Disclaimer: Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy own all the characters contained within. I hold no claim on them.
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Set during Buffy versus Dracula and then goes seriously AU after that! Buffy is missing and Spike is the only one who has noticed. Where is Buffy and why is Spike the only one who is worried? Will the peroxide vampire be able to find her before it's too late? What has happened to the Scoobies and will they save Xander before he really becomes Dracula's butt monkey?

Chapter 28

"It hurts," he whined as the woman's soft hands fluttered over his beaten body. His tongue ran across the back of his teeth and paused briefly at the gap where his fang had been. He knew in time it would grow back, but his vanity was starting to surge to the fore. Dracula knew he couldn't show his face anywhere soon; the sight of a Master Vampire of his notoriety, with a missing fang, would be too humiliating.

The surviving Bride grimaced at the sound of her Master's ribs grinding together as she bound them tightly. When he had appeared in her window—fluttering weakly into the room and falling at her feet—she had started to scream for her sisters. Stopping only when she remembered there was no one else, only her.

"Who did this to you, Master?" Marushka whispered as she carefully tied the ends of the soft bandages off. Reaching over to the silver bowl filled with water, the shaking vampiress picked up the sponge and squeezed it out and methodically began to clean the drying blood and dirt of Dracula's face.

"No matter who it was my Childe," Dracula hissed as the pain shot through him when she cleaned out the bite wound on his shoulder. There was no way he would ever admit to his Bride who had beaten him so badly; the humiliation was too much as it was.

Marushka's grey eyes widened slightly when she caught the scent of her Master's opponents-- her little sister and the Aurelian, Spike. Wisely she kept her silence and continued to tend her poor darling. She resisted offering to lick his wounds shut, acutely aware that Dracula would not allow her to taste the combined blood on his body of the two vampires that had fought and wounded him so badly.

*********

It was dark, warm and comforting. He was fed and kept comfortable. There was nothing here in his new home to remind him of what he had done.

He was safe. They didn't judge him; only tried to help him.

It was weird seeing her again. She had died a few years ago and yet, here she was. Talking him back from the brink of madness that he had allowed himself to be lead into.

Shame filled him again; he was a sick, dirty boy, just like his father and mother had told him. A weak mistake who wouldn't amount to anything. He thought he’d proved them wrong himself when he had helped her fight the things that went bump in the night. But he had been a idiot and his parents had been right all along.

Nothing would save him. He turned onto his side and curled up into a tight ball and wept.

*********

"Hold up pet, he's long gone." Spike reached out and hauled Buffy back against him. His arms automatically wrapped around her wriggling body and without any conscious thought behind it, he dropped a soothing kiss to her temple.

"Dammit Spike, lemme go. He's getting away," Buffy whined as she tried to pry his arms off her.

"Not happening, Slayer." Spike gritted his teeth when her sharp little elbow made contact with his ribs. The scratches left by Dracula's claws were reopened by the jostling and blood seeped sluggishly down his side. He wavered on his feet, fatigue clawing at him-- the night's events finally catching up with the bleach blond vampire. All he wanted to do now was get home before the sun rose, to tend to both of their wounds. His hackles were rising at the incipient arrival of the dawn, his vampiric nature urging him to get undercover and wait out the day.

Buffy froze mid squirm at the scent of Spike's blood hitting her nostrils. She slithered around to face him, all her anger over his not telling her about her mom vaporised in an instant. He was hurt. Must help him, filled her mind.

"You're bleeding." She gazed up at him, her green eyes luminous. A tear trembled on her thick lower lashes, threatening to drop onto her cheek and paint a trail through the encrusted grime.

A smile threatened at the corners of Spike's split lips. "Yeah, sumthin’ that happens when you get into a good brawl." His fingers slid around her small waist and held her gently.

Buffy snorted at his bravado, still in two minds whether to kick his ass. But the scent of his blood filled her with worry, and now face-to-face with him for the first time since chasing after Dracubat, she could see the extent of his war wounds. He was battered and bruised, but still unbowed and hers.

