Chapter 1: Intercourse With A Vampire




"Poppycock!"

Startled, Buffy and the gang tore their collective gaze from the library computer just in time to see Giles scowl reproachfully at his book and mutter, "Sheer madness."

"What is it?" Willow asked.

"W--" He shook his head, flabbergasted. "It's ludicrous, is what it is."

"Yeah, we got that so far," said Xander. "It's mad, ludicrous poppycock."

"And that's nothing if not intriguing," noted Oz.

Willow smiled. "Is it the solution?"

"I should bloody well hope not!"

"Giles," Buffy approached him. "I don't care how poppy or... cocky it is, if you know how I can beat this thing--"

"I-it's not quite that simple," he stammered.

"What isn't that simple?"

Cordelia chimed in, "Did you just read some new 'Buffy dies' prophecy? 'Cause technically, there should've been just the one."

"No, it isn't that..."

"Let me see that." Buffy swiped the book from his trembling hands only to find a page scrawled with symbols. "And if I had a degree in polkadots, I might be able to read this." She put the book down and placed a hand on her hip. "Tell me what it says, Giles."

He rigorously polished his glasses. "It's by far the most appalling thing I've ever read. I'm certain there's a way around it."

"Giles. Spill."

Rubbing the back of his neck, he hedged, "Perhaps I should 'spill' elsewhere, Buffy."

The Slayer gestured at the group gathered at the library table. "We don't figure out a way to stop him, we all die. They need to know whatever it is we have to do--"

"Actually, it's, it's very specifically a task for the Slayer alone," he hinted.

"Fine. I'll do whatever it takes," she said, not getting the hint. "Doesn't mean they can't hear it." She stepped closer. "Spill."

"Well," a nervous titter, "Right then. It says..." He cleared his throat. "It says in order to defeat Grosh, the Slayer must accept the," he shut his eyes, "seed of the damned."

Buffy shrugged. "What, like, for gardening? I'm growing a giant beanstalk or...?" Her eyes widened. "Oh. You mean seed like--" She glanced at the gang, who were gawping, mortified. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. "Who's seed? Not Grosh seed!" A wave of nausea. "There is no way in hell I'm gonna--"

Giles interrupted with a negative head-shake. "Not Grosh, Buffy. The uh, the 'cold, dead seed of the damned' is its near-exact translation."

"Cold and dead damned?" she repeated. "What's cold and de -- ? Oh."

"Yes. You'd have to have," he looked down and finished quickly, "intercourse with a vampire."

"Now there's a snappy title for a book," Xander pointed out.

"Xander, can you not?"

"Sorry, Buff." He ducked his head. "Just bringing the levity where it obviously shouldn't be brought."

"Obviously." Pacing, Buffy pressed a palm to her forehead. Have sex with a vampire. Why was her life just one cruel joke after another?

Suddenly, Willow wondered, "It's cold?"

Buffy looked up. "No. Really not -- and I can't believe I just shared that with the group."

"Yeah." Cordelia stood up. "I hate to be even more crass than Buffy was just now, but didn't she already accept that once?"

"Cordelia, hating to be crass," Willow remarked. "It really is the end of the world."

"Hey, I'm just saying what everyone's thinking. She did that once, and didn't get a rush of super-Grosh-kicking mojo... right?"

"Yes, well, that's because he wasn't wearing this." Giles showed them the book.

"Pretty!" Cordelia brightened. "What color is it?"

"Amber, actually. It's supposedly quite..." Realizing the idiotic turn the conversation was taking, he snatched the book back and got serious. "I admit, we're in dire straits with this beast. But there's no reason to believe that this text has the definitive answer. It was written thousands of years ago, before there was firepower, before the Slayer had access to an endless arsenal of weapons," he pointed at the computer, "to a connected network of witches the world over..."

"But didn't you say it was the only text with the answer?" Cordelia asked.

Giles sighed.

Willow spoke up. "So far. I mean, sure, we've tried every weapon and spell we can think of on this guy. But we've only known about him for like, less than a week. And that was just the six of us. These people online... if they're, you know, actually powerful, maybe they'll be able to work some power into Buffy and take some out of Grosh."

"Yeah. We'll find another way." Buffy sounded less confident than she'd hoped. "We always do. And as long as we find that last ingredient to the apocalypse pie before he does, we're okay... Right, Giles?"

"Right. So long as we can get our hands on the uh, recipe, to determine exactly what it is."

Buffy put on a perky face. "See? No need for seed."

"Funny," Xander groused under his breath, still stinging from the knowledge that Angel was alive and back in Buffy's arms, "thought you'd be all over it."

"Xander," Willow chastised. "Not the time."

"And not true," Buffy tried to convince the room. "Operative word: Over. It. Sans 'all'." She sliced her hands through the air for emphasis. It wasn't a complete lie: she'd managed to steer clear of Angel for almost two weeks now. She still hadn't told him about Grosh. She was too worried she'd jump into his arms and...

"Plus, you'd turn him evil and have to kill him again," Cordelia contributed.

Buffy blinked. "Thanks, Cordelia, for that reminder."

"Any time," she said. "What about Faith? She's a slutbag."

A few raised brows were aimed at Cordelia.

"Observe the outfits, people."

Giles cleared his throat. "Whatever her 'outfits' may imply," he whipped off his glasses and resignedly took a seat, "Faith is currently incommunicado. We've been unable to locate her since that last... incident."

"You mean when her faux-watcher tried to kill her with a magic glove?"

With a pained smile, Giles said, "Let's move on to our Plan B, shall we?"

* * *

Giles slowed the Citröen to a stop at Buffy's front gate.

"Giles? What if..." she turned to face him, "what if I have no choice?"

"Buffy. I refuse to believe that there's no other choice. The Council is working on our options as we speak--"

"Okay, but hypothetically. Say they have no options. What would I do? Just find a random creature of the night, throw the amulet around his neck and--"

"Please don't go on."

"I'm serious. I've gotta crash Grosh's big Conga-line to Hell before he starts it -- except I'm not strong enough to fight him. No one is. Now it turns out I could be, if I just spend a few disgusting minutes with some vamp who isn't Angel. I don't like this as much as you don't, but... maybe I shouldn't be thinking about what I want."

His palm hit the steering wheel. "I will in no way let you compromise any part of your dignity in order to face this beast."

"Does my dignity matter if I'm dead?"

Giles didn't know how to answer that.

* * *

Buffy trudged up her front walk, comparing the size of her mother's SUV to Grosh. About the same, lengthwise. Only he was bigger.

