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Author's Chapter Notes:
Hey guys! Sorry for the delay. I hope everyone is still with me.

Here is Chapter One. There is some NC-17 adult material in here, some non-graphic, non-sexual Spike/Other and lots of angst.

There is also another warning for the chapter in the end notes, because I don't want to spoil it.

Enjoy!
Saturday nights were always the worst of the worst.



They were the nights that pierced Buffy’s delicate heart like a huge pickaxe, chipping away at her sanity and her senses.



Saturday night was date night.



Every week she would watch her mother dress up in her finery, like a sheep donning clothing that even a lamb would have struggled to pull off, and Buffy’s resentment grew deeper.



And here it was again.



Hearing their laughter as Spike encircled Joyce in his arms and declared how beautiful his wife was sickened her to the very pit of her stomach.



Those loving looks and tender touches were the hardest to observe.



They were the tiny little pickaxes eating away at her.



It wasn’t that Buffy didn’t want to see her mother happy. Of course she did. But she didn’t want to see her happy with Spike.



She didn’t want to see anyone but herself happy with Spike.



Yes, maybe it was selfish, and even cruel, but she wanted him, and not just in a teenage crush kind of way.



Her body craved the feel of him against her, their flesh gliding together in the deepest throws of passion as she moaned his name in shuddering ecstasy. The need to feel him over her, under her was becoming almost unbearable. Each passing day made her want him more.



Many times she could swear that just a meager glance from Spike was like a velvet touch, reaching all of her most intimate regions.



He had been a member of her family for over a year now, and their daily interaction had only fanned the flames of her ever growing passion.



She knew that one day her fantasies would be realized. It just could not be any other way!



Unfortunately, her Mom’s raucous laughter followed by Spike’s honeyed chuckle jerked her back to the harsh reality of life.



And, God, did life suck!



“You look stunning, love.” Spike gushed, admiring his wife, as she flounced around in her new black dress.



“Oh, you!” Joyce smiled, straightening the tie that sat under the collar of her husband’s fancy new blue dress shirt. It was “poncy” and “fit for nancyboys to wear” according to Spike but it made Joyce happy and that was what counted to him.



Joyce had never smiled like that when she had been married to Buffy’s father. Of course that had been 14 years of pure, unadulterated hell. Well, there was some adultery, on Hank’s part at least.



Joyce had been only 18 when she had gotten married to Hank Summers and less than a year later she had found herself a mother for the first and only time.



For years she had doted on Buffy, trying to compensate for the lack of attention her husband gave to the little girl.



When her parents’ marriage had broken down, though, the blame had been laid solely at Joyce’s feet by the bitter teenage girl, instead of where it deserved to be.



At the feet of Hank and his 23 year old secretary.



Everything had become so much worse when Joyce met and married Spike though. Everyone of the older Summers’ efforts to bond with her daughter were rebuffed, causing the tension in the house to build to boiling point.



But watching them fawn over each other now just made her want to stand up and shout and scream, rant and rage, and then kill everyone in her path.



Of course, instead of the bloodshed she craved, Buffy just glared and glowered at the pair, but it just evoked rolled eyes and a playful wink from her stepdad, followed by a “Don’t wait up!” as they strolled out the door.



God… she knew she should not be checking out that bitable ass! He was her stepdad! But that didn’t stop her wanting him.



When they finally left the house to enjoy whatever kind of “couples time” they spent together, Buffy began her own Saturday night ritual. One that had become ingrained in her life for the past several months.



After all, it wasn’t as if her friends were all that friendly these days. It seemed they had gotten bored with Spacey-Buffy, and moved on to people who actually returned their calls, or listened to them when they spoke. Even her boyfriend had been MIA for a while.



Buffy couldn’t remember if they had broken up or not. Not that she really cared.



Now was not the time to think about her former best friends, or Owen or anyone else.



Now was Buffy time.



It wasn’t as if she didn’t know that what she was about to do was wrong on so many levels, but it didn’t stop her from sneaking up the stairs into the bedroom that her mother shared with Spike and pulling one of his worn shirts from the laundry basket.



As she pressed the shirt to her nose, and deeply inhaled, she could have sworn there was nothing sweeter than Eau de Spike in the whole entire world. His scent was a sensual mixture of smoky tobacco, bitter leather and the remnants of his cologne, all underscored by the unique scent of his own aroma.



