She was numb on the inside. Her emotions had frozen over, allowing her to feel no pain, no anger, no anguish. However, the blessed numbness did nothing to halt her thoughts. Thoughts of Angel, thoughts of Riley, thoughts of Justin, thoughts of Tyler. Images, memories, conversations and songs floated through her mind, as she sat on the cold floor.

Angel had left her six years ago that night. He had left her in order to give her a better life. To give her everything that he couldn't. To give her a chance to have a normal relationship with someone who could walk in the sun, someone with whom she could make love, someone to grow old with her and with which to have children.

She met Riley Finn at the end of her freshman year. Tall, dark, Irish. So much like Angel, yet so different. She was standing in line, waiting to register for Fall classes and he walked up to her from nowhere and asked her on a date. She had looked at him funny, then told him no. He walked away after telling her it was worth a try.

Five minutes later, he returned and asked her again. Then five minutes after that. Then another five. Then another and another until she'd finally said yes just to get him to stop.

Their first date had been coffee at the Bronze. So had their second and third. By the end of the summer, they were a couple and did everything that couples were suppose to do. She had never thought that she'd be able to fall in love again, but she did. To someone normal.

Riley was dead.

Justin Lieber ran into her one day during her senior year. Literally. Both of them had piles of books in their hands and were not watching where they were going when they crashed into each other in the quad. They went down in a tangle of limbs and papers flew everywhere. Once she had returned to her dorm, she realized that she had one of his books by mistake. So she returned it.

He was so very different than her. He was shy and super-smart. He wore heavy metal T-shirts and ripped jeans. He had black hair down to his waist and wore horn-rimmed glasses. He played Magic and Dungeons & Dragons and knew all the comic book characters by heart. For some strange reason, she fell instantly for him.

He had taught her how to play the various games and she found she really enjoyed them. They went to comic book conventions and she found out she had an inner-geek just waiting to be let loose. They laughed and talked and made love and did everything normal couples did.

Justin was dead.

Tyler Atkins was gorgeous. Tall, black, and muscular, he looked like he stepped off the pages of a magazine. She met him in one of her classes at the beginning of her second semester of her second year in graduate school. He treated her like she was a goddess and he was her devout worshiper.

They went dancing a lot. He taught her how to waltz, cha-cha, swing and samba. He took her to clubs where they dressed in period clothing and basically swept her off her feet. She allowed herself to be happy again, to let him worm his way under her carefully constructed defenses and into her heart.

Tyler was dead.

And it was because he was normal, just like Justin and Riley. They had been walking back at an early hour from a party held in a nearby apartment complex when they'd been attacked by a group of vampires. He had been easily overpowered and drained as she fought. She managed to stake all six of them before she dragged herself back to her dorm and sunk down to the floor in the corner of her room.

"Slayer, I'm ready for my nightly round of enforced goody-two-shoes-ness," Spike sang, as he pushed open the door and entered the dorm room. He froze when he saw Buffy in the corner. "Slayer?"

"Normal," Buffy said in a dull voice. "Dead."

Spike crossed the room and squatted down in front of her. "Slayer, what happened?"

Buffy met his eyes with her dead ones. "I absolve you from whatever is making you help me. You don't have to do it any more."

He frowned. "Uh, thanks. Now, do you mind telling me what's wrong?"

"I want to be your third," Buffy said in an eerily flat tone. She tilted her head to one side, exposing her neck. "You once promised to make it quick."

Spike's eyes widened. "You want me to kill you?" he asked incredulously.

"Yes."

"No need to ask me twice," Spike said, grabbing her shoulders. He morphed into game face and sunk his fangs into her neck.

The last thought she had was that Spike's leather duster smelled nice before everything went black.

"Yeah, well, you're a bloody fucking arsehole! Just get here!"

Spike slammed the phone onto the jack and it broke into pieces. With a violent flick of his arm, he swept the entire thing to the floor. The Slayer's blood in his veins was making him twice as strong as he normally was as well as twice as aroused. Growling, he stomped back into his bedroom and glared down at the blond on his bed.

"I hope you're happy," he snapped at the unconscious girl. "I'm not. I'm fucking randy as hell and don't have anyone to shag. If I didn't respect you even the smallest amount, I'd be pounding you into that mattress right now. I still might."