Spike glanced over his shoulder, the tingles alerting him that sunrise was imminent. "Com'on, we need to get home." He tugged her against him and pressed a hesitant kiss to her lips, still unsure if he was in the dog house.

Buffy nodded and allowed him to pull her along the deserted streets, heading for home.

*********

"What the hell happened to you? You look like raw meat! It’s disgusting; you’re all red and scabby. I hate it; clean yourself up."

Dracula rolled onto his back at the sound of the Hellgod's shrill voice. He had been curled up on his side and drifting in and out of sleep. His body was slowly healing, thanks to the two human cows Marushka had brought up from the dungeons. He had drained them awkwardly. Unable to sink his fang into their necks, Dracula had used his nails to cut their throats. The crimson nectar that had welled from the cuts had called to him and he had latched on, drinking deeply from their throats

Glory paced back and forth at the side of the bed Dracula was lying on. "Get up. We need to discuss my plans." Without a backward glance, she prowled out of the room.

"Sire?" Marushka helped Dracula to sit up, her face screwing up in sympathy at the whimper of pain that escaped his pale lips. "You need to rest. She can wait."

Dracula shook his head. "No. We need to pander to her vanities. I am in too deep." He rose slowly from the bed, his movements measured, as if he were indeed two hundred odd years old. "Help me to dress and bring me another one to eat." He kicked at the two drained bodies that lay on the floor. "Get a minion to remove this refuse."

*********

Spike kicked the door shut; they had managed to beat the sunrise with seconds to spare. Buffy flicked the lights and headed for the stairs.

"Blood?"

"Yeah. Gonna need a few packs to sort out this lot," Spike told her as he gestured to the bruises that littered his torso. The reddish purple marks contrasted with his pale skin and stood out in relief. Spike allowed himself to limp now that he was home and out from under the curious eyes of the world. Buggering hell, the bastard got me good. Nearly caught me in the Niagara's.' Spike pressed the heel of his hand into the aching hip joint and eyed the stairs glumly. There was no avoiding it. He had to climb them and it was going to hurt like the blazes.

The only two things sustaining him were pure adrenaline as well as the damage he had inflicted on the poseur. Spike patted his back pocket. The small trophy he had managed to snag before taking off after Buffy and Drac was secure in his jeans.

There was a sickening popping sound that preceded his entrance into the loft. Buffy glanced up from the mug she was holding, ‘eww face’ firmly in place. Spike limped to the sofa and sank down into the cushions with a happy moan.

"Here, drink this. I'll get another one for you." A mug was waved under his nose. Spike took it gratefully and began to gulp it down, his eyes widened momentarily at the taste of her blood. He looked up, his lips stained red with questioning eyes.

"It'll help, Spike. Don't say anything, just drink." Buffy turned back to the kitchen, pulled another bag out of the fridge and threw it into the microwave. With a few jabs of her finger she set the time and the bag began to spin slowly around.

Spike's eyelids lowered at the blissful taste of his girl's blood and he sipped at the remains in the mug slowly, trying to draw out the pleasure he got from tasting her. Buffy shrugged off his duster and carefully draped it over the back of the sofa. Her hand drifted down to ghost over Spike's chest. His calloused hand lashed out and caught hers and squeezed it gently.

"We're okay?" He hated the quaver in his voice, but Spike needed to know.

Buffy eyed him solemnly. She realised that what he had done—he and Angel that is— was try to help her and to lessen her load. She had overreacted; she knew it and felt about twelve years old. Offering a tentative smile to her concerned lover, she nodded. Her simple actions had an immediate effect on Spike. With a sigh, the tension in his lean body dissolved and he melted into the soft cushions.

