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Author's Chapter Notes:
Hello all. I would like to take this opportunity to apologize for not posting sooner. To be honest, I went through a period when I felt, for lack of a better term, I sucked as a writer, and I should no longer plague this site or any others with my crap. Through support by my family and friends, they helped me see that I don't suck, and I enjoy this and should do it. With this combo of mini writer's crisis and RL, time slipped away. I just want you all to know, I have no intentions of abandoning this fic (nor any other of mine). I hope this is worth the wait. Enough with my verbal cleansing...on to the story!
Oh, last but definitely not least, thanks to my incredible betas Sanityfair and Diebirchen! Love you ladies! Thanks to Pixiecorn for the delicious banner!
Spike pushed through the muddled haze of his mind, attempting to form a coherent thought, despite the incessant chants of his demon—”More…more…more!” echoing throughout. In a brief moment of clarity, he understood what it craved--more blood. The thick coppery tang coated his tongue and throat. It filled his gut with the life-giving nourishment his damaged body needed and his demon hungered for.

Repressing his demon’s demands, Spike assessed what was happening. He was feeding, that he knew, but how and from whom? He could tell the slender neck under his fangs belonged to a woman who was either unconscious or restrained, since while he fed, she had remained motionless. With another tentative draw, Spike knew instantly she was unconscious due to her lack of reaction from the invasion of his fangs.

Spike forced his mind to reach beyond the simple act of feeding, past the chanting and demands from the primitive demon that lived within, into the outside world. His heightened senses were instantly bombarded, before he slowly sorted through them, and then focused on the sounds of the six heartbeats surrounding him. The one faltering under his mouth, four others, close yet somewhat set back, beating in steady tempos, and the last standing slightly off in the distance, drawing his undivided attention immediately, as the intense hammering pace incited his demon with what it relished almost as much as blood -- fear.

With heavy lids, Spike opened his eyes and fought to focus his gaze. Beyond the pale flesh within his jaws, past the dark flowing hair spilling over motionless shoulders, even further than the guards standing in awe from witnessing a vampire feeding, was the body housing the heartbeat roaring in his ears, the one resonating fear—Buffy.

His golden gaze fixed upon her wide, tear-filled eyes before hers darkened with disgust and loathing. After several gut-wrenching moments of her silent condemnation, his eyes slammed closed, unable to endure the piercing hate emanating from her gaze.

Following one more sip, Spike carefully extracted his fangs, and with quick laps of his tongue closed the twin puncture wounds. Ignoring the guards’ comments of “It’s done,” and “Let’s get the fuck out of here, before the leech decides to munch on us,” Spike stirred with slow defeated movements, pulling himself from the woman and the floor and crawled under the covers seeking refuge from the only place available. Turning his back figuratively, mentally, and emotionally on the outside world, Spike gratefully welcomed the sweet darkness of unconsciousness pulling him under once his head hit the pillow.

With an unwavering gaze, Buffy watched Spike’s retreat as the guards dragged the lifeless body of the woman out of the room. Buffy remained motionless until the sound of the door’s closing broke her from her daze, and she realized what had just happened: Spike fed and killed a woman right in front of her, and she was unable to stop him.

After all that had happened since she awoke in this manmade hell, Buffy had finally reached her breaking point. Unable to remain standing a moment longer, with shaky legs she stepped backward, until the back of her thighs met with the bed, causing her to fall into a graceless heap. Once there, she could no longer hold back her tears, as an emotional tidal wave of overwhelming sadness and defeat flooded her, causing gut-wrenching sobs to escape from her throat.

These tears were for what she couldn’t change: her imprisonment, fighting demons, her calling. They continued for all whom she loved and feared she would never see again: her mom, Giles, Willow, and Xander. Each tear falling felt as if a piece of her strength and spirit was breaking away. Finally, the tears were for what she had just found and lost—Spike.

Prior to witnessing him feeding, Buffy’s mind was clear, and she believed she finally understood Spike’s true nature. He wasn’t merely a demon with a history of over a hundred blood-soaked years of unspeakable evil, death, and destruction, but a man, who was fiercely devoted, felt deeply and compassionately, and was loyal, almost to a fault. Despite being soulless, he held onto his humanity. Before the chip, he had never shown these attributes to anyone other than his sire, until now, when she had witnessed them first hand.

Buffy had finally accepted her feelings as true and real, despite how fiercely she fought them and how foreign and, honestly, quite scary they were. She’d never been lucky in her choices of men. How was it the one man, who was technically not a man but a vamp, was what she wanted and needed all along?

In one moment, it was all gone. His feeding shattered all she had accepted and believed, and now confusion replaced clarity once again. The only thing that was truly clear at this moment was in her world, nothing was as it seemed.