Upon entering the house, she heard quiet conversation in the kitchen. "Mom?"

"In here, sweetie!"

As she locked the door behind her, she heard more hushed talking... from a deep, accented voice she recognized. Is that...? Oh my god, Mom!

She barreled toward the kitchen, and there he was, casually sipping hot chocolate.

"Slayer!" he greeted jovially.

In three paces, she'd picked him up, thrown him backward against the kitchen island and pressed a stake to his solar plexus.

"Buffy!" her mother exclaimed. "What are you--?"

"Spike," she spat, seething.

His eyes glinted with mischief. "That a stake on my chest or you just happy to see me?"

"Know what? I'm thrilled. Because now I get to kill you." She pressed harder.

"Hey, just havin' a spot of small talk with your mum."

"Honey, what's going on, I thought--"

Her mother providing the background noise that always seemed to fade whenever she faced Spike, she said, "When were you planning on having a spot of blood?"

His gaze slid down to her neck. "When you came home."

"Isn't he your friend? I'm confused."

Buffy didn't break eye contact. "He's not my friend, Mom. We had a deal."

"Yeah, and the deal's off. Dru's gone. Up and left me."

She punched him in the nose, getting a satisfying "Ow!" out of it.

"Oh Buffy," the background noise reasoned, "Is that really nec--"

"I don't care what she did, you moron! A deal's a deal."

He pouted. "Didn't you miss me just a little bit?"

She punched him again.

He grit his teeth. "Dammit!" Licking the blood that oozed from one nostril, he slung his pelvis against hers. "I'll take that as a yes."

"Oh... god." Disgusted, she pushed him to the floor.

In that second, something flashed in her mind. She immediately shook it out. No -- no way, not him, not ever. Anyone but him, in fact.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded.

"Came here to kill you, of course. Just got sidetracked by the motherly love."

"This is my house, Spike. My town. And I don't want you in either of them."

"Mm, I'm surprised your little berg's still here. Thought it'd be all hellish and such."

"It is hellish. And not just because you're back."

"Yeah, I heard. You got a Grosh problem." He chuckled, "Sucks to be you."

Buffy whipped her head around to her mother. "You told him?"

"Well I -- how was I supposed to know he was evil? The last time he was here he was sitting in my living room and--"

"It doesn't matter," she sighed, and turned back to Spike, still on the floor, half-propped against the side of the island. Instead of running away, he was cradling his head gingerly. "What's wrong with you? Not that I care."

"Nothing. Little hung over is all."

"Drowning your sorrows in booze? There's a manly way to deal."

"Not 'booze', love. Top-of-the-shelf Jack. You know I'm all man." He cringed and touched his head again.

"Right," she said with a smirk, arms folded.

He looked at her. "Well?"

"What?"

"You gonna stake me or what? Been sitting here forever."

"You want to be staked?"

He shut his eyes, exhaled. "Way my unlife is going and the headache on top? Yeah." He puffed his chest out. "Go on. Do me. Just make it quick."

She considered making his wish come true -- settling on a breezy quip and getting him out of her life for good. Just one little swish and he'd be dust. But something prevented her. Something she didn't want to think about.

Do me.

"Get out of here, Spike. And if you ever set foot near my house or my mother again, you'll be wishing I made it quick."



More to come...

Chapter 2: The Need For Seed


"That thing is a machine," Xander said as he helped Buffy up. Grosh had only whacked them out of the way, but the impact had sent them flying into a painful stack of vegetable crates. "An enormous, unkillable machine."

"A machine on a mission, apparently." She straightened her shirt. "No time for fighty."

"Is that what he said? I thought he said, 'Grosh smash!'"

"Did you get a look at that thing he was holding?"

"I tried, but I was a tad distracted by my own girlish screams." Xander checked his shoulder for dislocation. "What was it?"

"I don't know, but we'd better get back to Giles."

As they hobbled out of the alley, someone turned in from Main Street and halted.

"Oh, bloody hell."

"It's Spike!" Xander exclaimed, pointing. "Spike is back!"

"What, you didn't tell your boy?"

"My...? He's not my--"

"I am not her boy!" he hissyfitted.

Unmoved, Spike turned his attention back to Buffy.

"Frankly, you didn't come up," she breezed. "You're not important enough to talk about. But hey," she whipped a stake out of her back pocket, "if you really want to be put out of your misery..."

"Hey! Hey!" He lifted his arms. "Miles away from your place, aren't I? Keepin' my promise, I am."

"Right, because you're so reliable." She shrugged and lowered her weapon. "Doesn't matter. You've been de-invited."

"Aww, and just when we were gettin' on so well."

"I don't have time for this." Buffy brushed past him. "C'mon, Xander."

"You're not gonna kill him?"

Buffy sighed. "It'll just turn into a big brawl, I'll kick his ass, he'll make some 'Next time, Slayer, I'll really kill you' comment and run away... I've got better things to do."

Spike chuckled. "Like fight Grosh?"

She turned around. "What, pray tell, is so funny?"

"Oh, nothing." Tilting his head to visualize her naked, he said, "Just that there's an old legend about him and slayers. And vampires..."

"You..." Her face flushed, lower lip quivered. "How did you know about that?"

"Been around, pet. Hope Angel's good and ready for the desouling. They say the third time's a ch--"

Cutting him off with a swift knee to the groin, she left him doubled over and coughing in the alley.

"That," Xander remarked, "was possibly more satisfying than watching him turn to dust."

"'Possibly'? That was more satisfying than cookie dough ice cream," Buffy said, shoulders scrunching, "with Cool Whip and strawberries and little yellow bunny sprinkles."

"Quick Ben & Jerry's detour?"

"Oh, yeah."

* * *

"Found it," Buffy angled her book towards Giles. "Sparklier in real life, though."

Giles lowered his glasses, squinted, put them back on and took the book. "Oh dear."

Xander pointed with his pink plastic mini-spoon. "I was hopin' he'd say that."

"Crystallus Despero," he breathed, and looked up. "The Crystal of Despair."

Willow worried, "Is that the last ingredient we were s'posed to find before he did?"

"Yes. Yes I believe it was."

Buffy felt a panic rise up her spine.

"Ingredient for what?" Cordelia asked, looking at her nails.

"The total annihilation of the earth," Giles answered.

Cordelia stopped looking at her nails.

* * *

Buffy closed her Watcher's office door behind her and fixed her eyes on the floor. "I want that amulet."

"Buffy..."

"Remember what I said about having no choice? Well guess what? We're choiceless. If this is all going down in three days I need more juice. If you've got something else for me, Giles..."