Spike's inner William appeased, he began to sip again at the blood, his fingers interlacing with Buffy's and a purr beginning to erupt from his throat. He knew that there would be more 'chat' about his and the Poof's actions, but as long as she loved him, Spike knew he could weather anything. The faint words he'd tossed at her and Peaches two years ago echoed through his mind - love's bitch. Spike nodded and smiled. Yeah he was, and proud of it.

The microwave pinged, shattering the peaceful moment between them.

"I'll get that." Buffy scurried off, anxious to help.

"No added extra's this time pet, and maybe get some for yourself. You need it," Spike suggested gently, aware that if he ordered her then the stubborn bint would starve her self to spite him.

Buffy nodded absently and filled a fresh mug and tossed another bag into the microwave, her stomach growling appreciatively at the potential meal.

"Here.” She handed the warmed blood over and drifted past Spike and into their bedroom. Spike cocked his head and listened to her moving around. He could hear the soft fall of her clothes onto the floor as she stripped off; her bare feet padded into the bathroom. Spike took a long drink of the second mug, grimacing at the blandness of the taste. The sound of taps turning and the rush of water made him pause and he rubbed a thumb gingerly along his cheekbone, the edges of the cut still raw and painful.

"Can you get up?" Buffy's soft voice broke through his musings.

Spike cracked his neck from side to side, easing the pressure. "Yeah." For once he managed to stop himself from making a crass remark; he was too tired for verbal badinage. Swinging his feet over the side the tired vampire eased himself up. Before he could reach down and undo his bootlaces, Buffy's naked form was kneeling at his feet, her strong fingers working the laces free and easing the Doc's off his feet.

"Come on." Buffy stood and reached out a hand to help him up.

Spike's eyes were riveted to her gently swaying breasts. He put the mug down on the coffee table and let her pull him to his feet. He smothered a groan when the injured hip cracked loudly as he padded after his girl into the steamy bathroom. Sniffing the air, he noticed that the prevalent scent she had picked out was Teatree oil, thankfully not too emasculating.

He let her undress him, his arms hanging loose at his sides as he watched her naked body move around his. Allowing Buffy to coo over each injury as is it was unveiled. Spike was in two minds over what to do and say. He was still incensed and hurt by her reaction to the Joyce situation and wanted to have a go at her for what she had said and done, but at the same time he wanted to cosset her over Dracula and the first meeting with the smug ponce.

Buffy kept her head down and avoided eye contact. Something in her instinctively told her not to look up at Spike. Maybe it was her demon? She grimaced when her stomach growled again.

“Go eat, Childe.” Spike nudged her to the door, unsure as to whether or not he liked his Slayer so submissive. It didn’t sit well with him; made his fangs twitch for some reason. The tired vampire glanced over at the filled tub with longing. “I’ll get in the tub and soak. Go and eat, pet.” He deliberately omitted his usual luv and walked slowly towards the bath.

Buffy hesitated and then slipped through the door, rushing to the kitchen. She wanted to be back in the bathroom with Spike. They needed to talk and bond

“Gods that feels good…” Spike groaned happily as he sank into the big bath and the heat from the scented water soaked into his aching muscles. He noticed the full bottle of JD set on the side and a pang of guilt filled him for his behaviour.

He leant forward to grab a bar of soap and a lithe body slid into the gap behind him.

“Spike?”

He rested his head on his knees briefly, before lying back on her soft body. Coarse curls at the juncture of her thighs tickled his skin, offering promises of things to come. Buffy wrapped her arms around his chest, carefully avoiding the scratches and bruising that was littered across his pale skin. Spike absently ran his hands up and down her thighs, which lay along his, her scarlet tipped toes massaging his shins.

Buffy rested her chin on Spike’s shoulder and sighed.

“You know I only kept quiet about Mum cos I didn’t want you worrying over her and getting yourself dusted?” he asked quietly.

Buffy sighed again, the movement pressing her hardened nipples against his back. Spike pressed his cheek against hers and reached up to thread his fingers through hers. “You getting naked and pressing your bits and pieces against me isn’t going to work. We need to chat this out, pet.”

