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Hey everyone, thanks so much for still reading and for the reviews! I hope you like this chapter!
It was eleven o'clock now, and Buffy was sure she should call her Grams to let her know she was like, alive and everything, but she didn't have her phone.

Spike did. She'd left it at his house, in her bag, and she was heading there now anyway.

The wind had definitely not been blown out of her sails on the way over. She was still ready and determined to 'face the facts' and get him to spill everything... Whatever "everything" turned out to be.

She was ready now. And she was pretty sure no matter who or what Spike was, he'd yell at her for walking alone at night. Buffy wasn't too keen on the prospect herself after spending so much quality time with loads of vampire lore, but she didn't exactly have a choice.

She moved a little faster as she came to the clearing in the wood. Spike's house stood tall and mythic looking; illuminated in moonlight, the white brick shone. She almost halted, the ethereal appearance and her topsy-turvy nerves making her unsteady even in her determination.

But Buffy plowed on. She approached the front door, idly worrying about his friends; maybe they would disapprove of her now. They certainly must know of how she ran from the house.

And there was no doubt in her mind that they knew what Spike was... And she was all but thoroughly convinced that Stevo really WAS a gypsy, too...

She gulped.

A shake of the head and Buffy gathered every ounce of giddy, in-control courage she had before knocking on Spike's front door. Her taps were hard and sure, not soft or hesitant.

Yet no one answered. Buffy frowned, checking to see if Spike might have a peep hole.

He didn't. He wasn't avoiding her was he? The thought made her frown, and internally wince.

The lights were all on. She leaned to the side, over a short metal railing, to try and get a look between the curtains of a nearby window. She couldn't see anything, but light streamed through the opening of heavy black material.

Knocking again, she heaved a sigh. When nobody came, she decided to try the doorknob.

It opened noiselessly.

Buffy eyed the entryway with trepidation, her footsteps quieter than the wind as she, after a minute of hesitation, slipped into the front hall. The air was too chilled, the atmosphere empty.

Rubbing her arms, she debated calling into the distance, but then she remembered the rule about going into a house with a front door ajar or unlocked when it shouldn't be. Instead, she continued quietly through the hall, tiptoeing, before finally turning a corner into the living room.

Buffy's eyes took in the scene in an instant, and she was on her knees and beside the couch in less time than that.

"Spike, Spike!" she screamed at his form, lying there, normally ghost white hair caked with dirt and blood. A scratch marred his cheek. His clothes were ripped, his body wounded, bruises on his arm. Buffy felt her breathing turn short, her hands shook as she picked up his cold one, and squeezed it tightly. She was calling his name but he wasn't answering.

She went into panic mode, wondering what the hell had happened to him as she put her fingers to his wrist.

Her eyes widened when she didn't feel a pulse. She checked his neck, and nothing.

Tears came unbidden to her eyes as her heart screamed out. It was like he was a thousand miles from her, and her mind forgot the latest facts it'd learned. He wasn't human, but his heart wasn't beating and he looked dead.

Buffy pressed her hands to his chest, no feeling beneath. Not even realizing she'd felt that same lack of life on him before, the absence of a heartbeat, she immediately pinched his nose and went to blow into his mouth. Her own breaths were broken.

She was an inch away from meeting his lips when Spike's eyes opened. He grabbed her shoulders.

Holding her away, Buffy saw those open eyes, full of life and light, a kind of blue she couldn't name. Familiar and bright. A stare that told her he was okay. That told her he wasn't gone.

She cleanly broke down, with the most crushing sense of relief she'd ever felt.

Collapsing, crying and hugging into his arms, she couldn't stop repeating, "You're okay! You're okay!"

Spike held her, and a familiar sensation of heat and comfort, of rightness, wrestled with concern. She was back but she was crying, so bloody upset his head was fighting not to spin. He forgot the night's events. All he could focus on was her.

"Buffy, what's wrong?" Spike disentangled her, even with as reluctant as she was to be moved. Scanning for injuries or changes, he demanded, "What's this about?" he nodded at her, indicating the tears. "Are you okay?"

"I- I thought you w-were dead," she sniffled. Her vision was blurry, his face refused to outline in her sights and she couldn't get a hold of herself. "You were lying there, a-and I checked for a pulse but you didn't have one-" A hiccup cut her off.

Spike shushed her then as understanding dawned. Keeping direct eye contact, he waited until her breathing slowed, as did the tears. Frowning and cupping her face in one palm, he said, "I'm okay, love. I'm alright." He swallowed hard, and added, "Stop cryin, yeah?"

