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Let's try another one.
*Saturday evening, 1630 Rovello Drive*


A knock at the door interrupted the first Slayerette meeting that Buffy had attended in nearly two weeks almost as soon as it had begun. With Joyce’s nodded consent, Hank opened the door, while the others clutched at the various weapons they kept handy.


“Greetings and salutations from the Master of Sunnydale. May I come in, or do you prefer we continue to speak through the protection of the invitation barrier?” The vampire that said those words took Xander by surprise. Of all the various creatures of the night, he seemed to be the most... lacking. He was obviously balding, had glasses on, wore clothes that could almost give Giles a run for their money in the tweed department, and was looking at them with obvious fear, despite his brave-sounding words. This was definitely not a fighter Spike had sent. What happened next, though, had the young man completely perplexed.


“Come in, Dalton.” The Slayer’s tone was almost courteous, and didn’t that just take the cake?


“Thank you very much, Miss Summers.” He then proceeded to enter, his eyes darting from one weapon to the next. Once seated in the chair Giles had vacated for him, he pulled out some papers from the briefcase he was carrying. “It was brought to my attention that we have been remiss in drafting an actual written agreement to formalize the truce between the Order of Aurelius and the Vampire Slayer, so I am here to remedy that… hm… lapse.” Vampires that not only looked, but also sounded like some sort of non-British watcher-y types were not what Xander had ever envisioned meeting, yet there he was, looking right at him—well, not at him, more like alternating between looking at each and every single person in the room.


The next thirty minutes were filled with haggling on various points between the three older men in the room—and Joyce—with Hank displaying his abilities at negotiations. Those same abilities that had allowed him to make Giles give him all the dirt on what had happened the previous year, landing Xander in a load of hot water with the whole Hyena business. Truth be told, the young man had tried his best to actually forget what he’d done, to put it down to demon influence and move on, with the continuing hope that Buffy would one day see him as a worthy male specimen.


Xander glanced over at Buffy, who was keeping an eye on the bickering adults, while talking to Willow and Cordelia in hushed tones. By the wide eyes on his oldest friend, the subject must have been something particularly juicy, but he just knew it was ‘girl talk’, so he wouldn’t be welcome. In a way, he felt like a fifth wheel, and looking across the room to where Ms. Calendar was trying to look busy flipping the pages of a book, he could understand how she must feel at least part of the time. With a shake of his head, his thoughts and eyes turned back to Buffy.


She was something else, all right. Beauty and power all rolled into one, and he was lucky enough to be able to call her his friend—one of his two best friends, in fact. It was only natural for him to want to be more, but over the past couple of weeks he’d been forced to face his own shortcomings with a clarity that, he had to admit to himself, wasn’t at all one of his usual traits. She was out of his league. Yeah, sure, she’d always been above him, and he’d always known it, felt it in his bones. But what until then had been just one more reason for him to want her more, was becoming one of the reasons to put her permanently in the ‘non-kissing cousins’ group. Well, that and her dad’s demand that he talk to Buffy and fess up to remembering what he’d done. His blood ran cold just thinking about how that particular conversation would go. Maybe he’d hit the jackpot and she wouldn’t maim him, but there was also the possibility that she would want nothing more to do with him. Losing her friendship terrified him.


He was startled by Buffy turning to face the other two girls she’d been talking to and telling them something in hushed, but angry tones, her hands making very clear ‘this is the end of the discussion’ gestures. Her retreat to the kitchen signaled Xander’s chance to face his fears, once and for all. Taking a deep breath, he followed the Slayer with all the enthusiasm of someone going to get kicked in the nuts.


“You okay there, Buff?”


“Oh, yeah, sure.” She seemed startled that someone had followed her. Looking wildly around the kitchen, she pointed to the fridge. “Want some OJ?”


“No, thanks.” It’s now or never, so man up, Xan-man. “Look, there’s something I really gotta tell you. I mean, something I shoulda told you a long time ago, but I was of the yellow-feathered persuasion and kept to myself.”


