Chapter Nine: Unraveling



The following week had progressed, to Spike’s relief and slight disappointment, without so much as a peep from any of his vamps. However, he did notice a healthy boost in fear emanating from his subjects. Hell, even Damon’s disobedient lot walked on eggshells around him, terrified he’d set Buffy loose on them. The act had worked and now Spike was back where he belonged, at the top with everyone else under his thumb.



As for his wonderful actress, she hadn’t left the room since their little excursion to the Bronze. The past week had passed in a simple routine, similar to the one Spike and Buffy had established before the vampire’s unexpected declaration of love. Spike would leave before dawn, only to return once evening hit, and where once he would have expected sex, this time around all he and Buffy did was talk. Their conversations had begun as barely intrusive discourses, but eventually evolved into meaningful exchanges about one another’s lives. After a couple of days, the duo seemed to have reached a turning point, walking a fine line between what you would normally permit the outside world to know and what you usually kept hidden away inside. That ambiguous boundary was finally crossed one fateful evening when Spike had returned tardier than usual.



“Hey, you’re late,” Buffy commented as she turned her attention away from the television.



“Keepin’ tabs on me now, are we pet?” Spike joked, flopping down beside her after getting out of his infamous leather duster.



“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” she smiled, flipping through the channels.



“Know me all too well, luv,” he remarked, enjoying the level of comfort they had finally managed to establish with one another.



“Busy day?” Buffy asked.



“Not really. Same old, same old,” Spike replied.



“You still up for another round of ‘Ask Anything’?”



“‘Ask Anything’? That’s the best name you could come up with for our nightly chats, pet? Little lacking in originality, don’t you think?”



“I think it’s catchy.”



“And I think it sounds like a bad weekday morning game show,” Spike quipped.



“Yeah, well what do you know, anyway? You’re just a big dope.”



“Real mature, luv.”



“Whatever. So who gets to start this time?”



“Went first last night, luv. Guess it’s lady’s choice tonight.”



“Okay, lemme think,” she said, tapping her chin with her index finger. “Oooo, I know. How long have you been head vamp of Sunnydale?” Buffy asked.



“You mean how long have I been Master?” he rephrased, receiving by an affirmative nod from Buffy. “I’d say about three years, give or take.”



“That’s not really long. Was anybody here before you?”



“Not really. When I came to this two-bit town, the vamps here were completely scattered. Definitely lackin’ in any real type of leadership. ‘Probly couldn’t organize a tea party without gettin’ themselves dusted. Was why it was so easy for me to take over this godforsaken Hellmouth,” Spike explained.



“Hellmouth?” Buffy inquired, slightly thrown but not really surprised.



“Has a ring to it, don’t ya think?”



“I guess,” Buffy responded. “So if this place is like vampire central, wouldn’t it need a leader? You can’t be telling me you’re the first one?”



“Well, there was the Master. Patriarch of my line, you know. Set up shop right here in Sunnydale and had a pretty good run. Rumor has it though that the ancient bugger bit the dust a few years back.”



“Patriarch?”



“Technically speakin’ he was my great great grand Sire?”



“And Dru was your Sire Sire, right?”



“Yup,” Spike confirmed unenthusiastically.



“Who was hers?”



“Pfft! A poofter named Angelus,” Spike stated, disgust evident in his words.



“What’s so bad about him?”



“Tragedy really. The man was a legend, a vampire that broke the mold, and one of the Biggest Bads to ever walk out onto the scene. Angelus was my guru, my bleedin’ Yoda.” Spike paused, reflecting on something he thought amusing, a sinister grin plastered on his face. It made Buffy suspect he wasn’t reminiscing about innocent boyhood pranks. Getting back on track, the vampire continued. “Then, he messes with the wrong gypsy, gets cursed with a soul and, as far as I know, is livin’ out the rest of his days feastin’ on an array of vermin in some dank dark alleyway.”



“He killed a gypsy and they put his soul back? Does that mean vampires don’t have souls?” Buffy asked. She knew Spike wasn’t outright saying it but Buffy was getting the impression that Angelus was the type of psychopathic vampire who had wiped out entire European villages in a single night. Strangely, what irked her even more was how Spike seemed to view regaining one’s soul as some sort of nuisance.



“Nope. It flies away when we get turned. Would get in the way if it stuck around.”



“So this Angelus guy, was the Master his Sire?”



“No, a tart named Darla had the privilege of that title. She was the Master’s Childe.”



“I see. Is she still around?”



“Hell if I know,” Spike replied. “What’s with all the questions ‘bout my family tree, pet?”



To be honest, Buffy wasn’t really sure why she wanted to know. Maybe it had been finding all of Spike’s secret possessions. Perhaps it had triggered some buried curiosity in her that only now did she have the opportunity to explore. Buffy wanted to know more about him, try to figure him out, but with the way things were headed, she feared she’d be opening a Pandora’s Box. If she continued and discovered every dirty detailed truth about the vampire who claimed to love her, would she be able to be around him? Would she able to speak to him or even look him in the eye? Part of Buffy knew that discovering everything about Spike was only going to lead to disaster, but another, more inquisitive, side of her couldn’t help it. Buffy just had to know.



“Just curious,” the blond replied. “You said the Master got dusted? What happened?”



“Was this town’s piss poor excuse of a militia that got to him.”



“You mean those street kids?”



“Uh huh. Them and the slayer,” he clarified.



“What’s a slayer?”



“Typical white hat do-gooder type. A chosen warrior for the people and all that rot. The girl’s got enough muscle in her to take on a room full of vampires.”



“Who chooses her?”



“It’s some sort of supernatural lottery system. Girl goes to bed normal, then wakes up the next mornin’ with super powers and some Watcher knockin’ at her door,” Spike explained.



“A Watcher? Her life gets turned upside down and she suddenly has to deal with some creepy guy stalking her?”



“No, pet. It’s nothing like that,” Spike chuckled. “He doesn’t watch her in the sense that he’s peekin’ at her through some window with binoculars to his face. It’s more like he’s her sitter. Minds her and teaches her the slayery ways. ‘Til she kicks it anyway.”



“So, some major mojo picks some random girl, gives her powers to fight vampires, but the all inclusive package has an early expiry date?”



“That ‘bout sums it up.”



“Well that sucks,” Buffy commented.



“Just how things are, luv.”



“So where is she? She killed the Master right? That’s kinda big. Why isn’t she around here anymore?”



“Have to admit, the bint did clean this town up. But you gotta understand pet, she was no different from any of the slayers. In the end some lucky vamp got the better of her.”



“Oh.” Buffy paused. “Was it you?”



“No.” he lied. “She bit the dust way before I even got to this shit hole of a town.”



“So if she’s dead, does that mean some other girl got all choseny?”



“Yup, another fortunate girl picked to endure the burden of the world’s welfare on her shoulders.”



“Sounds crappy. Glad I’m not one.”



“Me, too,” Spike replied without thinking. “I mean, I’m glad you’re not one either. Would certainly present a conflict of interest if you were.”



”Ummm…yeah…so,” Buffy said, trying to steer the conversation to some other less uncomfortable topic. “You never said where the new slayer is.”



“You know the Watcher? Well he works for this Council of Wankers who basically have him and his slayer by a leash. Anyway, supposedly there’s another Hellmouth somewhere out there that’s also in desperate need of a slayer. Watchers posted her there this time ‘round. Figured good old Sunnyhell a lost cause.”



“Spike, why do you stay here? I get the whole leader of a clan thing, but you don’t even seem to like it here,” Buffy asked.



“I used to be real nomadic right after I got turned. Me and Dru, we’d go from town to town. The longest we stayed anywhere was a few days tops. Didn’t want the locals gettin’ too suspicious.” Spike broke off, taking a calming breath before he continued. “We were in Prague a little longer than we usually stayed in any one given place and one night I was stupid enough to leave Dru alone. She got into some trouble and before I knew it, we were bein’ chased down by a bloodthirsty mob. Dru was sickly ever since.”



“She got hurt?”



“Yeah. Had to take care of her. It was harder to travel around after that. Came to these here United States, wandered a bit more ‘til I found a place where I could take care of her and still be the Big Bad.”



“You took over the clan for her?”



“Basically,” Spike replied. “Even discovered how to make her better.”



“Then she left you. That wasn’t really nice,” Buffy remarked.



“Thanks for the sympathy, pet.”



The vampire and the California girl sat in uneasy silence for what seemed like the longest minute ever. Luckily for him, Spike glanced at the TV. “Show’s on pet.”



“Huh? Oh, okay.” Buffy said, grabbing the remote. “Didn’t expect you to be such a Dawson’s Creek fan.”



“Am not. Just watch it ‘cos you do.” Spike responded indignantly.



“Yeah right. I saw you wipe away a tear when Joey had to break things off with Pacey.”



“I did not cry. Even so, felt bad for the poor bloke. He got the short end of the stick; lost the girl and the pillock of a best friend.”



“Well, just in case, I got tissues ready if you need them,” Buffy joked.



“Ha bloody ha.”



Spike, though he wished it weren’t true, had actually enjoyed watching the show. Yet, it wasn’t the riveting plot twists that had made the experience more than just bearable. It was Buffy’s lovely presence and being able to share something with her that was outside of their usual Slave-Master dynamic that always brought him back for more.



“Spike?”



“Yeah, pet?”



“When you go all bumpy, does it hurt?” she asked, deciding to ignore the television program for another round of Q and A.



“What’s that?”



“You know, your vamp face?”



“Oh.” He took a moment to consider her question. “No, not really. ‘S more like tingles, pins and needles almost. Why?”



Buffy shrugged. “Always wanted to know. So, do you only put it on when you’re gonna kil…bite somebody?” she asked, quickly rephrasing her words.