"W-w-we're still working on it, and..." His voice dropped to a whisper, "Who, other than Angel, could you possibly find to--?"

Rubbing the cross that hung from her neck, she answered quietly, "I know who."

He frowned, curious.

"Just give me time to secure it, okay? You work on finding that amulet."

Reminding himself of his calling, his duty, his job, he took a seat at his desk and unlocked a drawer. "I've already got it."

* * *

"I wasn't doing anything wrong!" Caught offguard while chugging his sixth beer and shadowing a cute brunette behind the Bronze, Spike pled his case to the blonde whir of pain sitting on top of him. "Just thought to have a nibble, maybe make myself a new girlfriend. What with you not volunteering--"

Nose awrinkle, she backhanded him. "You're disgusting."

"And yet you can't keep away. What's the matter, Slayer? Decide I'm the better thing to do after all?"

"Actually?" Buffy eased the pressure of her fingers on his neck. "Yeah."

Features reverting to their human state, he scrutinized her. "What are you playing at?"

"I'm not playing, Spike. You need to help me."

"I see. Watch the knackers, will you? They're still bloody sore."

"What's a...? Oh." She slid backward on his thighs. "Ew."

"I should start charging a fee." At her fluster, he rose up on one elbow and explained, "You need me again."

"No," she held up a stake to prove him wrong, "you need me to not slay you."

"Yeah, alright. Got your point." He hit the stake out of her hand and flung her off.

As she hit the opposite wall, he jumped up and swayed on his feet. "Think I'm your dog, Slayer? Gonna do whatever you say? You can kiss my lily-white--"

"You have to have sex with me."

Mouth frozen open mid-insult, he stared at her for several seconds.

Then the laughter started, little bubbles graduating into a guffaw that echoed off the alley walls. "Oh, this is rich! To save humanity, you'd be willing to suffer a slap and tickle with me. Real selfless of you, pet. I'm impressed."

Watching him warily, she stood up.

"Impressed," he swiveled his jaw, "but not interested. Even if you hadn't nearly castrated me earlier, last thing I'd ever do is--"

"It will be the last thing you ever do," she said with conviction. "A few months ago, you wanted to save the world. You told me you liked it just the way it was. With the sports, and the-- people with their little legs..."

"Happy Meals, pet."

"Right." She exhaled and got to the point. "Look, we're all gonna die if we don't stop him. People, demons -- he's taking everyone down."

"Yeah, well I lost my reason to give a toss."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "God, what is it with Drusilla? She can't possibly be all that."

"Watch your mouth."

"Spike," she turned her head toward the stars with a sigh and looked back at him. "This is bigger than both of us. If we don't do this, the entire planet will disappear."

"Oh, boo bloody hoo! I'm all choked up over your sunny little world ending!" He spun to leave. "Find some other sucker."

Arms dropping to her sides, she said quietly, shakily, on the verge of exhausted tears, "You're the only sucker I got."

Spike stopped, touched by... well, it must be the desperation in her voice. He turned, lifted his chin and mashed his lips upward. "Beg me for it."

She gaped at him for a moment. "Oh, screw you." She'd find someone else... anyone, she resolved as she strode out into the street.

And then she heard behind her, "I'll do it."

Buffy halted, took a breath, thought, Why am I relieved about this? and faced him.

"Yeah, you heard me." He approached her. "On one condition, of course."

"Slayage immunity."

"Lifetime slayage immunity."

"Whose lifetime?"

"Just yours." He smiled devilishly. "No fun if I can't fight the others."

Bastard. Well, on the bright side, Faith could always do the honors while she was still alive. "Done. But if you dare breathe a word of this to anyone--"

"You're assuming I'd be proud." That shut her up. "You got the trinket?"

An earlier suspicion was rekindled. "You seem to know a whole lot about Grosh."

He shrugged. "Campfire stories, love. That one's always been good for a laugh." He noticed she was still frowning. "Well, can you blame us?"

"And that's all you know?"

"That's it." He held up his hands. "I swear it! Cross my heart."

Keeping a careful eye on him, she dug into her pocket, lifted the amber amulet far enough for him to see and quickly tucked it away. "The night after tomorrow. We meet and get this done."

"So business-like. Why not now?" He opened his mouth slightly, slid his tongue to the roof of his mouth.

"Do you want to be kicked again?"

"Oh, unwind, Slayer. I'm joking. Sign me up, alright?" Hands on his belt, he added ironically and with much amusement, "It's a date."

"It's a transaction." She could barely contain her impulse to hit him.

"Name it what you want, pet." I still get my rocks off on a slayer.


More to come...

Chapter 3: Performance Anxiety



Buffy paced from one end of the apartment to the other, listening to her Watcher "yes I see" on the phone.

When he hung up, he was unable to face her. "That was the Council. They've contacted the coven... who think an overseas psychic power shift will be too dangerous."

She nodded numbly. "Probably for the best. I mean, I don't think I could handle that kind of power. Not that I know anything about the... other kind..."

"Buffy, if you want to back out of this, just say the word--"

Three loud, leisurely knocks interrupted them.

Buffy mustered some sarcasm. "That'll be my date!"

"I'll get the crossbow," Giles said.

Pausing to take a steadying breath, she marched to the door and opened it to reveal a smug blond leaning loosely on the doorframe.

"Spike?" Giles sputtered, almost dropping his weapon. "You chose Spike?"

She quieted him with a look.

Spike smirked. "Watcher."

Restraining his disapproval, Giles centered the crosshairs and said, "You may come in."

Eyes on Buffy, the vampire sauntered in the room. "Pretty dress."

"Shut up, Spike." She bolted the door.

"Got all dolled up for our 'transaction', didn't you?" he said with haughty amusement, enjoying the way she blushed in response. "Did your hair, freshened your lip gloss, spritzed on some..." he inhaled, "what is that? Tea Rose?"

"No, it's--" She stopped herself mid-sentence, and over his laughter, she said defensively, "Hey, you're wearing cologne! And you... bathed."

"Now this is 'date' jewelry if I ever--Ahhh!" Reaching out to touch the brown choker around her neck, he yelped, shook his smoking hand in the air and glared at her like she was insane.

"Little wooden crosses all in a row." She grinned. "What, you thought I'd give you an all-access pass to my neck?"

"Well, I am gettin' one to your--" he pointed at her behind and blocked her subsequent fist. "Saw that one coming."

"How shocking." She reversed the grip on him. "Let's go."

"What? No dinner? Candlelight, soft music?"

"Shut up," she enunciated slowly, dragging him toward the stairs, "and follow me."

