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Authors Chapter Notes:
TimeLine: Set in season five after Spike realises he's in love with Buffy. Dawn has arrived, but there is no Glory, and Joyce is not sick. Post: ‘Out of My Mind’

Author’s Note: In this A/U world Anya and Tara aren’t about. These are two of my favourite characters, but I actually wrote the middle of this fiction before I wrote the beginning/end of it! And when I started, there was no Tara and Anya in the series! Also, Xander is still living in his parent’s basement, even though the whole gang are in their early twenties.


Prologue





"No, no, no, no… NO! NO!! NO!!!" He growled as he ran frightened hands over her jerking body. He could hear her heartbeat rapidly slowing as life slipped away from her.



This couldn't be happening, it just couldn't! Frustrated, angry tears slipped unheeded down his cheeks. The world was spinning - this just couldn’t be real. His whole being denied it.



Then everything became clear once more.



"Please don't hate me." He whispered mournfully just before he sank his teeth in to her neck, drawing the last of her blood from her body; uncaring, or unknowing of the chip’s wroth as it fired pulse after pulse or electricity through his fraught brain.



She moaned, shifting in his grasp but was quieted by his the soft purrs emanating from his chest. She was barely conscious as she felt the cool blood slip down her throat.



The damning liquid warming her from the inside.



He lifted her carefully, walking without presence of mind around the gravestones, vowing that there would never be one with her name on it.



Having finally made it to his crypt, he placed her gently on the bed.



He couldn’t have her wake up to darkness, dirt and fear….couldn’t have her relive the memories in her nightmares for all eternity.



Not the way he had.



He sat down, buried his face in his hands and cried.



All he could do now was wait.





Part One







She was hungry.



And, ow, her head kinda hurt. She gingerly rolled her head to the side, trying to work out where she was.



Her eyes refused to cooperate and open, so she extended her other senses.



It was dark, cold and dank - but it didn't bother her.



She was lying on something soft, it felt like silk.



Suddenly, without warning, her senses went hay-wire.



Blood.



Sex.



Sire.



DeSire.



Sire.



Want.



Sire.



She felt the bed move next to her and her Slayer senses growled at her Demon in confusion.



"Spike?" She croaked, forcing to her eyes open and focus on the blonde she knew to be sitting next to her.



"You must be hungry, pet." It wasn't a question.



She accepted the red liquid eagerly, her tongue savouring the scent and taste of the miraculous fluid. She heard herself growl a little as the last on it slipped down her throat. She raised amber eyes to the Vampire.



"I can feel you inside of me." She whispered, staring at him.



"I know." He whispered back, taking the Styrofoam cup from her and placing it on the floor.



“Everything’s so loud….so bright.” She took an unneeded breath, absently noticing that this was the first time she’d done so since she had awoken. “So alive.”



“I know.” And he did – he knew she’d be able to sense the worms as they moved in the soil, the rats and Demons scuttering in the tunnels not so far away…and the unaware, lone human that had just entered the cemetery.



"I guess I was your third after all." She said quietly, and then doubled over as silent tears slipped down her face. Spike awkwardly moved so that his back was against the headboard, and carefully placed an arm around the sobbing girl. He was shocked when she curved her body into his, even more so when he felt hot tears through his shirt.



*I'm so sorry. * He whispered in his head, the knowledge and acceptance of his own guilt too great to dare to speak the pitiful words. Closing his eyes, he leant back, still cuddling the crying Slayer in his arms.



---



Three Weeks Later



"So...Buffy, you want to come out with us, you know - a little after patrol relaxing?" Xander asked the silent Slayer.



"Umm..."



"You don't have to, right Xander?" Willow quickly put in.



"It's not that..." Buffy hesitated.



The three of them had been patrolling for about half an hour. It was part of their whole make-Buffy-the-Vampire-Vampire-Slayer-feel-human deal. They hadn't really found any big baddie so far, but Buffy was scared that they would. So far she had managed to control the Demon pretty well, but after last week...