He grabbed the washcloth off her neck and scowled at the twin puncture marks marring her skin. Pressing his lips in a thin line, he went to the bathroom and rinsed out the rag, then returned and put it back over the bite. "Stupid chit. You never tell a vampire to kill you. Cor, I was this close to doing it! I bloody hate you."

He threw himself down on the opposite side of the bed and glared at her. Then he unzipped his jeans and pushed them down to his knees, grabbed a tube of lubricant from the night-stand drawer and began to jerk-off.

"I hate you so fucking much," he growled, as his hand slid up and down his shaft with quick strokes. "You and your sexy little body and your sharp tongue and your ability to kick my arse into next Tuesday." His eyes roved down her body, stopping at her pink panties and he snarled. "Bloody bitch."

Reaching over, he ripped the garment from her body, then pulled her leg closest to him, spreading her thighs wide. He shifted positions on the bed so that he was laying crossways, his face near her dark snatch. Growling again, his hand tightened around his cock, pumping it furiously, as he stared at her. He brought his right arm across his chest and used his fingers to separate her folds, allowing him to see her pink nubbin and the slit to her hot entry.

His lip turned up in a sneer a second before he came. His semen shot from his member, coating his hand, his stomach and some of the bed. "Fucking cow," he snapped, rolling over to give her one lick along her spread pussy. Then he climbed off of the bed and stalked into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

"It's about time you got here," Spike said to the dark-haired vampire after he opened the door.

Angel entered the apartment, glaring at Spike. "What is so important that I had to get my ass up here for?"

Spike shut the door, shoved past him and led the way to the bedroom. "This," he said, gesturing to Buffy, still unconscious on the bed. He had fixed her skirt and closed her legs, but that was all.

Angel took one look at her, then spun and pinned Spike up against the wall. "What did you do to her?" he snarled.

Spike stomped on Angel's foot at the same time he head-butted him. "Get off me," he snapped. "I did what she fucking wanted me to do." Angel brought his fist back and punched him. He grabbed the older vampire's fist and flipped him to the floor, the Slayer's blood still making him strong. "Don't try it, mate."

"Fine," Angel growled. Spike released him and he stood. Turning, he walked over to the edge of the bed and looked down at Buffy. "Tell me what happened."

"I don't know," Spike answered. "I got to her room and found her sitting in the corner. She told me she wanted me to kill her, so I drained her until she passed out. Then I brought her back here and called you."

Angel's leg shot out in a back kick, sending the blond vampire crashing into the door. "You bit her!" he yelled.

"No shit, poofwad," Spike said sarcastically, rising back to his feet. "I also tossed off looking at her twat. Sue me."

Angel's face rippled before it settled back into its human planes. "Did you think to take her to the hospital?"

"I didn't take that much," Spike replied with a shrug. "She's still breathing, ain't she."

"I am going to ream your hole so hard, you aren't going to be able to walk for weeks." Angel's voice was calm and cold, his eyes liquid pools of rage.

"Right," Spike said, nodding. "I'll believe that when it happens, mate."

Angel turned back to Buffy and brushed his hand across her cheek. He checked the bite mark and saw that the swelling around the twin puncture wounds was already starting to heal. Her pulse was strong and steady beneath his fingers, and the steady rise and fall of her chest was reassuring. His nostrils flared for an instant when he saw a gob of semen on her bare thigh and he had to reign in his anger until after the extra power from the Slayer's blood wore off. He knew from experience exactly how long that would take and mentally started ticking off the minutes.

"Well, now that you're here, I'm gone," Spike said. "Stay out of my things or I'll stake your bollocks to a table and use them as a centerpiece." He turned and left the bedroom, and the slam of the front door soon followed.

Angel counted to fifty, then sat down on the edge of the bed and studied Buffy in the lamplight. She was extremely pale, but other than that, she looked fine. He could see no circles under her eyes indicated stress or unhappiness. She had a few scratches on her arms and legs that looked to be from slaying.

He hadn't heard anything recently about her life, so he figured she was fine. There was no reason that he knew of for her to want Spike to kill her. In fact, last time he'd seen her while passing through town, she'd looked extremely happy. He'd have to wait for her to wake up to find out what was going on. Until then, he'd sit and watch over her.