He winked at Giles. "Women, 'ey?"

Giles looked ready to let the bolt fly.

"Remember, don't come up unless I scream," Buffy told Giles as she ascended the steps with Spike in tow.

"In a bad way, she means," Spike asided. "You do know the difference, right, mate?"

Giles rolled his eyes, and Buffy scoffed.

"What? Excuse me for not wanting to be pierced through the heart because Cuppa Tea over here's never pleasured a real, live woman before," he said with a self-congratulatory chuckle.

"I am so gonna stake you after this," Buffy said.

"Ah ah ah, you're not allowed."

As the unlikely couple disappeared into his bedroom, Giles muttered, "Allow me instead."

* * *

"This is kinky, even for you," Spike observed as he closed the door behind him. "Doin' it in your Watcher's bed?"

"It's not for kink, Spike." She kicked off her shoes. "It's the only place that... certain people wouldn't come looking for me. And I get a bodyguard to boot."

"Certain people? That code word for Angel?"

She pursed her lips. "Are we done talking about him?"

"I'm fine with that, yeah." He slid off his coat and threw it on the armchair, then got to unbuttoning his shirt.

"What are you doing?"

"What's it look like I'm doing?"

"I don't want to see you naked! Clothes on."

"Y'know, I don't know what--" Angel taught you, he wanted to say, but amended, "you've learned in the past, but normally it's not possible without some clothing removal."

"Minimal removal," she sounded out. "You open your pants, and I take these off." Bending forward to reveal a view down her neckline, she stepped out of her panties and tossed them aside.

His mouth went dry. Somehow, it was one of the most erotic things he'd ever seen.

"Now, here's the deal. You don't go all the way in. Just enough to make you -- you know."

He finally registered what she'd said. "What?"

Exasperated, she explained, "If you don't go all the way in, it's not technically sex."

He lifted a brow, thought to object, and let it go. "Whatever you say, pet."

"And I'll have a stake nearby just in case you're stupid enough to try anything."

"Right then. Good. I always perform well when there are killing implements on the bedside table."

"I don't need you to perform well," she ground out. "I just need you to perform."

"Well, that's downright romantic. I'm all aquiver."

"You want romance? Try finding another criminally insane--" Buffy stopped herself. Don't piss off your only hope. "I just need you to get it done and get out."

"Bossy little bitch, aren't you?" He squinted. "Did Angel have to deal with this?"

A brief look of hurt, covered by a glare. Dead, you are so dead.

He heaved a histrionic sigh. "Boss away."

"That's better."

So. Nothing left to do now but... Buffy sat down on the bed and scooched backward rigidly until her shoulders hit the headboard.

"Right then." Seeing her there waiting for him, bouncy hair shining in the brighter light of the sidetable, he suddenly felt... awkward. "Can I at least take the top shirt off? And my boots?"

"Whatever," she rolled her eyes to her side, drumming her fingertips on the sheet Giles had draped over the coverlet for them, no doubt planning to burn it afterward. She snuck a glance at Spike, pulling off his boot. It's not really sex... in the sense of being sexy. It's saving the world. It'll be technical and quick. And no one has to know. Not Angel, not Willow, not anyone but us three. Provided it works. Oh god, what if it doesn't work?

Spike was tempted to fold his red button-down before placing it on the chair. Get it together, mate, he told himself. She's the Slayer, not your soddin' childhood crush. You're William the Bloody -- cornered the market on killing her kind. Hell, you could kill this one tonight if you wanted to. Snap her neck while she's in the throes of--

"Spike? Sometime today?"

"Right. Uh, sorry."

He planted his knuckles on the mattress and crawled up the bed toward her, pausing at her feet. Freshly pedicured with a coat of pearlescent red. When she'd sat in the salon, had she been thinking about him gazing at her feet? What color he might like?

"Here." When he looked up, Buffy was holding the amulet's necklace open by the corners of its chain. "Be kinda pointless without this."

Nodding, he climbed closer and ducked through the chain.

His face inches away from hers now, she touched the amulet and said nervously, "Not a look I'd generally choose for you. Functional, yes. Fashionable? Not so much."

Mesmerized by her lips, he moved to kiss her.

She pushed him back, all shock and revulsion. "What are you doing?"

"Breakin' the ice! Gettin' in the mood! Isn't that what--"

"There will be no kissing," she established, waving an index finger in front of his nose.

"Fine," he hrumphed. "Didn't want to kiss you anyway."

"Good to know the feeling's mutual. Can we start now?"

"You are one hell of a bedmate, you know that? No wonder A--"

She drew back a fist, daring him to finish that sentence.

He rolled his eyes. Couldn't see her naked, couldn't go all the way, couldn't even taunt her about Angelus. This was turning out to be less fun than he thought it would be.

Buffy collected herself. The sooner this was over, the better. "Hurry up, open your pants."

"I'm gettin' there girl, give me a bloody sec..." Hovering over her, careful not to touch, he pulled his belt out of its loops, flung it off the bed, and unzipped.

"Okay." Buffy lifted her chin, determined not to look down. "Go for it."

"Yeah, problem."

She looked at his face. "What?"

"I need a little help here."

She glanced. "Why?"

"Not hard."

"...That's not hard?"

"Not entirely, no. Haven't really given me a reason."

That's not hard? "Well -- do something."

"Me, do something? You do it."

She wrinkled her nose. "What do you want me to do?"

"Touch it, play with it, give it a kiss, I don't bloody care."

Scoff. "'Give it a'...? No way!"

"Or, you could lose the dress."

She raised her brow at that. "You play with it. I don't have to do anything but 'accept your cold, dead seed,' according to the book."

"S'not cold."

"I know that, but -- Oh come on, we're wasting time!"

"Look, woman, I don't care what the bloody book said, alright? I'm helping you out, you damn well better help me out. Tit for tat." He smiled. "Well, not necessarily tit--"

She emitted a growl of frustration. "Fine."

"Look, I'm not jumpin' for joy over this either, Summers."

"I gathered that." She glanced again.

"I just want to get this over with so we can go our separate ways, yeah?"

"All I've been saying..." Training her eyes on the ceiling, she reached down to wrap her fingers around his supposedly not-hard penis. Well, he wasn't lying, she realized, and grudgingly began to tug, feeling the foreskin roll back and forth at her touch. The absurdity of the situation hit her. This isn't me. I'm not me right now. I'm watching a movie of someone who looks like me. I hate this movie.

Hot little hands, he thought, watching her move to look him in the eye.

"I hate you," she spat.

It jumped in her hand.

After a moment, he asked, "Why?"