“Spike, what do you want me to say? I’m happy about you being all secretive guy? Nope, not gonna happen! Also, not happy with you and Angel all with the vampy whispers and treating me like a mushroom.”

“Do what? Mushroom?” Spike’s eyes shot open as he tried to follow his girl’s strange thought patterns.

“Y’know, keep me in the dark and feed me…”

“Right, got it, and who the ruddy hell told you that one?” Spike interrupted. He tried, and failed to suppress a deep laugh.

“Dawn.” Buffy pinched at the nipples that her hands were covering. Spike purred at her teasing as his cock twitched against stomach in anticipation. “Spike, I over reacted. I’m sorry. I was just scared for Mom.” She was amazed at how easily the words of apology came to her lips. ‘Whoa, where did maturo gal come from?’ Her lower lip jutted out slightly.

“Only did it because I love you, pet,” Spike whispered, secretly amazed at her openly offered contrition. He decided not to push her anymore, knowing that there was still the issue of ‘Dracuponce’ to talk about.

“I can tell you’re pouting without even having to look.” Spike closed his eyes and snuggled back against Buffy, both of them sighing contentedly at the contact and warmth of the other’s body. His hand settled on his erection and idly pumped it for a few strokes, just to keep it happy. His free hand drifted up to rest on her cheek, his fingers soothing her with gentle strokes. He was still waiting for her to bring up Drac, and wondered why she hadn’t.

“Not gonna get it?” she teased hopefully,

Spike’s mind flashed back to that night, the one night he had barely allowed himself to think about that often. Her slender body draped over his as they tried to work out their wedding plans-- and their gentle teasing.

It had been a taste of the bliss that he was rapidly become accustomed to in the last few weeks. In the days after the spell had been lifted, he had never even given the incident a second thought-- not until that dream. The dream that had changed everything for him, setting him on a path that had led him to this moment.

“Spike?” Buffy worried her aforementioned lips in her teeth, unnerved at the stillness of her sire. It was something that was alien to her; usually he was ball of energy, in constant motion.

“Sorry, pet, just pondering times past.” Spike reached up without looking and tapped at Buffy’s lower lip that was caught in her teeth. He reached over and grabbed the bottle of booze and expertly spun the top off, and with a happy sigh, downed a shot.

“What times?” Buffy nudged Spike down until she could scoop some water onto his blood streaked hair, the warm water loosening the dried flakes. Pushing him up and into a seated position, rather than having him slumped against her; Buffy lathered up his platinum curls and began to scrub, her fingers avoiding the cut that was healing rapidly. “Dunk your head,” she ordered gently as her fingers toyed with the shampoo-covered curls. Spike twisted around and faced her, his cobalt blue eyes staring into her hazel ones, searching for answers to questions he hadn’t voiced yet.

Buffy soothed the wrinkles in his brow with her soap-covered fingers. She knew there was the issue of her statue impersonation to cover and that Spike was waiting for her to say something. But she was tired and didn’t want the angstathon; she just wanted to snuggle with her vamp. Look after him and coddle him for saving her again from Drac.

“We are going to have to talk it out at some point, love,” Spike whispered, all too aware of her wanting to avoid subject.

Buffy nodded. “Not now, though?”

Spike sighed and surprising her, he dunked his face into the water. His nose nudged against her curls. Buffy squeaked at the suddenness of his movements. Her fingers instinctively shot to the back of his head, and massaged the shampoo covered curls. With gentle motions of her hands, she washed off the soap. Spike’s hands slid under her thighs and cradled her hips. His mouth sliding upwards to press against her soft stomach for a brief kiss. Surging upwards, he twisted around and took up his previous position, nestled against her body.

“Yeah, now. Best to get this off your chest before the rot sets in.” Spike took one of her hands and began to kiss the tips of each finger, giving each one a good nibble, too.