Buffy continued to watch Spike for endless moments, before another more predictable feeling she hadn’t felt for some time, surfaced and replaced all others—anger. Anger roiled in her for the way in which she’d been treated as a pawn in a sick game and how the bastards who kept her here made her feel weak and no longer in control. On the heels of this anger, another feeling came— betrayal. Betrayal by people who called themselves human, including Riley and all those affiliated with the Initiative, who had a hand in her kidnapping, imprisonment, and forcing her to fight for her very existence. It was strange, despite how all these betrayals had led her to where she was now. None seemed to bother her more than Spike’s. His feeding off a human stung deeper than anything else that had happened. With a newfound determination, Buffy rose from her bed, forcefully wiping away her remaining tears. She began to pace steadily. Her enraged words rang loud and clear.

“No more tears! No longer am I going to sit back and allow them to treat me this way. You only get treated as you allow people to treat you, right? Well, I’m the Slayer, damn it! I will be given respect! Either willingly or by force, and with these jackasses, they’ve chosen force! I’ll show them what a Slayer truly is! Now, all I need is a plan.”

Endless hours passed as Buffy paced continually, her mind racing with a dozen escape plans and scenarios all ending with, “Shit, that won’t work,” before quickly moving on to another. Soon, sheer exhaustion set in. She sat down heavily on her bed claiming she was only going to “rest her eyes for a minute,” which turned into hours of deep, dreamless sleep. She awoke to the sound of the guards entering and leaving her meager daily rations. Gradually sitting up, she wiped the sleep from her eyes before her gaze darted around the room, all the while attempting to avoid the gigantic Spike-shaped elephant in the room. It was no use.

Inwardly cursing her betraying eyes, her gaze moved from the metal walls to Spike’s sleeping form. He resembled a fallen archangel fresh from battle. The crimson-stained sheet hugged his slender hips clinging to his blood-soaked denims. His formally flawless skin was marred with angry raised welts and deep gouges, created by his opponent’s vicious attacks. The once white pillow gently cradled his battered face, his long inky lashes brushing against bruised and swollen cheeks.

Anger long forgotten, Buffy’s heart swelled with the knowledge of how truly beautiful this man was. She remembered how he had saved her countless times, in so many ways. How he looked at her as if she was the epitome of perfection, yet at the same time he never had unrealistic expectations of her and accepted her for who she truly was, faults and all. Her gaze studied and appreciated him for some time until he appeared to be having a nightmare. He stirred and emitted a low growl in his sleep, causing his demon to emerge: prominent ridges rising on his brow, fangs exposed and pressing against in bottom lip. In an instant, he was no longer an archangel, but the demon he truly was.

The memory of the night before rushed forward, replacing Buffy’s pleasant thoughts with the loathing and disdain she held for the demon dwelling inside him and the soul he lacked. Once more, Buffy acknowledged the only truth that mattered—Spike fed from and killed a human being.

Buffy’s gaze tore away from the now demon lying upon the bed as she stood and resumed her pacing, while continuing her plans for escape. Hours later, Buffy heard him stir from his prolonged sleep. Her pacing ceased. Turning, she faced the demon that had replaced and corrupted the man for whom she had feelings.

The darkness of sleep started to melt away as Spike’s eyes slowly opened. Within moments, the pain from his earlier battle slammed into his body, rendering him briefly immobile and even though he didn’t need to breathe, breathless. Quickly, he did a mental assessment of his wounds. Considering all he had gone through, and despite several deep puncture wounds and a few once broken, now mending ribs, he was surprisingly feeling far better than the excruciating moments during and following his time in the ring. Swallowing past the lump residing in his throat, he immediately remembered why he was healing so well. He had fed— from a human.

Without turning, Spike instantly sensed Buffy staring at him. He knew he had to face what had happened, but hoped she would see the truth and harsh reality of the situation— sometimes survival takes sacrifice.

Gradually sitting, Spike moved his battered body with painstaking slowness, as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Shaking away his demon, with an imploring gaze he looked upon the woman whose gift of trust and possibly her heart had saved him from a dusty demise. When he finally spoke, he placed all of his feelings and hopes into one word, her name.

“Buffy?” Spike held his proverbial breath while he silently wished and even prayed she would understand.

“You disgust me.” Buffy’s voice was eerily calm, and her tone was bitter and full of hate. All the hope he held onto tightly, disappeared. Instinctually, Spike’s mind pulled forward one of many defense mechanisms he had honed in a hundred plus years, the facade of arrogant bravado.

“Well, don’t be shy about how you feel, Slayer.”