Pumping slowly, softly, eyes still on his, she said through grit teeth, "You're a despicable, evil bastard, that's why."

He hissed, and his cock lengthened.

She gripped a bit tighter, at the base, fingertips brushing against his balls. "I hate the way you look at me."

Gazing at her lips, her eyes, his voice turned low and reedy. "How do I look at you?"

She pulled faster, watching his expression. "Like that."

Suddenly, it strained against her palm, hard as stone. She let go, looked down, and saw it bobbing in mid-air. "How's that?"

"That's good," he breathed.

"Then it's showtime."

'Hey Buffy, what'd you do last night?' 'I made Spike come in me so I could save the world.'

She clicked off the bedside light, leaving only the dim glow of the antique lamp on the bureau. When he looked down to watch her lift her dress, she yanked his head up by the hair. "Don't. Look."

He could've complained or made a hurtful comment, but he knew something she didn't: she was liking this.

"Now bring it close to me," she instructed, loosening her grip on his hair. "Slowly."

One arm outstretched, eyes focused on hers, he pressed the tip of his cock against her crevice and tried not to smirk. Just as he'd suspected, she was wet. Almost wet enough to take him completely. He rubbed it against her clitoris and back down a few times, making more dewy liquid emerge.

Okay, that felt... Anyway. She wasn't here to feel good. "Stop that."

"Just situating, love..."

"Well, stop 'situating' and put it in."

Now that's the kind of bossing he could abide by. Obediently, he popped his tip through her velvety threshold and let slip a moan. Took every bit of strength he had not to drive all the way in. Well, that, and she was holding him up with one hand.

For Buffy, the whole watching-a-movie detachment approach had suddenly lost steam. This was all way too real, Spike was on top of her, inside her... Not sex, not really sex... "A little bit more, but that's it."

He nodded, and corkscrewed his hips to maneuver into her further. Wet, yeah -- but she was tight as a virgin. Had she not done this with anyone since what's-his-name?

"Okay," she gasped, halting his chest, preventing further progress.

"That it?"

"Yeah."

"Alright, love." He began to pump, keeping his hand on the base of his cock, not trusting himself to stop at such a shallow depth without it. But god, this felt good. Even just the tip being kissed by her sweet slippery lips... yeah, this might do.



More to come...

Chapter 4: Letting It In


Not trusting Spike to stay within his assigned limits, Buffy kept her body taut even as her mind clouded with memories of her one and only night with Angel, and of recent stolen kisses that left her aching for more.

It was just her luck that she could never again be with the man she loved, but she could be with this, his polar opposite; a man-shaped nuisance she despised, one who returned her hate with equal intensity. Lots and lots of intensity...

Soon, all images of Angel were bumped out by unwelcome Spikes: replays of brutal fights; his hand running suggestively down his torso; the innuendo he always managed to point her way; his jaw tightening in determination; his hurried, careful thrusts...

It didn't help that Spike was breathing like he was enjoying this. She knew he didn't need to breathe, that it had to be based on recollection or habit, but she liked it.

She did hate Spike, really a lot, but she didn't so much mind that he was gazing at her like she was the only woman he ever wanted. Was this just his style, or did he actually want her?

Bigger question: did she want him?

As he slid in and out of her, watching her subtle facial reactions, telling him something inside of her was fully transitioning hate to lust, he couldn't help but go just a fraction deeper with each thrust. It wasn't his fault -- her ever-increasing wetness was practically sucking him in. Yeah, Slayer, let me in like you let me in your life. Reluctantly, subtly, undeniably. Let me in.

Forcing herself to look away -- Here, oh, good arms, and whoa, never noticed that chest -- she relaxed a bit, spreading her knees wider. Giving him better access.

Spike willed his hand to stay where it was, despite the growing desire to use it for other things. Wanted to use his mouth, too...

Enraptured by her new discovery, she tentatively brought her hands to his chest, feeling his muscles bulge and contract through the fabric of his t-shirt.

"Want me to take it off?" he whispered.

No, say no. "Okay."

With a quick smile, he disengaged for a moment to tug his shirt over his head. Watched her cover up her girlish swoon and commence the bare-chested fondling.

He yanked down his jeans and eased up the hem of her dress before realizing he needed permission. "Okay if I..."

She nodded quickly.

Pushed it up a bit more, exposing a triangle of neatly trimmed, light brown hair over glistening lips he wished he could kiss.

He took hold of his erection and guided it in again. When she didn't object to his former positioning, he nudged in a bit farther.

"Unh!" She grabbed his shoulders. "Too far!"

"Sorry, baby." He eased back and re-established a quick rhythm.

Comfort zone set, Buffy relaxed. She considered calling him on the 'baby' slip but let it go. As long as he didn't notice she liked it, everything was fine. Yeah. Just fine...

Spike could feel her desire mirroring his now. All he needed was a little physical response -- a hip shimmy, anything. Knew she had it in her. Just had to put away those pesky inhibitions.

There's an idea... He closed his eyes, kept them shut.

Gradually, he felt her ever so slightly begin to move beneath him, with him. That's it, baby, that's it...

Did she know he could go all night if he wanted to? And did she really want this over with right away? How much time did they have, anyway?

When she pinched his nipples, he ceased to care. He quickened the pace, arched and bowed, dipping just three inches of his cock in and out of her welling, suctioning entry, again and again...

She let her knees touch his hips, brought one foot down the back of his pantleg. "Mm..."

"Slayer," he whispered, opening his eyes to see her roll her head back on the pillow, sliding her tongue over her lips. "So fucking beautiful."

Panting, eyes wide, she pulled him down by the nape of his neck and surged against him, taking him all the way in.

He gasped. She gasped louder.

Their eyes locked.

"Buffy?" Giles called from the living room.

Her voice cracked when she yelled, "Fine, Giles!"

Spike reared back slightly and buried his cock to the hilt. Light burst behind his eyes. Nothing slicker, tighter... better in all the world. No one better suited for his bed either, because suddenly she was present, right there with him, undulating against him, craving him as he craved her.

"Slayer," he said possessively.

"Buffy," she corrected.

"Buffy, fuck," he whispered, and yanked her dress up to her breasts, tearing the fabric on the way. She tried pulling it further but it wouldn't budge -- so he ripped it in two, finally free to clasp his mouth over her nipple.

Moaning as quietly as she could, she wrapped her legs around his back, ran her feet up and down his thighs, sliding his jeans off with each downward motion. All the while, she pitched up to meet his pelvis, listening to the sound of their flesh meeting, the bed squeaking; feeling his tongue lash at her nipple, his cock filling her, his body enveloping hers, letting him take her, have her, right there, who cared...