“Thought you were on my chest,” she teased.

Spike cocked an eyebrow at her. “Pet, it’s okay that you were wrong-footed by the git, first meeting an’all…”

“No, Spike, it’s not okay. I’m…I’m…the Slayer. I get hurt if I’m not ready, and other people who I should be protecting-- fighting for-- could get killed because of that. I can’t afford to be off my game, ever. The one time I was, I got turned…” She growled angrily.

Spike shifted slightly so he could see her face, his free hand reaching up to sooth her. Buffy jerked away, too caught up in her anger towards herself to notice anything. He grimaced at her actions. “Oi, none of that, m’trying to help you,” he growled.

“Spike, you helped me tonight. If you hadn’t come when you did, then I have no idea what would have happened. Drac’d probably would’ve terrified me into being Bridey number two…” A look of horrified repulsion covered her fine features at the memory of the European vampire’s hands on her body.

Spike stood up. Reaching down he pulled Buffy into his arms and then settled back into the warm water. Holding her face against his chest, he moved his hands up and down her back soothingly. “Hush now, I’ll always have your back, and next time you’ll rip his extremely small dangly bit off and shove it down his throat.”

Buffy snorted against Spike’s chest and then sniffled again. She hated how pathetic she had been, crawling away from him with her heart in her mouth-- a victim. It reminded her of the seconds of panic she had felt in that car in High School when Cameron had asked if she liked it rough and then had tried to touch her. For a brief moment she had been Buffy the girl, terrified and weak. The same feelings she’d had when Dracula had appeared.

And she hated herself for it. She was the Slayer; there was no room in her life for weakness. Not now. Not with that Glory chick and Dracula sniffing around her town and the Hellmouth.

Spike crooned at her, nonsensical words, trying to sooth her. He pulled her up slightly, cradling her against his throat and ran his fingers through her wet hair, trying to calm her down as best he could. He was used to Dru, the gibbering wreck of a vampire that Angel had left behind for him to look after. For decades he had been able to talk her down from her temper tantrums and tears. But when Buffy cried, he was all fingers and thumbs. In essence he became what he had hated most of all-- William the Bloody Awful Poet.

Buffy rubbed her face against Spike’s throat. The scent of his skin was intoxicating. Earthy Master vampire with a hint of cigarette smoke and leather, all of which made her mouth water. Even with the tea tree oil perfume that was clinging to his soft skin. She wanted to fix everything, make amends for her meltdown over her mom. She had a vague idea as to how to do it, but wasn’t sure if Spike wanted it. He’d never brought it up.

Buffy’s fangs dropped and her irises changed to the now familiar lavender hue, signalling her demonic nature. Spike, unaware of her intentions carried on soothing her, oblivious to the enormous step his childe was about to attempt.

She was working on instinct here, allowing her demon free reign for the first time. There was a rushing sound in her ears as the demon within her stretched out its control over her powerful body. Her senses were heightened; every sound and smell was amplified a hundredfold. The drip of water from the tap was thunderous in her ears; the scents of the bath products were vying for dominance with Spike’s. The Slayer within her for once was silent, not battling for ascendancy with the demon that was now housed within Buffy’s body alongside the Slayer spirit.

It was as if the Slayer part of her was giving Buffy her blessing for what she had in mind.

With a kittenish snarl, Buffy struck at her intended target. Her fangs sank deep into Spike’s pale throat, her jaw muscles working as she drank deeply. Taking him into her again.

Spike relaxed at the sensation of her sharp little fangs piercing his neck; he knew she needed his blood to heal and also to ground herself. He also needed her to drink from him. Unaware of her real intentions, he offered no objections to her unsolicited bite.

Buffy was in heaven; she was sure of it.