She nodded; her eyes finally focused, spotting the blood. "Y-You're hurt." Hastily raising a hand to delicately trace his wounded cheek, she stared in a way that said she wanted to know why. Spike's gaze softened with warmth.

"I've had worse," he replied softly. Taking her hand, and holding it tightly, Spike cherished her presence along with the look of worry in her eyes. "What brought you back here-"

"What happened-"

They both halted mid-statement when they interrupted each other, smiling timidly before their eyes locked. Buffy remembered the past hours, and his vampire face flashed in her mind... As did everything she'd learned.

The sudden memory of why she'd come back tonight felt whipped at her. And she decided to be brave... he deserved that from her.

"Y-You..." Buffy stuttered, the courage which had been plenty present before completely scared out of her now. Still, she looked down, and marched on. "You don't have a heartbeat... do you?"

It was the best she could come up with really, in that moment; her mind was focusing on the latest scare-factor. No heartbeat, no life. It was a direct and all together crazy question in general, but not in this instance.

His hold tightened on her hand before he stiffly replied, "No. I don't."

Buffy nodded, raising her head to meet his scared and guarded eyes with questioning ones of her own. "That's why... When I felt for a pulse just now-" Her words stopped, and then she looked down.

The seconds slowly passed, neither moving. Spike stared at her, saw her bowed head as questions and worries ran through his brain like horses on a track. She'd come back here for a reason, one he couldn't think to believe until he heard more.

But her lips hadn't stopped quirking nervously, as she switched between biting and pursing them. Her hair was a messy bun at the nape of her neck hanging by its last will against gravity. And she looked hyper in a purely bodily sense; nerves virtually danced beneath her skin.

He'd been passed out, and presumably dead; the discovery had shaken her, her reaction had shaken him.

A leftover tear slipped past her lashes.

Spike brushed the droplet aside and she looked up at him again. He steeled himself, then said what they both already knew, but she needed to hear straight out. "I'm not alive, Buffy. I haven't been for a long bloody time."

It was a moment or two before Buffy gave a jerky nod. She secretly berated herself for her earlier reaction, to the visage he'd shown her... It was hard for Spike to talk to her now, his voice was matter-of-fact and hard, and she didn't like it.

If she hadn't run away, maybe he'd be less afraid of her reaction and her views. Instead, she'd abandoned him when he'd tried to entrust her with who he was.

Buffy exhaled steadily. "I know. And I'm sorry." Meeting his surprised eyes, she continued, "I'm sorry I left you alone when you told me-... I'm sorry I ran."

Spike's bafflement at the apology showed clearly on his face. Hope threatened to grow strong inside him, and offered the cliff from which he'd be falling if it got too high. But as his brows slowly met in the middle, she was busy wading in self disappointment.

"You've taken all of my crap, and I just-..." Buffy paused, swallowing down her tight throat before a self depreciating laugh slipped through her lips. "I didn't even give you a chance to-" Shaking her head, she glanced up again.

The look on Spike's face made her gasp.

He was staring at her, in such wonder, such warmth and care, that suddenly all of the fear she'd had before, when he'd shown her his fangs, was childish and pointless. Like an icicle falling with the season thaw, Buffy's heart relaxed, breathed. She knew Spike, and she knew he would never hurt her. She was safest when with him, whatever or whoever he was; he cared about her.

And damn all if she didn't trust him implicitly.

As if the fright of earlier today had never come, her doubts dissipated in the space of one wispy second.

"I'm sorry," she repeated, needing him to understand. Needing to make it clear that she realized she was wrong. Even if maybe, he should have told her everything sooner... Though she might not have come back if he had.

Spike stared at her. Then hesitantly leaned forward. His crystal blue eyes flickered over her cheeks, and oh so softly, he fastened his mouth to hers. The first touch forged their familiar connection like blinding sparks, and they went from still and cautious to no borders, no barriers or fears, in a flash.

He grabbed her tight when she threw her arms around his neck. Spike kissed hard, and Buffy returned it for all she was worth. Desperation rushed in.

Tongues touched, heated and inciting. They were chest to chest before a heartbeat could pound. It was consuming and heady; a feeling of being connected after one threat of abandonment, and one threat of death, had their bodies clinging like raindrops to a window.

