Buffy slipped quietly out of the house. It was dark out and she wore a hooded sweatshirt, the hood pulled up over her head, as she glided down the sidewalk. Her mother was still at home, getting ready for some date with a guy she’d met at the gallery. She had left just before Joyce started panicking about what she was going to wear.

Giles had left some time ago, realising he wasn’t going to get anything sociable out of Buffy. He’d stuck around for a while to ask her some general slaying questions, and had inquired politely about the other side of her life. There was very little to report on that front and Giles had left, feeling uncomfortable around the Buffy he felt he didn’t know.

Buffy hadn’t told him about Spike. She knew this was exactly the sort of thing she was supposed to tell her Watcher, but she had just felt like it was something she had to deal with alone. If she told Giles he’d go into a big panic, gather the gang, and they’d all go way overboard on the mob-mentality. All of them hated Spike, which she understood. However, they’d only get in the way and maybe get themselves killed in the process.

She could take Spike. She knew that. It was just a matter of when he would show his face again. It wouldn’t be long; he was impatient about these sorts of things. A perfect example of that had been the first time they had ever fought. He’d been unable to wait for the Night of St. Vigeous and had instead crashed her Parent Teacher Evening, therefore summing up what kind of relationship the two of them would forever have – a string of impulsive, ill-timed, spontaneous smack downs. At least until one of them finally killed the other one.

She dug her hands deep down into her pockets, keeping her gaze locked onto her surroundings. Buffy surveyed for danger instinctively, never putting much effort into it. She had enough self-confidence in these matters to know that if there was something lurking in the shadows wanting her blood then she would sense it. So far there had been nothing. She had yet to spot even a group of the usual rowdy teenagers on their way to the Bronze. It was a bad sign.

Usually the streets only cleared like this if there was something big about to go down. It was like people had a built in sensor for these things that told them to just stay inside. Buffy stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and looked around.

The air was charged. Something was going on. She just didn’t know what yet. She started walking again, figuring that whoever, or whatever it was would find her eventually. Buffy knew there was chance it was Spike. He always liked to strike when the iron was still hot. If it was him then she was ready. As long as she didn’t think too much about the look on his face as she had escaped the night before. The way his face had held sadness and confusion. Sympathy from the devil, Buffy thought, with a snort.

Generally speaking, Buffy thought she understood vampires quite well. It was necessary for her to be able to predict their patterns and know the way their minds worked. Spike had always been a little off for her, though. He never quite fit into the expected category. He had the bloodlust down, the viciousness, but then at times he would seem almost hesitant about it – like last night. And most of the time he didn’t care about people’s feelings, he was soulless so it was expected, but then he had loved Drusilla intensely. Buffy had seen it in his eyes, in the way he used to protect her when she was frail, he loved Drusilla as much as Buffy had loved Angel.

She didn’t like admitting that she and Spike had anything in common, but there was that.

He was evil, of that she was absolutely certain. But then he had to go and confuse things there by helping her save the world. It had been motivated by selfish reasons but he had still come to her and had helped her against Angelus and kept Giles alive when he was in their captivity. Buffy wondered if she would have still won if it wasn’t for Spike’s help. There was no point in rehashing over all that again. The point of it all was that Spike often defied expectations and that’s what made him such an unpredictable, and ultimately, deadly opponent. Buffy knew as well that Spike’s volatile nature may have been what helped him to win against two Slayers. It didn’t worry her though. Not much, anyway.

It started to rain. Buffy looked up, frowning. Droplets of water fell onto her cheeks and nose, as she looked up at the stars. It hardly ever rained in Sunnydale, hence the name. Buffy decided this was bad omen number two. She shook her head and carried on. The Slayer debated on giving the nearest cemetery a quick sweep for bad guys. It was in this moment of indecision that a scream sliced through the air. Reacting immediately, Buffy ran towards the direction it had come from. Another scream, echoing off the alley walls.

She sprinted along the street looking for the source of it. There was a whimper, closer now. Buffy inched along carefully towards the mouth of the nearest alley and withdrawing the stake from her waistband she stepped into clear view. Two vampires, one male, one female, were feasting on a girl who was maybe Buffy’s age. They held her from both sides, looking almost like an embrace. The girl's eyes were rolled back exposing just the whites.

"Hey!" Buffy yelled.

The vampires turned towards her, growling and baring their bloodied fangs. Buffy waved the stake at them. They dropped the girl and she fell to the ground with a thud, already dead. The Slayer looked at her for a moment before turning her eyes back to the vampires. They grinned at her simultaneously and then ran.

Buffy frowned. Vampires were never usually smart enough to run from her. They always seemed to want to try their luck. Obviously, these two were not counting on being easy slays. With a sigh, she followed after them through the winding alleys of Sunnydale.

She could hear them howling with laughter, sounding eerily like hyenas. Buffy rounded the last corner and ground to a stop. The two vampires stood only a short distance away, side by side. She looked around and saw that they were behind the Bronze. Music was pumping from inside the club, a haunting melody from some live band who had been stupid enough to agree to play a vampire town. Buffy felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. This was a trap. How could she be so stupid to fall into a trap again? Buffy had no answer for herself. She simply reached up and pulled the hood from her head, the cold rain sluiced across her face and down her neck making her shiver.

"Let me guess," Buffy said calmly "Spike sent you?"

They didn’t answer, just smiled as several more of their buddies stepped out from the shadows. There were three of them behind her, plus the two in front. Five vampires against one Slayer. Buffy wasn’t a math genius but she knew the odds were stacked against her. Buffy readied the stake in her hand. She worked the cricks out of her neck and shoulders, always aware of where the vampires behind her were, eyes fixed on the ones in front of her. For a long moment nothing happened. Then they all ran at her together, roaring.

Buffy leapt up, grabbing hold of the fire escape ladder attached to the alley wall. She swung herself up and landed on the steps. The vampires careened into one another, a couple of them getting knocked to the ground.

The ones who still stood looked up at her, confused and pissed off. She gave them a little wave.