And plan on what he was going to do to Spike.

Buffy knew she wasn't dead due to the pounding in her skull. Anger flooded her system. How dare Spike not kill her. She was going to seriously hurt him.

Opening her eyes, she found herself looking into the worried brown gaze of Angel. Black fury replaced her anger at Spike, for he had to have called Angel, the one man she currently despised beyond reason.

"How are you feeling?" Angel asked softly.

"I. Hate. You." Buffy's words were venomous, her eyes deadly serious. She lifted her hand, placed it on his shoulder and shoved him off the bed. He landed on the floor and stared up at her in surprise, as she stood. "Where's Spike?"

"Out," Angel answered.

"Fucker," Buffy snarled, storming past him to the master bathroom. She slammed the door shut, hit the light and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her lips were compressed in a thin, angry line, her eyes were flashing with rage and hate, her nostrils were flaring with each quick breath she took. Two fading, red marks marred her neck.

With a scream, she clenched her fists and slammed them into the mirror. It shattered upon impact, raining glass down onto the sink. The tinkling sound was almost musical, like a waterfall. Shards shot up as they hit the porcelain of the sink, cutting her, but she didn't care.

Someone banged on the door. "Buffy? Are you okay?" Angel called

"Fuck off!" Buffy yelled. She grabbed a chunk of glass and squeezed it in her hand, crushing it. Blood streamed from between her fingers to run down her wrist and forearm. She smiled bitterly at the pain.

Angel walked away from the bathroom door, out of the bedroom and into the small living room. His steps were heavy, as the pain of Buffy's words weighted down on him.

She hated him. Never in all eternity did he think he'd ever hear that from her. He would understand if she didn't like him or was uncomfortable with him around. But to hate him?

"Bloody fuckin' 'ell," Spike was grumbling to himself as he burst into the apartment. Angel's eyes narrowed at his childe, but he did not attack. Not yet.

"Fuckin' world! Why carn't you give 'er some soddin' 'appiness? Is that really too fuckin' much to arsk for?!" Spike continued his tirade, stalking past where Angel was standing to the kitchen. Cabinet doors opened and slammed again. "She saved stupid mortals every bloody day for almost ten fuckin' years! Years! And every time she finds a bit of 'appiness, it's taken away!"

The sound of glass being thrown against a wall echoed from the kitchen. "GODDAMN MOTHERFUCKING BASTARDS!!"

Angel stared in the direction Spike went, his mind trying to piece together what the blond vampire was yelling. He was about to move to the kitchen to demand and explanation when Buffy came barreling past him. The scent of her blood hit him, causing him to reel back slightly.

"You fucker!" Buffy screeched, before Spike came flying out of the kitchen. He hit the table in the small dining area with his duster-covered back. The Slayer came charging out after him.

"Why the fuck didn't you kill me?!" she screamed, driving her fist down at his crotch. Angel winced as Spike gasped in pain. Buffy grabbed the front of Spike's T-shirt and yanked him upwards, as she let loose with another punch at his nose, breaking it. "You stupid jackass!"

Spike grabbed her wrist of the hand holding his shirt and squeezed until he heard her bones break. She released him and he shoved her back roughly. She hit the kitchen floor and slid a short distance on her backside. She shot daggers at him with her eyes. "Ball-less bastard."

"Brainless bitch," Spike snapped back. He stomped past her and yanked open another cabinet. He grabbed one of the many bottles of liquor and slammed the cabinet door shut.

Buffy went to grab his leg, but he kicked her instead. "I hate you," she spat.

"Good." Spike stalked back out of the kitchen and flopped down on the couch. He ripped the cap off the liquor bottle and guzzled it. Then he glanced over at Angel. "Do you have something to say?"

"Not yet," Angel said coldly.

Buffy came out of the kitchen and stopped directly in front of Spike. She lifted her skirt up. "You won't kill me, but you'll screw me while I'm unconscious?"

Spike looked at her bare sex, then up at her face. "You show yourself like a two-bit whore and you bloody expect me to respect you?"

She shoved down her skirt, spun and kicked him across the jaw. He was up in a flash, the bottle falling to the floor, as he tackled her. He grabbed both her wrists and pinned her arms above her head, his crotch pressed intimately between her legs.