"Buffy?"



"I think I just wanna go home, is that okay with you guys?" She tried a smile, but couldn't quite make it form her lips.



"Sure..." Willow murmured, but the Slayer had already turned and started to leave the graveyard.



"Let her go, Wills...she'll come when she’s ready."



Willow nodded resignedly, and left with Xander in the other direction.



---



It had been three weeks.



Twenty-one...a nearby church-clock struck one o'clock...twenty-two days since she had woken up at Spike's crypt...woken up a Vampire.



And her whole world had changed again.



If she had thought that getting called had messed with her life, it was a walk in the park compared to this.



Riley...her loving, steady, never-gonna-leave-you Riley had actually been surprisingly cool about everything. Once he had beaten the shit out of Spike and she'd dragged him from the crypt. Two weeks ago they had had a talk, he still loved her - being a Vampire didn't change that.



She asked that they take it slow. He said that was okay.



And it was okay, until last week.



It had been a Kregnokh Demon, according to Giles, very slimy, very hard to kill, very tough; almost too tough. But she'd managed it, but not without changing.



Apparently being a Vampire had changed a few things.



He needed time to think. Time to work things out for himself.



She needed someone who could be there for her, now.



Buffy crawled into bed, after dragging her emotionally tired body up the tree outside her old room. It had been twenty-two days since she had seen him and it was like an ache in her chest that wouldn't go away.



She could feel him every hour of the day. When she was patrolling he was near. When she slept he was in her dreams. Her blood called for him.



No…it didn't call…



It screamed.



She had heard that a bond between a Sire and a Childe could be strong, but...this was different. She wasn't sure how, but it felt different.



She rolled over in her bed, her face changing as her Demon cried for the safety and protection of her Sire.



---



Across the hall, Joyce's heart sank a little further at the sound.



Buffy had come to live at home after it had happened. Willow had assured her that she could still stay in the dorms, but Buffy had declined. She had been too embarrassed that now the curtains had to be drawn all day long, and that she had to hide when a door opened in case sunlight accidentally entered the room.



So she had moved back to Rovello Drive…



And every night it was the same. She would return home from patrolling, late so that she wouldn't have to talk to any body.



Somehow, and Joyce suspected via the tree next to her window, she made it to her room.



Once inside she was silent...every night Joyce prayed that it was sleep that made her so quiet.



Then it started.



They were quiet at first, barely perceptible except to a Mother's ears, but soon the wails grew in intensity. The only way to describe it was to compare it to the sound an animal makes when it's in pain.



Joyce was torn. She was having a hard enough time proving to Buffy that she loved her, whatever she was, without worrying about breaking her trust by talking to Mr. Giles about her Slayer's night time distress.



So she said nothing.



The two of them suffered in silence.



---



Across Town…



Spike sat alone in his crypt, staring at the blank TV screen, a half-empty whisky bottle in his un-bandaged hand. The crypt was silent expect for the rhythmic swish made as he tilted the glass to his lips.



He hadn't seen her.



No one had come to him after his confrontation with the soldier.



He hadn't said a thing since then.



There had been no one to talk to.



She hadn't come to him, but he'd followed her at night.



Not in the old creepy-stalker way, but in a protective-Sire way. He'd seen the fight she'd had with soldier-boy and it had nearly forced him out of the shadows but then the whelp had arrived and the two had left together.



How often he wanted to go to her…he needed to be close to her, needed to feel her body next to his, his fangs in her throat, her blood in his mouth…



He needed his Childe…and Mate with him.



But, the real question was…the thought that kept him ensconced in darkness was this:



Did she need him?



She would hate him, had to hate him – he had turned her into the one thing she despised – the thing she hunted, the things that had destroyed her life.



But still he watched her nightly.



She looked beautiful. Ethereal. Not-of-this World...if she ever was.



And she looked sad, so sad.



Defeated.



And it killed him inside.



Because he was the cause of it.




TBC...




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