"A crossbow would be handy right now," Buffy mused to herself "Or, you know, a machine gun"

With wooden bullets, of course...she added silently. The vampires were all growling at her and hissing. Buffy took a moment to consider the best course of action. Fight or flee. She leapt down upon two of them, knocking them to the floor. Buffy plunged the stake into them each in turn without even breaking a sweat. She flipped herself up into a standing position again to find herself surrounded by the three remaining vampires. Buffy motioned for them to come and get her but instead they just circled, fangs bared at her. She shrugged and reached forward, staking one as easy as pie, when he wasn’t ready for it. The look on the vampire’s face was priceless.

The two vamps she had started off with were the two who were left. They grabbed at her, landed a couple of decent kicks to her stomach and head. Buffy stumbled back into the wall, one lashed out to hit her again but she ducked and his hand smashed into the brick wall instead. He let out a howl of pain and she kicked him in the balls. As he fell to the side gasping, his female companion aimed a kick at Buffy’s head. The Slayer grabbed her leg and pushed her hard enough that she fell to the ground. Buffy walked over to her and kicked her hard in the side. She shrugged and kicked her again and again. It was good for the frustration.

However, she didn’t count on the vampire behind her recovering so quickly from the swift kick to his family jewels. He grabbed her from behind, pinning her arms to her sides and leaving her wholly immobile. The female vampire got up, stood before Buffy and punched her hard in the stomach. Buffy bent forward, gagging. That made the vampire grin. She punched her again and again, and Buffy thought she might throw up yet again but she hadn’t eaten anything so it was unlikely. As the female made the move to punch her again, Buffy leapt up and planted a foot on her chest, pushing off and using the momentum to launch herself over the vampire who had been holding her and landing behind him gracefully. She staked him quickly in the back. As the dust cleared Buffy faced off against the last remaining vampire.

"Tell Spike, if he wants me he has to come get me himself" Buffy spat at her.

"If you insist, pet"

Buffy’s head snapped around in the direction the voice had come from. Spike stood in the alleyway, just below the Bronze sign. His arms were folded and he had smug grin on his face. The Slayer was so busy looking at him that the female vampire she had been fighting before ran up to her and knocked her to the ground. Buffy let out a sound as she held her arm against the vamp’s neck, trying to keep the fangs away from her throat. Instead the vampire settled for sinking her teeth deep into Buffy’s arm. Buffy screamed, and kneed her in the side, shoving her off, as the vampire took a good chunk of Buffy’s arm with her.

The Slayer grabbed up her stake and finished the bitch off. She stood shakily, clutching her arm, trying in vain to stem the bloodflow. Buffy faced Spike as she ripped a long strip of material from her sweater and wound it around the wound, tying it tightly. It hurt like hell.

Spike sniffed the air, "I love the smell of Slayer blood in the evening."

"Let’s you and me finish this," she said, voice strong.

"Um…Okay," Spike took a step towards her.

She tensed.

"Second thought – not!" He grinned, then held his fingers up to his mouth and whistled.

Buffy groaned as five more vampire lackeys emerged from various shadowy nooks. She really had to learn not to get herself into these traps. Buffy slammed the heel of her hand into the nose of one vampire and kicked her leg back into the kneecap of another one behind her at the same time. The other three leapt on her, actually slamming into her bodily. They had been heavy men when alive, and now they were heavy vampires. She was thrown to the floor and they all piled on top of her as if they were playing a game of rugby, that sport Giles was so fond of watching.

Buffy was punched and kicked, scratched and scraped. She bucked against them wondering where the hell her stake had gone. She managed to get enough leverage to kick one vampire off of her. Fangs sunk into her knee and she screamed loudly.

Slamming an elbow into the face of the vampire directly above her, Buffy then drew up all her strength and pushed against them all. Amazingly, they all went flying off of her in a multitude of directions. Buffy gasped the air, glad to be free. She dragged herself up into a standing position, her knee seeping blood. The vampires were fast recovering.

She saw her stake and dived for it as a vampire jumped at her. Landing on the ground and grabbing the stake she held it up in front of her as vampire soared towards her. He couldn’t stop his own momentum and ended up impaled on the stake. She scrambled up before the dust had even settled. A vampire tried to creep up behind her but she shoved the stake backwards and staked her effortlessly. The three remaining vampires all stood looking at her. Buffy looked back. They ran.

Spike’s eyebrow rose, "You just can’t get the help these days."

Buffy leant one hand against the wall, taking a few deep breaths, "So, now you have to get your minions to soften me up? How the mighty have fallen. Not that you were ever very mighty, Spike."

He smiled, walking slowly towards her "Yeah, well, at least I’m still pretty."

Buffy looked at him, sourly. Spike stood before her, one hand clutching his belt, slouching cool guy pose perfected. The rain was still beating down on them hard but he seemed unfazed. His eyes were focused solely on hers. Buffy had always thought he had the most entrancing eyes, and she wondered briefly if maybe he had some kind of thrall.

"That’s a matter of opinion," she replied, standing up straight and readying herself for a fight.

He moved closer. "So, come on – honesty time. How long has it been for you?"

She frowned "What?"

"Since your last fuck," Spike smirked, looking her up and down "I hear that some blokes are into that sort of thing." Buffy’s fists clenched. "You know, they like their girls disfigured and all that."

She punched him in the face hard. He stumbled backwards into a dumpster, laughing. He stood up straight again, brushed the shoulders of his duster off, then he came at her. She blocked his first punch but his second landed. His fist slammed against her right cheek hard and she in turn careened into the wall. Dots swam in her vision. Spike didn’t even hesitate. He kicked her hard on her already injured knee and she screamed in pain, clutching onto the wall for support. His hands grabbed at her sweater and he tossed her across the alleyway into the wall on the opposite side. Buffy crumpled to the floor.

"I mean each to their own right?" Spike walked over to her, "Everyone’s got their kinks. I might not understand what any man could see in an ugly little bitch like you but I respect that it takes all kinds."