“How could you?”

“How could I what, feed? Unless you’ve been hit on the head one too many times or have completely forgotten, I…am…a…bloody…vampire!”

“No, I didn’t forget.”

“Then you know it’s what we do. How we survive.”

“There are other ways, Spike," Buffy spat as her features filled with revulsion and barely contained fury.

“Oh, really? Didn’t see some man with a trolley offering bagged blood. Or maybe there was, but with me being completely out of my gourd, I must ‘ave missed him!”

“You could’ve chosen not to feed.”

Following a loud snort, Spike’s jaw clenched briefly, before his seething words followed. “Didn’t have a bleedin' choice, Slayer--beaten to a bloody pulp! How the hell are we…” Buffy’s brow lifted upon the word “we.” Despite his cock and swagger routine, this simple gesture cut Spike deeply. He quickly suppressed the pain flashing across his features as he amended his earlier word. “I, how am I gonna get out of this soddin’ hell hole the shape I was in? I could barely stand, never mind fight another seventeen demons!” Spike inwardly added, ”Not counting my last battle, our twenty-first. Where I will surely lose in order for you to escape. I’m such a bleedin’ ponce.”

Either completely missing Spike’s miscount or simply not caring, Buffy responded angrily, “You know what, Spike, that’s total bullshit! You got off feeding from her! Don’t deny it!” Their intense gazes locked for several moments, until Spike’s eyes lowered, and with irritation, he began to shake his head disparagingly.

“What?” Buffy snapped defensively.

“I’m such a bloody fool.”

“Yeah, tell me something I don’t already know.” Ignoring her comment, Spike continued.

“I thought after everything we’ve been through, after all we’ve shared, after all of this…” Spike gestured with the sweep of his arm, motioning between them. “You would’ve opened your mind or at the very least your eyes. Erase all the bullshite your Watcher filled your head with about demons and the like. Actually see we’re not so different from you. No matter human, vamp, or what have you, each is striving for one thing…to live or un-live in a vamp’s case. This may differ from creature to creature, but it holds true for all of us. That includes…you.”

“But I don’t kill.”

“Are you listening to yourself? Since your calling, that’s all you've ever done. Your hands are covered with the blood and dust of hundreds of slaughtered demons! Even now, in here, you're killing of another creature allows you to live!"

Hearing his words, Buffy assumed her typical stance of superiority and defensiveness: she folded her arms and rested them rigidly across her chest. Her mouth formed a thin hard line, and her hate-filled glare intensified. With an icy tone, she responded,
“I do what I have to do.”

“And so do all of us,” Spike retorted tersely.

“It’s not the same.”

“Never is in your eyes, Slayer. It never is.” Ending their conversation abruptly, Spike slipped back under his sheet and turned to face the wall. After several moments of tense silence, he spoke once more,

“And by the way, not that it matters to the likes of you, I didn’t drain her. Sure, she’s several pints down, but she’s still alive.”

Hearing his statement, her anger began to recede instantly. Her once steely gaze softened, and then widened with disbelief as numerous questions and their answers echoed in her mind. ”Is she really still alive or is this just another lie? But why would he lie? The way I’ve treated him, he would think he had nothing to lose, ergo him giving the brutal truth. Plus, how farfetched is it that she’s alive? I mean, he fed from me— the Slayer, his mortal enemy, the one with the best blood in town, and I’m still here.”

Buffy’s mind reeled from this unavoidable truth. Spike had shown once again his true nature, solidifying her previous beliefs, by only feeding and not killing. With this insight, which unfortunately was now hindsight, Buffy inwardly admitted, ”I’m such a judgmental bitch. When it comes to Spike, I always jump to conclusions, never finding out what truly happened before I go and assume the worst.” Pushing past her internal Buffy-bashing, she focused on what she needed to do— making things right with him. Closing her eyes briefly, she inhaled slowly to calm herself, while her mind stammered, attempting to form words to express something she rarely gave, an apology.

Before she could form the needed words, the recognizable swoosh of the door opening echoed through the once silent room. In a flurry of motions, the guards yanked Spike from his bed and dragged him to the door. Not once did Spike look toward her as she watched them leading him away. Instantly, as the door closed, a new surge of tears began to flow caused by two unfamiliar feelings when it came to how she treated Spike—guilt and remorse.







Chapter End Notes:
I hope you all enjoyed! I would like to thank Buffyrat for the borrowed line from one of her reviews:"Sometimes survival takes sacrifice". Sorry babe, I wanted to ask your permission before I used it, but I didn't have a way to contact you, hopefully you don't mind.
And a little shameless self-promotion...Check out my little fic called Dream a little dream!



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