"Is this what you want, Slayer?" Spike snarled at her, his blue eyes piercing hers. "Do you want me to fuck you so you have an excuse to blame me for what happened? I will. I'll happily pound into your hot quim until you beg me to stop."

"Why didn't you just kill me?" she ground out, her teeth gnashing together.

Spike was yanked off of her by his collar and tossed across the room before he could answer. Angel, in game face, snarled at him.

Buffy shot to her feet and kicked the back of the dark-haired vampire's knee. "Leave him the fuck alone, Angel!" she yelled.

"Buffy-"

She smashed her fist into his side as he turned. "What gives you the right?! What gave you the right to call him?!" she shot at Spike. "Did you think you two could come in here like all the kings horses and all the kings men and try to put me back together? Did you? I hate you! I hate you both!"

She pushed past Angel and returned to the bedroom. Angel heard the bathroom door slam shut and swore. "Shit, she broke the mirror."

"It's your turn to rescue her from herself," Spike told him. "Though now I don't fucking blame her for wanting to die."

Angel wanted to ask Spike what he was talking about, but the concern that Buffy would slit her wrists was more pressing. He quickly went into the bedroom, then kicked open the bathroom door. He found her sitting on the toilet, a shard of glass being used on her arm.

"Damn it, Buffy!" Angel yelled, hitting the glass away. He picked her up by her shoulders and shook her. "What the hell is going on?!"

"THEY'RE DEAD!!" Buffy screamed shrilly. "AND IT'S ALL YOUR FUCKING FAULT!!!"

Angel blinked in shock, his face returning to its smooth, human countenance. He stared at her with incomprehension.

Buffy laughed with a hysterical edge at the look on his face. "You don't get it, do you?" she asked. "You're wondering who 'they' are and how you could be at fault, aren't you?"

She brought her arms up sharply and broke out of his grasp. Turning, she left the bathroom and the bedroom for the living room. She kicked Spike, who was sitting on the floor with his back against the wall sans duster, as she passed him. Having been at his apartment before, she knew exactly where everything was in the kitchen. She opened a drawer and pulled out a sharp carving knife.

"Slayer, don't," Spike said from his spot on the floor.

"Why not?" Buffy questioned in a curious voice. She turned and looked at him from the kitchen. "Can you give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill myself?"

He stared at her, his blue eyes revealing nothing. "If you kill yourself, I'll die, too," he said after a moment of strained silence.

She laughed mockingly. "What, does your undying love for me make you not want to live after I'm dead?"

"No." His jaw ticked as he ground his teeth together. "My fucking unlife is tied to yours. When you die, I'll be hunted until I'm staked."

"Are you serious?" Buffy asked. She gestured with the knife. "What if I died in a car accident? Or from some disease? Or old age? What then?"

"I still die."

Buffy spun and threw the knife at the wall. It embedded in the plaster above the sink up to the hilt. "Goddamn it! Those stupid fucking assholes!"

Spike chuckled. "I appreciate the sentiment, pet."

She clenched her fists, oblivious to the pain from the broken bones in her wrist or the cuts in her hands from the shard of mirror. She jumped up and down slightly, her body quaking, and let out a loud yell of anger. Then she walked over to Spike and slid down the wall next to him.

Silence permeated the apartment. Oppressive and full of anger, violence, hate and death. Buffy's tiny whisper seemed to echo in the room. "Please, Spike. It hurts so much."

Spike lifted his arm and pulled her against him. "I know, baby. I know," he whispered.

"Well, isn't this a cozy picture," Angel scoffed upon entering the living room.

"Go to hell, Angel," Buffy said, not raising her voice. "And stay there this time."

Angel reared back as if he'd been hit. "What the hell did I do?" he asked when he found his voice again.

"You want to know what you did?" Buffy said, moving from Spike's half-embrace to her feet. "You left me."

Angel frowned. "What do you mean?"

"God, can you be any denser?" she sneered. "Even Spike got it the first time."

"Ha, ha, Slayer," Spike said, rising to his feet and leaning back against the wall. He crossed his arms over his chest, a hateful expression on his face.

"What the hell am I suppose to understand?!" Angel suddenly exploded. "You tell me it's my fault they're dead and I don't know who 'they' are and now it's my fault because of what happened years ago?!"