She looked up at him and felt tears prickle at the corner of her eyes. Buffy tried to sit up, and place her emotionless mask back on but it was too late, he had already seen it.

"What’s the matter, love?" He frowned, grabbing her injured arm and yanking her to her feet, making her scream again, "What’s with the waterworks? I thought you were tough. I guess those revolting little scars didn’t just take away your beauty, eh? They made you weak too." Spike backhanded her across the face and she fell back to the floor on her knees, head bowed. "Get up," he said firmly. She didn’t move. "I said get up!"

Buffy rolled her eyes up to look at him "Just do it" she whispered.

Spike tilted his head "Do what?"

The Slayer stood slowly, readying herself. She stood before him, stands of her hair blowing in her eyes and sticking to her face. Rain slid down her forehead and cheeks mingling with the tears, as she turned her head and bared her neck to him.

Spike’s eyes fixed upon her throat, he swallowed hard. Buffy felt his hand grip her wrist as he pulled her into him. Their chests were flush against one another; his body was hard and cold, the rain soaking their clothes. He leaned his face into the junction of her neck; his lips were wet and soft as they pressed against her throat. He kissed a line down her neck gently, tracing the vein that ran beneath the surface of her hot skin.

Buffy closed her eyes. She knew he was about to kill her but still some irrational part of her could only think about how strange this all felt. To be touched again. The fact that it was Spike who was touching her should have bothered her and the fact that he was about to end her life should have bothered her even more but it just didn’t. Suddenly all she could think about was the feeling of his skin against hers. The way a strange little tingle started at the base of her spine and ran up the length of it. It didn’t make any sense. And she didn’t care.

Spike let out a growl and his lips were gone suddenly. Buffy frowned, her eyes opening. Spike still stood in front of her, inches away, but his face was upturned to the sky, his eyes were closed and his jaw was clenched. "I...can’t" He uttered to himself, disbelieving. Spike let out a roar and threw his arms out to the side of him, held them up to the sky "I suppose you think this is funny!" He yelled to the stars.

Buffy watched this display without comment or reaction. Spike looked down again and locked eyes with her, looking surprised as if only just remembering she was there. "Well..." He started, struggling to find the right words "...It’s just no fun if you don’t –"

Buffy grabbed his face in her hands and kissed him.

His lips were cold. Everything about him was. Just another thing they had him common. Buffy tried not to think about that, or anything, as she kissed away her self-reliant facade. The rain didn’t slow; it bucketed down, soaking her to the bone and beyond. She ignored it, she ignored everything, and just relished in the feeling of being touched. Being a person again, after being treated like less than human, like a leper, for so long. She had almost forgotten what it felt like to be kissed; to just lose yourself in the touch of another.

His hands were gripping her biceps hard, his mouth working against hers forcefully, pushing her lips open as his tongue slid against hers. He tasted of stale cigarettes; once upon a time she would have cared, now she really didn’t. The pain, from her injuries seemed to dissipate and she was left feeling blissfully okay. Just okay. It didn’t sound a lot, but to Buffy it was everything. She hadn’t felt anything close to okay for a long while.

Spike pushed her away suddenly and she stumbled backwards, slipped on the wet ground and fell straight on her ass. Blinking, she looked up at the vampire. He was looking back at her, his face a picture of confusion and unease. It was then that it hit her. She had been kissing Spike, overall bad guy and asshole extraordinaire. Not to mention he was a vampire, and that never ended well. Or, even began well. What the hell had she been thinking? Her face burned with abject embarrassment and humiliation. She couldn’t look into those staring blue eyes any longer. Buffy scrambled to her feet and turned, running from the alleyway.

The Slayer nearly slipped over several times in the puddles that covered the ground, the raindrops were falling in her eyes and coating her eyelashes making it hard to see where she was going. It wasn’t just that weather that was making it so hard, it was her confusion. Her mind was racing, scolding her for her idiotic and downright disgusting behaviour.

She had kissed Spike and he had rejected her.

This was a new depth, even for her. Buffy considered Spike to be the lowest of the low, and if even he wasn’t interested in her then she really was worth nothing. She had already considered that to be the case but this had really just hammered it home.

Buffy sprinted down the streets of Sunnydale, her clothes were sopping wet, her hair was matted to her head and tears burned in her eyes. She wouldn’t cry over this. That would be useless and far too pathetic.

In her haste to escape Spike, herself, the world – in which order she wasn’t quite sure – she slipped over again. This time she fell forwards but managed to catch herself on her hands. The impact sent painful vibration running up the bones in her wrists and arms. Buffy winced, breathing deeply, as she just rested there in the middle of the sidewalk on her hands and knees. Briefly, she laid her forehead on the concrete below her, it was wet and cold. She closed her eyes, let out a shuddering sigh, and pulled herself back up. Buffy was up and running again soon enough, telling her mind to just shut the hell up.

She didn’t need the torment that her own brain kept brewing up, about how it had felt to kiss that soulless thing. About how she had needed it, wanted it, and now had to pay the consequences. Buffy had had enough of consequences. She found herself outside of her house without even realising she was subconsciously heading in that direction. Thankfully, her mother’s car was gone. This meant she could do what needed to be done alone and in peace. Small mercies.

Buffy entered the house shedding her shoes, and yanking the wet sweater off leaving her in her jeans and camisole. Blood was sluicing down her arm, through the makeshift tourniquet, and dripping on the carpet. She padded silently into the kitchen, her movement methodical, not really thinking too much about what she was actually doing. She took a glass from the kitchen cabinet and filled it with tap water. She limped slightly over to another cabinet; the wound in her leg was giving her hell. She reached up to the top shelf and pulled the pot of aspirin down. Buffy downed a couple of pills, sipping the water to get rid of the dryness and cardboard taste.

Looking down at the vial of pills that lay on the counter, she hesitated a moment before picking it up, and shaking out another couple. She swallowed those just as smoothly as the first two. Buffy hobbled over to a stool and sat down on it, her hand shook slightly, making the pills rattle against the side of the bottle.

