Chapter 10:

“So, Mrs. Summers” a synthetically enthused voice boomed, the older man’s bleached-white smile blinding beneath row upon row of fluorescent lighting. “Who did you chose as the most eligible bachelor for your daughter?” he continued, emphasizing far more words than were necessary. “Was it Bachelor Number One? You all remember Angel, ladies and gentlemen. Tall, dark, and handsome, with looks that will last forever, he’s every girl’s dream… Perhaps you chose Mr. America himself, Riley Finn? Whether it’s football, fighting demons, or life itself, he’s heading right to the top with those good looks and that great attitude” the host paused then, exuberant smile turned to several cameras before finally focusing on Joyce. “Or, Mrs. Summers, did you chose Bachelor Number Three, Spike. Although he seems dark and dangerous, when William the Bloody falls for a girl, he falls hard. Dedicated and loyal, you’re always lucky to have him on your side,” pause, smile again, look back to Joyce, pause.

“So, Joyce, if I may call you that, which of these fine young men did you think was the most worthy companion for your daughter?” the older man’s face was twisted in an almost horrid manner. Every expression, every gesture and word that spiralled from him seemed completely fabricated. Mr. Caulder, Joyce and Buffy had decided, was the typical game show host.

“Well, uh, Mr. Caulder…” Joyce was slightly nervous as she spoke, not totally thrilled with the idea of being in the national spotlight. “I gave it a lot of thought, and in the end I chose Bachelor Number…”

“This is boring… Let’s watch MTV!” Dawn’s voice instantly drowned that of Joyce as she stepped in front of the television, fingers punching in her desired channel on the remote control.

Recovering from the disorienting effect of finding herself in her living room couch rather than beside her mother on the brightly coloured stage, Buffy’s eyes flew wide open. “Dawn!” she yelled, shocked and instantly aggravated. “I was watching that!” the brunette simply rolled her eyes, turning to face her sister as the blonde jumped up. “And, hello, ignorant much? Mom was on that show, picking the most eligible bachelor for me!” she growled, facing a still uncaring sister.

“Buffy, we’ve already seen that like a thousand times. We both know who she picks” Dawn tossed casually back, obviously unruffled by her sister’s rage.

“What?” the Slayer’s forehead crinkled, visage twisting into its classic confused posture. “We do?”

“Uh, yeah” Dawn’s eyebrows danced as well, upper lip curling to complete her ‘duh’ expression. “Buffy, you do realise you were watching a rerun from like, six months ago, right?” she gave a little laugh then, eyebrows still fixed in their ‘do you have amnesia?’ state.

“Ah, go easy on her, Bit” Spike’s voice wafted into the warmly decorated room, his shirtless figure quick to follow. “Slayer just hasn’t been getting her beauty sleep lately… Isn’t that right, pet?” Spike grinned mischievously, his own eyebrow flickering upward in a suggestive manner.

“Ew!” Dawn cut in before the vampire could continue, turning away from the blonde pair. “Okay, how many times do I have to say this… the sixteen-year-old does not need to or want to hear any mention of your guys’ crazy sex adventures” eyes focused now on the television, Dawn attempted to push away the shameful mental images that suddenly flooded her. Hey… it wasn’t her fault that Spike and Buffy had chosen to de-virginize the staircase without first locking the front door so that certain unsuspecting sisters couldn’t walk in on them.

“What? Adventures?” Buffy stumbled, unable to repeat certain portions of the teen’s outburst. “Dawn, what are you talking about?” emerald optics bore into her sister’s spine, the Slayer attempting to remain ignorant of Spike’s presence in the meanwhile.

“I love you” Spike’s eyes remained locked with hers before taking a moment to journey up and down her form. Every ounce of his strength was focused on keeping his hands still; this was perhaps the most romantic setting he’d shared with Buffy in… well, ever. He couldn’t spoil it now.

Whoa… Buffy heard herself think. Scene change much? Okay, now I know I’m dreaming… And, since this scene just spells ‘date’, and Spike’s the only other one here, I’ve definitely got to find a way out. Buffy was cuddled intimately close to the vampire as they remained spread out on the hood of his ancient DeSoto, a cloudless blanket of stars only adding to the romantic features of their setting. Adding to the Slayer’s mental torture was the fact that physically she seemed… rather pleased.

“I know” her soft voice cut through midnight’s suspension of silence, joined by a chorus of chirping insects. Oh God. Did I just say that? But… Where’s my catchy comeback? Why is he not grumbling in anger at my witty remark? What is wrong with me? The Slayer found herself fraying at the edges, for some reason trapped into being pleasant to the vampire.

Oh no, he’s about to say something. Wake up! Wake up! She remained static though, emerald eyes gazing with anticipation into a pair of azure pools. All right… Let’s try this again… 1, 2, 3… Wake up! 1, 2, 3… Wake up!

Daylight.

Exact images were nothing more than variously coloured and somewhat familiar shapes, but all that really mattered was that Buffy had finally awakened from her well-decorated nightmare. The act of rubbing her eyes into a more alert state should have been simple enough, but when a set of guttural reverberations was tossed in her direction, the Slayer remembered where she was. Crazy vampire, mom’s room, alone in the house… And the current ‘I’m a living freak-show’ World Champion is…? Buffy thought with a lengthened sigh, attempting to blink away her remaining drowsiness.

Doing her best to completely erase the memory of her most recent dream, Buffy then lobbed a glance in Spike’s direction, hardly surprised when her eyes became locked with those of her former enemy. “Morning,” she said softly, gladly startled when the creature chose to simply stare rather than growl in response. For a fleeting moment, the Slayer found herself wondering if Spike had managed to sleep at all during the night, perhaps give his mind a chance to rest from the shock of such a new environment.

Feeling as if her inner navigator had recovered from the sometimes-disorienting act of sleep, Buffy decided to climb out of her makeshift bed. Every movement contributing to the task of standing was a highly predictable one, the Slayer making sure of such so that Spike would have no concrete reasons to fear her. “See?” she said once standing straight, face neutral as it pushed out her gentle voice. “Just Buffy…”

Spike gave no response, visual and audio features apparently turned off at the moment. Only his azure stones remained in motion, scanning the room every few seconds before diving into Buffy’s line of vision, remaining there until his instincts ordered otherwise. Everything the vampire had known for hundreds of centuries absolutely screamed that this environment was perilous, and yet the tiny shard of logic he possessed stated otherwise. Never before had torture waited so long to pounce upon him, and never before had the bearers of such unearthly pain come in such pleasant packages, able to deliver such Heavenly vocal tones.

A breath was shared between the two entities, the lungs of both blonde haired figures filling and compressing in unison. Although it should have served as a way to push Buffy farther into her state of fascinated hypnosis, the incongruity of watching a vampire breathe actually brought her back to earth, feet refilling her pair of day-old socks. Tentatively, she moved forward, incomprehensibly strong footsteps meeting the floor of her mother’s bedroom without a noise.

And Spike was silent. Buffy had moved… Moved closer to him, and the vampire only watched. Another step, the action executed with her same cycle of slow, predictable movements, and still Spike refused to contest. Buffy wasn’t sure exactly what motivated her to do so, but her previous pathway toward the door was suddenly redirected, her third footfall now aimed in Spike’s direction.

You’re moving too fast, Buffy… There’s no way he’ll let you touch him… Logic-girl debated, every ounce of her experience with Angel helping to prove her point. No one had ever, would ever love her like Angel had, and yet he still flinched at her touch after an exponentially longer time on earth than what Spike had been granted so far. Shut up, brain… Yes, Angel loved you… But you were in school back then… You couldn’t just fall asleep beside him… Spike watched you for… she checked the clock. 11:30… He watched you for eight hours… That’s gotta be worth something, right? Right.

Agreeing with adventure-Buffy, the Slayer’s appendage fell forward yet again, rationality left stranded in her subconscious mind. Spike could do nothing but watch in apprehension, eyes darting between Buffy’s legs, which were now in line with his kneecaps, and her glass orbs.  “It’s okay,” she said, monotone voice greatly dampened. Spike still refused to relent his state of calm panic.

Another tentative step forward, another pause, and Buffy was finally ready to perform the action her muscles had been anticipating for eternal moments on end now. The Slayer didn’t back down when Spike’s locking gaze became slightly vicious. A cool atmosphere had settled around her, and she refused to let it go. If Buffy was going to get anywhere with the vampire, she couldn’t afford being startled by his reactions when she was in no danger.

Now… Now… Now… her mind chanted, constantly giving the go-ahead for her daring move, and yet the Slayer remained statue-like. Everything about the timing was perfect, except for one small aspect. Spike never seemed ready.

In many ways it was absurd to be concerned with the preparedness of a Hell-crazed vampire, but every time her biceps muscles were inclined to conjure movement, his cerulean eyes would become steel blue. You can’t wait forever, Buffy… the Slayer’s mind pointed out after several failed commands. And it… she… that part of her was right. It was now or never, and she’d already come this far.

Taking a deep yet audibly invisible breath, Buffy reset her jaw, hoping the movement would also help in improving the structure of her confidence. Fingers flexing, she simply awaited the final, collected direction of her consciousness. All right… she prompted. One… Two… Three… Now!… the instruction was concrete this time, landing in the Slayer’s stomach like a cinder block.

But it worked. Milliseconds passed, and her arm was already extending itself at a leisurely yet daring pace. Any onlooker would instantly declare that the movement wouldn’t conclude for another eternity, but Buffy knew what she was doing. Fingertips outstretched, eyes shifting from their ends to Spike’s eyes and back again in a repeated cycle, the Slayer’s arm voyaged into uncharted oblivion, almost quivering in anxious excitement of the moment when she would reach his epidermal tissue.