He lifted his head to press his cheek against hers. "Buffy, Buffy, Buffy," he chanted, driving into her wildly, cupping a hand under her ass.

She stretched her arms up above her head, fingers touching the headboard.

He bent to lick and pinch and suck her other nipple.

"Oh, god, Spike!" So amazing... Amazingly amazing... The most... best... "Mm... mm, mm," she hummed as she... she was gonna... ohgod...

He felt her inner walls constrict, felt her nails dig into his back, her body tense up...

He covered her mouth to muffle her scream. The good kind. She bit into his hand.

A groan caught in his throat. The Slayer was biting him. Oh, fuck yes...

Emitting short, tethered moans of release, her body shook to its climax, her pussy wringing and strangling his cock, each expansion bringing with it more sweet come...

Even after she was spent, Spike could feel her exquisite little aftershocks.

My turn now. He wrapped his arms around her back, lifted her up off the bed and proceeded to fuck the hell out of her.

"Hunh! Hunh! Hunh!"

God, that sound, that body... this girl. He whispered feverishly, "Buffy! Buffy! Buffy! Fuck!" Finally, he jerked her close, holding her hips tightly as he let loose a primal roar.

Through her post-orgasmic haze, Buffy saw a bright light. She looked down her stomach at Spike -- it was emanating from the amulet.

Was it bad that she'd forgotten all about this part?

Just then, Spike began to contort, twist and scream -- not in ecstasy. In agony.

"Spike!" she gasped, trying to break free, make it stop.

It was no use -- they were stuck until the spell decided to unstick them.

A brilliant amber glow spiraled up her torso, lighting her from the inside out.

"You tricked me!" he wailed, falling out of her and off the bed.

That's when a searing pain grabbed her by the skull -- and all she could do was scream.

* * *

"Buffy!" Giles shook her awake.

She opened her eyes.

"Good lord," he said.

"What?"

"Your eyes... they're, they're glowing."

"It worked?" she asked, holding the sheet Giles must have draped over her.

"Uh... it appears to have worked, yes."

Spike.

She sat up and saw him on the floor, seizuring. Flinging the sheet aside, she ran to him to find that his eyes were sunken in, staring blankly, his body bluish-white and waif-thin. "Spike? Spike! Are you..."

"I don't think he can hear you, Buffy."

"Oh god," she stood up, quivering, hand over her mouth. Why do terrible things happen to every man I have sex with? "You didn't tell me this would happen! Why didn't you tell me this would happen?"

"I -- I didn't know. Honestly. But I suppose one must always assume that when there's a transfer of power, the donor is enervated--"

"Into this?"

"Well, I--"

She grabbed him by his collar. "But it reverses, right? Tell me it reverses when I kill that Monolith motherfucker."

"Buffy, I fail to see the--"

"Dammit!" she stamped her foot. "Will it go away when I kill Grosh?"

"I'm not... quite sure." He looked frightened.

Stupid idiot. She wanted to wring his neck.

"Are you all right, Buffy?"

"All right? Oh, I'm great. This was the best idea ever." She released her hold on him.

"Buffy," he fingered his neck, "We need to get you to Grosh immediately. I don't like what this is doing to you."

"Because glowy eyes equals demon, right?"

"Well, that... and the fact that you've stomped a hole in my floor."

She looked down, and stumbled back. There was a depression in the rug where her foot had impacted.

"Holy..."

He was right. Something was happening to her, changing in her. She wanted to destroy things. And not just the floor. "Giles? Let's go. Now."

* * *

"Ya big loser," Buffy eulogized, watching Grosh collapse into a dead heap.

As she wiped the remains of his heart from her hands, her body shook, her legs gave way, and she fell to the floor.

"Buffy!" Giles came running, watching amber light fly out of her body and up through the altar ceiling.

"I'm okay," she said. "Little nauseous."

He helped her up. "Ah, green."

"What?" she touched her face.

"Your eyes."

"Oh," she nodded. "I don't think glowy's really my color. I'm sorry, Giles, about the--"

He shook his head. "I'm proud of you, Buffy. You managed to avert an apocalypse without succumbing to the darkness that blasted spell obviously wrought."

"What was that, anyway?"

"I believe you were infused with the lifeforce of the demon. Not only Spike's demon, but its entire power source."

"Nifty. Book didn't mention that either, huh?"

He shook his head and smiled. "Ancients do enjoy being vague."

"Stupid ancients." She looked at him. "Giles? Please don't get the wrong idea, but I... I need to go back and--"

"See if Spike is all right."

"Yeah."

* * *

Buffy ran up the steps and into Giles' bedroom. "Spike?"

No Spike. No clothes of Spike. Nothing but that obnoxious amulet on the bed.

He was gone.



More to come...

Chapter 5: Turnabout's Foreplay




"So how'd you do it?" Willow swirled the straw in her 7-Up and teased, "Meet a hunky new vampire?"

"No," Buffy laughed, looking into her chai nonfat latte. "Definitely, no." She sucked on the stirrer. "The witchy women came through at the last second. I got all super-superpower-y."

"Oh, jealous!" Willow whined. "What was it like?"

"It was like me, times a jillion. Walking was problematic; I left some bigfoot-style holes all over town. But I also left a hole in Grosh's chest, so all's well that deads well."

"Buffy smash!" Xander did his best Hulk impression. "Grosh go crash!"

"Pretty much." Toasting to her victory, she tapped her cup against his.

"It was totally physical?" Willow said. "That's unusual."

"Is it?" Buffy kept her cool. "Guess they served me up somethin' special."

"Well, I wish we could've been there."

"I know, me too." Not really. "But I didn't want you guys to get hurt."

"Us get hurt?" Xander pshawed. "When does that happen besides every Tuesday?"

"Not every Tuesday..." A flash of platinum hair at the other end of the Bronze caught Buffy's eye. "I'll be right back. Pee break."

Buffy pushed through the crowd, but quickly lost sight of him. Probably wasn't him anyway. He's left town for good, just like I wanted him to.

Besides, if he acted in any way jerkish, she couldn't 100% promise to uphold the not-murdering-him end of their agreement. Things had changed since the power siphon. Slaying had changed. It had gotten more... stimulating. And more necessary. Like breathing air. And having sex. Like breathing air while having sex.

She'd spent the night soloing a vampire rave and emerged this morning powdered in ash, with a fractured ankle and a hella-sharp fang lodged in her shoulderblade. The fang was stowed into a keepsake box, alongside the ring Angel gave her and the drained amulet Spike wore to shoot her up with demon lifesmack. The ankle? Healed, thank god, or she wouldn't have had any shoes to go with this foxy new dress. A dress she so deserved after everything she went through.