This time it was different. The bite was more than an exchange of blood; it was a melding of their beings. She could sense everything about William and Spike with each draw of his rich blood. The memories were flowing thick and fast, much like his blood down her throat. It was like a fine vintage wine, seasoned and filled with an incomparable taste. Her body was vibrating with sheer pleasure; a delirium was building into a crescendo. Buffy wriggled around and straddled Spike, her fangs never leaving his throat. Sliding up and down on his hard cock, she purred as best she could around her fangs.

Spike’s eyes rolled back in his head and his hands grabbed hold of her hips, trying to hold her still long enough for him to enter her.

Buffy twisted her hips away from his hands, and away from his cock and slid her hands down between their writhing bodies. She grasped his throbbing erection and began to pump it roughly. Spike’s scarred brow shot up at the sensation of her firm caress. His girl had never been this forceful during sexual encounters with him before and his demon liked it. Spike felt his face shift, amber chasing azure out of his eyes as his brows rose and his fangs dropped. He thrust against her strong hands with a purring howl, but it tailed off when realisation dawned.

She was trying to initiate a claim.

“No!” Spike jerked his head backwards, his actions tearing Buffy’s fangs from his throat. Blood spurted out from the wound he created in his shock, covering her startled face.

“Spike?” Buffy’s voice quavered slightly.

He had rejected her claim.

The pain of that was starting to leech through her entire being. She let go of his softening cock and leapt out of the bath, wrapping her arms around her body. She was unsure what to do or say, she had been so sure this was what he had wanted.

Spike slapped his hand to the side of his neck, stemming the flow of blood. He rinsed off his crimson stained chest with his free hand and then stepped out of the bath. “Give me a hand here, childe,” he ordered softly.

Buffy hesitantly approached him. Spike lifted his hand exposing the torn and bleeding area on his neck. “Seal it.”

Without a word Buffy licked the wounds shut, barely tasting his blood in her panic. Gone was the enjoyment and excitement of seconds ago that her Sire’s blood had evoked in her entire being. She was hurting, in agony. He had rejected her attempt to claim him and now Buffy had no idea what to do.

Spike wrapped a towel around his waist and reached for a flannel, dipping it into the pinkish lukewarm bathwater he wrung it out. Buffy stood still before him, her shoulders hunched defensively and tears brimming in her eyes, threatening to fall down her face. Cupping her wobbling chin in his hand, Spike gently cleansed his blood off her face and chest with an impersonal touch. While his hands moved over her face and body, the usually verbose vampire was mute.

Finally Buffy couldn’t stop herself. She broke down, the tears poured down her cheeks and she began to sob loudly.

“Pet, don’t…” Spike wrapped a towel around her and then picked her unresisting body up and carried her into their bedroom.

“You…do…don’t…wa…want me!” she wailed. “I did it wrong, didn’t I?”

Spike sighed and placed the soggy weeping bundle of Slayer onto their bed. He left her for a moment and rifle through their wardrobes searching for a pair of sweat pants. He needed a barrier between them for now. Pulling on a dark grey pair, he let the wet towel drop to the floor and walked back to the now curled up form of his girl.

His hands hovered over her quaking shoulders. “Buffy love, you listening to me?” Spike sat down on the bed and stifled a smile at the sight of her pulling a pillow over her head in a childish attempt to block his voice, curling up even tighter to avoid him. She didn’t want to hear his reasons for the massive rejection, even if he couched it in gentle niceties.

“Right then…” Spike rubbed his hand on her back in a soothing manner and waited for his stubborn girl to unfurl herself and listen to what he had to say. He waited and waited but she carried on sniffling into the eiderdown.

Eventually he sighed. “Love, you didn’t do it wrong.”

Buffy stopped crying at his softly uttered announcement, but remained curled up tight. She felt safer in this position, more protected from whatever excuse he was going to hit her with.

Spike cursed himself for what he was about to say. He even glanced down to check if he was still a bloke.

“I’m not ready.” And with those three damming words falling from her sire’s lips, Buffy felt something shrivel up and die inside her.

She added another rejection form a man she loved to the pile and closed her heart.

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