She was looking at him now, eyes slightly narrowed, head tilted just a bit, eyebrows raised. He had to go on, no matter what, so he focused on an imaginary spot on the wall over the sink and started speaking. He explained how he remembered everything that he’d done when he was possessed by the Hyena Spirit, how he could kinda, sorta, not so much, but still, in a way, control what he was doing. How he could remember thinking there were no consequences, rules, or wrongs, just what he wanted—and what he wanted, he was going to get, no matter what. “You might have noticed, from time to time, that I have a not-exactly little crush on you. Well, I thought I did, anyway. What’s even worse is that I’m kinda relieved that my possessed self was so fixated on you, because that meant that I didn’t participate in the principal dining habits of the rest of the ‘pack’. But what’s even worse than that is I didn’t—couldn’t tell you what happened, and why. See, I’m a male of the species, and on top of that a teenager, so we screw up. In my case, in this case, I more than screwed up, it was screwed up to the power of screw, but just know that I wouldn’t ever do anything like that in my right mind, and that I value being your friend more than almost anything else in the world, a close second to Willow, so whoa! But that’s mostly because she’s been there for longer, not that—”


By the end of his confession, he was visibly trembling, both from the stress, as well as from the fear of losing her—maybe along with some choice body parts along the way. When all he was met with was silence, he slowly chanced moving his eyes to meet those of the Slayer.


And he then understood better than ever the distinction between his blonde friend and the creature that stalked cemeteries in search of the things that go ‘bump’ in the night.


For one, all the mirth and, well, girl-type softness that Buffy was usually animated with was gone, replaced with a cruel, calculating, and ironic quirk of the mouth and slant of the perfectly plucked eyebrows. She was looking at him the way he had seen her look at many-a-demon—before ending their existence in one gruesome way or another. In that moment, Xander Harris’ crush on Buffy Summers was effectively ground to dust by the venom in her eyes. He’d never felt so small, or so afraid in his life.


“Riddle me this: would you have stopped on your own? When you had me under you, getting ready to force yourself on me, would you have gone all the way?” Each question made Xander cringe and shake his head with a dejected sigh. “And once you were done with me, what then? Would you have raped me to death? Or maybe tried to turn me into your demon whore?”


“I don’t know. It was like I was in a red haze, even more so than the rest of the time I was—under the influence.” He barely managed to whisper, his voice hoarse with tears of shame he felt he didn’t deserve their release. Especially since her question was the same thing he had been asking himself over and over again over the past couple of weeks, without a clear answer. At that moment, though, under the focused stare of the Slayer, the words came tumbling out without a conscious thought. “I think I would have tried to keep you… or kill you if I couldn’t.” There! It can’t get worse than now. Have mercy! He couldn’t voice his plea, instead resigning himself to whatever her judgment entailed.


