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She was stunned, and pleased, to find throughout the day that Spike’s prediction had been true and that her blood had seemingly cured him of the insanity that had plagued him since the first day of gaining his soul. The only problem it brought with it was that she wasn’t entirely sure how to treat him, now that he no longer needed her constant presence, reassurance. She had become so used to spending most of her time looking after him – it defined her daily schedule – that she didn’t quite know what to do with herself now.

The change had become immediately clear though when she had been preparing Spike’s blood in the kitchen, only to be joined by him moments later. He had showered and his hair was still damp, his feet bare, as he entered the kitchen hesitantly, flashing her a small smile. Her mother joined them a moment later and Buffy didn’t miss her mother’s wide smile.

“Spike, good morning!”

“Good morning,” he answered shyly, uncertainly, as if he was unused to such commonplace niceties.

Her mother ushered him into the room and guided him onto a stool as she began to move about the kitchen, almost making Buffy dizzy with her movements.

“I have to go to work, but do you want anything?” Joyce asked the vampire, “I’m sure Buffy can make you whatever you want… just as long as it doesn’t involve using the oven.”

“Hey!” she protested and her mother laughed.

“I’m fine,” Spike answered quietly, his eyes darting between the two of them, “Thank you.”

“Buffy, don’t forget to do the laundry.”

“Yes, Mom.”

“Right, I’m off. Have a good day.”

Her mother brushed a kiss against her forehead and moved to Spike, just laying a hand on his arm, before giving them both a bright smile and heading out of the kitchen.



There was silence for a moment, broken as the microwave signalled it had finished. She jumped and turned to retrieve the mug of blood, placing it down on the counter in front of the quiet vampire.

“She’s kinda hyper in the morning,” she quipped lightly, trying to draw him out of his pensiveness. He nodded and gave her a half smile, before taking the mug and sipping from it. Turning away from the slightly nauseating sight, she began to search the cupboards for breakfast. She jumped when suddenly the empty mug was set down beside her and spun round instinctively.

“Sorry,” Spike whispered, avoiding her gaze, “Erm, thanks for…”

Calming her breathing, she smiled and nodded, taking the mug from him and moving to the sink to rinse it.

“Do you want anything?” she asked, “For breakfast? I’m tempted to go for the pop tarts myself.”

“No, I… I’m okay, thank you.”

She nodded and retrieved the food from the cupboard and loaded them into the toaster, humming quietly as she did so. The vampire had retreated back to his stool but she could feel his eyes on her, making the back of her neck tingle.

“I, erm, I guess we just hang around today. Not much to do,” she commented, rambling in her nervousness, “We could watch TV or… I don’t know. Whatever you want. Or, you know, if you don’t want-”

“TV sounds good,” he interrupted with what sounded like laughter in his voice and she turned to him, surprised by the burst of warmth that his soft smile gave her.

“Good. TV it is.”



After seemingly interminable channel-surfing, they eventually settled on an awful made-for-TV movie – a ridiculous attempt at a horror story, complete with heavily-accented, mysterious vampires. Although, maybe that bit wasn’t so wrong.

“You must find this stuff really stupid,” she remarked to the silent vampire at her side, “All that fake blood and really crazy long fangs… All that Dracula stuff as well.”

“Dracula’s real,” he replied absently.

“No way!”

He gave her that shy smile, eyes slanted towards her.

“’Fraid so. Owes me eleven pounds.”

“You’ve met Dracula?!”

“Met a lot of people over the years,” he murmured quietly, his eyes sliding away from hers. She could almost see him descending into his memories, a faint painful glint brightening his eyes.

“This is boring. Let’s find something else.”

She scooped up the control, hoping to distract him with something else. To her surprise, he reached out and caught her hand, stalling her.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to tiptoe around me, worrying that I might break.”

She was silent, biting her lip momentarily before finally speaking up, glancing up at him from under her eyelashes.

“I know. I just… there’s no need to make you think about those things. Painful things.”