Stiletto heels clicking down the dark, empty corridor to the restrooms, she ruminated over what she could possibly say to him. Sorry about the seizures. Hey, saw what it was like to be you for an hour; I totally get it now. By the way? Loved the sex. Better than Angel!

Yeah. Best she never, ever see him again.

And just as she finished making that resolution and felt pretty solid about it, Spike strut into her path.

For a few seconds, they froze, staring at each other.

He was the same Spike again. Muscley, alert, and well, gorgeous, come to think of it. Killing him was suddenly the furthest thing from her mind. Could he tell that her body was suddenly aching for a rematch? She hoped not.

Spike couldn't figure out what was going on in Buffy's head. She wasn't angry; wasn't happy either... Not that he cared. Nor did he care that she looked positively scrumptious in that silky little hot-pink number.

"Save the song and dance, Slayer. I'm leavin' town tonight."

"You have blood on your mouth." It was more observation than accusation.

"Well, yeah," he licked it from his lips, "Vampire, love. Or had you forgotten?"

"I'll never forget." Her voice trailed off at the end of the sentence.

He frowned slightly, searching her eyes.

She cleared her throat, but kept her mouth shut, deathly afraid that the next words out of it would be take me.

Talk, you pillock. And don't stare at her tits. "How'd the big world-saving go?"

Not at all awkwardly, she folded her arms over her chest. "Still here, isn't it?"

He trained his gaze from the vicinity of her visibly erect nipples to a fading poster on the wall beside her, spattered with dried blood. "Why I helped."

"So you could keep eating people."

"That was your big selling point, wasn't it? We all do what we have to, no matter who we suck the life out of in the process."

"Spike... I had no idea that would happen to you."

"Conscience all shiny and clear now? Good for you." He brushed past her.

Acting on instinct, she gripped his leather sleeve and shoved him against the wall. She couldn't let him go. Not yet. For some reason.

"Hate to break it to you, pet," he spun her around and pinned both her wrists high above her head, flyers and posters fluttering to the ground, "You're not calling the shots tonight."

Mirrored expressions of hatred and desire, and with an intake of breath, their mouths met for the very first time.

It was the end of the world all over again.

Elated, desperate, they came alive at each other's touch. He lifted her legs and ground against her warm center while she reflexively circled her hips. Grabbing his coat lapels, she hungrily probed his mouth with her tongue. A tinge of metallic in the taste... a trace of someone else's blood. Normally this would make her sick, but tonight it fueled the fire.

"Please," she begged between heady kisses, and that was all he needed to hear.

Feeling for the nearest door, he broke the padlock and elbowed it open to reveal a dark utility closet.

They stumbled in and the door swung shut behind them. He barricaded it by wedging a cluttered metal shelf under the knob. The clutter crashed to the tile floor.

The room was hot and stuffy and smelled like Pine-Sol, but she was alone with him, and kissing him, and that was enough. She yanked his jacket down, wanting to feel the muscles in his arms as he moved.

He knocked a column of bulk toilet paper off a crate that was just the right height. He draped his jacket over it, placed her on top, hiked up her dress and closed her legs to divest her of her underwear.

She let him stand between her legs again, let him run his hands up her inner thighs, part her labia with his fingertips, kiss her neck...

"No little crosses," he said, lips feathering her jugular vein.

"Lots of wood in here."

"Scared, Slayer?"

"Not of you." To prove it, she gave him the all-access pass, holding him fast against her throat.

Beside himself, he licked and sucked and bit at her forbidden neck, scraping her skin with blunt teeth.

When he plunged his middle finger inside of her, she squealed in ecstasy, rolled her hips frenetically to and fro.

He placed her hand over his hard-on. She squeezed with one hand, tugged his belt with the other. Took hold of his cock and brought it out.

He hissed. She arched backward, maneuvering her bottom towards him, guiding him in...

With a groan, he rammed in, up, all the way home.

She cried out and whispered hotly, "Oh, god, Spike..."

"Oh, Buffy... Buffy..."

"So good. It's so good..."

"So bad, too..."

She giggled, and he laughed. Their noses met for a randy eskimo kiss. Their tongues mingled teasingly as they weaved their fingers through each other's hair, bodies undulating...

Things were getting romantic, and they both knew that had to stop.

So she threw her head back and made physical signals to get rough, and he obliged.

Soon he was pounding into her, making her shout, making the crate rattle against the wall. "Take it, Slayer, take me in. Suck me dry like you did that night."

"I told you, I didn't--"

"I don't care," he growled. "Neither should you."

"Spike..."

"Say you don't care." He rammed into her several times, waiting. "Say it!"

"I don't care!"

"That a girl," he murmured, and pumped slower.

With an urgent whimper, she grabbed him to keep him close, to keep him angled a certain way, keep his pubic bone rubbing against her swollen clit as she quickly bucked forward.

"Yes, yes, ye-es!" She drew out the last yes with abandon, letting herself yell for once.

Doesn't need a bloody amulet to wrench the living Hell out of a bloke. Jesus... fucking... "Christ, oh, Bu--!" Quaking, he exploded into her, whispering the rest of her name, shooting his dead-but-not-cold semen into her warm depths.

As they reeled from aftertremors, breathing pained and ragged, she clutched his head to her neck and began to pet his hair. For once, her partner hadn't turned catatonic or especially evil... yet, and she wasn't about to let him go and face the consequences.

He didn't move or try to stop the petting. Instead he warned her, "You're making a mistake."

She whispered, "I don't care."

"I'm leaving and I'm not coming back."

She took a deep breath to work up some conviction, and set him free. "I don't care."

It was time to say goodbye. Knowing she couldn't see him, he gazed at her for a moment, saw the conflict in her eyes. He grabbed a fistful of hair at the base of her skull and kissed her, hard and thorough. She mewled into his mouth.

Buffy had the softest lips he'd ever tasted, the kind of tongue he'd love to introduce to other parts of him, and the kind of body he wished he could explore... over several months, in a remote location where no one could find them. But she'd likely nix that idea.

Lulled by his expert tongue, Buffy found herself examining the pros and cons of having William the Bloody for a boyfriend.

Amazing kisser. Passionate, strong, fun, crazy loyal. Gets along with Mom for some reason... Good with hands, has ripply torso of steel, amazing kisser... can have sex with. For hours. Possibly days.

