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Authors Chapter Notes:
Just a little ficlet prompted by Season Five badness.

[For those of you following Victims of Fate, there's a note at the end of Chapter 17 you should read]


She hadn’t felt desperation like this in a long time – maybe ever. Desperation so complete, so intense that she was on her way to the home of perhaps her least favourite person in Sunnydale. Not even a person – a vampire. Spike. Spike, who couldn’t seem to stop ruining her life even now that he was harmless thanks to that chip in his head. She would have killed him – was tempted to do it now – but this desperation soaked out everything else. All over feelings were smothered by this choking, awful desperation.

She reached his crypt and kicked the door in, uncaring as she strode inside. He was nowhere to be seen and her eyes fell to the hole in the floor. Not bothering to be quiet, she stormed over to the hole and dropped down into the lower level, eyes taking a moment to adjust to the dimly-lit cave before she caught sight of him.



He was fast asleep, sprawled out on his bed – and even that made her angry. That he could sleep, now. After what he had done.

“Spike,” she got out angrily, stopping a pace away from his bed, arms folded across her chest. He made no sign of hearing her though and she repeated his name, louder this time.

“Spike.”

Her fists clenched when there was still no response from him and she looked around the room, her eyes alighting upon a rather hefty candle. She went over to it, picked it up, and threw it at the vampire, hitting him square in the chest.

“Bloody hell!” he cried out, sitting up quickly, confused and angry gaze flying from the candle to her, “What the hell are you bloody doing, Slayer?!”

“What the hell are you doing?!” she retorted angrily, fists clenched tightly.

“What the hell am I… I’m sleeping, you dozy bint! Vampire bedtime and all that. Now if you don’t mind…”

He lay back down on the pillows and turned his back to her.

“Spike,” she bit out loudly.



She saw him sigh and then he rolled back over, propping himself up on his elbows, watching her with thinly veiled irritation.

“What do you want, Slayer?”

She paused for a second, and then it burst out.

“Why did you do it?” she asked, her voice losing its anger and gaining back a desperate quality.

“Do what?” he asked wearily.

“Do you really hate me that much?!”

“Slayer, what are you bloody talking about?”

“Riley,” she ground out and she saw him pause, watching her carefully. She turned her head aside, not wanting him to see her weakness.

“Why did you show me?”

Before he could even answer, she continued, hating how weak her voice sounded even as she did.

“If you hadn’t showed me… I could have just pretended… pretended everything was fine. He wouldn’t have left and everything would… it’d be fine.”

“Captain Cardboard left?”

She turned angry, pained eyes on him and he blinked in shock.

“Isn’t that what you planned? I don’t know why you did it… but I… I hate you!” she choked out, turning her back on him and forcing herself to calm down.



“Buffy?”

“Don’t!” she spat out, turning back to him, forcing all emotion away, “You don’t get to make excuses.”

“Slayer, I-“

“Shut up!”

He fell silent but he looked genuinely concerned and she hated that her enemy could look at her like that, like she was weak. Forcing calm, she took a deep breath and ploughed on with the other reason for coming.

“I have to understand,” she said evenly, calmly.

“Understand what?”

“Why he did it.”

“Because he’s a stupid poof who took off-“

“Not that,” she said, interrupting him, “I need to know why… why he went to that place.”

Spike stilled for a moment, watching her intently, blue eyes fixed on hers until she looked away.

“Because he’s a poof?” he suggested.

“Why did he…”

She was getting emotional again and she forced it down.

“What did those… vampires give him that I couldn’t?”



Spike hesitated for a moment and she risked a glance at him, finding him regarding her with surprise – and sympathy.

“Dunno how his stupid little mind works, do I?”

“But you know about these place… those girls… Why did… why does anyone go there? Why do they let themselves be… be bitten?”

He tilted his head, examining her, leaning back on his hands.

“Sure you know how it works, Slayer,” he said softly, “Remember Dracula’s visit, do you? Well, I figure-“

“No,” she interrupted, “I don’t want you to tell me. I want you to show me.”

He froze and the crypt fell deadly silent as he watched her in shock.

“You want me to…”

“You’re a vampire, aren’t you?” she bit out, “I want you to show me why. I… I have to understand.”

He sat up a bit straighter and his expression softened.

“Buffy,” he started gently.

“Are you going to do it or not?” she forced out, “Or do I need to find a vampire with the balls to do it?”

He clenched his jaw and she knew she was getting through to him. And if she hurt him in the process, even better – after what he had done to her, destroying her life time and time again.



He paused for a moment and then his expression turned deadly serious and he held out a hand.

“Come here.”

She forced one foot in front of the other and sank to the edge of the bed, fighting her racing heartbeat and her desire to flee. He caught her arm and tugged her forward, slipping into his vampire guise.

“This what you want, Slayer?”

She nodded firmly and she saw his nostrils flare just before he tugged her against him, strong arms twining round her and pinning her own arms. Every Slayer instinct was screaming at her to break free but she fought it, closing her eyes and trying not to recoil when she felt his hand brushing her hair aside. His breath danced over her skin and she forced herself to keep breathing calmly, focussing on her breathing so she wouldn’t have to think about what she was doing: offering her neck up to a renowned killer.

“It’s not about food,” he murmured and she wished he would just shut up and get on with it, “It’s not about the kill.”

“Spike-“

She started struggling against him, fed up with him already, but he held her firm, his teeth scraping her skin – almost in warning.

“It’s about the bite,” he whispered, “About the sensation…”



She had expected pain – it was all she remembered of Angel’s bite - but his fangs piercing her skin felt like the smallest pinprick. She tried not to think, tried to clear her mind, tried to focus on the sensation – tried to understand why Riley had betrayed her for this. So far, all she could feel was a strange numbness but as she felt Spike take a pull of her blood, a rush of warmth flooded through her. He had loosened his hold on her now but she didn’t move, leaning against him as he took minute pulls on her blood.

She fought it as long as she possibly could but she could feel sensation building low in her stomach, making her clench her thighs together uncomfortably. This was not arousing, it wasn’t – she wouldn’t let it be. When she felt the lap of his tongue over the wound, she let out an involuntary gasp, eyes falling closed in pleasure. She quickly opened them again though and shoved Spike away, her hand going to her neck.

He sat back, watching her with heavy-lidded eyes, wearing his human features again. She couldn’t move for the moment, still absorbing what his bite had made her feel. Was this what Riley had felt with those girls? Is this what he needed? Is this what she needed?



Spike moved again, sitting forward and running a lazy hand down her arm. She saw him tilt his head, shifting forward – but this time she didn’t recoil. She leaned forward to meet him, pressing her lips against his. And for a moment, that was all it was – until he twined his hand in her hair and tugged her against him, moaning low in his throat as he kissed her harder. As his tongue dived inside her mouth, she tasted her own blood on his tongue – and it sent a wake-up call straight to her brain. She shoved him away and rose to her shaky feet.

“That’s enough,” she got out shakily.

He sat back, watching her again, amusement playing around his lips.

“Do you understand now, love?” he asked with a smirk, running his tongue over his lips.

She did – she completely understood – but she would not give him the satisfaction of knowing that.

“Stay away from me, Spike,” she bit out – noticing just as he did that her voice contained none of its usual force, none of its usual venom.

Without another word, she turned and made her way out of his crypt and into the late afternoon sunshine, a whole new form of desperation bubbling up inside her. Desperation to experience that sensation again.


THE END




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