Everything stopped. Buffy’s ragged breathing was cut off as her digits reached the breaking point, fleshy pads finally touching down upon a set of firm pectorals. Spike’s initial response was to recoil with a most violent form of hatred, but his muscles were paralyzed, his voice disabled.

If her form of contact had been any one of cold, metallic, or even slightly serrated in nature, Spike could have, would have screamed. If the expression on her face had resembled the murderous smirks of his eternal torturers, the vampire would have exploded with a violent force comprehensible only by fellow victims of Hell. But her touch was none of those things. It was soft, dull, comfortably warm. Buffy’s facial features were tender, almost timid, and calming.

Spike had found a moment of serenity beneath the hand of his natural enemy.

“Hello Buffy!” a cheery yet digitally created voice penetrated the electrically charged atmosphere, and Buffy could practically feel everything that was tame between she and Spike instantly disappear. Emerald eyes found his after a disoriented struggle, but the sapphire jewels were already hostile in nature, making it impossible for her to connect with the shred of humanity she knew she’d uncovered in that moment of peace.

Blonde locks spun in a flurry of movement as the Slayer turned to meet her opponent, a gaze that was filled with dismay landing instantly upon… herself. The Buffybot. Of all the… ‘people’… who could have interrupted us… Buffy thought bitterly. “Hi,” she smiled, speaking with curt annoyance. Behind her, Spike was growling as his gaze fluttered back and forth between the two Buffys, obviously confused by the appearance of his captor’s ‘twin’. 

“It is a beautiful morning, isn’t it?” the Slayer’s replica gave yet another of her disgustingly bright smiles.  It looked as if she had been on the verge of trailing down some random subject, but in that moment the machine’s eyes landed upon a certain platinum-haired figure. “Spike!” she exclaimed, eyes widened in surprise. “You’re alive! He’s alive!” her voice rang with joy, the latter half of her statement directed toward a not-so-enthusiastic Buffy.

“Not so fast, Barbie,” the Slayer ordered, stepping in front of her robotic double as it began the few strides it would take to reach Spike. Hands firmly clenched upon the android’s upper arms, Buffy spun her around, ushering her hastily toward the doorway.

“Barbie? Who’s Barbie? My name is Buffy!” the bot blabbered as she was lead from Spike’s chamber, animalistic snarls following their every footstep.

“What are you doing here?” Buffy said with exhausted frustration, closing her mother’s bedroom door. Every effort was made to avoid eye contact with the robot as it spoke; somehow the Slayer found it impossible to feel comfortable while speaking with herself.

“Willow sent me” she replied, candy-glossed voice almost too bright for eleven o’clock.

“Willow? Why would she send you here?” Buffy frowned, not understanding why her best friend would order the machine to see her while she was in the process of tending to Spike.

“She wanted me to tell you that everyone is on their way here. She felt it was the most logical decision because your house is closest to the spot where they were attacked” Buffybot supplied, a faint hint of pride scribbled across her latex features.

Buffy’s stomach, on the other hand, did a back flip. “Attacked?” her frown deepened, sensations of fear beginning to erase her annoyance.

“Yes. Willow and the others took me out for lunch with them because they didn’t want to leave me alone in Xander’s apartment. We were sitting at the…”

“Buffy!” Xander’s voice cut the robot off though, he and every member of the Scooby gang spilling through the Summers’ front door. “Buffy, are you home?” he called again, worry sewn into his voice.

“I’m here!” Buffy assured him, a longing gaze tossed toward her mother’s bedroom door before she turned on the robot. “You, come with me,” she ordered, hurrying down the stairs, followed closely by a mechanical human.

Every muscle in the Slayer’s body was paralyzed within an instant of seeing her friends, the entire group looking as if it had been shoved through a war zone. “Oh God…” she muttered, top lip curling up in sickened shock. “What… What happened?”

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Noise. Voices. Thunder. Danger.

Spike couldn’t escape it. Unrecognizable sounds pummeled him from every direction, every significant echo bringing with it the potential for injury. For centuries his life had consisted of nothing but pain, torture, and undiluted insanity. It didn’t matter if he screamed; it didn’t matter if he refused to scream. Either way, the vampire was torn limb from limb, his innards serving as the inspiration for infinite works of carnal art.

For centuries, Spike been chained to a wall day in and day out. His body, mind, and heart had been at the disposal of whatever demon was assigned to the duty of tormenting him.

So what was he supposed to make of… this?

Despite the cacophonic sounds setting his sense of hearing aflame, every other sense possessed by the vampire was surprisingly… comfortable.

Not a single weapon or seemingly demonic creature had invaded Spike’s sight since he’d regained consciousness. Everywhere he looked there was… colour. Burgundy, gold, maple, white; they were alien to the vampire, but in a way that made his instincts practically purr in delight. Physically, Spike found his senses touched in a way they hadn’t been in… well, forever. Chains… where were the chains and the cold, ruthless brimstone? Except for the slight cramp in his oddly positioned arms, the vampire’s entire body was singing in pleasure amidst his new form of bondage.

And that… creature. The one he could only assume looked like his own species. It had behaved so strangely, so unlike the demons he’s become accustomed to. Instead of instantly pulling out an array of torturous artillery and cutting into his flesh, it had remained at a distance. When it had spoken to him, the sound had been calming to his ears rather than painful, although his violent instincts hadn’t noticed at first. To further emphasize its pattern for anomalous actions, the ‘beast’ had then placed itself into a seat and closed its eyes, remaining virtually motionless and soundless for… Spike couldn’t even tell how long it had remained idle.

It had touched him, too. His entire body was blissfully electrified even though only her fingertips had been involved in the connection.

All of these wonderful sensations, including the unidentified being’s actions were now causing a few questions to arise within Spike’s instincts, imploding any need for endless screaming. History told him to ignore the surroundings and whatever pleasure they brought him. It was all a hoax, every aspect designed to create a false sense of hope before being demolished by Lucifer’s henchmen.

But… everything around him seemed so real, so genuine. When was the last time he’d been granted so many gifts, from a pleasant setting to having his usually naked body now covered with yet another supply of soft material? Even the sudden intrusion of that other creature hadn’t been so terrible. In the end she hadn’t hurt him, just startled him. But was that just part of some grand scheme, too?

It was too much for Spike’s simple mind to take in, and too much to ignore as well. For now, he could do nothing but wait. After all, in the end, what did he really have to lose?

“So you’re saying these demons just attacked you in broad daylight?” disbelief was scrawled across the Slayer’s features as she glanced once again to each of her mangled friends.

“Either that or we’ve all got incredibly twisted and powerful imaginations,” Xander laughed dryly, attempting to use his humour to benefit a somewhat devastating situation.

“I just don’t understand why these guys would attack you in the middle of the day. I mean, so far we’ve figured out that they’re smarter than most demons,” she paused, contemplating possible answers to her next statement. “So why would they go after you in a public place at eleven in the morning?” she shook her head, able to count on one hand the number of demons who had tried that during all her years as a Slayer, one of which was currently her houseguest.

“Maybe it’s because they could,” Willow suggested, extracting confused glances from her companions. “Well I mean, both times we’ve come up against these guys, it’s been while you, or at least the real you, hasn’t been around,” she said, hoping she was explaining herself correctly.

“So… you think these demons are actually after Buffy, but they’re trying to take us out first?” Tara offered with a shy smile, her hands twined intimately with Willow’s.

“Makes sense,” Xander spoke up, obviously comprehending the witch’s point. “After all, what good would a general be without his army?”

“And what good is an army without its general?” Tara supplied again, eyebrow lifting as she spoke. “Especially against a group of demons.”

“Well in that case, I’d like to know how they can tell when we’re out with the bot and not you,” Xander thought aloud, brows furrowing.

“It’s not that difficult, really” Anya said casually from her spot on the Summers’ couch. “Most demons have the ability to tell if something’s alive or not,” she shrugged, causing a somewhat defeated and now desperately-thinking look to cross Xander’s face.

“Okay, true enough. But even then, how do these guys know that Buffy is the Slayer?” Xander waved his hands about in his signature, maniacal way.

“Well, didn’t Dracula say that Buffy is known throughout the world? That a lot of demons know where she lives?” Dawn questioned, clutching her surely bruised elbow.

“Yeah… All it would take is a bit of reconnaissance work to find out who you are,” Willow said with a slight frown, sighing amidst a gloomy atmosphere. She didn’t notice the slightly hurt look Xander sent her, the carpenter wishing that she and Dawn could have at least pretended that there was some difficulty to be found in answering his question.

“Did any of you guys get a good look at their faces?” Buffy prompted after a few moments of silence, her voice hopeful.

“Unfortunately, yeah” Xander said in a monotone voice. Buffy raised an eyebrow, wondering why a visual identification of the offending creatures was considered a negative thing. “I mean, only because in order to do so, Dawn had to be pinned on the ground by one of them, while another had Tara by the throat and shoved against a wall,” the carpenter quickly defended himself, receiving an apologetic look from the Slayer.

“Well in that case, are you guys up for some research?” Buffy looked around at her friends, fully prepared for and willing to accept any words such as ‘no’ and ‘not a chance’. Unless the demons were threatening to immediately bring on yet another Apocalypse, she would be perfectly happy with letting research go for just one night.

“Only if you promise not to start until after 6:00” Anya quickly spoke up. “Saturdays are prime business days, and it is very difficult to promote the exchange of goods for money when the store looks more like a library, and it is especially unpleasant when people have to be told that the books are in fact not for sale,” she glanced at the now blank faces of her comrades, and quickly taking it as a sign that she was babbling, the ex-demon quieted almost immediately. She did, however, expect the others to respect her very valid points. 