“No, not just then. Also do it when I gotta heighten my senses,” he answered.



“So, it’s like a mask?”



Spike shook his head. “The human face is the mask, luv. The ‘vamp face’ as you put it, that’s the first face we show when we wake up after getting’ turned. It’s our true face.”



“Can I see it?” The words had slipped out of her mouth before she had a chance to even think about what she was saying.



“You’ve seen it before,” Spike instantly countered, not liking how Buffy had suddenly developed some weird fascination with his demon side.



“When you…we were…I didn’t really get a good look,” she stated, blushing slightly.



He studied her, noting only genuine interest and mild embarrassment on her face.



“Fine.” Spike caved in, the bones and muscle rearranging as he put on his game face.



Buffy let out an unintentional gasp at the sight of him. She hadn’t seen a vampire that close up since the night she’d been captured. Sure, Spike had bitten her at least twice since then, but his face had always been buried in the crook of her neck. Also at the time, she had been a little too distracted with the wonderful things he was doing to her body to focus on anything else, let alone try and catch a glimpse of his face.



“Can I…?” She left her thought unfinished, raising her hand in indication as to what she wanted to do. Spike nodded and watched as Buffy scooted closer to him. The initial shock of seeing him in this manner had worn off and now only her stubborn curiosity persisted.



She slowly brought her fingertips to his cheek, allowing her warm touch to settle for a few moments on his cool skin. Gradually and lightly drawing her digits up to his brow, Buffy stroked the ridges with her fingers as her thumb traced over the sexy scar that marred his eyebrow. As her hand danced over his distorted forehead, she gazed into his yellow eyes, trying to search for remnants of his other less scary guise. Buffy was about ready to give up until she noticed it. There, behind the animalistic features and in the cat-like amber eyes, were glints of humility and love. She couldn’t help but smile. Buffy didn’t really care what Spike thought, this was not his true face.



The vampire tilted his head, wondering what it was exactly that she had seen in his game face that made her want to smile. It had taken all his energy not to purr like a weak little kitten when she had been touching his face. And now, here she was, grinning at him like a crazed woman. Good thing Spike didn’t read into things, or else he would have thought Buffy was finally falling for him.



Realizing that she had been staring for a good while, Buffy eased away from him. “Uhh, thanks,” she said, somewhat mortified.



“No problem,” he responded, morphing back into his human face.



Buffy gazed at him as he changed, amazed at how easily he could alter his looks in an instant. She hadn’t noticed before, but her heart had been racing ever since the moment she had asked Spike to vamp out. Only now that he had reverted back to his normal appearance, did the rapid thumping in her chest finally calm down. Her body was obviously trying to tell her something. Buffy should be afraid of Spike’s vampire appearance. It was a clear indication of danger and literally the last face any of his victims ever saw. The fact that Spike had victims was an issue in of itself where Buffy was concerned. Even with being witness to the barest component of Spike’s demon nature, namely his other face; she still refused to fully acknowledge what he really was. Buffy knew it had to stop, or else her denial was going to get her killed.



Spike watched Buffy watching him. He knew that the blurred line they had been walking the past few days hadn’t just been crossed, it had been completely wiped out.



“Spike?”



“Look, pet, I think I’ve had enough for tonight. Let’s just watch the telly, alright?”



“Just one more question. I promise,” she pleaded.



“God, help me. Okay, what other query is rattlin’ around in that pretty blond head of yours?” he pushed.



“What exactly were you doing right before you came here?”



“So you are keepin’ tabs,” Spike replied, trying to change the subject.



“What were you doing?” she asked again, ignoring his quip.



“I was out,” he dodged.



“Out doing what?”



“Jokin’ aside pet, what are you, my mother?” Spike grumbled, getting up off of the couch.



“Spike, what do you do everyday before you come and see me?” Buffy was forcing the issue, wanting him to admit what she already suspected.



“I already told you. Watch the clan, do leaderish things. Nothing I haven’t done since you’ve arrived.”



“You killed someone today didn’t you?” Buffy said quietly.



“Where the bloody hell did this come from?”



“Just say it.”



“Fine. Yeah, I fed today, which usually results in someone dyin’,” Spike shouted at her, towering above her sitting form. “But I’m a vampire. Or did you forget that?”



“Guess I did,” Buffy answered. She made sure her gaze was in direct line with his. “But trust me Spike; I won’t be making that mistake again.”



Buffy suddenly rose from her seat and marched toward the bed, needing to get away from him. “Buffy wait,” Spike called out, grabbing her arm.



Turning her head back, she gave him an angry scowl. “Let go of me Spike.”



Buffy felt Spike’s grip loosen, allowing her to walk away, but before she could get far he began to speak. “You knew what I was, what I am. Why the sudden change of heart, luv?”



Buffy heard the hurt in his voice. She knew she was being hot and cold with him, but she couldn’t go on pretending Spike was just another Average Joe. Turning to face him, she gave an honest answer. “I’ve been kidding myself Spike. It’s hard to hate you when you’re the only person I can see. It was easier for me to just blind myself to the fact that you’re a vampire because if I didn’t I’d have no one.”



Spike saw the tear trickle down her cheek. He hated that he made her cry. He was always making her cry. “Luv…”



“No. Spike, nothing you can say is going to justify what you did. You’ll always be a cold blooded killer.”



“What do you want me to do? I need blood,” Spike responded, getting frustrated with the girl.



“Well, does it have to be human? Couldn’t it be like cow or pig?”



“I’m not baggin’ it. I worked too hard to get this clan back in order to just piss it all away by buyin’ pig’s blood,” Spike vented.



“There has to be something. Isn’t there anything else?”



“No, pet. Gotta hunt, gotta feed.”



“You’re not even trying. Spike, how could you ever expect anything to come from us if I can’t even look you in the face? I can’t be around you knowing you’ve just killed someone. How could you ever expect me to feel anything for you when you murder people without any remorse?”



“So what, you want me to stop?”



Buffy wiped her face with the back of her hand. “You just said you couldn’t.”



“Then what the bloody hell do you want me to do?”



Taking a deep breath, steadying her gaze with his and straightening her back so that she stood tall, Buffy offered her suggestion. “Use me.”



“What?!?”



“Drink from me everyday, not enough to hurt me but enough to quench whatever hunger you have.”



“Have you gone completely carrot-top? I won’t do it. How could you possibly ask me to do that?”



“I’d rather lose a little blood than lose a piece of my soul every time you walk out that door.”



“No. I won’t. Won’t risk hurtin’ you Buffy.”



“You’ll hurt me more if you don’t.”



“It’s not just the blood, pet. There’s the hunt, the need for violence. If you deprive a vampire of that, it can be dangerous,” Spike commented.



“Then kill other vamps, or chase after rapists and murderers. I don’t know. I don’t care. Just stop killing innocent people.”



“You sure you know what you’re gettin’ yourself into?” he asked, slowly making his way toward her.



“No.”



“Good to know you’ve thought this through.”



“Just promise me, Spike,” she pleaded, her eyes brimming again with tears.



“Alright, pet,” Spike conceded. Buffy had made herself perfectly clear. If he ever wanted any kind of relationship with her, he needed to stop killing. Just because he lived in a world without guilt, didn’t mean she did.



Buffy nodded and turned to go to bed. Spike observed as she slipped beneath the covers, taking the hint that it was probably time for him to leave. He headed towards the couch to grab his duster but before he could slip on the leather Buffy asked one last question.



“Where do you sleep?”



“Thought we we’re done with the third degree, luv.”



“It’s just that I never see you sleep,” Buffy commented, raising her head from her pillow.



“Sleep in another room, pet. Give you your privacy,” he replied.



Buffy drew her finger along bed’s comforter, eyes averted from Spike’s. “You can stay here, ya know. Still get’s kinda lonely.”



Spike nodded, resisting the urge to smile. She still wanted him around. “I’ll just watch some telly pet. Let you get to your sleep.”



“’Kay. Night, Spike,” Buffy said, snuggling into her blankets, feeling better now that she had Spike’s promise to ease her guilt.



“Night, luv.” The vampire glanced one last time at his sleeping beauty before he settled himself on the couch. Dawn would soon break, so sleep wasn’t that far off for him either. But until the sun peaked above the horizon, he would be dwelling on the fact that he’d just promised the woman he loved to do something completely against his nature. A small thing of a girl had managed to get a Master vampire to stop killing. Spike always knew he would do anything for the one he loved; he just never realized how much of love’s bitch he actually was.



 

Chapter Ten: Some Things Never Change

If someone were foolish enough to set foot onto the streets of Sunnydale after sunset, and were by some off chance actually able to look around as they were relentlessly being chased down by a pack of rabid vampires, they would have noticed that the town’s nighttime activities consisted solely of the periodic flashings of traffic lights. Stray cats didn’t even dare to venture out into the streets, almost as though they intuitively knew that it was no longer safe after dark. Sunnydale, a once wholesome generic blip on the California map, was now a virtual ghost town. During the day, many of Sunnydale’s population kept to themselves; the constant fear that they had grown accustomed to during the night had finally pervaded into their daylight hours. The days seemed shorter and the nights seemed colder in this small town. The faith that one day good would finally triumph over evil, a sentiment that many residents had once clung to with such maddened conviction, had eventually grown stale, withered away with the tragic deaths of loved ones. After the death of the Slayer, a pilgrimage had occurred out of Sunnydale. Many had left the town, but some still remained, mostly because they had no where else to go.

Though, amidst the sadness and despair, tucked away in one of the many abandoned residential areas of Sunnydale, was a single house that contained within its brick walls the still kindled flame of a hope. A faction composed of a brave few who had stayed behind to stave off the oncoming tides of darkness that seemed to be on the brink of fully consuming this poor beaten town. To the outside world, the house appeared uninhabited, yet if one were to venture inside to the basement, one would be pleasantly surprised to discover that there were a few residents of Sunnydale busily at work, refusing to give up.