She tipped a couple more into her trembling hand.

+ + +

Spike didn’t understand women, at all. That had always been painfully obvious to him. He was a self-professed love’s bitch. However, when it came down to it he knew he understood Slayers. For a vampire to successfully kill a Slayer, they had to understand the inner workings of their minds their strategies, their weaknesses, their strengths, and their loneliness. He’d bagged himself two Slayers, simply because he knew what made them tick.

Then, of course, Buffy Summers had to foul it all up. She had always defied convention and had always kept him on his toes, been a real fucking challenge. It had exhilarated him at first, made him want to be the vampire worthy enough to take down the best of the best.

Truth was, she was too good for him. He’d given it everything he had that first year in Sunnydale and she hadn’t even broken a sweat. So, naturally, this had pissed him off. Leaving Sunnydale, on a misguided attempt to win back Dru, he had also set out with the knowledge that he would get better, he would learn how to fight harder, faster, and with more skill. He would re-learn how to slay a Slayer. This was why he had come back. He knew he could take the bitch down now. It was only a matter of time before she fell at his hands. It was inevitable.

As usual, Buffy disobeyed the fates. They were all betting in favour of her grand death, and she was giving them the finger the whole time. It was glorious, if he really thought about it. She was glorious. He had dreamed of killing her, had even managed to capture her and then...he had let her go. It was the scars. If it wasn’t for those fucking scars he would have finished her off. He could have been taking a bath in Slayer’s blood right now. The thought sent a delicious shiver up his spine. Instead of that, instead of painting the town red – killing, shagging, and rioting – he was slogging down a rain soaked street in search of the bint in question.

He wondered why the guy upstairs hated him this much. Sure, he was a murdering soulless demon but surely the punishment should fit the crime? And worrying about the bloody Slayer was so far beyond an acceptable punishment for his deeds.

You're all covered with her. I look at you... all I see is the Slayer.

Spike had hated Dru for saying that. It was ridiculous. Him enamoured with the fucking Chosen One? Not a chance. He was William the Bloody, he was Spike, he killed Slayers, he didn’t love them. That was Angelus’ thing.

Still...that kiss. Christ, he had no idea what must have been going through her mind to do such a thing. One thing was for certain – Buffy was well and truly fucked up. Not that he minded, quite the opposite. She was ripe for the taking; he could seduce her and kill her. He’d get a decent lay and an exquisite meal out of the deal. Not to mention bragging rights for at least the next century, maybe the next two.

Oh, yes? Then why didn’t you do just that? Why did you push her away, let her go, again?

A nagging voice sounded in the back of his mind sounding a lot like Drusilla. He didn’t have an answer. Maybe it was the shock of her kissing him, but he didn’t think so. Another part of him, a part he didn’t like to listen to, told him he had pushed her away because he didn’t want her to sully herself with him.

That was a load of bullshit.

He was evil. He was all about the sullying. Especially if it meant Princess Buffy, her royal high and mighty bitch, was taken down a peg or two. It had to have been a moment of insanity. Yeah, that was the only explanation for letting her go again. And he wasn’t trying to find the Slayer because he was worried about her, no; he wanted to find her so that he could rip her throat out. Spike smiled, “It’s good to get things in perspective.”

The Slayer’s house was just up ahead. He didn’t see a car in the driveway, or any lights on, but that didn’t mean no one was home. He’d been tracking her scent since he came to his senses in the alleyway. Spike felt his fists clench at his side, the smile on his face widening. He’d wanted this moment for so long, he couldn’t delay it any longer. He walked quietly up to the house, keeping in the shadows as much as he could, and keeping an eye out for the Slayer. She was inside, he was certain of that now. Spike stomped up the porch and stopped in front of the door. Should he just barge in? He’d looked pretty stupid if she had put the no-invite barrier up again, and he’d lose all element of surprise.

Spike rapped on the door politely and stood slightly to the side of the door so she couldn’t see him through the window. Nothing happened. Charming, he thought a vampire tries to be polite. Spike shrugged and kicked the door in. It slammed into the wall nosily and bounced back towards him. He pushed it aside, and stepped into the Slayer’s house. No barrier. Spike smirked. That girl was monumentally stupid. She deserved to die.

“Nice to see you can still welcome an old friend, Slayer,” Spike called, hands behind his back.

The house remained strangely quiet, just the wind howling outside breaking the silence. Spike wondered for a moment if he was wrong and she wasn’t in the house.

He entered the living room cautiously. Pictures of Buffy and Joyce cluttered the tables and shelves, none of them recent. Slayer wasn’t too fond of cameras these days, he expected. Spike frowned and moved into the dining room, always on alert. He couldn’t hear any movement from downstairs or upstairs.

The kitchen was next up and he stopped in the doorway. There she was. The Slayer was slumped over the counter, arm thrown over her face, sleeping. Spike chuckled to himself. How she could sleep through the racket he had just made he didn’t know.

“Wakey, wakey, morning glory!” Spike chorused, expecting her to jump up, startled.

She didn’t move. A strange heavy feeling settled in his stomach. He crossed the floor quickly and strode up beside her. Spike gave her a light shove on the shoulder. Buffy’s head smacked against the kitchen counter.

Spike grabbed her shoulder and shook her hard. She didn’t respond. He could still hear her heartbeat and breathing, but they were slower than they should have been. He should have noticed before. His eyes darted around the kitchen and landed on the bottle of pills that had spilled over the counter at some point. “No,” He whispered, the sound carrying through the silent kitchen “No!”

Spike grabbed her again and shook her harder this time, causing her head to loll around on her shoulders limply. Letting go, he ran to the sink, instincts kicking into overdrive. He grabbed the nearest cup and filled it up with water. Panicking, he began to open all the cupboards throwing food and drinks everywhere in his search. Bottles and cups smashed onto the floor and dry spaghetti rained all over him, he almost slipped in a puddle of custard.