“That’s fine,” Buffy replied simply, giving everyone a soft smile. “It looks like you guys could use a bit of time to recover anyway,” she said understandingly, brushing her fingers through her hair with a yawn.

“So does that mean we can go now then?” Anya prompted again, expressing a somewhat hopeful look. “I told Giles that I’d be in at 12:30 to help him with the always exciting task of making money,” she smiled, remembering fragments of conversations that she’d had with Xander on the topic of tact. “Not that our present situation isn’t important, but Giles can hardly be trusted with the duty of making as many sales as possible during peak hours,” the brunette amended, obviously assuming that her comrades understood.

“You guys go on,” the Slayer said with an amused roll of her eyes. “Just make sure you let Giles know what’s happening.”

Xander nodded, following Anya as she exuberantly bounced toward the front door. Salutations were muttered informally, seconds dragged by, and at the end of it all, Buffy was left standing on the inside of her front door. With an internal groan, she then shuffled toward her living room, choosing to lean against the doorframe rather than take a seat for now.

“So, how’s the undead man walking?” Willow asked, a smile barely hinting at the edges of her lips.

Buffy sighed, casting a quick glance in the general direction of her mother’s bedroom. “Hard to say,” she said with a shrug. “I mean, he’s definitely freaked, no question about that… But it doesn’t seem like he’s as violent as Angel was when he got back… Then again I guess the fact that he’s tied to a bed kind of helps,” the Slayer chuckled, soliciting the same response from her friends.

“What are you gonna do about him when we’re at the Magic Box tonight?” Dawn asked, gaze dancing momentarily toward the same spot as Buffy’s had, wishing she could see Spike for even an instant.

With a groan, Buffy gave up her spot against the doorframe and flopped into the closest easy chair, letting out another puff of air before answering. “That’s the part I haven’t figured out yet,” she said with a slight wince. “If these demons are as battle-happy as you say they are, I don’t think it’s a good idea to leave anyone alone anywhere… This is definitely a situation where the ‘safety in numbers’ theory comes into play”. Buffy looked between the all-female group that was assembled before her, obviously encouraging any alternative ideas they might have.

Several moments slipped through the Scooby members’ hands, but when an idea finally struck Willow, she almost felt inclined to slap herself for letting its simplicity evade her for so long. “Ooh!” she exclaimed, even the hand that was clasped with Tara’s being flung in the air during her bout of enthusiasm. “A research party!” she said simply, bright eyes darting around the room.

Everyone, in turn, threw her questioning glances. No one quite understood what the Wicca meant, having interpreted their intended all-night session at the Magic Box as a ‘research party’. Understanding their confusion, the redhead obligingly explained.

“A research party” she repeated. “Only, we get Giles and Xander to bring some books over here…” Willow paused for her friends to mull over the idea briefly, her eyes bright as she continued explaining. “So it’s like, we still do the research, but we’ve also got milk and cookies to help out in the motivation department!”

When she finished speaking, everyone in the group was already wearing contemplative expressions. Dawn looked the most enthusiastic of everyone, Tara’s smile was more supportive than decisive, and Buffy was plainly unreadable. Willow was about to speak up, but a shrug from the Slayer cut her off. “Sounds like a lot of unnecessary work with the lugging of the books and all… not to go all Giles on you or anything,” she laughed. “But… it might actually be a good idea. There’s no telling how long Spike’s gonna be out of service in the mental department, so maybe it’d be best if we set up temporary shop around here for a while.”

“S-speaking of Spike,” Dawn spoke up almost timidly, eyes flickering between her sister and the staircase.

“No,” Buffy established quickly, not needing psychic powers to anticipate what her sister was getting at. Dawn almost looked hurt in response, and the Slayer didn’t hesitate to justify herself. “Dawn, I know you’ve missed him. I do. But it’s really not a good idea to be visiting him right now.”

Ignoring the sincere glow to her sister’s eyes, the brunette rolled her eyes. “Why, because he’s dangerous? He’s tied to a bed!”

“It’s not that,” Buffy shook her head, wanting to quell the impending argument before it began in light of the fact that Willow and Tara were already looking somewhat uncomfortable. “Look,” she said with soft authority. “Spike’s been through a lot since the last time you saw him. Right now, he’s confused, violent, and probably just scared. I don’t think it would be smart to bring anyone new into the picture just when he’s starting to get used to things,” she sighed, seeing that although she was incredibly disappointed, her sister understood. “You’ve already waited this long, Dawnie… Just give it a couple more days.”

Dawn sighed, slumping into the couch’s highly cushioned back as she rolled her eyes. “Fine. But as soon as he’s better or whatever…”

“You’ll be the first one to see him,” the Slayer completed her sibling’s sentence with a nod. “I promise… Well, next to the Buffybot, that is,” she laughed wryly.

Everyone looked mildly intrigued by this statement, so for lack of something better to say, Buffy proceeded to explain. “Earlier today, just before you guys came in I was upstairs with Spike… It seemed like I was actually making some progress with him too, until of course she came crashing through the bedroom door,” remembering Spike’s partially aggressive reaction, the Slayer winced. “It wasn’t pretty,” she said, shaking her head faintly.

Willow looked slightly bashful in response to Buffy’s story, having been the one who sent the ‘bot over in the first place. Perhaps it was due to this case of guilt, or just her natural gift for solving problems, but another idea diffused into the redhead’s mind in that moment. “Hey, speaking of the Buffybot,” she began, contemplative eyes becoming focused. “Why don’t we get it to move all of Giles’ books instead?” she offered, looking around at her colleagues. “I mean, the least it could do is help out,” she added, knowing the robot was willing to accept any duties laid upon her, no matter how tedious they may be. That, and with her inhuman strength, the android could no doubt carry three times her weight in text books, which meant the job would get done faster.

Buffy took about five seconds of contemplation before an answer rolled past her lips. “Cool” the Slayer shrugged, appearing indifferent either way. In her mind, it didn’t matter what her mechanical twin was up to, as long as she was guaranteed to stay out of trouble. “Speaking of which,” she said, suddenly frowning. “Where did our wacky metallic sidekick go?”

“Oh, uh, don’t worry” Willow quickly offered, knowing her friend was probably concerned that Spike’s privacy was in danger of being victimized again. “I told her to go sit in the dining room when we first got here… she usually listens to me.”

Buffy relaxed, nodding. The last thing she needed was for Spike to lose any trust he’d built up in her favour due to some intrusion by the clueless robot. Stupid Warren and his life-sized Barbies she ground out mentally, despite the fact that the ‘doll’ in question had helped in averting at least one Apocalypse so far.

“Well, we should probably go now, before the Buffybot really does decide that it’s time to start exploring,” Willow suggested, glancing at Tara and Buffy, who both voiced their approval. “We’ll head over to the Magic Box, fill everyone in on the details.”

“Sounds like a plan” Buffy smiled, standing as the pair of Wicca’s did and trailing behind them to the front door.

Having obediently followed Willow’s orders as hoped, the Buffybot looked up from her seat in the dining room, a bright smile spreading from cheek to cheek upon seeing the trio. “Willow! Tara! Buffy! Hello!” she said, almost proving with her tone of voice that pure sunshine could in fact have a sound put to it. Approaching the doorway with an all too cheerful bounce in her step, the robot also became aware of Dawn’s presence. “Oh, and hello Dawn!”

The teenager waved unenthusiastically, not bothering to move from where she stood leaning against the living room’s doorframe.

“Are we on our way to go and fight unspeakable evil?” the ‘bot asked perkily, turning her attention back to the three older girls in automatic response to Dawn’s disinterest. 

“Uh, something like that,” Willow smiled hesitantly, sometimes forgetting that despite its apparent enthusiasm, the robot had no emotions to be injured by a negative answer. “Anyway, we’ll call you before we send the robot over,” she said, attention directed at the real Slayer as she opened the Summers’ front door.

Buffy let out a sound that was a half-groan, half-laugh. “Yay,” she said in a monotone voice. “Now my dreams of actually getting to live with the books I so adore will finally come true!” Buffy shook her head, playfully rolling her eyes. “Anyway, see you later, Will… Bye Tara.”

Compared to the exuberant salutation the Slayer and former Key received from the Buffybot, Willow and Tara’s good-byes seemed almost sombre, though forgivably so. What human could be expected to match the robot’s enthusiasm after being attacked by a group of demons only an hour or so before?

Buffy could do nothing but laugh as her two friends started down Revello Drive behind her synthetic twin, who almost appeared to be skipping as opposed to walking. Hands clasped as they followed behind it, Buffy had to admit that Willow and Tara truly displayed the affection of a perfect couple. Who knows, maybe there is still hope for finding everlasting love on the Hellmouth… she thought idly, letting out a wistful sigh as she closed the front door and turned to her sister. “So,” she muttered, offering a weak smile before looking around.

“So,” Dawn replied simply, arms now crossed as she continued to lean against the doorframe. “What are we supposed to do now?” she asked, one eyebrow lifting above facial features that were contorted with their usual posture of teenaged attitude.

“Dunno,” Buffy shrugged, purposely remaining ignorant of her sister’s not-totally-pleased demeanour. “Wanna… watch a movie or three?” she suggested with an airy laugh, wanting to engage in an activity that would take her mind as far away from their current guest-sitting-while-being-tracked-by-demons situation as possible.

Dawn rolled her shoulders in neutral response, refusing to admit that she didn’t hate the idea. “Whatever”, she said dismissively, turning back into the living room and flopping on the couch.

Already feeling somewhat exasperated from her sister’s behaviour despite her best efforts, Buffy let out another sigh. “All right, you pick out a movie then, and I’ll go make some popcorn,” she offered, waiting for her sister to agree before budging even an inch.