The large unfinished basement was scattered with numerous fold-out tables and chairs. The area was dimly lit, with only a few sparsely distributed low hanging ceiling lamps to provide the much needed light. Computers, telephones, televisions, radios and any other forms of communication equipment were strewn all over the room. The people occupying the limited space were themselves dispersed, clustered in groups, appearing to be preoccupied in whatever tasks they were doing. Some were making stakes, others were reading large dusty texts and some were even sparring in a far corner, trying to better their skills at staking a vampire.

However, even with all the hectic commotion going on at the headquarters of Sunnydale’s only vampire fighting force, there was one table where all activity seemed to emanate from. It was at this centrally situated table where a map of Sunnydale was constantly laid out and from where all orders were issued. Here the leaders of this band of makeshift warriors devised their strategies and revised their tactics. It was where the first link in the chain of command began and at the moment, admist all the hustle and bustle, it was here where a meeting was taking place.

“If we station two cohorts here and here,” a middle aged Englishman said as he indicated to the map. “We should be able to corner them.”

“That’s assuming they’re still nesting in that abandoned warehouse. We haven’t sent a scout out there for over three weeks; they could have moved to somewhere else by now,” the brunette standing crossed armed next to the Englishman commented as he peered down at the map.

“I’m not risking sending anyone out to that side of town. Even during the day, it’s too dangerous. You remember what happened to Larry?” the older man replied.

“Yeah, stepped into the wrong shadow,” another young man answered stoically from his seat at the table.

“So do we just send everyone in and cross our fingers that they’re still there?” a redheaded girl meekly asked, peeking down at the schematic from over the seated man’s shoulder.

“We know that’s not the main house. It’s too close to the border. I’m assuming it’s just an outpost of some sort for a few of Spike’s minions. It should still be occupied and shouldn’t be too difficult to take back,” the man stated, taking off and wiping down his glasses as concern marred his brow.

“We could always just burn it down,” a brunette girl quipped.

“Only as a last resort. We don’t want to burn half of the town down,” the Englishman responded, taking the suggestion in all seriousness as he placed his spectacles back on his face. “Xander, I want you to gather a fair share of volunteers. Twelve would be ideal. Get them equipped and fill them in on the plan.”

“Got it, G-man.”

Suppressing the automatic urge to scold the young man for the annoying nickname, he continued on issuing orders. “Oz, help Xander out. Afterwards, I want you to do weapons check. We need to do an inventory.”

“Sure thing.”

“Willow, I know you’re still working on it but do you think that spell will be ready any time soon?” the man asked.

“Almost. I just got to tweak it a little but it should be ready by tomorrow morning,” the witch stated, sounding a lot more confident than she had minutes ago.

“Good. Show it to me whenever you’re ready,” he instructed, turning to the group as a whole. “We’ll reconvene an hour before dawn.”

The group immediately sprang into action, all heading in different directions as they weaved their way through the crowded basement. The Englishman sat down, his eyes never leaving the map.

“And what about me Giles? What do you want me to do?” the brunette asked, unsure why she hadn’t been given an assignment.

“I need you to help me strategize.”

“Okay, so where do we start?” she asked, taking a seat next to Giles.

“Well, you could tell me again what you remember from that night,” he said softly, knowing it had been a very upsetting experience for the girl.

“It’s still pretty hazy, but what exactly do you wanna know?”

“Do you remember how the vampires organized themselves?”

“Uhhh…They were kinda in packs, you know, like wolves,” she described, unsure how to convey what she remembered.

“That sounds about right. A big raid like the one they conducted on the Bronze would call for the utmost synchronization,” Giles commented. “Was there anything that seemed particularly unusual before the attack?”

“No, not really. Well there was this one girl wearing this totally heinous wannabe Versace halter dress, but other than that I guess it was pretty normal,” she stated, unaware of the irritated look Giles was giving her.

“Apart from the night’s fashion faux pas, was there anything else that you can recall that might actually be of some use? Like maybe how many vampires there were?” Giles inquired, annoyance evident in his voice.

Unaffected by Giles’s mild scolding, the girl answered indignantly. “You’re kidding right? Giles, there were like a gazillion vamps. Plus, I was a little too preoccupied with trying to get the hell out of there to take the time to do a head count.”

“Alright,” he exhaled, frustrated at the lack of success they were having. “Can you think of anything else that might be of some relevance?”

“We’ll there was this one thing that I thought was really weird,” the brown haired girl replied thoughtfully.

“And what was that?”

“When I was hiding in the vent, before I crawled out of the building, I heard one of them say that they ‘should bring the human back to him’. I’m not sure who they were talking about and I couldn’t catch a glimpse of who was saying it. Do you have any idea what it could mean?”

“Good Lord,” Giles uttered under his breath. “Are you certain that’s what you heard?” he asked sternly, needing confirmation.

“Yeah,” she quickly answered, a little surprised by his suddenly troubled expression.

“Why didn’t you tell us before?” Giles prodded, sounding increasingly distressed.

“I was traumatized. Even if I did remember everything from that night, I’d probably still want the memories repressed. That one just happened to come back to me a few nights ago and I wasn’t even sure if it was real,” the girl defended.

“Let us hope it isn’t real. Because if it is then it would mean that someone was taken back to William the Bloody, which in of itself is a fate much worse than death,” Giles grimly stated.

“But who? Everyone at the club was killed that night,” the girl wondered.

“Not everyone,” Giles replied looking poignantly at the brunette.

“Well, like duh Giles. I know I wasn’t,” she remarked, twirling her finger through her now slightly longer chestnut hair.

“No. I mean of course you weren’t but there was also another body that was never found,” the Englishman noted.

The girl’s eyes grew wide when she finally grasped at what it was Giles was referring to. “No…it can’t be. You all said that they turned her. That she was lost and was as good as dead.”

“We assumed she was turned. We have no proof in the matter. There’s a possibility that she might have been the one they brought back to Spike,” Giles solemnly explained.

“It can’t be,” the brunette cried out, still not having completely mourned her best friend.

“I’m sorry to say, but it appears that Buffy did survive the raid only to be taken as Spike’s hostage. And knowing him like I do,” Giles added, the searing hatred he felt for the vampire hidden under a composed demeanor. “I fear that she’s still in his custody.”

The girl’s brown eyes were filled with unshed tears, threatening to spill at any moment down her flushed cheeks. Initially she had refused to believe that her best friend was gone but the inevitable truth eventually caught up to her, and only recently did she allow herself to mourn. The figurative wounds she had incurred from her friend’s supposed death were yet to heal. If what Giles was alluding to were true then she had been right all along.

“You mean…?”

“Yes, Cordelia, I believe Buffy is still alive but one can only imagine what that poor girl must be going through.”


********


She was running again. Her sides hurt as she breathlessly tried to get away from the man that was chasing her. Buffy didn’t know if she would ever outrun him but she had to keep on trying. She wasn’t exactly sure what would happen if he caught up to her but she knew she didn’t want to find out. Buffy struggled to run harder, but it made no difference; her pursuer was always just a few paces behind. Every time she glanced over her shoulder, there he was, like a sinister presence that refused to let her be. His face was blurred and his features were indiscernible but she could still tell it was a man running after her. Buffy was petrified; scared to the core, but what made her blood run cold was the menacing laughter that seemed to follow after her. Her feet pounded the asphalt as she made her way down some unknown winding road, the sound echoing through the darkness that surrounded her. After what seemed like eons of sprinting, the laughter abruptly stopped. Thinking that the threat was gone Buffy slowed down, ready to turn around to see if the man had given up. A blood curdling scream was the only answer to that uncertainty.


“Buffy,” Spike worriedly called to her as he gently shook her from her sleep. “Buffy, wake up luv.”

Her eyes shot open, gazing up to find Spike inches from her face. Screaming, Buffy jumped, unintentionally whacking Spike in the nose with her forehead. Crying out in pain, the vampire grabbed his face as he put some distance between himself and a fully awake Buffy. “Christ, pet, nearly broke my nose,” Spike nasally remarked, still cupping his sore sniffer.

“Sorry, but you scared the crap out of me. What were you doing anyway, hovering over me?” Buffy asked, rubbing her forehead.

“You were screaming,” Spike quickly replied, making his way back towards her seeing as how the threat of getting hit again had slightly diminished.

“No I wasn’t,” Buffy denied.

“Yeah you were. You were lyin’ there with your eyes closed, hollerin’ at the top of your lungs. Thought you were havin’ some kinda spell,” Spike countered, sitting down beside her. “What’s going on, luv?”

Buffy gave out an exasperated sigh. “I had a nightmare.”

“Again?” he asked, visibly concerned.

“The more fitting question would be ‘still?’ as in ‘am I still having the nightmares?’” Buffy stated casually, unconsciously fiddling with the drawstring to her pj bottoms.

Spike appeared confused by the news. “You mean it’s that same dream?” Spike wondered.

“Yup. Every night it’s the same thing. I’m running, they’re chasing, and it finishes off with me getting caught. Really makes for a good night’s sleep, don’t ya think?” Buffy explained sarcastically.

“Why is it I’m only finding ‘bout this now?” Spike inquired, inwardly hating himself for not having picked up on any signs that Buffy was having recurring nightmares.

“Cuz you were never around when they happened. It’s not just something one brings up in casual conversation,” Buffy rationalized, wishing they were talking about anything else. “Can we just drop it?”

“Fine,” Spike conceded, making a mental note to force the issue later.

Buffy suddenly took note of what the vampire was wearing. He was sporting his black leather duster, which he only wore when he was heading out. “Where are you going?”