“You stupid bint! You stupid, stupid bint!” Spike yelled, still rooting through the cupboard “You don’t get to go out this way! The Slayer doesn’t go out this way!”

Finally, he found what he was looking for. The salt canister. Ripping it open he poured a large quantity of it into the glass of water. Rushing back over to her side, he lifted her head up and put the glass to her lips. She made a slight sound of protest.

“Open you bloody mouth, Slayer!” Spike growled, his face vamping out “Open it now!”

Buffy struggled weakly against him as he forced the liquid into her mouth. It sluiced down her chin and throat, salty like tears. Her body reacted mechanically, trying to spit the foul stuff out. Spike clamped a hand over her mouth and nose. The need to breathe won and she swallowed the concoction, coughing and gagging almost immediately. She turned her head to the side and vomited onto his boots.

He barely noticed, as he lifted the glass to her mouth again. Buffy tried to fight it harder this time, knowing what was going to happen. She flapped at him weakly with her hands. He ignored it and forced more down her throat, using the same method again to make her upchuck. Spike did this until there was nothing else to come up and then he let out a sigh of relief as the Slayer flopped forward again onto the counter, breathing, heartbeat erratic but strong.

This moment of calm was replaced by one of pure rage. He grabbed up the salt canister and hurled it as hard as he could into the wall. It exploded and covered the floor in the stuff. Spike let out a primal roar followed by a string of curse words.

Spike took a couple of breaths, a force of habit, and turned to look back at Buffy. She was completely zonked out. “Moron,” Spike murmured, he glanced down at his ruined boots, “Oh, bloody marvellous!”

Grunting, he reached over and picked up the Slayer. Carrying her in his arms, Spike walked into the living room and laid her down on the couch where her mum could find her. Joyce would know if she needed hospital or not. She looked pained, her skin was an unsightly grey and sweat beaded at her forehead. Not to mention the rank stench of sick that seemed swathed around her. All in all the Slayer had seen better days. Spike reached down and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear before turning and walking back out into the kitchen.

Buffy was going to have a hell of a job explaining this to Joyce. Oh well, he thought to himself, that wasn’t his problem. He walked to the back door and pulled it open, about to leave. Then he stopped. Slowly, he turned back around to face the room again. Rolling his eyes, Spike walked over to the counter and quickly scooped up all of the spilt pills. He placed them back in the bottle and then placed the bottle back in a cupboard. The Slayer’s mum didn’t need to know what had gone down tonight.

Spike still wasn’t sure why he gave a toss about the Slayer or her mum, and he doubted he’d ever fully understand why he had just saved her life when his plan had been to take it. “Hell of a night,” Spike pondered, as he left.

Buffy had stopped listening to the voices of her mother and the doctor a while ago, but the vague sounds of conversation still registered on her periphery. Her thoughts were occupied with other matters, things that had very little to do with what was being said in-between those four walls.

And what ugly walls they are...Buffy noted silently, gazing at the sickly yellow the cramped office was painted. The carpet didn’t help much either, a dull grey, with a suspicious stain over in one corner. She’d been in this office at least a dozen times and it never ceased to depress her. The desk was made of cheap mahogany, small and nicked in many places, as if they’d had trouble getting it through the door. It was littered with papers and files; her own lay sprawled across the desk obscenely, airing her dirty laundry out for all to see. Or so it felt like. The doctor’s coffee cup had left watery rings all over the desk, which had stained it. Buffy was willing to bet it was the same mug that rested on the desk right now, temporarily forgotten. It was white and chipped on the top, the message 'World’s Best Father’ displayed proudly. Only, from where she was sitting it looked like it said ‘Word’s Best Fat’.

There were a row of dark green filing cabinets behind the desk, off to one side from where the doctor sat talking animatedly. They were battered in a few places and looked well used. Buffy’s gaze flickered to the state-of-the-art computer on the desk. She wondered why there was still a need for filing cabinets. Wasn’t the whole point of computers to get rid of those bulky monstrosities?

She sighed to herself, looking over at the window behind the desk. It was partially obscured by the doctor’s balding head but there was still too much of it showing. The slatted blinds were opened letting the Californian sunlight stream in across the desk, reaching towards her menacingly. Buffy shifted back defensively in the plush chair.

She would have thought a doctor who specialised in burn patients would know better than to have his office bathed in glorious, and deadly, light. Obviously not.

Buffy wondered why the office was so crappy. From what she could see this guy had it made. There was always a need for doctors in Sunnydale and they charged a high enough rate to splash out on some new carpeting, or some decent paint. Not that she truly cared about the state of the office. She was just trying to keep her mind occupied. It had been two nights now since she had woken up in a drowsy stupor on the living room couch. Her mother had been staring down at her with this look of total and utter hopelessness and disappointment.

Buffy was more concerned by the fact that she herself wasn’t dead. She had taken enough methadone to sink a small elephant. The hazy memory of hurling everywhere and the horrible taste of salt in her throat had only just started to come back to her.

That and the lingering ghost of a voice in her ear ‘The Slayer doesn’t go out this way!’ It made absolutely no sense that he would save her life. First of all – she hadn’t wanted to be saved, and second of all – he was Spike.

It didn’t bear thinking about.

“Miss Summers?”

She blinked and looked up slowly into the bespectacled eyes of the doctor seated across from her. He was staring back at her expectantly. Buffy flickered her gaze to her mother and saw she too was waiting for some sort of response.

Buffy stared back blankly, “Yes?”

“Have you given it any thought?”

She shifted in the seat, pulling herself further upright, feigning attention, “Given what any thought?”

“The skin graft,” he replied, fingers tented in front of him, “Your mother and I were discussing it, and we’ve agreed that now is a good time to consider it.”

Buffy gripped the arms of her chair tightly, her fingernails digging into the leather. She turned to Joyce and tried to read her mother’s expression. It was strangely similar to the one she had worn when she had found Buffy half passed out on the living room chair. She hadn’t said a word then, remaining silent but cagey. She never even mentioned the mess in the kitchen, or the muddy footprints that clearly didn’t belong to either herself or Buffy.