Before she knew it, Buffy was lifted off her knees, onto the couch and wrapped around him. Her legs straddled his thighs, he kept her torso firmly against his, and she felt his chest solid and still while she squirmed in his arms.

Her nerves tingled, all along her skin Buffy could feel warmth spreading too fast, too right. Her place on his lap felt so fitted, completely fortifying and steadying while her wits spun away from her in a whirlwind of heat. He was controlled, strong and fiercely grabbing and gripping. Securing her and keeping her in his arms because that's where she belonged, where she needed to be.

She couldn't stop herself from breaking away to breathe, and loving the kisses he hurriedly dotted along her jaw in reaction. He'd already wrestled her ponytail from her hair, and now his fingers ran through the strands worshipfully, possessively. She almost purred.

The coolness of skin gave her chills, her fingertips traced and dug into his shoulders while he kissed her like a man starved, bent on marking her. The lovely sensations he evoked in her, the feelings stampeding, were as stabilizing as they were dizzying. His tongue glided, dancing over her throat, cool and shiver inducing and she remembered it. She remembered the feel of him, the reassuring familiarity of his touch. Nothing had changed, he was still Spike, throwing her off-kilter with just a look and a loving touch.

Then Buffy found herself ground down, into him, hips jerking as Spike's hands grabbed them to direct the first motion. Soon he was fully guiding her, and her breath shattered while their hips rocked together. She grabbed his upper arm for support, fingers digging into a ripped T-shirt sleeve while her other went for the nape of his neck.

Her eyelids flickered open. The glanced sight of red tingeing white rekindled her memory, and Buffy abruptly stopped moving- Well, as best she could with one aroused man grinding against her and holding her hips.

"S-Spike, stop- ah!"

His ears soaked up that lovely gasp she let out when his thumb brushed her nipple, guarded by cloth he wanted to shred. He couldn't think why she wanted to stop, his brain wasn't in control right now, and all he could do was mumble against her throat in a way that vaguely sounded like a question.

Buffy sighed as she felt his hand shape around her breast, to cup and caress; her body arched gently into him. Then his fingers slid to her back, where he pressed her roughly forward. They locked together, each bare inch of muscle and skin touching. She felt every part of him, from his chest to the hardness at the apex of her thighs.

The knowledge that he was hurt, there was blood drying on the back of his head, was information Buffy was desperately trying to hang onto as she softly moaned. The sound only made Spike more ravenous, and soon he had her lips pressed beneath his again.

Evidently, his injury was of little importance.

*To HIM!*

With that internal shout of concern related to Spike's priorities, Buffy steeled herself to pause this... little kiss.

Well, okay it might not be little but she could stop it!

He nibbled her bottom lip, sucked on her tongue... She kissed harder by temptation, an inaudible whimper escaping... Her hips rocked... *Shoot!*

She finally broke free. "Spike, you're hurt-!"

"S'just a scratch," he claimed, his eyes unfocused. She felt his hand reach into her hair again, tilting her forehead to meet his as his fist clenched in the soft locks and there breathing mingled.

Her lungs tried to calm. "Your head- Let me see it-"

"M'fine, Buffy. Sittin up an everythin, now c'mere." He drew her lips back to his, and she didn't notice her acquiescence, but she knew after it happened.

Damn the man, smooching her like he wasn't hurt. He'd been passed out, and something had obviously happened to cause that. She still didn't even know what!

Finally, Buffy had had enough. She needed to figure out what the hell had hurt him, and also, FIX him. Spike may feel okay, he might be... not alive? She still wasn't one hundred percent clear. But he was hurt and that was not okay.

Running her hands over his hard shoulders, his neck, to cradle his jaw and slow down the kiss, she very stealthily moved her tongue and lips against his in a way to calm and yet also incite. She felt his fingers loosen on her hips and hair, she slowed to a stop even as her body protested and Buffy had to mentally grit her teeth. Separating, sharing broken sensual kisses, brought them both to a perfunctory point of content temptation.

She breathed in deep, quickly. Her eyes flickered over Spike's face before she leaned in once more to trace his lips with her tongue.

The move had him claiming her mouth once again for a deep, erotic kiss which she found it hard to stop. But when she did, Buffy took his hands and removed them from her body, ignoring his questioning frown. Swiftly standing, gripping his fingers tight when he went to reach for her, determined hazel eyes met puzzled blue.

Buffy's lips firmed before she stated, "You're hurt. And there is going to be no more..." She left the words unsaid. "Until I get a look at your head, AND you tell me what happened."