"'They' are Riley and Justin and Tyler," Buffy told him, her jaw clenched tight. "Or should I say were."

Angel looked past Buffy to Spike in confusion. "Cor, are you fucking daft?" Spike said. "They were her beaus."

"You remember, don't you, Angel?" she said sweetly. "That 'normal' life you wanted me to have, with 'normal' boyfriends who could give me everything you couldn't?" She closed the gap between them and slapped him hard across the cheek. "Guess what? Because they were normal, they're all dead!"

The silence that followed was deafening. Angel and Buffy stared at each other, anger and agony in her eyes, shock and pain in his eyes. Finally, Buffy turned and walked out of the room without another word. The bedroom door shut with a small click that was louder than any slam could ever be.

Angel closed his eyes a moment and when he re-opened them, he focused directly on Spike. "Where were you?" he asked angrily.

"Me?" Spike said incredulously. "I should be asking where were you?"

The dark-haired vampire jumped across the room and grabbed Spike by the throat. "You were suppose to be protecting her," he growled.

"Sod off," Spike growled back, swinging his arm up to knock Angel's away.

"What's the matter, Spike?" Angel smirked evilly, tightening his grip on the younger vampire's throat. "Did you lose something?"

Spike went to hit Angel, but the other vampire blocked. Angel slammed his fist into the blond's face, blood spurting from his already broken nose. Then Angel released his throat only long enough to grab the front of his shirt and his belt buckle. The dark-haired vampire turned and threw him against the opposite wall outside of the kitchen. He hit his head hard, but lashed back with a kick when Angel approached him from behind.

Angel grunted when Spike's booted foot connected with his stomach. He shoved the younger vampire's leg away, stepped forward, grabbed him by the back of the neck and his belt, and rammed his head into the wall repeatedly. Angel let go and Spike dropped to the floor on his hands and knees, trying to shake off unconsciousness.

Angel dropped to one knee, reached around Spike and practically ripped the belt from around his waist. Grabbing one wrist, Angel yanked Spike's arm back and wrapped the end of the belt around it. Angel then put his hand in the center of Spike's back and vaulted over him, causing him to fall flat to the ground.

Angel snared Spike's other arm and tied the belt around his wrist tightly, all within seconds of the original blow. Spike's whole body wiggled as he tried to get free and Angel laughed cruelly. The dark-haired vampire stood and dragged Spike by his bound wrists to the second bedroom, almost causing his arms to be torn from their sockets.

Angel shut the door and pulled the knife he kept in his boot. He had Spike's clothes off in seconds, then re-sheathed the knife and removed his own leather belt. Spike growled at him, which only caused him to chuckle. "Looks like you're trapped, boy," he mocked. "And it also looks like you're about to eat your words, mate."

He raised the belt and brought it down hard against Spike's shoulders, bending forward as he did so. He continued to rain hits across the blond's bare skin, up and down his body, spitting out angry sentences as he did so.

"...For biting her and that's for not taking her to the hospital and that's for looking at her womanhood and that's for mocking me and that's for not telling me what happened and that's for not protecting her..."

"Buffy?" Angel called softly, opening the master bedroom door.

"What?" Buffy said sullenly. She was curled up on the bed, facing the door, holding a pillow to her chest.

Angel entered and shut the door behind him. He pressed his lips together when he saw her anguish and inhaled purposely. "I'm sorry, Buffy," he began. "I'm so sorry."

"Sorry isn't going to bring them back," she said in a matter-of-fact way. Tears spilled from her eyes. "Nothing can bring them back. They're dead, Angel. Dead. And it's all because of me."

"Don't say that," Angel said quickly. He sat down on the edge of the bed and hesitated before putting his hand on her shoulder.

"Why not? It's true," she said. "They died because I'm the Slayer and they were normal. None of them even knew what I was and I watched them all die in front of me."

Her tears had turned to sobs. Angel wanted to take her in his arms and hold her, but he didn't think she would want that. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

Buffy suddenly sat up and threw herself into his arms, surprising him. He quickly wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly, as she cried over and over, "It's not fair, it's not fair, it's not fair..."