“Out, pet. Got a clan to manage, remember?” Spike replied nonchalantly as he stood up.

“Spike,” Buffy called out as he made his way to leave, her tone absolutely serious. “You promised.”

Turning back to look at her, the vampire groaned. “I’m not in the least bit peckish and I don’t need to feed every single day.”

“You know you’re a real crappy liar,” Buffy retorted, crossing her arms.

“Pet, I don’t wanna hurt you unless I have to. I can wait a few days until I absolutely have to feed,” Spike reasoned.

“So you wanna wait until you’re starved? Isn’t that just more dangerous? I mean, call me crazy but I know when I’m dying to eat something it usually isn’t part of the daily recommended servings of fruits and vegetables,” she argued.

“What are you talkin’ about?” Spike asked, beginning to think that maybe Buffy had gone mental from constantly being cooped up in her room.

“What I’m trying to say is that if you push yourself to that extreme, you’re gonna end up doing something stupid, like kill someone or….”

“End up killin’ you,” Spike cut her off, knowing precisely what she was about to say.

“Yeah, that too could happen,” Buffy agreed, but seeing the uneasy look in his cobalt eyes, she added thoughtfully. “If we do this little by little, you won’t go on a bender and do something you’ll end up regretting.”

Letting out a compliant breath, Spike nodded. “Alright, let’s do this,” he said as he made his way over to the bed, taking off his duster and sitting back down next to her.

“Wow, you really know how to sweet talk a girl,” Buffy joked.

“Pet, this is serious,” Spike chided. “It’s gonna hurt a hell of lot more than my other bites.”

“Why? It shouldn’t be any different than before,” she questioned, becoming a little unnerved by Spike’s warning.

“The others were shallow, and I didn’t take much blood. They were just tastes really,” he replied, taking her hand in his in an attempt to emphasize the gravity of the situation.

“Oh,” she replied, now definitely frightened.

“You still wanna do this, luv?” Spike asked quietly.

Taking in a deep breath, Buffy nodded her head vigorously. “Yeah,” she answered, her conscience reminding her that it was something that had to be done.

“Lay back for me, pet,” Spike instructed as he gently pressed a firm hand against her shoulder. Buffy did as she was told, lying down on her back with her head on her pillow. She was nervous and with him looking down at her, she felt strangely vulnerable, exposed even.

“Comfy, luv?” he asked, receiving only a nod as his answer. Leaning on one arm, Spike slowly brought his free hand up to Buffy’s neck. She tensed the moment before his fingers could brush against his mark on her neck.

“What are you doing?” Buffy asked, flinging her head away from the undesired caress.

“It’ll be less painful if I touch my mark. It’ll distract you,” he explained, gazing down at her, hoping she could see that he wasn’t trying to do anything funny.

“No. There will be no touching of the neck,” Buffy refused.

“But, pet…”

“No. I said no touching,” she adamantly refused.

Spike caved in again for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. “Alright, just relax. The tenser you are the more it’s gonna hurt.”

Once Buffy had calmed herself down, Spike lowered himself onto her stilled form, half-sitting with his weight still supported on his elbows. Looking down into her hazel eyes, he gave her a reassuring smile. “It’s gonna sting for a bit pet, so just hold on.”

Buffy nodded, finding she was unable to respond. Vamping out, Spike glanced down one last time, making sure she knew exactly what it was she was getting herself into before he moved to the left side of her neck. He let out a muffled growl just as his fangs pierced the sensitive column of flesh.

Buffy cried out. Spike was right. It was more painful. Really painful. All he had done was penetrate the skin and she was pure agony. It hadn’t seemed so bad when he had done it those other few times before but she had to admit that they had occurred under very distracting circumstances. Namely, during a mind blowing orgasm that at the time had changed the world as she knew it. Yet now, it was painful and so much deeper and her heart was beating rapidly from the fear that was building up inside. Buffy had to restrain herself from pushing him away. She had to trust him. God, did she ever want to trust him.

Spike could hear her whimpers of pain and eased a little on the first few pulls he took from her. He drew himself up so that he was now lying on her left, slightly draped over her side, and wrapped his right arm around her waist. The change in position allowed Buffy to get a better hold of him, strongly grasping his shoulders and digging her nails into his skin as she tried to deal with the pain. If it didn’t end soon her claws were going to break through fabric and skin, and draw blood.

Spike knew they were nowhere near finished and that the level of pain Buffy was in was just unacceptable when he knew there was something he could do about it. Pulling out his fangs, he lapped the blood coming from her neck, trying to coax a reaction from the old wounds that were still active under the new ones. He was rewarded with a sharp gasp, followed by soft mewls as he continued to lick the punctures. Spike could feel her relax again and was about to sink his fangs back into her neck, when Buffy suddenly wrapped her leg around his waist.

The moment Spike had pulled out his fangs, Buffy thought it was over. Then when he began to run his rough tongue over her incredibly sensitive skin, she could have sworn something instantly exploded within her. She had experienced this before, but the pain from this bite that accompanied the pleasure made everything so much more intense. Buffy was becoming increasingly aroused from the slightest lick and soon found herself where she had been a week before; about to do something she knew she would later regret simply because Spike was touching her in just the right way. Though at first she had refused to let him stroke his mark on her neck, inwardly she had wanted it, craved it even. And now, she urgently longed for him to satisfy the smoldering inferno that was ready to burn her inside out.

Almost in lightning speed, she drew one leg around Spike’s waist and rolled him on top of her, so that he was fittingly situated between her thighs. Spike felt like he had been winded, though he had no real necessity for air. The immediate erection he had gotten the moment he had sunk his fangs into Buffy’s flesh was now pressed against her searing heat. He didn’t want to move, knowing that he would be digging his own grave if he goaded Buffy on any further. Spike wanted to take the high road, ignore the fact that only two layers of fabric separated his throbbing cock from her now soaking quim, and just finish the task at hand. However, the scent of her arousal, her lust filled whimpers and the constant rotating of her hips broke his last bit of restraint.

Returning his mouth to the wound, he bit down again, eliciting a scream from Buffy’s lips, her nails piercing his skin through his black cotton tee. Drinking down enough of her blood, Spike pulled his fangs out for the last time, but morphed back into his human face and continued to suck on the wound. The harder he sucked, the faster Buffy grinded her pussy against his engorged member, his hardness hitting her perfectly against her clit. The primal dance they seemed to be in felt like it continued on forever, pain and pleasure melding into one as they neared the maximum precipice of their senses. Buffy’s last sliver of inhibition had left her, freeing one of her hands to stroke Spike’s chiseled stomach, her blood coated nails grazing his pebbled nipples. Arching her back, she tightened the grip her legs had around his waist in an attempt to push her molten core harder against him. The world blurred and the loss of blood made her lightheaded. Buffy felt as though if she didn’t come soon she would die.

All of a sudden, Spike began to thrust his hips back in time with hers. His lips had moved to her ear, saying words that he had never said to her before. “Cream for me luv. Ugh, love to see you come in my arms. So beautiful. Make me so weak, you do. Love you so much. Come for me, pet. Love you, love you, God, love you so much,” Spike incoherently rambled, his voice strained with need.

With his love drenched words, Buffy finally flew over the edge. “SPIKE!!!!” she screamed his name, her body quivering beneath him.

Not wishing to shoot his load in his jeans, Spike waited until she stilled. With a few calming breaths, he lifted off of her, yanking off his shirt. Buffy gazed up at his bare chest with a lust glazed stare, unmoving as she tried to reel from what she had just experienced. Her sex fogged brain was confused when he suddenly stood up, having expected him to continue on what they had started. Leaning over, he pressed the bunched up cotton shirt against her neck, trying to get the wound to stop bleeding. Taking her hand and making sure she held the shirt firmly in place, he stood back up and slipped on his duster. Disregarding the stinging he felt from the leather against the small gashes on his back, Spike made his way to the door.

“Spike?” Buffy called out as she watched him leave.

“Another day, luv. Gotta head out,” he replied, peeking at her over his shoulder.

Buffy nodded, biting her bottom lip. When she had asked Spike to drink from her instead killing people to get his blood, she hadn’t expected it to turn out to be another one of their no-sex orgasm sessions. It was tense and awkward again between them, but she couldn’t explain why and wasn’t sure who was really to blame. Buffy felt like she should be mad at herself or at him, but what she really wanted more than anything was to have him come back to her and hold her for the rest of the day.

Seeing the dejected look in her eyes, Spike added, “Means more than you’ll ever know what you just did for me pet. Never forget that.” The moment the words were uttered, Spike threw the door open and left Buffy to contend with her wounds and her overwhelmingly confusing emotions.

Shutting the door behind him, Spike leaned against it as he buried his face in his hands. “What the fuck did I just do?” he irately asked himself.

Dejectedly dropping his hands to his sides, Spike looked down and realized that he was still hard as a rock. Groaning, the vampire crossed the hallway and entered his room, feeling a hint of déjà vu as he went to spend a few lonely hours coming down from the high that being with Buffy always brought on.

A/N: Thnx for all the reviews!!!!!
 

Chapter Eleven:Hesitation

His still hand rested on the unpolished knob, incapable of making the slightest turn of the wrist to open the unlocked wooden door. He’d been silently standing in the same spot for the past fifteen minutes, staring down at his hesitant grip, contemplating how he was going to step into the room. Should he walk in relaxed and totally nonchalant like nothing had happened between them? Or should he just go right in, bring up the issue and force her to deal with it? Or maybe he’d just chance it and hope to find her already fast asleep. Releasing his grasp for the fourth time, Spike scratched the back of his head, unmoving as he continued to stare at the door.

