle smile. Whispered with a frog in his throat “Yeah,” before reaching out to track the first tear that slid dolefully down her cheek.

And then he was gone. Buffy blinked against the ache in her throat, and he was gone.

And the engagement was at an end.





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