Studying her face, that determined unwavering expression of intent, Spike realized that she was ready to tie his thumbs together if she had to. The dame was worried, about him. Her eyes were large and unblinking, her whole expression firm. A small line rested between two delicate brows.

Unbending, she was; wanting to get a look see at his damages and make sure he was alright.

The concept of being fret over had a sudden appeal. As long as it was Buffy doing the fretting.

She resisted scowling at the strange smile Spike gave her, blushing a little at the warm look that accompanied said smile. It couldn't be helped that her lips quirked upward at their ends. She finally released his hands, pretending a chill hadn't run down her arms when the contact was lost.

Buffy rounded the couch to finally get full view of his head, and Spike sat accordingly. "Does it hurt more than-" her voice broke off when she saw the gash amidst his hair.

Spike answered the presumed question, "I've got a few bruises to go with it. I reckon there's a scratch that burns like a bitch on my cheek. Otherwise, my head's the worst off."

Buffy gently laid a hand above the gash, eyeing it with a wrinkled forehead. She hadn't expected it to be so bad; maybe a bump, but this... "Spike, this is deep."

"Yeah," he scoffed. "I bet. S'hard for-" he paused, gathering the right words... "S'not easy for someone like me to pass out."

Buffy didn't seem to hear him, though she did. No reaction occurred, because she was too busy staring at his head, and debating how best to mend it. "I think you'll need stitches."

Spike snorted and bit back a full out laugh. He could feel Buffy's frown before she even asked, "What's so funny?"

"I won't need stitches, pet. I heal... very quickly. The blood's probly stopped oozin by now, yeah?" When she said nothing, and all he felt was her stiff, worried presence behind him, Spike exhaled. "Buffy, it smarts; but I promise it'll be mostly healed up by tomorrow."

Dubiously, and worriedly, she frowned still. Rounding about him, Buffy came to stand right before Spike's resigned face. She could tell he'd somehow accepted that she wouldn't understand what he was saying, this tale about super healing... But she didn't doubt it. She was only scared and presumed that it had something to do with... what he was. Which was still very new information.

How a supposed dead guy could heal was beyond her, but Buffy just sighed and asked, "Where's your first aid kit?"

His eyes crinkled slightly, and he pointed to the doorway. "There're some bandages in the kitchen. Cupboard above the stove."

Buffy turned to go and search, then halted, turning back she said, "You don't have a regular first aid kit, do you?"

Spike shook his head.

She sighed, and mumbled to herself as she walked out something about idiot men all being the same, dead or alive.

Spike swore he'd heard wrong.

When Buffy returned, a wet washcloth in one hand and a wad of gauze in the other, Spike briefly thought about what she'd look like in a nurse's costume.

Unfortunately, he was forced to shake the thought aside when she got closer, because the moment she placed the towel to his head to clean the wound, pain laced through his skull.

She paused when he winced. "I'm sorry, I-I just... don't know how to get around it."

He grit his teeth. "S'alright... but you don't need to bother cleanin it, love."

She scowled. "That's ridiculous. There's dirt caked all around it, Spike. You could get an infect..."

Her voice died away, and Spike rolled his eyes.

He waited...

"You CAN'T get infections, can you?"

There it was. "Not unless there's some sorta poison involved, pet. An there wasn't."

She swallowed, her pride taking a small hit. She felt like a moron all of a sudden. "Fine. What should I do then?" She set the washcloth down on an end table.

He frowned at her tone. "Just a bandage will do. Rest is what'll really help mend it." He refrained from mentioning food.

She nodded rigidly, sighing as she reached for the gauze again. She looked at the roll, then to the wound, her nose wrinkling. "Okay I'll need tape to do this... and-"

He heard her sigh again, this time roughly. "Spike, can I just clean it? It's hard to think that it's taken care of when I see almost as much dirt as I do blood."

Clenching his jaw, and pursing his lips... he relented. He told her where some medical tape was, and when she returned with one extra towel and a small bowl of soapy water, too, the vampire believed he'd prepared himself enough for a little agony. If only to make Buffy feel at ease.

She dipped the smaller towel in the warm water, and as gently as possible, started wiping away the mud.

He grit his teeth, trying to withstand the ache in his head. The closer to the wound she went, the worse it felt. Kissing and grinding was one thing. Her hands had somehow, wisely, never touched the back of his head. Now, she was deliberately trying to fix what didn't need fixing- OR touching.

His head had hurt before, now it bloody throbbed.