What the bloody hell was he doing? He was a Master vampire, leader of the most powerful clan this side of the world and here he was, dithering about just because he couldn’t face some girl.

‘Oh sure, mate,’ Spike inwardly criticized. ‘‘Cos that’s all that Buffy is to you, right? Just some girl.’ He scoffed at his own ridiculous logic. ‘Yeah, she’s only just the most annoying, stubborn, smart mouthed, willfully spirited, passionate, gorgeously beautiful, with a body that could rival Venus herself some girl of your dreams.’ God, he felt like such a moronic git.

Reaching out his hand again Spike tried the doorknob for a fifth, and hopefully, final time. He could do this. Just turn, push, step and voila, he’d be inside.

Inside.

As in the place where Buffy was.

Where she was probably waiting for him.

‘‘S just me, or it’d get a hell of a lot hotter in here?’ he pondered, yanking on the collar of his black tee. He suddenly became very aware of the unusual clamminess of his hands, especially with the one holding the brass doorknob. Lifting it up to inspect it and upon seeing the unexpected sheen, Spike wiped his hand on his chest, wondering if vampires were even supposed to sweat. And why did it feel like his stomach was doing summersaults? Spike didn’t know why he was having these weird symptoms. Technically speaking, he was a walking corpse, so he couldn’t get sick. Then why did he feel so shitty?

Wait soddin’ minute. He remembered feeling this way before. His mind raced through the memories of the past century, eventually landing on a particular face, one that usually brought forth sentiments of self-loathing. Cecily. He still remembered that fateful night, when he had admitted to her that she had been his muse, the inspiration for every bloody awful poem he had written. It happened so long ago, yet remained so vivid in his mind. Spike had been so naïve and so insecure. And here he was, a hundred plus years later, a little less with the naïveté but still just as nervous as ever. Nervous about seeing Buffy again and about her hating him…again. Because, let’s face it, Spike can’t go at least a week without giving Buffy another reason to despise him.

Taking in a long unneeded breath, the vampire shook his head to clear his mind. ‘Stop actin’ like that poncy William, grow back your stones and get your ass into that room,’ he inwardly coaxed.

What was he so worried about really? Spike had just done what she had asked him to. Granted, he knew it hadn’t gone exactly how Buffy had expected. Hadn’t been a complete disaster, though. She got off on it, perk for her and no harm, no foul. It doesn’t really matter that he still made her squirm and pant when she had been utterly serious about him not touching his old bite marks. Doesn’t matter that instead of just ending the whole fiasco the moment Buffy had felt the slightest bit of pain, he decided to solve the problem by licking and sucking the hell out of her neck. It didn’t even matter that after filling his belly with her blood, he not only managed to get her to come the hardest she’d ever had before, but did it while whispering all those loving endearments in her ear. God, if Buffy didn’t hate him for taking advantage of her then she was probably too mortified to ever look him in the face again. So yeah, no worries Spike.

“Arrrgggh!” Frustrated, he instinctively smacked his forhead on the door. After the third pound, he jumped back as if the door were on fire. Perking up his ears, he listened for any sign that Buffy had heard him. Only silence. He needed to step into that room before he completely lost his cool.

Exhaling and wishing he’d had just one more smoke before he had made his way upstairs, Spike turned the knob and opened the door. Stepping inside, he gazed around the room, closing the door behind him. It was dark; the variety of lamps and candles dispersed throughout the room remained unused. The room’s only sparse lighting was that originating from the television, its soft pulsating glow casting dancing shadows on the far back wall. Spike’s boots stealthily made their way across the floor as he ventured into the room, catching a whiff of vanilla and lilies. Peering over the back of couch, he saw that it was empty. The vampire kept making his way further into the room, quiet incase Buffy was asleep. Glancing over at the ruffled bed and seeing it was also vacant, Spike deduced that Buffy was most likely taking a bath. He took a few steps back, away from the bathroom door. Things were already going to be awkward between them. There was no point in adding insult to injury by entering the bathroom.

Slipping out of his duster, Spike grabbed a bottle of tequila and sat himself down on the couch, watching the infomercial that was on. After half a bottle and half an hour later, he wondered if Buffy was ever going to get out of the tub. Should he go knock on the door to see if she was alright? No. He’ll wait. Give Buffy some space and let her enjoy her relaxing bath. The image of Buffy in the tub, soapy suds clinging to her glistening heat flushed body popped into his brain, making Spike take another swig from his bottle.

The sound of the bathroom door creaking open announced that Buffy had finally finished her bath. It was show time. Spike remained quiet, not wanting to scare her and waited until she realized he was in the room. He couldn’t see what she was doing, his eyes focused on the television while Buffy scurried around the room behind him. The sound of a towel drop and the padding of damp feet across the tiled floor were all that Spike could hear. Heightening his vampire senses, he picked up on her calm breathing; she obviously didn’t know he was there. More sounds. Drawers were being opened and he could hear her dressing. The vampire took another swig; too many naked Buffy thoughts.

Buffy finally looked over toward the TV and saw a bleached head peeking from behind the back of the couch. “Spike?” she asked, a little perturbed that he’d been there the whole time and she hadn’t even noticed.

“Just watchin’ the telly, pet,” the vampire replied, trying to sound as casual as possible.

Buffy, who was wringing her hands anxiously, sat down beside Spike. He watched her, noting her recently combed wet hair and her blue jeans and pink t-shirt attire. He thought Buffy had been gorgeous that night they had gone out to the Bronze, but it paled in comparison to the way she looked now. Her natural, God-given beauty was much more stunning. After ogling her for a few seconds, Spike shook himself out of his stupor and turned his attention back to trying to asses what mood Buffy was in. She didn’t seem mad and sure she was a little skittish but not the red faced humiliation he was expecting. Maybe he had blown the whole thing out of proportion. Maybe Buffy was okay with what had happened and the weirdness between them was just the obligatory the-day-after-we-did-something-naughty kind of guilt.

“Spike,” Buffy started, her voice quiet. “Should we talk about it?”

“You mean instead of sweeping it under the rug like we’ve done with everythin’ else that’s gone wrong between us?” Spike tried to joke, though it came out bitter.

“Yeah.”

“Well, floor’s yours, pet. Go ahead. Spill your heart out,” Spike said, sounding like he truly wanted to know how she felt. Taking another drink, he readied himself for what she was about to say.

“I’m sorry,” Buffy stated, her eyes averted from his.

A spray of tequila escaped Spike’s lips. “What?” Spike asked, coughing as he wondered what the hell she was apologizing for.

“I’m sorry I pushed the whole blood drinking issue and I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you about the touching my neck thing. Maybe if I had let you do it, things wouldn’t have gotten so carried away,” Buffy explained, her body tense and on the edge of the couch.

Spike was flabbergasted. Firstly, she wasn’t mad at him or even blaming him. Secondly, she was blaming herself. What in the hell did that mean? Spike hadn’t the foggiest clue. Perhaps she was finally seeing past the vampire exterior and actually considering that his love for her was real. Maybe she too had felt something earlier that day. Maybe she was actually growing feelings for him. Spike inwardly laughed at the thought. ‘Keep dreamin’ you wanker. ‘Probly take a lifetime before Buffy even considers likin’ you.’

“Luv, I should be the one apologizin’. I took advantage of the situation, got you all hot and bothered. Made you all loopy and not think straight. I knew what I was doing and I did it anyway. ‘M sorry,” Spike mumbled, avoiding the surprised stare she was giving him.

Shaking her head, Buffy countered, “You might have motivated me a little, but deep down I knew what I was doing, Spike. If I didn’t really wanna do it, I wouldn’t have.”

Was he dreaming? Did she just admit what he thought she had? Spike needed to be pinched. She had willingly wanted him. The implications of what she was saying were so big that he didn’t even know what to think. Buffy had wanted him. She wanted him. Everything inside of him was jumping for joy while his demeanor remained calm and collected. “So what now, pet?”

Buffy shrugged. “I dunno. Knowing the way we cycle, we’ll probably ignore it, be fine for a few days and then when we think its gonna be nothing but smooth sailing from here on in, something else will come along and mess with the delicate balance that is us,” she joked, managing to bring out a genuine smile from Spike.

“And in the mean time?” he inquired.

“Well, just because the first time was a disaster doesn’t mean we’re never trying it again,” Buffy remarked, more relaxed as she leaned back into the couch.

Unsure what she was specifically referring to, Spike asked, “Try what again?”

“You drinking from me. If I had just let you touch the mark in the first place, it wouldn’t have gotten so out of hand. Plus, I’ll know what to expect this time around, so you don’t have to worry about me jumping your bones,” she answered, her tone strangely perky.

“Wasn’t really complainin’, luv,” Spike retorted.

“Yeah well, we’ll just have to be more careful next time so things don’t get too crazy,” Buffy commented, another smile spreading across her lips. “Wow, that was really mature of us, don’t ya think? Talking about our problems like level headed adults?”

“Yeah, pet, real grown up,” Spike chuckled, as he took another drink from the tequila bottle.

“Well, I think it was,” she pouted. “Spike?”

Pulling his gaze from the television, he looked over to Buffy, “Yeah, luv?”

“Did you mean those things you said?” she asked, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she nervously scratched her knee.

“Every word of it,” he answered, also unable to look her in the eyes as he stared down at his bottle. If she rejected him again, Spike didn’t know what he was going to do.

The vampire turned his head when he felt the couch suddenly shift. Glancing up, he saw that Buffy was now by his side, so close that she was invading his personal space. Spike observed in fascination, mystified and speechless as she took the tequila bottle from his hands and placed it on the floor next to them. Never would he have ever expected what she was about to do next.