“Fine, but we get to watch whatever I want,” Dawn said snidely, obviously attempting to extract an angered response from her sibling.

My daily dose of random little sister rebellion… Buffy thought, wanting desperately to pinch the growing internal pain at the bridge of her nose, but refusing to weaken. “Deal,” she answered, nodding briefly. Before turning to the kitchen though, the Slayer raised a disciplinary finger, even shaking it once or twice as she spoke. “But don’t take this as an opportunity to sneak upstairs.”

“Or what?” Dawn smirked. “You’ll ground me?” she scoffed. “With these new demons in town, I’ll voluntarily ground myself,” she shrugged, obviously not threatened.

“Actually,” the Slayer said thoughtfully. “That’s not what I was planning at all… I was thinking something more along the lines of, oh, I dunno…” she paused a moment, a wicked smile appearing between her cheeks, though its true nature was partially masked with false pleasantry. “Showing up at your school on Monday, dropping in on one or all of your classes and,” she shrugged, “acting like a woman in her early twenties who still thinks she can pass for sixteen.”

Dawn took a moment to fully take in her sibling’s implications, her eyes already widened in partial horror. “You wouldn’t,” she said calmly, having thought that her sister would be the last person who might decide to mortify her in such a way.

“Are you sure?” Buffy tipped her head inquisitively to the left, one eyebrow partially furrowed. When Dawn gave no immediate answer, the Slayer shrugged. “Well, I’ll leave you to think about that, I guess… If you need me, just follow the scent of popcorn,” she said brightly, smiling before making a flawless exit.

Dawn sat petrified on the couch, staring after her sister with utter shock. But such a feeling quickly wore off, and the brunette rolled her eyes as she fell against the back of the couch with an exasperated sigh. “God…” she muttered, retaining her previous demeanour. “All I wanted to do was just say ‘hello’ to him,” she said, uncrossing her arms and heading for the cabinet in search of a movie. “No need to get all protective of your boyfriend.”

Buffy could not begin to explain just how utterly bored she was. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the type of boredom that was simultaneously relaxing, either, like the ‘day off, stay at home and do nothing’ kind of bored. No, the type from which she suffered was brought on by the fact that she was seated before a mountain of books written in languages she certainly didn’t understand. Her mind, therefore, began to wander in thousands of directions at once, desperately searching for some excuse that might alleviate her of her research duties for even a few moments.

Scanning her surroundings, only seconds escaped before she found the perfect escape route. Her emerald jewels fixated upon the nearby staircase, and immediately she began to formulate a plan. Thank God for resurrected vampires who, as it just so happens, haven’t been fed all day…

Triumphantly, she snapped closed the ancient book she had been staring blankly at for over half an hour now, making a desperate attempt in the meanwhile to hide the happy smile threatening to unfold between her cheeks. Lost in their own reading-induced slumber, every Scooby in the room glanced up, surprised by the sudden assaulting noise. “What’s up, Buffster?” Xander asked casually, eyes flickering between the closed text and his friend’s visage.

“Did you find something?” Giles inquired more formally, removing his glasses for a moment.

“If by ‘something’ you mean ‘absolutely nothing’, then yeah, I’ve found it in spades!” she said with as much false enthusiasm as she could muster. Giles gave her a somewhat stern gaze in response, and she sighed. “All right, I’ve got zip. Zilch. Nadda. Nothing. Less than nothing!” she amended. “I feel like I’m reading little-kid writing. These words mean absolutely nothing to me, Giles” she half-pouted.

Having had this exact conversation with his Slayer countless times over the years, Rupert was ready with his response, the one that always crippled her attempts at skipping out of research. “Well, what else do you propose we do, Buffy? You’ve said yourself that it is dangerous to leave anyone alone for an extended period of time, so patrolling is certainly out of the question” he said logically, continuing on his rant before she could cut in. “I understand that research is not your forte, but it really is our only option at the moment, wouldn’t you say?”

Usually, Buffy would have had no choice but to agree with her watcher. Lucky for her though, certain circumstances had arisen since their last research party, meaning that she was left with a loophole. “Actually,” her voice cut into Giles’ resolve, extracting a mildly surprised look from the Watcher through such simple defiance. “I was kind of thinking that… Maybe… Spike could use something to eat” off the ready-to-argue glance from Giles, Buffy quickly justified her point. “He hasn’t eaten since he, you know, got back, which is probably not a good idea seeing as how he just got back from Hell and all” she said with a wry laugh.

“Even though Buffy is obviously using it as an excuse to escape this boring research,” Anya began from across the living room, as usual able to attract everyone’s attention within seconds of using her voice. “I would have to say that I agree with her. From what I know Satan doesn’t make a habit out of feeding his guests, which is all fine and dandy in Hell because hey, who thinks of food when they’re being held over molten lava, right?” she smiled at her own light humour, the only one in the room currently doing so. “In other words, Spike’s probably hungry” Anya muttered when no one else seemed to join in her amusement.

Giles remained speechless for a moment, attempting in every way possible to find a way around the ex-demon’s argument, but every road quickly lead to a dead end. With a sigh, he nodded. “I suppose Anya has a point. I would hate for us to have gone through all this trouble only so that Spike would eventually rot away,” he said, replacing his glasses. “You may as well feed him, Buffy.”

Xander’s hand rose into the air at this statement. “Hey do you think I could help?” he asked, eyes glassy like those of a hopeful puppy. “My brain is starting to feel a little on the exhausted side too, you know.”

Before Buffy could cut in with her ‘this is really only a one-man job for now’ speech, Giles had smothered the carpenter’s plan. “Xander, I fail to recall a time when your brain was not feeling exhausted by even the simplest of mental challenges,” he said dryly, feeling no guilt at the almost hurt expression he received from the young man. “And besides, unlike Buffy your presence here is actually necessary seeing as though you have actually come face-to-face with this demon cult. She has not, so for now she is actually better off tending to Spike.”

Xander glanced from his best friend to the Watcher seated before him, and sank back into the couch with a disappointed sigh. “Stupid books with all their words… Who do they really think they’re impressing anyway?” he muttered, hardly noticing when Willow and Anya shot worried looks in his direction.

“All right” Buffy said with a deep exhale, attempting also to overlook Xander’s comment. “See you guys in… Well, I’m not sure how long… This could take a while, what with Spike being a complete nutcase and all.”

“Be careful” Giles insisted. “If you need help restraining him--”

“Giles? He’s tied to a bed. I really don’t think you can get more restrained than that” Buffy laughed good-naturedly.

“Yes, well…” the Watcher faltered for a moment. “Be careful,” he smiled amidst his slight blush, replacing his now gleaming glasses and going back to his reading.

Rolling her eyes while shaking her head in mild amusement, Buffy turned from her group of comrades. Oh, my family studies’ teacher would be so proud of me… ‘how to prepare body temperature blood for all your vampire guests!’… Buffy thought with slight amusement as she entered the kitchen, pulling out the mug, packet of blood, and thermometer that was needed to concoct what would be Spike’s first meal since returning to earth.

¤+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+---+¤

Spike wasn’t aware of how long he’d been lying here now, but it had certainly seemed like forever. Sunlight had come and gone; all day he’d been lying on his back, bombarded every hour by a multitude of suspicious sounds, each time expecting that some horrible creature would barge in on him and begin its attack. But so far, nothing had happened.

Doors had slammed, feet had thundered up and down the staircase, girls had yelled at each other from room to room, each time causing Spike to flinch in anticipation, only to be pleasantly disappointed when nothing of significance occurred. Every inch of his flesh was still undamaged, vacant of molten metal, shards of glass, or whatever types of shrapnel were usually pushed into his system. So it seemed that either Lucifer had somehow forgotten about him, or… he was somewhere… else.

But no, that couldn’t possibly be true. For hundreds, thousands, millions of years Spike had lived the same day-to-day existence; he would be reborn, experience hours of mind-blowing torture, and die only to be reincarnated so that the cycle could begin anew. There was no way that Satan would just allow that to end. This had to be a mistake, his going so long without pain. He must have just gotten lost in the system, his place on the schedule shuffled around to a later hour.

Looking around the once again darkened room, Spike’s silent reflection on his current situation was halted abruptly when the sound of approaching footsteps shattered his eardrums. Bleached head whipping to the doorway, his fine-tuned senses listened as sock-covered feet ascended the wooden staircase, creating a muffled tempo. Anticipation caused his unbeating heart to clench, his non-existent breathing to hitch, and every bound muscle in his limbs to seize.

Someone was coming.

This was it, Spike could only assume. They were finally coming for him, sharpened daggers and red-hot branding irons at the ready. His time of peace had come to a close, the hours he’d spent sprawled upon the comfortable bed having reached their conclusion.

Nostrils inhaling the scent of his room, the vampire’s eyes roamed his surroundings one last time, fingers pressing into what fabric they could find, cheek nuzzling the pillow, all done in an attempt to imprint this moment into his every sense. For the first time in countless millennia, perhaps even forever, Spike had been allowed a little while away from the rolling furnace and harsh brimstone of Hell. And he was going to remember it.

The picture firmly impressed upon his consciousness, the vampire tensed again, able to hear that the slow beat of footsteps had now come to rest outside the doorway. Everything had fallen absolutely silent, as if the entire world were holding its breath, waiting to see exactly what was about to step through the entrance.

The doorknob rattled… turned… released. A faint hint of light from down the hall had already begun to filter through the small chasm that was created, slicing diagonally down the centre of Spike’s agitated features. Watching as a few slender digits pushed the wooden structure, its hinges crying out with the effort and being the only sound to invade that vacuum of silence, Spike continued to hold the breath he didn’t even need, not a single fibre in his body daring to move.