The touch of her hand on his shoulder made him flinch, but her softly spoken words shocked him even more. “Thank you for telling me. In a way, I always kinda knew it wasn’t that simple—what happened back then.” He chanced looking up at her and then he couldn’t look away from the sad kindness in her eyes. “At least now I finally understand. Thank you.” Then the Slayer broke through again. “Touch me like that again and I’ll rip you apart, friends or not, ‘kay?” Without waiting for an answer, she all but skipped back to the living room, leaving a shaken Xander to pick his heart off the floor and make his way back to his friends on his own.


~~~***~~~


*half an hour later*


Buffy was beyond glad when the finishing touches were agreed upon between the elders of the group and Dalton. Throughout the whole process, she’d only spoken to them twice, both times to enquire if they needed her to bring anything. She didn’t much care what the treaty said, she already knew the basics… Spike and his gang were off limits as long as they kept to a strict “vegetarian” diet. There was just one thing that had piqued her interest: all other types of violent demons, as well as “unaligned” vamps were fair game. At least she could start patrolling again. If someone had told her a few months before that she would be looking forward to fighting for her life against some smelly, ugly demon—as they all tended to be—she would have laughed her ass off and told them that all she wanted was to be normal.


Things change.

People die.

She’d died.

And what’s more important, she’d lived! She’d lived more since her short death than in all the years before it. Then, she’d nearly died again, at the hands of the beast—no, the man—that had saved her. Normal had followed and made her acknowledge one thing: normal was beyond boring. After having her father actively help her, after all the hype of her return to Sunnydale, being forced into two long weeks of impromptu retirement as a Slayer had nearly done her in. There’s only so much vapid cheerleader-talk one could take before going home, finding the flimsiest get-up in the closet—the one bought when her dad was busy checking out the rack on the girl behind the counter—and grinding herself up and down anybody within range in the hopes of attracting some action.


He’d shown up just as planned.


The unplanned part was the revelation of Spike’s feelings for her, as well as the way she’d reacted to it. When the initial shock had worn off, she’d found herself feeling a whole range of emotions—from denial to excitement, in thirty difficult steps—but what was lacking was more telling. She didn’t wish he didn’t love her, nor was she disgusted by it, despite her hateful words in the alley. In fact, the revulsion she felt was directed at the way her heart skipped a beat when he’d said it, and at the way her stomach filled up with butterflies when she saw him make his way through the throng of drooling males.


She was attracted to him, that much she’d accepted since the first time she’d opened her eyes, his lips still pressed to hers in a kiss of life, and almost forgot about anything else in her desire for a few more moments of making out with the new hottie. The following encounters only fuelled her desire, with stolen kisses, rubbing, grabbing, and with how forbidden it all was. But feelings?


The only feelings she could have imagined toward a soul-less vampire were the bad kind: hate, distrust, annoyance, violent dislike, hate—the classics. Even Angel’s souled self was on the receiving end of most of the badness enough of the time, despite the whole will-he-won’t-he of their maybe-relationship. So the way she felt for Spike was unnatural to say the least. Relief, safety, happiness, and good, old fashioned companionship—these were not things to be feeling in relation to a bloodthirsty killer. And yet, he had a way to worm his way under her skin, to get her blood pumping faster than ever before, either with a sexy smirk, or with a hurtful word…


Xander had shaken her world. Not as much with what he’d done the year before—water under the bridge, and all that—but with the confession that a demon-possessed best friend would not have stopped, when a self-titled killer of her kind had. Spike hadn’t killed her, despite having had all the opportunities to do her in. He hadn’t even thought of turning her—that much was obvious, what with the whole ‘getting her to the hospital’ incident. So what made Spike different than all the rest? Did he actually, really love her? And if he did, what exactly did she feel about it? She refused to think about it anymore, scared of the answer awaiting her, just as Dalton was saying his good-byes.


“And last, but not least, have a pleasant Weekend, Ms. Summers. The Mas—ahem—William would like to announce that he is interested in courting you. To that extent, I am to present you with a certificate for an all-paid full service spa treatment to enjoy at your discretion.” It was obvious that Dalton was making an extra effort to be the perfect gentleman’s courier, while placing a plain, white envelope on the table with flourish. Buffy was sure she heard Willow try to squeal in silence, but she had other things to worry about at the time. “This is but the first of many tokens of my Master’s affection that you will be receiving, without any pressure on your part to reciprocate. If you desire the—uhm—cessation of the courtship protocol, you have but to say so.”


Buffy blinked fast a few times, feeling as if someone had suddenly focused a large searchlight on her face. She wasn’t sure what she wanted to say, but the many people studying her very carefully—parents notwithstanding—made her feel that she needed to say something fast. “I don’t—”


“Of course, such a discussion would have to be face-to-face between you and him.” Even Dalton smirked at that, no doubt finding Spike’s obviously detailed orders highly amusing.


Stifling a guffaw, Buffy made a dismissive gesture with her hand. “Okay, Dalton, you can go now. Thank you for—just thank you.”


“So Mr. Hottie from last night has manners, taste and minions. Looks like little miss Slayer found her sugar daddy.” Leave it to Cordelia to open an envelope not destined to her and say something completely inappropriate. At least it got some of the heat off Buffy’s back—for which she was extremely grateful. Just when the blonde was about to sweep up her gift from the brunette, the latter let out a squeal of happiness. “It’s a full day, five people booking at the best spa in town! If you don’t marry him, I will.”


~~~***~~~


*One week later, Silent Hill Cemetery*


“And if I do this… if I deliver Bu— the Slayer to you, then—”


“Then you will be turned.”


“Thank you, thank you, thank you!”





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