Buffy drew her legs up onto the couch and slowly pressed her supple form against Spike, casually and wordlessly placing her head gently on his chest. After giving himself a few seconds to come to grips with what was going on, he shifted so that he could draw Buffy up into his arms. Lying down with her half-sprawled on top of him, Spike peered down at her, confusion still in his eyes. “Buffy?”

“Can you just hold me?” she asked meekly.

Spike only nodded in response. He didn’t understand what had brought on her sudden need for intimacy but he wasn’t going to fight it. Wrapping his arms tighter around her, he rubbed her back as he listened to her steady breathing. Just over an hour ago he was terrified Buffy would never speak to him again and now here he was, holding her. What he had thought was major blunder on his part had actually been the perfect shove in the right direction to bring them closer together. Inhaling deeply, he took in her sweet scent and listened to Buffy’s body rhythms.

Though he had come back to the room a few hours later than he normally did, spending the latter part of the day procrastinating, not wishing to face the inevitable, it was still pretty early in the evening. Grabbing the remote, Spike flipped through the channels, coincidentally finding a rerun of Dawson’s Creek. He could feel Buffy smiling against his chest, which only made his own smirk transform into a goofy grin. He felt tingly all over, all his senses in total euphoria, and it was all because Buffy truly wanted to be in his arms. No words were exchanged between them as they half-heartedly paid attention to the TV show. This was their escape, a small reprieve from the only harsh reality they knew. For the next few hours Spike wasn’t a vampire and Buffy wasn’t his prisoner. For the next few hours it was just the two of them, blanketed by the faint indigo glow of the television screen.


********

Giles impatiently tapped his fingers on the table top, waiting for the squad he had sent out that morning to return. He glanced over at Willow, who was sitting across from him at the dining room table, engrossed in one of her spell books. She didn’t seem the least bit worried that the group wasn’t back yet. Giles, however, couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t quite right. It wasn’t that he didn’t have faith in his team, but he just couldn’t seem to get over this peculiar sense of foreboding.

Taking off his glasses, he pinched the bridge of his nose. Giles glimpsed at his watch and vigorously wiped his glasses when he realized it was getting close to sunset. Xander and his gang should have been back hours ago.

As Giles put his glasses back on, readying to immerse himself in another anxious hour of finger tapping fun, the front door of the house sprang open. Xander and his small brigade piled into the front hall, filling the house with laughter and cheers of victory. As the members of his team went their separate ways, Xander entered the dining room where he knew Giles would be waiting. Noticing that Willow was sitting with the Englishman, he smiled at the redhead.

“Hey, Will! Those Sun Bombs you concocted were amazing,” the young man exclaimed, walking over to the table.

“Really?” Willow asked, very excited that the spell she had worked so hard on was actually being deemed useful.

“Totally. That Holy Hand Grenade you made dusted at least ten vamps at a time. Made everything so much easier,” Xander answered, reassuring his best friend.

His good mood however was interrupted by the clearing of Giles’s throat. “So if I understand you correctly, Xander, I take that the raid was a success?”

“Yup,” he responded cheerfully, taking a seat next to Willow.

“Then would you like to inform us as to why it took you the whole day to return?” Giles inquired, his mood becoming increasingly exasperated.

“You see…well…we all sort of thought that we had some time to spare and we did have a few extra Sun Bombs at our disposal, so we…” Xander began to explain, but was cut short by Giles’s tired and irritated groan.

“Please don’t tell us you went out in search of other vampires to slay.”

“Okay, I won’t tell you,” Xander quipped, knowing Giles was about to go into an all out scold-a-thon.

“Xander, you know you cannot be so foolhardy in that part of town,” Giles admonished.

“Giles, it’s not the end of the world. We spent most of the day just looking for another nest, and when we finally found one, all we did was throw in a few Sun Bombs. No one got hurt and we killed a few extra vamps,” Xander defended, knowing he wasn’t as reckless as Giles was making him out to be.

“Xander, the moment the mission was completed, you should have immediately come back to headquarters. If this were an actual military organization, you would have been court marshaled for defying orders,” the older man argued.

“I don’t know why you’re freaking out,” Xander commented, crossing his arms.

“Just promise me you won’t be so irresponsible the next time,” Giles said, feeling the beginnings of a headache coming on.

“Will there even be a next time?” Xander grumpily asked, looking like a ten year old who’d just been given detention.

Giles relaxed his furrowed brow and grinned at the young man’s sour disposition. “You know there will. As much as I berate you Xander, you’re one of the most qualified members of this team. I’d be foolish in forbidding you from leading any of our future raids.”

“And the punishment?” Xander asked, knowing Giles never let anyone off that easily.

“Kitchen duty for a month,” the Englishman answered quickly.

Groaning, Xander accepted the punishment; it wasn’t the worst he’d ever been given, but it wasn’t exactly how he wanted to spend his post-dinner hours. Deciding to change the topic, the brunette turned to Willow. “So where’s Oz?”

“Downstairs in the cage. It’s almost sundown,” the witch answered, a little edgy. She hated full moons. It was such a hassle clearing out the basement and bolting the door shut so that no one other than those armed with tranq guns could venture downstairs. More importantly, Oz was always so tense around this time of the month and even after four years, it still put strains on their relationship.

Xander gave Willow a reassuring pat on the hand, knowing how difficult these nights were for her. “Want me to stay up with you tonight? We could brew a hot pot of coffee and have a night of whacky card games?” he suggested.

Willow giggled, but shook her head. “Nah, you’re probably too tired after a long day of vampire killing to stay up and werewolf sit. You should go to bed. I’ll be fine on my own.”

“You positive?”

“Sure as sugar.”

“Cuz I’m not really that tired and…”

“Xander,” Willow said, cutting him off. “Do you see my resolve face?” she said, pointing to the face she was making. “I know you’ve seen it a billion times before.”

“Backing off as of now,” Xander replied, holding his hands up in defeat. “So, what’d I miss today?”

“Well, as you were off gallivanting in Vampire District, we were here planning for our next mission,” Giles commented.

“Planning for what mission exactly?” the young man wondered.

“I was speaking with Cordelia last night and apparently a few of her memories have resurfaced. It turns out that her friend Buffy wasn’t killed the night of the vampires’ attack on the bronze,” Giles explained.

“Yeah, she was turned. We’ve already established that. So what?” Xander asked, not completely getting Giles’s point.

“That’s precisely it Xander, she was neither killed nor turned. The vampires that night brought her back to Spike and I believe she is still being held as his prisoner at the main house,” Giles responded, the expression on his face conveying the utmost sincerity.

“You’re kidding?” the brunette asked, bug eyed with surprise.

“Wish I were, but no, it’s true.” Giles sighed. “It is imperative that we get her out of there as soon as possible. This will be our one and only objective until she has been liberated.”

“Are you sure she’s even still alive?” Xander skeptically asked. He watched Giles suddenly become rigid in his seat and Willow cower in fear. Either he made a scary face without knowing it or there was something frightening standing right behind him. Turning in his chair, Xander reluctantly peaked over his shoulder. He almost tripped over his own two feet as he scurried to the other side of the table, hiding himself behind Giles.

“How did you get in here?” the ex-Watcher asked, not permitting his fear show through.

“One of your guys invited me in. Not too bright your people. You should work on the whole not inviting people in after dark thing, even if they look like they’ve been terribly wounded,” Damon said, grinning menacingly as his face morphed back into its human guise.

Giles’s hand reached for one of the stakes that he always kept strapped to his forearm, hidden under the long sleeve of his shirt. Damon caught sight of the movement and tisked at the middle aged man. “You’ve become jaded in your old age Rupert Giles,” Damon remarked. “But I’m not here to kill any of you.”

“Why is it that I don’t believe you?” Giles inquired, his hand ready to pull out the stake.

“You should. Have some information that might be of some use to you,” Damon stated, appearing not in the least bit threatened by the ex-Watcher.

“And again I ask what makes you think we’d believe anything you say?” Giles inquired, uncomfortable by the fact that a vampire was in his home.

“Because it pertains to a certain blonde girl who, if I overheard correctly, you seem to have some sort interest in,” Damon answered, waiting for Giles’s reaction.

“We already know Spike has Buffy. That is no news to us,” Giles countered, wishing the vampire, who he recognized as one of Spike’s right-hand men, would just leave.

“Yes, but do you know where he has Buffy?” Damon asked, smirking devilishly.

“She would be at the main house with Spike,” Giles answered, not taking Damon’s bait.

“You’d think that, wouldn’t you Watcher? But the thing is Spike has a secret house where he likes to keep his little playthings,” Damon deceptively elaborated, oblivious to the disgusted grimaces being sent his way.

“Where is it?” Xander automatically asked.

“Are you deaf or just retarded? It’s a secret house. As in no one knows where it is,” Damon replied, in a mockingly slow manner, clearly unimpressed by the young man. “No one but Spike that is.”

“And why are you telling us this?” Giles inquired, his fear diminishing while his irritation for the vampire increased.

“Quid pro quo, Mr.Giles. I set up a scenario, giving you the opportunity to capture a certain platinum peroxide vampire, who so happens to know the exact whereabouts of your missing girl, and you do me the favor of ridding me of the one and only pain in my ass,” Damon countered, excitement dancing in his grey eyes.

“You actually think we’d trust you? You’re a vampire. An innately evil demon and one who’s betraying his own Master,” Giles openly doubted, his brow knotting with distrust.

“What else have you got going for you? Let’s face it Watcher, I’m the only hope you’ve got in finding Buffy,” the black haired vampire replied, his voice loosing its oddly playful quality to that of a much more serious tone.

“If we agree, what guarantees us that this isn’t just a trap? Our mission is to hunt your kind and getting rid of us would put you in Spike’s good books. So why should we trust you?” Giles asked, feeling like a broken record player.