He could hear her dipping the cloth in water, and each time the sound got more irritating along with the pain. Finally, by the seventh dip in the water bowl, his jaw was aching just from trying to keep quiet. She dunked the cloth once more, then dabbed the gash directly-

Spike shouted, jerking away.

Buffy winced. "Sorry!"

"Okay, we're done." He took the towel from her and threw it onto the mattress at his feet.

"I said I was sorry, you don't have to be a jerk about it."

He met her eyes, astounded. "A jerk?! It bloody hurts, Buffy! I understand you're just tryna help but-"

"How does me cleaning it hurt, when five minutes ago you were the one trying to convince me that it was 'just a scratch?' "

His face hardened. "Cuz five minutes ago I had you squirmin on my lap, and NOT examinin my soddin head."

Buffy looked away, fighting down a blush and clenching her jaw at the same time. She crossed her arms and then, seeing the tape on the table, deftly tossed it to him. "Fine. Hold this."

She grabbed the gauze again and then quickly, without so much as brushing the wound with her fingertips, managed to fold an appropriately sized square with the material, over the gash. She handed the roll to Spike. "Rip it here," she ordered, pointing to the spot she wanted it cut.

He did so, and then the gauze was taken away from him. He felt her set it, then the tape was torn from his hands and Buffy quickly set the bandage in place. He only felt a few small jolts of pain during the application, but she did it so quickly, that he didn't have a chance to even wince.

"All done."

She was suddenly walking away, all of her medical materials, including the water bowl, in her arms as she headed back to the kitchen.

Spike was left... confused. It wasn't often that things seemed to just happen in the blink of an eye. Unless he was fighting.

He waited for her to return. When she didn't, he rose, mentally kicking himself for snapping at her. He'd just gotten her back after potentially losing everything, he'd finally told her what he was, and he dared to take the chance at pissing her off?

He quickly strode to the kitchen, releasing a breath when he found her turning the faucet on to wash the bowl.

Spike came up behind her.

She'd felt him, seen him in her peripheral, but she hadn't wanted to acknowledge him. Now, directly behind her, placing a hand on the edge of the counter to halfway trap her in, she couldn't ignore him.

"You don't have to do that, kitten."

The words ran down her spine as Buffy shut off the water. "I know. But it's better than talking to you when you're all... grouchy."

She spoke in a tone that was nearly petulant, except she didn't sound stubborn, but almost evasive.

Spike exhaled, then gently took her wrist and turned her around. Facing him, she looked up and raised her brows, her expectancy clear. Spike let his apology show on his face, he leaned in, and brushed a soft kiss against her temple. "M'sorry."

Buffy sighed. The sound was begrudging, but forgiving; she leaned into him. Her hands came up to finger the ripped material of his shirt, and frowning, she asked, "What the hell happened tonight, Spike?"

Oh what a question. He needed to answer her, he knew that, but the answer would turn into a full out discussion. He wasn't looking forward to it... but she had a right to know everything.

He needed her to know everything.

Tucking a stray bit of hair behind her ear, Spike sighed. His stare met hers, the colors of her eyes were lined with concern. "My friends and I- Well, I s'pose I was the main target, but... We were attacked."

Buffy's face turned into a direct, very hard frown. "Attacked?" she repeated, disbelief clear in her tone. "Who the hell-"

"You been around for as long as I have, pidge, and you make a few enemies."

Buffy shook her head, looking truly stunned. "ENEMIES? You have enemies? Why would you have enemies?"

Spike scoffed, leaving her side to sit at a stool by the island. He rested his elbows on the flat surface. "THAT is an issue with a long story attached to it."

Buffy stood still, in silence, before approaching his side. She could see the control he had reigned, the tight stiffness suddenly in his shoulders. She rested a hand over his bunched muscles, and leaned in close to him. Softly in his ear, she said, "Spike... you can tell me."

A tense quiet engulfed the room after her plea. It was a message, in her throat in the air, that she wanted to know and be told what he had to explain. All which he could.

In a short moment, their eyes met again, and Spike pulled her down to sit in a stool opposite him. She almost gasped at the quick arrangement he made of her limbs. Then he wouldn't let go. Her arms were held by his hands, and she inwardly frowned because he looked ready to keep his grip, as if she would leave again.

She wouldn't.


Chapter End Notes:
Please leave a review, I love them very much! Thanks for reading :) And Happy Fourth in advance to those of you who celebrate it!



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