Door now fully open, a shower of amber light blanketing most of the bedroom, Spike vocalised his anticipation of torture with a near-silent growl, the sound resonating as if his voice box were trapped beneath a mountain of pillows. He was quite obviously afraid of whatever would be coming through that door, but Hell, it couldn’t hurt to put up an image of courage.

Spike watched with blue eyes made even more brilliant by the bathroom light, as through the door strode…

It…

Her…

Although he should have known better, for some reason a sense of absolute, undiluted relief crashed through the vampire’s system when she stepped through the door. His guttural growl ceased to exist, his wrists relaxed ever so slightly against their bonds, and his eyelids fell, drooping over the glass orbs for a moment.

When they reopened though, his defensive composure had reasserted itself slightly, the vampire’s subconscious knowing that this wasn’t necessarily proof that he was out of danger. Always have to be on guard. Always.

“Hey Spike,” Buffy said softly, feeling somewhat awkward making use of her voice in the dead silence that surrounded them. The scene was almost eerie; she couldn’t hear her friends, was bathed in complete darkness except for the light from the bathroom, and was about to enter a room that caged her once mortal enemy turned mindless animal. Lucky for her though, being a Slayer for five years had helped to raise the bar of definition between ‘scary strange’ and just plain ‘strange’.

Heaving a deep sigh in an attempt to flush out the many thoughts that were buzzing through her mind, Buffy stepped farther over the threshold, closing the door as softly as she could with the use of one foot. And suddenly, it was pitch black. “Great idea… Close the door before turning on a lamp,” she grumbled to herself, casting an almost accusing look in the direction of the window, whose closed curtains made it impossible for any errant light to enter her mother’s bedroom. Guiding herself as best she could, using the red glow of the alarm clock as navigation, Buffy set the mug down on the nightstand, attempting to dismiss the half-whimpering, half-growling sounds scampering from Spike’s lips. “Close your eyes,” she warned Spike, finding the bedside lamp and giving its switch an authoritative twist.

Light exploded before Spike’s eyes, his proximity to the lamp making it seem like some nuclear blast. Head wrenching to the side, eyelids clamping shut, he let out a grunt of dissatisfaction, though was foggily thankful that so far it was the worst form of torment he’d experienced.

“Oo!” Buffy winced, also blinking in an attempt to adjust. “Sorry…! But you know, it’s either that, or have me spill your blood all over the place” she said good-naturedly, speaking to the vampire even though he obviously wouldn’t be able to understand a single word. “Anyway, just uh, hang tight for a second. I’ve gotta get myself a chair,” she smiled despite the fact that Spike’s head was turned, crossing the room to the easy chair she’d lounged in the previous morning. Sliding it over beside the bed, she sank into its relaxing depths, and realised then that the vampire was still turned away from her. Note to self: don’t ever, ever do anything that might increase your chances of getting sent to Hell, she thought wryly, thinking that if a place was so bad that its affects could make her feel sorry for Spike, she definitely didn’t want to visit.

Eyes wandering over his form with a newer and almost curious sense of compassion, Buffy made an attempt at getting his attention. “Spike?” she ventured, forcing her hands to remain in her lap. “Spike? You unalive over there?” the Slayer inquired with a short, airy laugh.

‘Spike… Spike… Spike…’--There was that sound again. She always seemed to be using it as a way of referring to him. It was almost familiar, like some ancient syllable that had once meant something significant, but at the moment was nothing more than a noise. She was obviously attempting to catch his attention though… For what, he wasn’t sure, but… he had to find out sooner or later, and there was no time like the present.

Slowly, timidly, his cranium twisted, the room shifting around him as he moved to face the creature at his left. The light that had bombarded him, he realised, was not so harsh anymore; it was sort of a comforting glow now, painting the room in the same hues that had been visible in the daylight. Skull continuing to turn, it seemed like an eternity until finally, his pair of sapphires fixed upon their sought-out target. It was the thing… creature… being, who so far had brought him nothing but comfort. The cramps in his arms could in some ways argue that point, but even that was heavenly compared to the agony he’d experienced in his lifetime.

“Hey there,” Buffy said, smiling delicately as her emerald eyes fixed with Spike’s. When they did so though, she suddenly found herself breathless, caught somewhat off-guard by the realisation of just how… close she was to the vampire. Mere inches were all that separated them; his bound and vulnerable body was sprawled out before her in a picture of falsified weakness. At some point too, the sheet he’d been covered with had slid down to his waist, leaving a perfectly sculptured alabaster chest in its wake, his two rose nipples like beauty marks upon the skin. Suddenly, the memory from that very morning, when her fingers had pressed upon his chest for mere seconds, sprang to mind, and the tips of her digits became suddenly itchy, wondering how it would feel to just caress him, even for a second.

As if he could sense what she was thinking, the movements of her eyes and their lack of hostility making it somewhat obvious as to what was going on behind them, Spike made… a noise… in response. It was animalistic, to say the least; almost a whimper, but added to it was an element of wonder, as if he were startled by the notion and intrigued by it at the same time.

It snagged Buffy’s attention, ripping her out of the reverie she’d been caught in and setting her spine straight. Holy… What the… What was that?! she scolded herself, eyes going slightly wide. First of all, you know what his skin feels like… how many times have you fought him over these past few years? Second of all, are you insane?! There will be no…’physical’… curiosity about the vampire you’re about to feed a mug of blood to… There will be no curiosity about him at all for that matter!

Satisfied with her self-disciplining, Buffy shoved all such related thought material from her mind and focused on the task at hand. Taking up the mug that had, fortunately, not lost any of its heat so far, she held it up for the vampire to see. “Anyway, I brought you some dinner,” she swallowed hard at the thought of just what his dinner was. “I’m sure that after the… you know, forever in Hell, you’ll want something to eat by now,” she chuckled softly, realising only now and with slight disappointment that Spike was staring at her with a curious but on-guard expression, as if her voice weren’t really existent in his mind. Not that she expected anything more, but it would have been nice if it had seemed as if her talking was affecting him in some way or another.

Cautiously, so as not to agitate him in any way, Buffy began moving the mug toward Spike’s mouth, idly wondering if he’d even remember the smell of blood anymore. But then, her motion suddenly stopped. The mug five inches from Spike’s face, which was now slightly more contorted with nervousness, Buffy paused in her movements when a realisation hit her.

Spike was lying flat on his back, with no way to sit up even in the slightest. Of course, there was no chance of him choking in any way, but the Slayer was repulsed by the idea of having to get pig’s blood out of her mother’s mattress. The only other option though was to re-work some of Spike’s bindings, loosen something here, maybe re-position something there… Either way, there was going to be work involved. Locking eyes with Spike for a fleeting instant, Buffy set the mug back onto the nightstand before standing up, a plan for how she was going to accomplish Spike’s feeding already formulating in her mind.

Okay Buffy, first of all, remember that you can’t trust him to go along with everything you do. So, safety first… She thought firmly, pulling two more bed sheets out of her mother’s drawers, deciding that she’d fixate his arms in their new positions and then untie the ones she already had him bound with. Rolling up the floral-pattern linen she currently held, Buffy approached the bed for the second time that evening, but this time to Spike’s right.

Very gently, and with predictable movements as always, the Slayer set herself down on the mattress, her feather-like frame creating only a slight indent.

Spike snarled then, eyes going slightly wide at her dangerous proximity, his torso reflexively attempting to inch away from her.

“I-It’s okay, Spike…” she said softly, almost nervously. But the vampire’s fear did not dissipate… His eyes remained wide as saucers, his body flexing in an almost unnatural manner so as to distance himself from her as much as possible. Definitely a turn from the collected composure he’d had only a moment ago.

“It’s all right,” she said again, wishing for once in her lifetime that Spike could respond to her in English. “I’m not gonna…” she sighed, glancing at the blanket in her hand and deciding on an immediate course of action. “Look,” she said, pressing the fabric to what she could see of Spike’s palm. “It’s soft, see…? So unless being in Hell turned you into a complete wimp, this shouldn’t bother you one bit.”

Spike seemed to let go of his fear when the linen was brushed along his epidermis, understanding that the material was the same as the comparably pleasant fabric around his wrists and ankles. The extreme width of his eyes became more diminished, the curve in his upper-body decreasing in its severity as well. ‘Okay’, his relaxing seemed to say. ‘Things have been pleasant so far… I’ll trust you on this one… For now, at least’.

Knowing that her window of opportunity in terms of his shift in mood could quite possibly be rather slim, Buffy set to work immediately after witnessing the vampire’s change in demeanour. Her hands were finely tuned instruments, wrapping her mother’s bed sheets around Spike’s wrists with swift precision, and securing them around the headboard just as efficiently. Within five minutes she had the vampire bound by two completely new tethers, the sheets she’d originally used discarded into a distant corner of the bedroom.

Her mission completed, Buffy sat back with a triumphant exhalation, deciding mentally that bed sheets weren’t exactly the best way to tie people up despite their obvious comfort value. “All done” she said almost cheerily, not knowing where such an attitude could have been pulled from. “If you’ll test out the new sheets, I think you’ll find you won’t be disappointed” sounding like a perfect saleswoman, Buffy added the trademark smile as well, wondering briefly if maybe she should consider such a field as her secondary career, but dismissing the thought just as quickly.