It was like she was a muted version of herself. Not quite Joyce Summers anymore.

Buffy knew this was her fault. It was her attitude and unwillingness to deal that was dragging her mother down with her, but just because she was aware of it didn’t mean she was going to address it. There was a time to heal and this was not it.

“What does it involve?” Buffy asked finally, her throat dry.

“We would take some skin from your thigh and transplant it onto your back. We will have to do this a number of times over a number of months but the end result should be satisfying,” The doctor smiled thinly.

“Should be?” Buffy whispered incredulously.

They wanted her to go through dozens of operations for a ‘should be’? This was unreal.

“Now, Buffy,” He breathed nasally “We can’t expect miracles. There could be complications. However, I have the utmost confidence –”

“What exactly does ‘satisfying’ mean, anyway?” She interrupted “Will my back look normal again? Anything close to resembling normalcy?”

“Some scarring will still be visible and the nerve endings will never fully –”

“So, you want me to endure all the pain, all that...misery,” Buffy spat, “for essentially nothing? Scar me up everywhere else so I can be your pin cushion so maybe, possibly, one day I should be satisfied?”

Joyce reached over and placed a hand on her shoulder “Buffy,”

“I can see you’re upset,” The doctor sat back in his chair “I suggest you mull it over for a few days and then get back to me.”

“No.”

The doctor frowned, quirking his head “I beg your pardon?”

“No,” Buffy stood slowly, her eyes catching the sun and causing her to squint, “I don’t want to mull it over. I’m stuck with this body. I really don’t want to make it worse. If that’s possible.”

Her mother stood up next to her and took her arm “Honey, you’re tired. Let’s go home and I’ll make you some soup.”

She shook her arm free “I don’t want any goddamn soup!”

The room was suddenly too quiet.

And the sun was still in her eyes. Buffy lifted a hand to shield them from the light. She looked at her mother. It was all too much. She had to get out.

Grabbing her jacket up, she slipped it on and left the office. The door clicked softly behind her as she padded down the air conditioned corridor. Buffy turned the corner, breezing past the snooty secretary and out of the heavy doors. Humid air enveloped her and she ran her hands through her hair, eyes closed. This was all too much. Everything. Her life was hell. Maybe that’s why Spike had stopped her ending it. Maybe he wanted her to suffer.

“Is that what you want?” Buffy spoke softly.

There was no answer.

Her mother appeared next to her silently. Buffy glanced at her with what she hoped was a halfway apologetic expression. It wasn’t her mother’s fault. None of it was. It just happened that she was the only one who stuck around long enough to feel the Buffy Summer’s wrath.

Buffy couldn’t remember that last time she had seen Xander or Willow. She supposed they were consciously avoiding her. She didn’t blame them for that. Buffy wouldn’t even blame her mom if she threw up her hands and said she had had enough. Instead, she slipped an arm around Buffy’s shoulders cautiously.

Just this once she let her.

+ + +

Spike drained the very last drop from the boy he held in his grasp. The body had stopped thrashing around a while ago, slowing to twitch every now and then until it went deathly still. The vampire reared his head up and wiped the blood from his lips, sucking it from the ends of his fingers. He sighed in contentment and let the body drop to the floor with a thump. Spike stepped onto the dead boy and over him to fling himself in an almost threadbare armchair some lackey had retrieved from the home of a family he’d killed. It wasn’t half bad. Comfortable, if a little stained from the bloodshed. Slinging one leg over the arm of the chair, Spike lit a cigarette and took a deep drag from it. “Spud!” He yelled.

The vampire trundled into the lair obediently “Yes sir?”

“See to it that gets dumped somewhere,” He motioned absently at the body on the floor, “It’s already starting to stink to high heaven.”

“Right away, Sir.” Spud hefted the body over his shoulder and left, whistling a jaunty – and bloody annoying – tune.

Spike scratched his chin and looked at the blood splatters that remained on the dusty floor of the tunnel. It had been good to get a decent meal again. Having laid laid low for the past couple of days to make sure the Slayer wasn’t trailing him, his stomach had started to rumble painfully.

“The Slayer,” Spike murmured to himself.

That, in itself, was another problem. How to deal with the Slayer. Every time he tried to kill her, he seemed to end up saving her life. Clearly, he’d entered the Twilight Zone. There was only one real option left. Spike would go to the Slayer once darkness had fallen. “And see what the night brings,” he whispered to the empty room.

Chapter 15:

Buffy grabbed at him desperately, starved of physical contact for so long. She became barely aware of her surroundings, of Spike, her body fixed solely on what it wanted. Her arms snaked around his neck bringing him closer, as they crushed lips. She had never been kissed like this before – with wild abandonment. It wasn’t perfect; it wasn’t the best kiss of her life. It was messy and reckless and ferocious. More like a fight then a declaration of love.

She wasn’t under any illusions that it was that at all. It wasn’t love. And she was glad. As much as she needed, wanted, hungered for love what she craved right then was unadulterated lust. She needed to feel wanted. To feel desirable. To have someone, anyone, grab at her, touch her, kiss her, fuck her.

Spike’s tongue pressed against hers, his hands roving unconsciously up and down her body. He yanked at her clothing, forcing her to release her hold on him as he stripped off her jacket. She opened her eyes, watching him as he ripped her shirt open. Buttons flew everywhere and the cool, dank air settled over her completely exposed torso.

Buffy had lost so much weight recently that she often didn’t wear a bra. From the way Spike’s eyes lit up he clearly appreciated it. Without hesitation his hands found their way to her breasts. The coldness of his skin made her gasp, her nipples hardening in response. He ran his thumbs over them, gently. She sighed in delight, feeling things lower down in her body tighten. Her heart was hammering in her chest as he lowered his face to kiss her neck. Fear ran through her, pulsating, making it feel like the veins in her neck were throbbing against his touch. She was afraid but she didn’t mind. Fear was good. The fear that he would rip her throat open let her know that she was still alive.