“Not much you can do to stop them, pet,” he answered softly, turning from her once more, his eyes fixed blindly on the wall.

“Is it bad?” she whispered, surprised by her own question, as was he.



He turned back to her and gave her a weak smile.

“Not always. And it’s… it’s not as bad as it was. When I was… well, off my cracker, there was no break from the… the voices and the… memories.”

She frowned, her heart going out to him at the pain in his voice. She found herself reaching out and twining her fingers around his and although he squeezed them gently in his, he did not seem really aware of the gesture.

“All I could see was… things that I did… the people I hurt. The Slayers, even.”

He slanted a look at her with those words but then averted his eyes again quickly.

“Even you. The things I would have done to you if I’d got the chance…”

“It’s in the past,” she whispered, squeezing his hand tightly in hers, “I’m still alive, aren’t I?”

He turned tortured eyes on hers and smiled bitterly.

“Guess so. I shouldn’t be though. You should have dusted me ages ago.”

“You know I couldn’t-“

“I meant before,” he corrected, “Should’ve got rid of me when you had the advantage, when I was stuck in that… that bloody chair.”

She saw the flash of pain and shame that the memory of being in a wheelchair brought to his eyes and squeezed his hand gently.

“That was never really our style, was it?” she answered softly, “Anyway, I had bigger things to worry about.”

“Don’t know whether to be offended by that.”

She smiled and he glanced at her, offering a soft smile of his own.

“So, do I get a get out of jail free card now? On account of the soul?”

“Something like that,” she murmured, her smile fading, “Unless you give me a reason to doubt you.”



She was lost to her thoughts now, lost to the painful idea that she had been driven to doubt the one person she had given everything to: heart, body and soul. She didn’t even realise the tears had returned until she was drawn into Spike’s embrace and she found herself curled up against him, her tears tracing down her cheeks and dripping onto his shirt. He said nothing, simply holding her loosely, his hand stroking slowly over her hair.

Even when she began to calm, she was reluctant to move, enjoying the simple comfort of being held. Spike was definitely one of those caring types, she mused idly. She wiped her eyes but did not move from her position and he continued his gentle caress over her hair.

“I hate that he can do this to me,” she whispered, her voice shaking, “I want to just hate him and be… be over with it.”

“S’not that easy though, is it, love?” he murmured softly, his breath stirring her hair. She shook her head and sighed.

“I want to hate him… but I just can’t. I couldn’t even hate him when he was Angelus… not even when he… when he killed Jenny… because I’d look at him and all I could see was Angel.”

She sniffed miserably and he squeezed her against him slightly, his hand stroking her shoulder.

“But I can’t love him either… because he… he’s not who I thought he was.”

A sob escaped her and she buried her head against him as she fought to hold back the tide that was so ready to overwhelm her.

“That’s the thing about love though, innit?” he murmured, his fingers moving absentmindedly through her hair, “Makes you see things differently. Love’s blind and all that. First love too… it’s something special.”

“Love hurts,” she got out painfully.

“Preaching to the choir, love,” he answered with a soft chuckle, “It does hurt. Hurts like a bitch… but sometimes it’s worth it.”



She was silent for a moment, taking in his words.

“But is it worth it? What if there’s nothing left but the hurt?” she whispered.

“Then it depends on the type of person you are, doesn’t it? Are you the type of person who’s prepared to take that? Or are you the kind strong enough to walk away?”

She nodded softly, letting out a little sigh.

“Which kind are you?” she asked.

He went quiet for a moment, his hand stilling in its motions, but a moment later he spoke up.

“Was never strong enough to walk away. Always been Love’s Bitch… don’t think even the soul can change that.”

“Maybe you’re a better person than me,” she got out with a bitter laugh, “I just… all I can feel right now is that it’s too much… too much hurt. Too much hurt to make up for just a few months of happiness.”

He said nothing, falling silent as she sank against him, his hand passing smoothly over her hair as she let out a sad sigh.





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