Spike stared blankly at her in response though, obviously not understanding the significance of what she’d just done. He knew she’d changed the sheets that had been wrapped around his wrists, but the action didn’t mean anything more to him. What he had noticed though was the fact that although the strange creature’s appendages had come in contact with his many times, and although the opportunity for her to do some damage to him had been existent throughout the entire ordeal, he was still perfectly unharmed. To say the very least he was surprised… and pleased… and truly considering the idea that he could, for some reason, trust this girl. She was different from every beast that had crossed his path throughout eternity; there was something about her features that was even more than comforting, a way she treated him with tenderness that seemed sincere even though it was impossible for such to be true. She was—

Moving… Closer- Her hands…

Buffy couldn’t just let him lie there like that. For over a day now his arms had been contorted at that horrible angle; surely his muscles would permanently cramp up if not given the chance to stretch… And anyway, how else was she supposed to feed him, right? Spike did deserve to be comfortable, but Buffy was really doing this for her own convenience.

Sudden panic washed over the vampire’s form like a bucket of ice, causing him to go rigid, and Buffy stopped. Her hands were outstretched slightly, her body leaning more towards him, moving in to manually unfold his contorted limbs. “Hey, hey, it’s okay…” she mumbled, a ‘you can trust me’ smile instantly tugging at the corners of her lips. “Just give me two seconds… You’ll feel a lot better; trust me.”

Nodding in an attempt to encourage the comparably calm composure he was maintaining, the Slayer pressed onward. She moved slowly, fluently, not pausing or flinching until her hands touched down upon their target…

Silk. Flesh so soft it could put a newborn child to shame. No one could have ever convinced her that Spike of all people was capable of having an epidermis that was so delightful to the touch if she didn’t feel it for herself. It was odd, to think that the creature she despised… Or, had once despised so dearly, could be so… beautiful.

No! Not beautiful… God! What is with you tonight, Buffy? Her inner self raged. Nothing… some alter ego quickly answered. And come on… Can you really blame me? I mean, look at him! How many guys have that kind of muscle on them? Admit it… You know he’s not exactly difficult on the eyes…

Fine… Ego #1 answered huffily. Fine, I’ll admit to him being… she swallowed hard… hot. But you have to swear that you are not thinking of him in that way!

Oh, God no! ‘Go Spike’s Body’-Buffy answered wholeheartedly. I mean, it’s Spike we’re talking about here. I said I liked how he looked… Not how he… is. She shuddered at the very thought of whatever Buffy #1 could have been suggesting.

Anyway! She thought, this time with all portions of her personality at once. Getting back to the task at hand…

Giving her head the subtlest shake she could manage, the Slayer cleared the sometimes-noisy voices that had set up camp in her cranium for the past few days. Her thumb giving his forearm an almost affectionate brush, furiously attempting to ignore its milky texture in the meanwhile, she then guided his wrist outward, gently untangling it from the position it had been caught in for nearly twenty-four hours.

Brow having wrinkled, the vampire oblivious to the fact that he’d even made an expression in the first place, he marvelled at the relief such a simple action had suddenly brought to his limb. Spike had been very curious about what she’d been doing at first, that small and persistent voice in the back of his head screaming that danger was finally on its way. And once again it had been snuffed out when extreme pleasure wrestled through his veins instead of pain. Realising the existence of his other arm, the bleached blonde took it upon himself to unfold it, amazed for a second time when endorphins rushed through his system in response.

He sighed with relief, eyelids fluttering closed in silent appreciation of what was perhaps the hundredth wonderful thing that had occurred since he’d woken that morning.

Buffy couldn’t help but smile. “See? Told you it’d feel better…” she breathed, pausing for just one moment of silence before standing and circling the bed to the mug she’d brought upstairs. “Now, getting back to business… I hope you don’t mind blood de swine; it’s all we’ve got… I heated it up to 98.6° though, you know, since that’s the way you vampires prefer it” she said light-heartedly, idly caressing the pottery as its warmth diffused through her body.

“Anyway, um” she paused, looking between the edge of the bed and her mother’s ancient easy chair. With a nervous sigh, some part of her consciousness not understanding why her nerves were so shot, the Slayer finally decided to simply surrender, at which point she planted herself on the mattress. “Yeah, you’re kinda gonna have to sit up for this…” she laughed nervously. “Not that you could choke on it either way, but trying to feed a vampire blood while he’s laying down could get messy beyond proportions that I don’t even want to fathom”.

This time, Buffy finally realised that her instruction for the vampire had really been for her own benefit, filling the void of silence with her voice simply for the sake of it. Giving him any time to actually sit up was pointless. He didn’t understand her, not a single word. She got that. It had been no different with Angel.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Buffy once again set down the cup of blood, and inched forward on the mattress until she was practically hovering over her peroxide-dyed guest. As gently as her deft Slayer fingers would allow her, Buffy scooped Spike’s head into her hand despite the vocal and physical protest he gave. She held him steady, fingers digging into his scalp just enough to be assertive, making the Slayer happy for once in her lifetime that her fingernails routinely broke off during patrol.

Moving quickly so that her patient would not struggle further from any off-beat movements, Buffy snatched up the cup of blood for the third time that evening, and instantly brought the straw she’d added to it in line with Spike’s lips. “Okay…” she sighed. “Dinner is served.”

Buffy didn’t know why she expected that the bleached vamp would understand what to do with the plastic device. He stared at it with a mixture of question, fear, and visceral hostility, comprehension able to be found nowhere in his features. “Great…” the Slayer grumbled. “As if this hasn’t been strange or difficult enough… Now I’ve got to teach you how to drink out of a straw.”

Beginning to feel as if her new title should be “The Chosen One: She Who Gets Royally Screwed No Matter What”, Buffy brought the mug before herself, and gently took the plastic cylinder between her tender lips. “See, you just take it like this…” she said, holding the straw between her teeth as she spoke. “And suck,” she instructed, her cheeks becoming concaved as she drew some of the liquid up the straw in demonstration.

Buffy had to use every ounce of her will-power to not suddenly re-locate the contents of her stomach to a more external setting while she did so.

“Think you can handle it?” she gulped, quickly spitting out the straw and holding the vampire’s dinner before him once again.

Spike pulled the plastic utensil between his cool, satin lips at Buffy’s instruction, eyeing her with suspicion. When all he received in response was an encouraging nod, he made an attempt to mimic her demonstration. Sucking both cheeks in, he reflexively drew in a breath with it, and dark crimson liquid practically erupted out of the tube.

Buffy had assumed that when the first few droplets of his dinner splashed against his tongue, Spike would be put into a state of absolute bliss. His first taste of blood in who knew how long. But he instead spit out the straw, his eyes thrashing to a width more impressive than that of the Grand Canyon as he struggled to put as much distance between himself and the object in Buffy’s hand.

Why did he always seem to be doing that? She wondered dejectedly.

Frightened, shocked jewels of blue flickered between the porcelain mug and Buffy’s confused features, a whole symphony of growls and whimpers cascading from Spike’s rapidly contracting lungs. He continued to writhe and struggle, the fact that his attempts at escape were futile not seeming to register in his panic-stricken mind.

“Spike, what’s wrong? What is it?” the Slayer inquired, brows furrowed as she set the mug on the bedside table. His eyes followed the movement of the porcelain cylinder, and somehow Buffy was able to immediately comprehend his fear. The blood. He hadn’t necessarily been fed in Hell, but, oh God… the torture. So much blood… his blood… no wonder he’s terrified, she thought empathetically.

Spike continued to quiver, his sapphire crystals yo-yoing back and forth between Buffy and the damned utensil she’d attempted to use for feeding him.

God, in some twisted way, it was heartbreaking to watch his behavior. She almost- no wait -she did prefer the evil, cocky, trying-to-kill-me-on-a-daily-basis Spike to this. Hell, she’d rather have stalker Spike occupy her home for a full month if it meant she didn’t have to see him reduced to this snivelling creature. It just didn’t seem a justified destiny for the leather-clad warrior who had done the selfless things that he had to protect Dawn and defeat Glory, all with a satisfied smirk on his face. And expecting nothing in return.

All it took was that one realisation. Just a little brainpower on her part, and Buffy had decided exactly what she was going to do for this vampire.

Everything.

Absolutely, positively, no questions asked, everything to make sure that he was fully protected, and someday found himself in a state of complete recuperation.

A swipe of her arm, and the offending mug was cleared from Spike’s vision until she could sneak it out of the room during one of his hopefully oncoming bouts of sleep. Allowing a pitying gaze to linger on the vampire for a few brief moments, the Slayer couldn’t help it when just a small corner of her heart clenched in pain for him. Even though he’d done so much, sacrificed everything, the universe still decided to turn around and kick him in the ass. She had still decided to kick him in the ass. On many, many occasions.

Unravelling her fingers, which she wasn’t aware had been nervously tangling with each other in the first place, Buffy stood up and made a break for the door, already rehearsing an excuse in her mind. “Hey guys!” she called down the stairs as the lightweight piece of timber guarding the entrance to her mother’s bedroom was flung open.

“Yes, Buffy?” came Giles’ always-patient voice.

“I think it’d be best if everyone just wrapped it up for tonight--”

A fist-pump from Xander could be seen out of the corner of Giles’ still-sharp eye.

“Unless you guys think you can forge on without me, that is!”

And the carpenter’s excitement was extinguished. Ignoring the young man’s routine dislike for research, Giles removed his glasses and moved to the foot of the stairs. “What’s wrong, Buffy? Is everything all right up there?” he asked, a type concern written across his features that could stem from only a fatherly affection.

“Oh yeah… Yeah, everything’s great” she fibbed with a glance over her shoulder to the still deer-in-headlights-eyed Spike. “It’s just, you know… all these new scents floating around, I think it’s kinda freaking out our still-somehow-blonde guest” she informed her Watcher with a quirky smile. “I think someone should just stick up here with him, and being the Slayer and all…”

“Yes, yes I understand,” Giles muttered, rubbing at his eyes and looking back to survey his researching crew. A quick glance at his watch, and he was nodding in agreement. “Well it’s nearly three in the morning. I suppose we ought to get going home then,” he said, stifling a yawn. “We want to have some energy for researching tomorrow” he added to the rest of the group, receiving yet another deathly glare from Xander.