Spike’s kisses trailed lower, over her collarbone, until he reached her breasts. Slowly, he drew one hard nipple into his mouth. Buffy groaned and closed her eyes, her hips arching upwards into his. His cock pressed hard against her thigh, her clothing being the only thing separating their skin. Spike let his tongue tease around her nipple, before it darted forward to lick the sensitive spot. She grabbed his hair, her hand tangling in it, and pushed his head down harder onto her.

As he continued to lick and kiss her breasts his hands made their way down to her zipper. Deftly, he had her jeans undone and half way down her hips before she even realised what he was doing. It should have freaked her out. It should have been the wake up call. She should have punched him in the face and ran. Except she didn’t. She couldn’t. As much as she wanted to have the moral high ground, to do the right thing, to be the champion everyone thought she was or should be, sometimes she was just a girl. This had nothing to do with her job. She was the Slayer and he was a vampire but that didn’t matter just then. She was content to just be Buffy, for a while.

And Buffy needed this.

She was free of her pants in no time at all, and Spike wasted not another second before clawing her underwear off. The Slayer squirmed as his eyes swept over her, she felt out of her element, uncomfortable with herself and his attention. He placed his hands on her stomach and then very slowly, very deliberately, moved them down over her body.

Buffy squirmed away from his touch, no longer so sure. Spike shook his head, grabbing her thighs and pulling her back to him. He clamped his hands down on her stop her from trying to escape again. As much as she wanted to be touched, in her brief and amateur sexual experience no one had been as rough and callous and crude as Spike. He saw what he wanted and he took it, no whispered ‘are you sure?’ no gentle and tender touches.

He didn’t pretend to care about her. Simply wanted her for his needs. And, in that, he showed a kind of openness, a brutal honesty that Buffy had never experienced with anyone before. Everyone had a secret agenda, wanted more than they would admit.

Buffy knew with perfect clarity what Spike wanted because it was the same thing she wanted. To feel, to fuck, and to fight. They locked eyes and Spike smiled.

Buffy arched an eyebrow, a new found understanding and brazenness taking over her. She reached her hands up and placed them against his chest. She didn’t feel his heart beating, but then she was used to that. She ran her hands down his stomach and abdomen. Just revelling in the feel of a man again. She had only ever had one sexual partner and that had been soft, a series of gentle caresses, exploring one another with infinite curiosity. Buffy reached down and grabbed him. She wasn’t interested in exploring him, she’d found the part of him she wanted. Spike closed his eyes and issued a sound of contentment at the feel of her touching him.

Buffy ran her hand down the length of him, he was cold and hard but his skin was silken. She felt him throb in her palm and looked up into his cool blue eyes. There was something there mixed with the desire and she couldn’t exactly place what it was. He reached up and stroked her cheek and Buffy, curious and unsure, just watched his face as he did. Then he frowned as if he too wasn’t sure what the hell he was doing. He removed his hand from her face and placed it back on her leg, parting her knees and nestling himself in-between. Buffy could feel him pressed up against her and her pulse started to race again.

She thought he’d be a talker, murmuring all sorts of sleaze about her and what he was going to do but he remained stoic. Maybe he was as overwhelmed as she was, or maybe he was having second thoughts about being anywhere near her. Spike slid a finger inside of her, making her hold her breath. It was an entirely different sensation to being touched on the outside, the sensations it caused in her sent ripples throughout her body. As quickly as it had started he withdrew the finger and the feelings left with it. Buffy growled in disappointment. Apparently he had merely been seeing if she was ready for him. Trust him to be an evil tease.

The moment she thought that, he thrust himself into her. It had been a surprise, her mind not totally focused on what he was doing. And it was fast and hard and not hardly pleasurable for her. Spike groaned above her, eyes fixed on hers. A small sound escaped her throat, one of pain and shock. He tilted his head and withdrew, before entering again but this time softer yet no less fast. Buffy felt his fingers entwine with hers and simply watched as he drew her hands up above her head and pinned them to the bed. She knew the risks of letting him have so much control, knew that in a split second he could have bitten her. The worse thing was she really didn’t care that much.

As he pounded into her, Spike bowed down and placed a soft kiss on her cheek. His chest rubbed against her breasts spreading the thin sheen of sweat from her skin onto his own. His mouth trailed down her jawbone, landing in the small dent behind her ear and nuzzling against her. She closed her eyes and wrapped her legs around his waist tightly.

The friction between them at this angle was incredibly and both of them let out small sounds of mutual gratification. Spike kissed a line down her neck, his teeth grazing her skin. She imagined them right over the throbbing vein, elongating, ready to strike.

Instead he kissed her gently on her shoulder, leaving his lips there.

“Open your eyes,” he whispered.

It echoed the order he had given her last night, wanting her to look at herself in the mirror. She did as he asked and all she could see of him was the side of his head, as his face was over her shoulder. How he had known she had her eyes closed Buffy wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

He wanted her to be a fully active participant in this. Well, then she would be. She pushed against his hands and broke free of his hold relatively easily, and from the way he drew his face up to look at her Buffy knew she had surprised him with her strength. Maybe he even thought she had changed her mind, the worried little-boy-lost look in his eyes certainly seemed to suggest so.

She took his face in her hands and traced her fingers down his cheekbones, his jaw line, running the tip of a finger over his soft bottom lip. Spike opened his mouth and drew her finger in as she moved her hips up against his. The inside of his mouth was cool and moist; his tongue ran down her digit in a line making her shiver. The coolness of his body produced goose bumps all over her; she removed her finger and placed her hands on his shoulders, digging her nails into him.