“Once you get Spike, you’ll have the location as to where he’s hiding Buffy. Finish him off and your once fair town will be rid of the tyrant who’s ruined your lives for the past three years,” Damon rationalized, casually leaning against the archway that led from the hallway to the dining room.

“And you, what do you get out of this?” Xander asked, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

Damon swiftly stood up straight, his intense gaze focused on the young man as his own eyes glittered with mischief. “Things go back to the way they were before he rolled into town. The way it oughta be.”

 

Chapter Twelve: You Always Hurt the Ones You Love

They hadn’t meant to, but Buffy and Spike had fallen asleep, having become accustomed to being in one another’s arms. The couch wasn’t very accommodating for two sleeping bodies, yet it hadn’t seemed to bother the pair. It was Spike who had awoken first, the scent of the encroaching dawn tickling at his sleepy senses. It had been an early night for him, since he usually didn’t fall asleep until after daybreak. It hadn’t really bothered him though. Spending a few precious hours with Buffy was worth the early morning wake-up.

Spike shifted a little, the soreness in his lower back making him long for the softness of the bed that was only a few feet away. Slowly sitting up, he cradled Buffy in his lap, trying not to wake her as he drew her up into his arms. She mewled softly against Spike’s chest when he stood up, unaware that she was being effortlessly carried to her bed. It wasn’t until he gently lowered her onto the soft silky covers that her eyes started to flutter open.

Inhaling deeply, her mind still rattled with sleep, Buffy turned her head from side to side, wondering where she suddenly was. Once she saw Spike, his two strong arms surrounding her as they held his body up above her, she smiled. “Spike?”

“Mornin’ luv,” he grinned back. He knew he was staring at her but he didn’t care. Even with her sleep rumpled clothes, disarrayed bed hair and droopy tired eyes Buffy looked stunning. Spike wanted nothing more than to stay in bed with her all day long, and after last night, it was going to be difficult enough just leaving the room, let alone concentrating on whatever obligation he had for the day.

Groaning, Spike plopped down on the bed next to her. Buffy who appeared confused at his abrupt change in mood, curled herself up against his left side. “What’s wrong?”

“Gotta head out soon,” Spike explained, sounding miserable.

“Already?” Buffy asked, also disappointed.

“Duty calls,” the vampire replied, gradually sitting up. He felt a warm hand clutch his arm. Buffy was pulling him back down to the bed. “Luv, I really have to…”

“I know,” Buffy stated as she continued to pull on him, a mischievous smirk on her lips. “But you have to eat first.”

Spike was a little surprised. He knew she had wanted to keep on with their little arrangement, but it hadn’t quite sunk in until now. “You certain, pet?” he asked as he rolled onto his side, searching her hazel eyes to see if the emotions they conveyed betrayed the words she spoke.

Taking his hand, Buffy brought it to the left side of her neck. “I’m sure.”

Spike’s hand floated above her neck for a few seconds, still needing to see if she was completely up for another round of blood letting before he stroked the pleasure inducing mark. Searching her eyes for the slightest trace of fear or doubt, he found none. What was even more interesting was that he found something he would have never expected. Trust. Finding it nearly made him fall off the bed. The past few days could only be described as one long emotional rollercoaster, and with this new tidbit of information, one that seemed to have no sign of slowing down. Not only had Buffy wanted him, but now he knew she trusted him.

Lowering his hand, Spike brushed his thumb over the still healing bite mark he’d given her the last time they had done this. It was light enough so that it relaxed her but not stimulating enough to get her too excited. Bringing his mouth to the unattended side of her neck, Spike placed a tender kiss on the old wound, which made her shiver uncontrollably. Morphing into game face, he pierced her silky skin with his fangs, careful not to tear the flesh. Hearing her whimper, his hand began to caress her neck at a much faster pace. Soon Spike could hear Buffy’s whimpers turn to pants and the unmistakable scent of her arousal filled the air around them. Feeling his body involuntarily react to her, Spike ignored the hard-on and kept his mind focused on what he was doing. He wasn’t going to allow himself to loose control. Spike had seen the trust Buffy had in him; he didn’t want to see it replaced with regret the next time he gazed into those beautiful green eyes.


********


Spike walked out of his room, closing the door as his gaze staid focus on the door across the hallway. After he had finished drinking from Buffy and once he properly bandaged up her neck, he let her go back to sleep. Spike, who had been very careful not to reveal the persistent bulge in his pants, had bolted across the hallway to his room. There, under the hot spray of the shower, the vampire had, for what seemed to be a now daily occurrence, a good long wank. It was getting to the point where every time he stepped into Buffy’s room he left fully aroused and with no hope of satisfaction unless he stooped to self-gratification.

A look of yearning crossed his face as he glanced to her door one last time, before venturing down the hall. When Spike turned on his heel, he hadn’t expected to encounter who he saw waiting for him at the end of the hallway. It worried him that he had been too distracted to have sensed that another vampire was just a few feet away. Trying to appear like he hadn’t been thrown off by the vampire’s sudden materialization, Spike offered an informal greeting. “ ‘lo Damon.”

“Had yourself a good night Spike?” Damon asked, a quirky smirk tugging at his lips as he leaned against the wall across Buffy’s room. “Cuz it sure smells like she did.”

In the past, Spike would have chuckled at the remark, maybe even thrown in one of his own quips about his sexual prowess or how much of a good fuck Buffy was. Now Damon’s snide comments only sickened him. Actually, what they really made Spike wanna do was use his bare hands to rip the dark vampire’s head from right off his body. He didn’t like Damon and he sure as hell didn’t like his insinuations. The pillock made Buffy sound like she was nothing but a cheap piece of meat.

That’s when Spike remembered that that was precisely how Damon and everyone else saw Buffy, as the clan leader’s fuck slave. No one knew. They suspected he cared a little more than he should for her, but no one truly knew the extant of the love he felt for Buffy.

Unclenching his fists and relaxing his tightened jaw, Spike gave Damon his trademark smirk. “Wouldn’t you like to know, mate,” he coyly replied. Damon’s only response was to give an indifferent shrug.

Walking past the vampire, Spike started down the hall, until he stopped at the sound of Damon’s voice. “Aren’t you gonna ask me why I’m even here?” he said, as if he were posing a riddle.

Not wishing to play anymore games, Spike exhaled an exasperated sigh. “Just out with it already.”

“The warehouse on the west part of town was taken out by streeters. They got all of our vamps. The post’s theirs now Spike,” Damon clarified, his unexpectedly somber manner indicating the gravity of the situation.

“Bloody hell!” Spike exclaimed, punching a hole into the nearest wall. He just couldn’t get a break. The moment things finally start going his way, when his relationship with Buffy was progressing so well and when he had full control over his clan, this had to have happened. If he started loosing face to the streeters, to bloody humans, he was going to loose more respect than when his vamps had suspected he was coddling Buffy. Spike had to retaliate quickly and a few humans were going to have to suffer for what they did so that the vampires of his clan felt like vengeance had been served. A nagging voice at the back of his head told him that Buffy wasn’t going to like that but he pushed it away, focusing on his new dilemma instead.

Pulling the fist from the shattered drywall, Spike turned his platinum head to look at Damon. “Get your minions ready. You’re heading out at nightfall,” Spike ordered, ignoring his bleeding knuckles.

Damon slowly shook his head. “I’m just the messenger. None of my vamps wanna head out there and I sure as hell don’t wanna send them. This is your mess, you deal with it,” Damon defiantly stated.

Spike didn’t like the tone Damon was using with him. He had flogged other vamps for much less. However, he didn’t have the time to argue with him. “Fine. Get your ass downstairs and tell Vincent to meet me there with his crew. Can you handle that, Damon?” Spike replied bitterly, beginning to despise the insistently rebellious vampire.

“Sure thing, boss,” Damon answered, emphasizing the last word. Spike assumed it was an expression of contempt because the ebony haired vampire was being ordered around. Little did he know that Damon was actually being facetious.

Watching the vampire head downstairs, Spike made his way over to Buffy’s room. He was going to have to tell her something. He probably wasn’t going to see her that night and she deserved an explanation as to why. Should he tell her the whole truth? Spike peered down at the bloodied fist; it was the same hand that had hesitantly grasped the doorknob the night before. Spike groaned in aggravation. He couldn’t stand around debating any longer. He didn’t have time to piss away on pleasantries and being nervous.

Opening the door, he entered the lamp lit room, scanning around for Buffy. She was on the couch with the television blasting, watching and singing along to some horrible pop music video. Making his way toward the couch, Spike watched as Buffy realized he had returned, a little surprised to see him. Having changed into clean clothes since the last time he had seen her, she stood up to greet him, a huge smile plastered on her face.

“Hey, you’re here early. Whatcha doing, playing hooky?” she asked, playfully placing a hand on her hip. Buffy started to laugh but stopped herself when she saw the dismal look on Spike’s face. “What’s wrong?” she asked, stepping closer to him, concern evident in her eyes. He unintentionally glanced down at his bleeding hand, which only made her fret all the more. “Spike, what happened?”

Not being able to answer her question just yet, he walked past her to the bathroom, throwing the door open. Turning on the sink faucet, he washed his hand, rinsing off the blood and dust. Buffy followed after him, stopping at the bathroom doorway, watching as the water in the sink turned pink. He wasn’t saying anything and her worry was only augmenting her impatience. “Spike, tell me what the hell is going on!” she demanded, frustrated by his uncharacteristically quiet and evasive behavior.

Wiping his hands down with a towel, he threw it back onto the bathroom counter and pushed past her again. Buffy scurried behind him, ready to scream at the top of her lungs in frustration until Spike abruptly stopped in front of the bed. Turning around, he faced an irate Buffy; her arms crossed and scowl marring her face. “I won’t be back tonight luv. Got some business to attend to that might keep me away from the house all night long. Just wanted to let you know I won’t see you ‘til after dawn,” he stated, keeping his tone calm and his words vague.