Spike was making his agitation quite vocal at this point, his ears obviously stinging from the arrangements being yelled up and down the stairs. “Sounds good! Later guys!” Buffy called down the stairs. “I’ll call you in the morning, Giles! Night!”

Even from her position on the couch, Dawn could hear the distinct sound of her mother’s door closing. Rather abruptly, too. Making sure that nobody was really listening, the teenager then began to singsong under her breath.

“Buffy and Spi-ike, sittin’ in a tree… k-i-s-s-i-n-g…”

“A puppy? Are you kidding? We barely have enough time for Miss Kitty Fantastico with all our Scooby work, Will,” Tara said with a soft smile, toying with her lover’s fingers.

“I know, but just think… a… puppy!” the redhead insisted, as if the petite statement explained everything. “All cute and cuddly with the tail-wagging…”

“But it would hardly be fair… I mean, cats are one thing; they can pretty much take care of themselves. But dogs are a different story” she insisted, peering into Willow’s shimmering eyes.

She seemed to deflate at that, looking down to where Tara’s hands were intertwined with her own. “I know,” she pouted. “It’s just, I always thought it would be fun. You know, get a black lab or something cute and cuddly like that.”

God, she was so irresistible like that. The way her bottom lip jutted out, looking even more nibble-able than it usually did. And that one eyebrow sort of drooped, making her look like a wounded toddler. It was the cutest thing ever. In response, Tara couldn’t help it when her chin pushed forward, catching those rosy lips for a quick, caring embrace, her eyelids fluttering shut. “Don’t worry, sweetie. We’ve got the rest of our lives ahead of us. Plenty of time to get a puppy,” she grinned, eyes still closed in lazy bliss.

“I had a puppy once… She was a bad girl though, barking all the time… But she did make a very good snack.”

Tara jumped at the voice, eyes flying open to the sight of a frail-looking, dark-haired woman. Instead of a pair of emerald jewels, it seemed that staring back at her now were two dismal icebergs, eyes the colour of midnight and infinitely more haunting. She scrambled out of the embrace, sitting up and scurrying a few feet away from the black widow that had somehow taken the place of her beautiful Willow. “Wh-Wh-Who a-are… Who are you?” she asked, eyes narrowed in a threatening manner despite the reappearance of her stutter.

“A little bird sent me here. Said that I must fly as quickly as I can to Sunnydale. My beautiful boy has returned, you know” she smiled, only a small portion of her sentence making any real sense. “Can’t have him falling into the wrong hands. He must at least be given a chance to live… Of course, the Slayer is being a very naughty girl. Rubbing her nasty fingers all over ‘im. ‘More pig’s blood, puppy?’” the black widow practically snarled as she mocked Buffy, black tar dripping from her voice.

“Puppy? Wh-what p-p-puppy?” Tara stuttered, instinctively creeping away from the frightening woman who had demolished a once peaceful setting.

“My Spike. He’s only just returned, and yet the Slayer wants to take him away from me already. I wish to have him back, but she’s not playing by the rules, tying him up all snug and warm.”

Tara tried to make sense of the woman’s slight gibberish. For a moment she just stared at the huntress who seemed able to create shadow under even the most direct sunlight. “Who are you?” the blonde girl repeated, those three words the only ones that would come clearly to her lips at the moment.

“I’m Drusilla,” the other woman repeated, a surprising amount of pride and competence encasing her voice this time. “And I will have my Spike back.”

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“Sssso vampire,” the demon hissed, orange eyes glowing menacingly. The red mask of skin he wore as a face stretched into a smirk. “Whichhh would you lllike…?” he then held up two utensils. One was a black cylindrical shaft, just over an inch in diameter, jet-black, its entire length littered by variously sized spikes. The other bared a slight resemblance to a ridiculously oversized fishing hook, complete even with a barb at its end. Its unique feature, however, was that it had some sort of corkscrew or drill-bit attached to the curved section, no doubt used for boring most unpleasantly through flesh and bone. Both instruments seemed to have a capacity to cause any living creature a devastating amount of damage. It just depended how many times they were stabbed with it.

Cerulean eyes shifted nervously between each of the instruments, completely aware that no matter which was chosen first, he would eventually experience the horrid sting of both devices. It was just a matter of when.

Couldn’t they just leave him alone for once? His feet were already charred beyond recognition, now nothing more than awkwardly shaped bundles of black and crimson, made glossy in some sections by the pus that was now oozing from every other region of blistered skin.

And that was only the beginning. There was also the fact that almost every square inch of his back had been sliced into by a rather dull and somewhat rusty scalpel. His ears had been ripped clean off. Six of his fingers were broken, along with eight of his ribs. His body was no less a mangled wreck than it usually was, yet these disfigured creatures still hungered for more carnage.

“What do you thhhink, Flaxxxelle?” the rose-hued beast hissed, turning to his partner.

Green eyes met orange ones, and Flaxelle, her plasma covered navy blue skin glinting amidst the light created by Hell’s inferno, plucked the hooked device from her comrade’s hand. “This one,” she answered in a high-pitched wheeze, black teeth showing beneath her wicked grin. She then began circling Spike, a distant squelch able to be heard as each of her fluid-covered feet was planted against the brimstone.

Spike watched each of her movements like a frightened cub, his entire body trembling now that he appeared to be going into shock. Not to mention the fact that he was scared shitless.

Flaxelle found footing directly behind him. Her weapon was poised at the ready, well-polished metal winking in the light, when suddenly…

“GgAAAArrRgggghhh!  AHHHH!” painful cries erupted from Spike’s lungs as the red-suited demon suddenly plunged his malicious weapon into the vampire’s chest cavity in a surprise-attack. Agony exploded in his blood vessels, shooting violently through every capillary and nerve ending that existed, his arteries clenching and pulsing, attempting to implode and explode in the same instant.

“AAAARRRRRRRrrrrr!” he howled again as this time Flaxelle buried her weapon into his back, the corkscrew device and the barb each hooking onto his spinal cord and twisting every nerve that ran up its centre. Of course, seeing as how he was in Hell, Spike’s body wouldn’t allow him to become totally paralysed, to be capable therefore of not even noticing every ounce of pain that streaked through him. Instead he was forced to bear it, a white screen suddenly appearing in his vision amidst the absolute anguish that stabbed through every fibre in his body.

“AAAAARRRRRGGGHHHHH! AAAHHHH! OhhHhHH! GLLaGGLLHH!” he continued to howl and scream, his cries turning into slightly distorted gurgling sounds as his lungs and windpipe began to fill with blood.

God, why couldn’t he just die? Why, every day, did he have to awaken to this mind-blowing torture? What had he done to deserve this, to be condemned to a permanent existence that consisted only of pain and suffering, if such weak words could even be used to describe the torment he experienced so continuously?

Was he really such a bad guy?

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Buffy yawned as she dropped herself back into the easy chair, droopy eyes just barely able to navigate their way back to the makeshift bed after the Slayer’s short bathroom break. Curiously she eyed the radio-alarm clock on her mother’s nightstand, thankful that the bright red numbers stood out so well in the pitch-black room. 4:00 am it announced, the colon that separated the number four from its additional minutes flashing coyly with every second that ticked by.

Impressive. She’d gotten three hours of sleep already, and it wasn’t even dawn yet. It had to be a new record for her since the Summers’ overly blonde guest had made his initial appearance. Spike was spared a quick glance from the Californian girl as she pulled her blanket back up, tucking it beneath her chin in a tight embrace. Only then did Buffy notice the anomaly in Spike’s behavior. Instead of sleeping like a true dead man- stiff, silent, and unmoving as he’d done over the past four nights -his head was now rocking back and forth, a whimper trickling from between his lips every few seconds.

Buffy frowned at that, wondering what could possibly be going on behind Spike’s closed lids to make him appear so… was he… frightened?

Well, this couldn’t be entirely of the good.

Frowning, the Slayer watched as various emotions and poses danced across her comrade’s face. With each second that passed away, the contortions that Spike created with his features grew increasingly violent and horrific. She was just about to stand up, to lower herself gently to the bed and attempt to offer him some kind of comfort, when the bleach-blonde’s lungs suddenly burst with energy and sound.

A roar erupted from Spike’s throat, practically shattering the walls with its intensity as it ricocheted around the room. Buffy jumped twice; the first was out of surprise, the second was when she hurled herself to the vampire’s side, hand immediately going over his howling mouth.

“Spike!” she said in a tone just barely above a harsh whisper.

Spike continued to scream behind her palm, veins bulging in his neck from the effort as his head twisted from side to side. Leg muscles clenched violently as the vampire attempted to kick out, each effort falling flat as his limbs were met by their linen restraints. His back arched, lifting him off the bed. Hands were balled into tightly knit fists, bicep muscles bulging from his creamy skin as he tugged on his cotton shackles. Spike’s entire body twisted back and forth in a roller coaster of uncoordinated but desperately powerful movements.

Those sheets aren’t going to last for long… Buffy realised, eyeing the fabric as it tried desperately to resist the immense force they were being tormented with. If she was going to keep Spike captive, she had to think fast. Luckily, five years running as a Slayer had made her a professional in that department.

Buffy tossed away her blanket, stopping for a split second to wonder how its soft woolly goodness had managed to cling to her this far. With actions so quick that she would easily put a cobra to shame, she got to work neutralizing her opponent. Her right hand replaced her left hand over Spike’s mouth, the now free limb reaching up to quickly brush away a few locks of hair that were dangling over her eyes. The next moment she moved in for the kill, left leg swinging over the vampire’s upper mast as her right leg jumped up to settle on his left side.