Aggravating, mean, fashion challenged, way possessive. Friends will disown me. Daylight picnics impossible... Dead. Mass murderer. Might eat me. Amazing kisser... amayyyzing lover... Well if I ever get vamped, at least I know who to OHMYGOD what am I thinking?

Arriving at the same conclusion, they grudgingly broke apart.

While Spike zipped up his pants, Buffy tried to fix her hair. It had been up in a loose bun, but now it was a mess. She could feel the wrinkles in her new dress, the bright red flush on her face. She'd really have to stop in the bathroom now.

Spike pulled a chain and the light went on. He looked at her, and down at his feet. "Well. This is it, then."

She cleared her throat and hopped off the crate. "Where we get off."

He arched a pointed brow.

With a brief chuckle, she rolled her eyes, said shyly, "Why didn't I go with 'end of the road'?"

He approached her, and she seemed cornered and confused. Flourescent light, number one killer of moods. "Can I get my coat back?"

"What? Oh." She turned and picked up his coat, noticing the wet spot on the lining. "Did I do that? Oh, god, ew. Here, let me clean--"

"No worries, love," he said, giving the stain a quick wipe with his t-shirt before slipping the coat on. "Gives it character."

"You're disgusting," she said, actually repulsed.

"And we've come full circle." Spike glanced around the tiny room. She was right about the wood -- all manner of mops, brooms, paint rods... "But I get points for saving the world, right? A little non-staking for good behavior."

She held up a hand. "Just... don't."

"Right." He breathed in, knowing what he had to do -- this was a dead end, plain and simple. Emphasis on 'dead'. He knew her true nature, and even if she was being strangely forgiving now, it couldn't last. As much as he'd love to toss her over his shoulder, throw her in his car and take her with him, that wasn't how the world worked. "Well. Until the next apocalypse, then."

She sighed. "Hope not."

"Yeah," he said. "Hope I never have to see you again."

"Spike?" she said as he cleared the way to the door.

"Yeah, pet?"

"My underwear?"

"Oh, pfft," he waved his hand, gave her an innocent look. "Tore on your heel. Completely ruined. You got no use for 'em."

"And you do?" She gave up. "Fine. As long as you don't wear them."

"Maybe just on my head then. Y'know, for a moment of quiet reflection. Not down the promenade or anything."

"Right," she said with a low chuckle.

He stilled, smiled genuinely. Drinking her in. "Take care, Buffy."

"Yeah. You too, Spike."

At that, he walked out of her life.

* * *

Buffy found Willow and Xander near the stage. "Hey, guys."

"Buffy! You disappeared! Where'd you go?"

"Aw, were ya worried about me?"

"Well, it was a toss-up between you ditched us, or the toilet monster swallowed you up."

Buffy smiled. "Toilet monster doesn't swallow. Just nibbles a little."

"A-ha." He grinned. "Do we get to see the bite marks?"

"I would, but Cordy might get the wrong idea."

"So what really happened?"

She shrugged as if it were nothing. "Ran into a vamp. Turned into a wrestling match, yadda yadda; see above re: every Tuesday."

"Was it a girl and was there mud? Just let me picture it for a second before you answer."

"No."

He snapped his fingers in disappointment. "Oh! Too soon!"

"Oh!" Willow blurted excitedly, "We also ruled you out as the skank having sex in the utility closet."

A smile froze on Buffy's face. "What?"

"Yeah, you missed it," Xander said. "Someone got lucky tonight. Or, you know, someone got very drunk and impressionable tonight."

Buffy hoped she wasn't blushing. "Really? How could you tell?"

"Well, noises and things. You know." Willow lowered her voice and leaned in. "Sex noises. I had to forcibly pull Xander away from the door."

"Really?"

"Yep. So it was toilet monster, ditch, or skank. Or, you know," Xander feigned boredom by slumping his shoulders and rolling his eyes, "Slaying a vampire and protecting the world."

"Sorry to disappoint." Actually it's B and C, plus E, 'Biggest Liar on Earth'... add to that F, 'Worst Slayer Ever' and you've pretty much got me pegged!

"Well, it's good you're back -- Dingoes are going on in a few minutes. Uh-oh, Angel alert."

Buffy's eyes widened. She didn't turn. "Where?"

"Just walked in the front. Are you still avoidy?"

"Yeah, I -- I can't see him right now." Shower, must shower, right away... "If he asks, can you tell him I felt sick and went home?"

"Sure."

"Thanks. Tell Oz I'm sorry I missed," she apologized, and motored out the back door.

* * *

Spike got into his car, shoved the liquor bottles out of the way and patted his chest pockets for his keys. Digging a hand in his hip pocket, he pulled out a pair of lacy, hot-pink panties. Brought it to his nose and breathed in. Shook his head with a smile.

"'Til next time, gorgeous."

Finding the keys, he gunned the engine and careened out of the parking lot, tires screeching.

As he turned onto Main Street, he saw a man walking and slowed to see if he might have a few bucks he could steal... Not likely. It was Angel.

Well, well.

Grinning widely, Spike dangled Buffy's panties out the window and drove off with a whooping holler.

Angel looked after the speeding car and frowned. Is that...? A scent caught his nose. Is that...?

He shook his head. No. No way in hell.

* * *

"Buffy." After crashing a Scooby meeting, Angel cornered her in the library stacks. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you -- t-tell you what?" Remember, innocent until proven slutty...

"About Grosh. I could've helped."

Oh, thank god. "That's okay, he's dead now. Cold and heartless, just like I like 'em."

"Yeah. The witch power thing. Glad that did the trick." He lowered his voice. "But if you'd come to me I could have told you about the legend."

"Legend? Wh -- there's a legend?"

"There's a way I could have transferred the source of my power to you."

"Huh?" Have you completely lost your mind?

"I won't get into the details, but the transfer would've been temporary, only 'til you killed him. And my soul would have cancelled out all the negative consequences for you. I'm surprised Giles didn't know about this."

Stunned, Buffy stared at him. "I could have... " ...saved the world by being with the man I love? ...avoided sleeping with the enemy? ...not had the opportunity to fall for someone else?

Oh god. Did I fall for someone else?

"Buffy?" Giles called.

She pointed towards her Watcher's voice. "I need to -- I'm gonna..."

"Yeah. It doesn't matter anyway. You killed him. That's the important thing," he said, staring at her longingly.

With a nod, Buffy walked numbly out to the main area, Angel following.

"Yes, Buffy, I need you to--"

Suddenly, the library doors swung open, and everyone turned.

Heart racing, Buffy braced herself... until Faith casually ambled in.

"So. What'd I miss?"





THE END