“Where are you going? Why were you hurt? What could possibly be so important that it’s going to keep you out all night long?” she frantically asked, gesturing wildly.

“I can’t tell you. Just didn’t want you to worry ‘bout me. Tash will be in the house, so no vamps should get any ideas while ‘m gone,” he answered.

His attention turned to the scents around him; he could smell blood. His hand had already healed, so it wasn’t from his wound. He peered down at his shirt and realized he had bled on the black cotton tee. Taking off his duster and the red button up shirt he wore beneath it, Spike tossed the garments on top of the bed. He couldn’t have his blood distracting any of the other vampires. They were going to need to stay focused on reclaiming the warehouse and sniffing out any possible humans who might have been stupid enough to stay behind. Spike walked over to the mahogany dresser and pulled out another t-shirt; he seemed to have an endless supply. He quickly stripped off the soiled shirt and put on the clean one.

Turning back to face Buffy, he caught her dreamily ogling his back before her face returned to its much more stern and unconvinced demeanor. “Spike, you’re not telling me something. Why are you going out tonight?”

Putting only his duster back on, Spike stubbornly shook his head. “I can’t tell you.”

“Can’t or won’t?” she asked, her mood becoming more and more annoyed.

“Why can’t you drop it? You’re lucky I didn’t just leave you stewin’ here all night long wonderin’ where I was,” Spike rebutted, unwavering.

“I’m lucky enough!?! Wow, thank you so much for doing what most people would’ve considered to be a common courtesy!” Buffy vented, slightly shocked by the audacity of his remark. “What has gotten into you?” she wondered, hoping he’d give her a sincere answer.

“Nothin’. Just don’t have time for this right now, alright?” he replied, moving toward the door.

“Oh no you don’t. Come back here and explain to me why you’re being all avoidy,” Buffy commanded, grabbing his arm.

“Buffy, I don’t have time for this. Let go of me,” Spike demanded, waiting for her to release the grip she had on the sleeve of his duster.

“No. Not until you tell me,” she refused, which made Spike glance back at her in irritation. He had forgotten how stubborn Buffy could be, but he couldn’t tell her. She wouldn’t understand.

“Buffy, I’m warning you. Let go of me,” he said slowly, making sure she understood he was completely serious.

“Now you’re warning me?” she asked, stunned by the domineering quality of his voice and stance. She refused to back off as he stared down at her, trying to intimidate her. It felt so reminiscent of what felt like ages ago when she had first been brought to him. Buffy felt her heart constrict, she didn’t understand why Spike was acting this way. Opening her grasp, she finally let go of him.

Pivoting on his heel, he marched to the door when Buffy spoke to him. “So should I take off all my clothes, chain myself to the bed and just wait until you return?” Her soft voice quivered in rage as she glared at Spike.

“What the soddin’ hell are you talking about?” he asked, exasperated beyond belief.

“Well, you can’t even tell me where you’re going. You don’t think it worthwhile to fill me in on what’s going on. And that says a lot more than you think, Spike. Obviously, I’m nothing more than just a plaything that you pretend to be human with.” Buffy paused. “I’m just a warm body for you to fuck.”

Spike strolled back over to her, fury evident in his cobalt eyes. “That’s real ballsy of you! Are you such a bitch that you’re going to deny what we’ve been through these past few months?”

“You seem to have forgotten without too much effort,” Buffy commented, crossing her arms again as her eyes narrowed.

Spike’s last bit of patience evaporated at the sight of the grimace she was giving him. She was looking at him like he was a despicable piece of scum, the way she used to look at him when she had hated him. Buffy was so quick to forget what he’d been through to prove his love for her. It was so easy for her to ignore the feelings he knew she was developing for him. So easy for her to think the worst of him. An insuppressible rage began to boil within him, making his temper flare up violently. Inching himself closer to Buffy, his face a whisper away from hers, Spike let it all go.

“Know what I haven’t forgotten? You riddin’ me ‘til my eyes rolled back into their bleedin' sockets, front of a room full of vamps,” he replied, making sure his face always in hers as the invasion of personal space made her want to step away.

“Also remember you screaming out my name when I fucked you on that very couch,” he added, pointing to the said couch as he continued to follow after a retreating Buffy.

“Spike, you’re scaring me,” she cowered, frantically looking side to side, trying to find away to escape, feeling like the vampire was cornering her.

“Scary am I? Didn’t stop you from forcing me to drink from you. Were you scared when you cumed from my bites, pet?”

Buffy suddenly felt her back bump into a wall Spike’s face was so close to hers that she could see amber flecks in his wild blue eyes. She heard a growl escape his lips, his eyes intently focused on her. She turned her face away, pressing her cheek against the wall. Grabbing her chin, he roughly brought her gaze back to his own. The forceful treatment made her shrink in fear.

“If you want things to go to the way they were before and ignore everything that’s happened between us, fine. But don’t ever think it’s something I want. If I did, I would have already smacked the gall out of you,” he threatened, his eyes still smoldering with fury.

Spike let go of her face, his mood swinging as he glumly dropped his hand to his side. Buffy watched as his expression changed from anger to despair. “Do you have any idea what it’s like craving you? Looking forward to the next moment just to be with you? Having you in my arms but not having you completely?” Spike forlornly asked, bringing his hand back up to her face, but this time to stroke it tenderly.

Buffy grew tense as she felt Spike press her against the wall with his body. He ran his fingers lightly over her flowing blonde hair, uncaring about her apprehensive posture. Lowering his lips to her ear, he hoarsely whispered, “Do you know how much I wish I could just throw caution to the wind, ignore what I know is wrong and have my way with you? Do you have any idea how difficult it is for me to restrain myself?”

As his lips brushed her earlobe, his hand traveled down from her hair, past her bandaged neck, finally stopping as it cupped one of her breasts. Buffy gasped from the unforeseen move, sensing her body betraying her as she felt the dampness between her legs. Spike kept going, ignoring the voice in his mind that was screaming at him to stop before he completely ruined all his chances with Buffy. Breathing heavily, he continued to whisper into her ear. “If you want things to go the way they were before pet, you won’t get a complaint out of me,” he added, stroking her clothed breast with his thumb and pressing his now rock solid erection against her stomach to underline him point.

Buffy initially felt hypnotized, her own body craving the ecstasy that she knew Spike could offer. Reality, however, soon hit and she pushed Spike off of her, visibly disgusted. Spike started to laugh like a madman. “Course you don’t. Got it good now, don’t you? You get the lovesick vampire and a scheduled happy every single day. Meanwhile I’m left pulling my hair out just trying to keep myself from going on a killing spree,” he said, his laughter abruptly coming to an end as he moved his way back closer to her. “You think I’m being heartless and that I’m completely disregarding whatever glimmer of trust we’ve developed? Well I think you’re being a selfish and ignorant fucking bitch!” he spewed out, contempt lacing every word.

“I hate you,” Buffy spouted back, her throat tight as her brimming tears threatened to spill down her flushed face.

“Not enough to stop me from touching though. Not even enough to stop yourself,” Spike rebutted, moving his face so that his eyes were level with hers. “Guess we know what kind of girl that makes you, eh luv?”

Buffy’s hand flew at him, slapping him hard across the cheek. He staggered back, shocked not only by the blow she had inflicted but also by the realization of what he had just done. Holding his cheek, his bewildered eyes looked down at her. She was fuming, her chest heaving as the tears finally broke free.

“Buffy, luv…” Spike moved closer, reaching out to her as he attempted to apologize.

“Don’t! Don’t you dare touch me!”

“Buffy, ‘m sorry. Please…” he beseeched, desperately pleading with her.

“Get out!” she said sternly, avoiding the sorrow in his eyes.

“Pet, please…”

“GET OUT!!!” Buffy screamed, collapsing into a ball on the cold ceramic floor, hiding her face in her arms as she cried.

Spike observed her trembling form; he could hear the horrible sobs she was making. It ripped right through him. Every thing they’d been through, every small step they had made, gone because Buffy had doubted his feelings for her. It was that doubt, combined with all his frustrations, that had made Spike snap. He felt like such a fool. In mere minutes Spike had obliterated what had taken him months to build.

He needed to get out of the room; the sight of Buffy reminded him of the last time he had made her cry that hard. She had despised him them like she probably despised him now. Spike had blown it and Buffy was most likely never going to want to see him, let alone speak to him, again.

Reluctantly turning toward the door, Spike stopped in his tracks, knowing Buffy could probably still hear him despite her crying. “I didn’t tell you what I was going to do because you would have hated me for it. Guess it doesn’t really matter now, does it?” He paused. “I lost one of my posts, a warehouse on the west side of town, to the streeters and now I gotta head out there and take back what’s mine. I didn’t want to tell you ‘cos I knew you’d figure out that I might hafta kill a few humans. I didn’t want to disappoint you. Guess, I was wrong for thinkin’ you’d ever have any expectations of me,” Spike desolately stated, storming out of the room before Buffy could respond.

Buffy lifted her head up, taken aback by what he had just divulged. A whirl of emotions slammed through her, leaving her baffled and miserable. Curling back into her ball, Buffy began to sob again, incapable of understanding just how it was possible in the course of a few hours to go from sleeping in Spike’s arms to hating every fibre of his being.

Off in the hallway, a few paces away, on the other side of the wooden door, stood a remorseful Spike, whose thoughts were plagued by that very same question.

A/N: Things can't seem to get anyworse right? Guess you'll just have to wait and see. But have a faith. And keep on sending in those wonderful reviews!
 

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