She cried for more than twenty minutes. Harsh, gasping sobs that shook her entire form. When she spoke after she'd calmed, he almost didn't hear it. "You were right to leave," she said softly. Angel kept silent, knowing there was more.

"You were right to leave because it was dangerous for us to be together," she continued. "But you were wrong, so very wrong, in telling me that I needed to find someone normal to be with."

She raised her head and met his eyes. "I was happy, Angel. Riley and Justin and Tyler...they made me happy. They made me feel loved and cherished and everything you wanted for me. But I would trade every moment of that happiness for them to still be alive. Every. Single. Moment."

Buffy looked up and blinked rapidly, as the tears came again. "Their deaths could have been prevented if Spike wasn't such a jackass," she said with a slightly hysterical laugh.

"Spike?" Angel said incredulously.

"Yeah, Spike," she replied, with the same inflection. "He's tough, sarcastic, knows about my being the Slayer, is good in a fight, is fun to fight with and he's pretty damn sexy, too."

"Please say there's a but."

"Bu-u-ut," she drew out. "He's an unmitigated asshole. I can't stand to be around him for more than four hours at a time, tops."

"Good," Angel stated. Buffy looked at him and arched a brow. "I mean it. Good."

"Then I guess I should nix my plans to have hot monkey sex with him," she said dryly, her pain pushed down for the time being.

"He isn't going to be doing anything for awhile," Angel said offhandedly.

She narrowed her eyes. "What did you do?"

Angel had the sense to look chagrined. "Well-" Buffy scrambled off the bed and quickly left the bedroom. "Buffy." He trailed after her. "It's not like he didn't deserve it."

She opened the door to the second bedroom, gasped, then glared at Angel. "What did you go and do this for?"

Angel didn't reply. He stayed in the open doorway, as she dropped down to Spike's side and unbound his arms. She mostly used her left hand, the right being bruised and swollen around the wrist from her already healing broken bones. "Get a washcloth or something," she snapped at him.

After Angel had left, she ran her fingers over the side of Spike's face. "Spike, are you in there?"

"I hade you," Spike muttered, barely moving his lips. "Wads."

She chuckled and kissed the only non-bruised portion of his cheek. "Mutual, ducks."

"So, now what?" Angel asked awhile later. The three of them were sitting in the living room, Buffy on one end of the couch with Spike laying on his side next to her, his head on her thigh. Angel was sitting in the only other chair, which was positioned at an angle beside the couch.

"We waid untiwl I feewl bedder, den I'm going do kick youwr bwoody arse," Spike said, adjusting the cold rag across his face.

Buffy rolled her eyes and shifted the ice pack on her wrist. "Now he's going to be a big baby for the rest of the week."

"Awm nod," Spike growled. "Bidch."

"Buffy, do you want me to stay awhile?" Angel asked seriously.

"No," Spike answered.

Angel reached out and swatted his childe's foot. "I wasn't talking to you."

"What are you going to do, Angel?" Buffy asked, equally as serious. "What can you do?"

"I can be here for you," Angel replied. "All you ever needed to do was call me and I would have come."

"I dink I'm going do heave," Spike muttered.

"You, shush," Buffy scolded the peroxide-blond. "And you," she said to Angel. "Would you have stayed?" Angel looked away. "I thought not."

"Bud if he did sday, Swayer, da punce's souwl would ov daken a wawk," Spike pointed out. "You do would nod have been able do keep youwr hans off each ovver."

"We did for almost a year," Buffy said. "Then again, I now know more about intimacy than I did when I was a teenager."

Spike lifted the washrag to peer at Angel's reaction to her statement and chuckled. "Bwoody good shot, wuv. Hit da dosser bewow da belt a couple mowr dimes for me, pwease."

"Haven't I told you do shut up?" Buffy said.

"Wike I ever wisten do you, Swayer." She pinched his arm and he screeched. "Ow! Fucking bidch, dat 'urt!"

"If you'd keep quiet, it wouldn't."

"Soddin' cwit."

"Bleached moron."

Spike grumbled something unintelligible under his non-existent breath, set the rag back over his face and re-settled himself on her thigh. Buffy pretended to shoot herself in the head and Angel just shook his. Buffy studied the dark-haired vampire silently for several minutes before she finally spoke.

"Stay."

"Okay."

The End

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