Now straddling her once sworn enemy, Buffy could get to work waking him up from what she could easily guess to be a recollection of his millennia spent in Hell. “Spike,” she tried again, tapping his cheek gently. “Spike, wake up. You’re just dreaming… It’s not real; you can wake up from it… Spike!” she insisted, continuing to give his cheeks urgent little pats and shaking his right shoulder. “Spike… Spike come-” Buffy gasped. Her emerald eyes went wide for a split second, jaw dropping as a few electric waves suddenly pulsed through her.

Spike, his back arching off the bed yet again in his unyielding struggle, had just managed to grind his pelvis up and into hers, sliding up and then back along her cloth-covered opening. Although he was soft, his track pants provided next to nothing in terms of restraining the bulge at the junction of his hips. Needless to say, the Slayer had taken notice of it. Just the feel of something other than her frantic hand rubbing against her pussy after all these months was enough to send stars swirling in her vision. If she wasn’t turned on before, she sure as hell would be if that happened again. Oh, God… help me… Buffy shuddered, using every ounce of her willpower to stop from ‘accidentally’ going in for a second helping.

Ugh, get a grip, Buffy! It’s Spike… creepy stalker guy with the fangs and bumpies… and washboard abs, not to mention now his obviously impressive co—Shut up! You’re being stupid! It’s just all this sexual tension that you haven’t been able to work out since Riley left. It’s doing weird things to your brain. Focus on the task at hand. De-nightmaring Spike.

Blinking away the dizziness that had been created when all those stars and fireflies danced into her vision, the Slayer became aware of her mission once more. “Spike, come on! Wake up! Spike!” finally fed up, instead of tapping him this time Buffy gave his shoulder a hard pinch, hoping it would do the trick.

And it did. Creamy white shields flew upward, exposing the vampire’s ocean-blue eyes to the dark of night. He looked around wildly for a few moments, head twisting from side to side as he struggled to comprehend the new images he was suddenly being barraged with. Buffy’s hand came away from his mouth, and the wounded creature began sucking desperately at air, buckets of the invisible fluid being drawn into lungs that didn’t actually require its presence. His brow glistened in the moonlight, the thin sheen of sweat that had accumulated there visible to the Slayer for the first time.

“Spike,” Buffy said calmly, gently but assertively taking his chin in her right hand so that he would look her in the eye. “It’s all right… You’re okay… It was just a dream,” she smiled. “Whatever they were doing to you,” she whispered, letting go of his chin to wipe away the sweat on his forehead. She brushed back his uncombed hair, her movements akin to a mother comforting an injured child. “It didn’t happen.”

As if to prove her point, the Slayer moved off of Spike, a deeply buried part of her screaming out that she was insane to relinquish such a wonderful position. “Look, not a mark on you” she smiled, using her eyes to indicate his unmarred chest.

He followed her gaze, seeing that his body, which should have been a mangled mass of blood and entrails, was perfectly fine. There were no puncture wounds, no scratches or blisters... just creamy skin, dotted by two dusty pink nipples and a small crater where his navel rested. Every mark that the demons had inflicted upon him moments ago was now non-existent.

“The magic of things that aren’t real,” Buffy said, grinning. Her gaze lingered upon the vampire for a few fleeting moments as she silently studied him, wondering for a moment when she had decided that Spike could be allowed to experience the more friendly side of her personality. “So,” she prompted, not wanting to dive too deeply into the subject of self-reflection, something she really wasn’t fond of. “Do you think you can go back to sleep and manage to not get yourself into anymore Hellish trouble?”

Spike continued to stare at her somewhat blankly.

“Good,” the Slayer smiled, bending over to retrieve her blanket before lifting herself off the bed. Spike whimpered in protest, beginning to grow rather fond of this apparently protective creature. “It’s okay,” Buffy assured him, looking back and meeting a set of pleading eyes. He looked so much like a wounded, helpless puppy. She just couldn’t resist pulling her chair next to the nightstand, the four-legged piece of furniture now resting at the head of the bed rather than close to its foot. “I’m not goin’ anywhere,” she promised, plunking herself down and curling up beneath her blanket again. It wasn’t long before the always over-tired Slayer had fallen onto that fluffy pink cloud in dreamland.

Spike, on the other hand, remained awake for a little while longer. He wasn’t thinking of anything in particular. There was nothing strange about this situation that needed to be puzzled over. Instead of thinking, he just watched. He focused on the strange creature in front of him, the one that seemed to want nothing more than to help him. When she touched him, it was gently. When she spoke, her voice was musical. She protected him from the dangers of this new yet anything but harsh world. With each moment that Spike spent in her company, he became more and more convinced that he could trust her. She wasn’t lulling him into a false sense of security with plans to attack him when he didn’t suspect it. She was just an anomaly who, for some reason, was on his side.

If this animal, one he perceived as being really quite pleasing to both his eyes and heart, saw it fit to offer him her attention and aid, then… well… maybe he wasn’t such a bad guy after all. 

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“Mmf!”

“Tara?”

“Mhr,” the blonde girl whimpered, a ghost of a frown crinkling her smooth forehead.

“Tara, baby wake up” Willow insisted, giving her partner another shake, troubled by her apparently distressed demeanour.

“Umf!” her eyes flew open, or as much as they could in her groggy state, and the blonde girl frantically looked around, realising soon that she was in the safety of her home. “W-Willow?” she breathed, turning around.

“I’m right here, sweetie,” the redhead assured her lover, smiling softly and planting a light kiss on her brow. “Are you okay?” she asked, concerned at the look on Tara’s face.

“Yeah, I’m… I’m okay. Bad dream” she gave a quirky smile, as if she were for some reason embarrassed.

Willow made a sort of humming noise, one that said she felt concerned for the love of her life. “Really? You wanna tell me about it?” she asked, pulling the blanket up around their shoulders and snuggling close to the other woman.

“It’s nothing, really” Tara smiled, nuzzling into her companion’s neck. “You were there… we were in a field somewhere just looking up at the stars,” she giggled “you were begging for me to let you have a puppy.”

Willow smiled at that, her fingers idly weaving through her girlfriend’s golden locks.

“But then, you weren’t there anymore. There was… this woman. I-I’m pretty sure she was a vampire. Sh-she told me that she wanted Spike back. She seemed pretty serious about it, too,” Tara shuddered, thinking for a moment about the endless, midnight jewels she’d stared into. Even though it hadn’t been real, it was still incredibly frightening.

Wheels were already turning in Willow’s mind, alarms ringing here and there, though not with major urgency. “She didn’t give you a name, did she?”

“Y-Yeah, she did. Um,” her brow creased again, only in thought this time, and the redhead at her side was positive she’d melt at how cute it looked. “I think it was… Dru something…” she said, attempting to remember the name. She thought she’d be able to remember it, because it had been anything but ordinary.

“Drusilla…” Willow half whispered, half asked.

“Yeah, that’s it!” Tara said proudly, looking up at her lover. She frowned though, wondering about the worry that seemed to have erupted suddenly in Willow’s eyes. “Is that bad?” she asked, attempting to catch the pair of wandering jewels.

“Huh? Oh, no… I mean, it shouldn’t be” she said, somewhat shakily. “Drusilla is Spike’s ex… They had one of those ‘massacre half of North America and get off on it’ relationships. But she left him. Twice. So I don’t see why she’d want him back.”

“So why was she in my dream? I mean, I don’t even know who she is,” Tara asked, thinking that either something was up, or she had an imagination that came up with very odd names at the most convenient and coincidental times.

“That’s the part that worries me. I mean, I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about, but… Either way I think we should probably tell Buffy.”

“Agreed. The more Slayers we have on this, the better” Tara smiled. “But… do you mind if we leave it till the morning?” she asked hopefully.

“Of course,” Willow grinned, shifting down so she was face-to-face with her beautiful companion. “Besides… I really need to catch up on my beauty sleep, what with you putting me to shame all the time.”

Tara simply giggled. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” Willow whispered, leaning in to share a soft, sensual kiss with the woman of her dreams before they both drifted off to sleep.

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Supple skin dropped away from a pair of glistening daggers, their ivory luminescence marred only by a few droplets of blood that refused to slip down her throat just yet. Drusilla grinned, dancing away from her latest victim with a sort of effortlessness that made it look as if she were floating on a cloud. “Mm, I wish they would all squirm,” she mused to no one in particular, having killed everyone in the mobile home except its driver. She looked down to the eight-year-old girl and grinned. “Makes everything all sugary inside my tummy.”

“Oh God…” the older man sobbed. “Oh, Shannon, sweetie” he choked again, desperately drying to hold in the waves of sorrow that were washing over him, and keep the vehicle on the road at the same time.

“Ah ah ah! No slipping. I’ve got to get back to the sunny country before you’re allowed to die,” Drusilla purred, knowing that this man, like virtually every other human on earth, valued his own life enough not to commit suicide in hopes that she too would die should he decide to flip the RV, or something of the sort.

“Please, leave me alone” the man cried, cringing just at the sound of the monster’s voice. “Why don’t you take the wheel…? I-I-I’ll get out… Nobody will ever find you,” he promised, glancing back at the woman for a brief second. He immediately turned around though, utterly and completely revolted by her disfigured features.

“Hush!” Drusilla ordered with a type of assertiveness that was only recently becoming a common characteristic. She peered out the windshield, properly masked from the sun’s deadly rays that were streaming inward. A sort of dreamy look fluttered over her eyes then, and she seemed to become totally unaware of the other man’s existence. “Don’t worry, my love… I’ll be rescuing you soon.”