If she could have bottled that scent it would surpass anything Jean-Baptiste Grenouille could even have dreamed of.



With the shirt still in hand, she made her way into her own bedroom, kicking the door shut behind her, and sauntering over to the mirror.



Despite her many insecurities Buffy knew she was somewhat attractive. Her figure was slender with subtle curves in all the right places. Long honey-blonde waved cascaded down her petite shoulders, almost to her waist.



Keeping her eyes fixed on the image in the mirror she ran one delicate hand gently over her tanned tummy, the other still gripping the Spike-scented garment.



Letting out another quiet moan at the fragrance, she maneuvered herself to her bed, haphazardly falling back onto the silky covers, letting the shirt slip from her hands onto the bed next to her.



She started to caress one breast and then the other, weighing them in her hands, running her fingers over her pert nipples, and down her sensitive sides. The sounds of her increasingly loud moans and desperate panting filled her ears in the otherwise silent room.



She could feel the desperation building inside of her, like a volcano making ready to erupt, the molten lava of her passion bubbling under the surface.

With every unfulfilled touch, the frustration and tension coiled inside her, searing through her veins like white hot heat. It was as if she was burning from the inside out.



And all of a sudden it was like her hands were no longer her own. Instead of her own petite paws, she imagined a pair of much larger rougher ones were making her way down her body, peeling away her clothing leaving trails of almost painful fire in their wake.



Slipping her hands between her thighs, she envisaged a blond head with razor sharp cheekbones bobbing between her small breasts, leaving wet kisses across them. He would worship her body like it was his alter.



The wetness was pooling on her bedspread, and she truly believed that if she didn’t find her release soon then she would combust and die.



In her fantasy Spike was licking furiously at her most intimate parts, his lips pursing as he ran them over her mound, his tongue finding its way inside of her.



In reality her own fingers were furiously rubbing at her most intimate parts, taking her soaring higher toward the heavens.



The moment that she reached her pinnacle of ecstasy, it was Spike’s name that she gasped and Spike’s face that she saw.



But when she opened her eyes, there was nothing but a cold empty room.



She was alone.



Like always.



Feeling tears prickling behind her eyes as the harsh truth once again overtook her, she curled up in a ball, only the faint scent of the man that she loved managing to console her.



It wasn’t long before sleep managed to finally offer its own tend comfort.



The jarring shouts of a voice jolted Buffy out of her dreamless sleep. She sat up, still half dazed and looked around for the source of the disturbance.



A frisson of excitement spread through her when she saw the figure standing at the end of her bed, half shrouded in darkness.



“Spike?” Realized her state of undress she tugged the covers up to conceal her nudity.



“Buffy?” His voice sounded almost distraught, rough with tears, both shed and unshed. It unnerved her, chilling her blood. She had never seen him life this before. Never.



“Spike? What’s wrong?”



“Oh God, Buffy!” Although barely able to see him through the dark, she could have sworn she heard him sob, and suddenly the color started to seep out of her world.



“What is it?” This time her voice was colder, harsher, more mature than she had ever heard it herself.



To be honest, Buffy wasn’t sure that he was even aware of her presence. He seemed dazed, like he was stuck in some nightmare that he hadn’t yet woken up from.



“We were in the restaurant.” He ran his hands through his hair, and stepped forward, sitting down on the edge of her bed. “And there was a man…he wanted…I don’t know…money. He….there was a gun.”



At his foreboding words the chill that had been building turned to ice inside her.



“Spike, where’s Mom?” Her head felt fuzzy, her limbs like cotton.



It was as if he couldn’t really hear her. His eyes weren’t focused on her. At that second it was like he snapped back to reality and surged forward toward her.



She saw it.



Blood.



Soaked through his nice new dress shirt.



“Oh God!” Buffy felt the bile rising in her throat at the sight of him, and clapped her hand over her mouth to prevent it spilling forth.



“He went… bloody berserk. I tried to protect her. I buggering well tried! But she took a shot to the head…”



He rose to his feet in one fluid motion, channeling his anger into his pacing.



“I sodding well tried. I couldn’t…I couldn’t save her.”



His tortured eyes met Buffy’s in a clash of the purest pain imaginable.



“Is she…?”



“I’m sorry, pet.” He cleared his throat. “She’s gone.”



And just like that Buffy Summers’ world dissolved.



Chapter End Notes:
Warning: Character Death

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