Spike began to thrust faster and faster, become more and more violent. She knew she’d be bruised inside later, the sound of flesh hitting flesh filling the emptiness of the room. Somewhere in the distance the sound of water dripping entered her peripheral hearing and soon left it when Spike let out a feral growl. Buffy looked up at him and he was in vamp face, gone were the deep blue eyes replaced by angry gold. His once smooth forehead was now covered in deep furrowed ridges, his teeth elongated and sharp as a viper’s. She expected this to be the end. Mess with an evil vampire and you’re messing with death. She closed her eyes and waited for it, and in some ways, welcomed it. There would be worse ways to go, and it would be befitting for her to go out this way. In a violent embrace of sex and blood and bodily fluids.

What will Giles say when he finds my corpse? What about mom?

Except the moment dragged on too long and he was still thrusting into her hard and unrelenting like he wanted to hurt her from the inside out. Buffy opened her eyes and his face was smooth and beautiful again. Like she had imagined it all. Maybe she did. Maybe she was going mad. She didn’t know, only knew what she felt and what she felt was Spike.

A wave started to build inside her and she threw her head back waiting for it. He slammed into her, running a trail of kisses all over her again, whispered filthy nothings into her ear. She knew he’d be a talker. She knew it.

Spike reached a hand down and brushed his finger over her clit, a ragged sound emerged from her lips and the wave in her started to build and get higher and wider with every small stroke of his finger. She was moments from being consumed by it. Spike kissed her savagely before slamming into her one last time.

Their release came simultaneously, both arching their backs and crying out in ecstasy.

Buffy felt as though, for a moment, she was okay. Her life was okay, she was just Buffy Summers, she didn’t have anything in particular to worry about. It was all right to be alive. For that little while at least.

Spike drew himself out of her and flopped down on bed next to her. She didn’t look at him, didn’t really look at anything. She lay naked on the bed and she wasn’t even self-conscious because he didn’t matter. This had never been about Spike, really. It had been about her. She had needed to feel like this, had needed someone to want to be with her.

“God, Slayer,” he groaned, “Might not kill you after all.”

She took a few long shuddering breaths, and glanced over at him. He was grinning widely staring up at the ceiling, his chest rising and falling erratically out of habit as if he felt the need to act human. She looked away when he turned to her. The problem with this all was that she had to deal with it now. Everything had consequences, even if she wished they’d just go away. He was Spike. He liked to brag. There was no way he’d keep his mouth shut about this.

Buffy sat up and grabbed the bedcovers, wrapping them around her so he couldn’t look at her back. She bent down and grabbed up her jacket, rifling through the pockets.

The Slayer turned and looked at him over her shoulder “Sorry, Spike, but I can’t return the favour.”

She held up the stake gripped tightly in her hand.
 

Chapter 16:
“Am I to take it that that’s not battery-operated fun for all the family?” Spike murmured, eyeing the stake.

The Slayer had caught him off-guard. Here he was sprawled across the bed, defenceless and more than a little knackered, and she had the upper hand. He could make a leap at her, try and use brute strength and speed but she’d have him dusted before he even realised what had happened. Best to play it cool and calm, then Spike decided.

He sat up slowly, hands plainly visible, as the Slayer tensed anticipating an attack. Instead he leaned over and kissed her shoulder. Miraculously, she let him. Spike reached over and grabbed the stake from her hand, tossing it across the room. Buffy glared at him but made no move to stop him.

He tilted his head “So, you were just going to stake me after what we just did? I feel used”

She turned away and bent down, searching through the clothes on the floor for her belongings. He watched as she tried to hold the sheet up and root around on the floor, it was a near impossible task. Buffy’s pale shoulders peeked at him from above the fallen sheet, scarred and raised. Spike reached out and ran a finger across them. Her back straightened and she moved out of his reach, glaring at him again.

“Knew you couldn’t do it, anyway,” Spike grinned stretching back out on the bed, lazily “Knew you couldn’t kill me”

“Oh, but I could. I really could, Spike” Her voice sounded as though she was talking about something far less serious than his death.

He looked up at her “So, why didn’t you?”

She shrugged with one shoulder “I’m giving you a pass. Just for now. A one time only deal. You get out of town now, you can go on existing”

Spike regarded her seriously. She was offering to let him skip off out of town and carry on with his carnage and mayhem as long as he didn’t do it on her doorstep. It was interesting to know that she was willing to let him continue to kill. They’d had a truce of sorts before but this was different. She had nothing to gain from not killing him. He wasn’t here to help save the world and by rights she should have staked his arse good and proper already.

Maybe it was because they had just fucked. Maybe she didn’t like to mix business with pleasure. And what a pleasure it had been. Spike smiled just thinking about it. She moved with such raw intensity that it had been a challenge for him not to shoot his load as soon as he’d entered her. She was so hot as well. Spike had only ever had vampire lovers, finding humans were much better for eating than screwing. Angelus had taught him that, not to bother with the mortal women, but now Spike began to think that maybe the bastard had just not wanted to share. Of course, the fact that she was the Slayer must have had something to do with it. He’d just fucked her breathless yet here she was, half a second later, threatening to kill him and gathering up her things like it hadn’t even amounted to the exertion of a brisk jog.

Spike wrapped an arm around her and yanked her back down onto the bed in front of him. She cursed and protested but he held on tight. Pulling the covers off of her he was afforded the unobstructed view of her back. He wondered how he could have ever truly found them ugly. They belonged to her, were a part of her, and in that they were wonderful. He’d never really been one for thinking scars were sexy but he could see now why some would. He placed a kiss against her back and she stiffened.

He had no doubt in his mind that she hadn’t been touched like this since before she got scarred. Maybe she hadn’t even been with anyone since Angelus, he didn’t know and he didn’t care to dwell on that too much. The point of it was, that he was probably the first bloke to see these scars, to have her let him see the scars and touch them and kiss them. There was a privilege in that, like taking some innocent young thing’s virginity. There was power in it too. Spike knew her fears now – that she perceived herself to be ugly and maybe even less than human – and he could use that to his advantage if he wanted.

However, he didn’t want to think about any of that. At least, not now. For this very short space of time she belonged to him. They weren’t going to fight no matter how many stakes she waved in his face. She wouldn’t stake him today; maybe she would another time, but not today. Today was a temporary respite from the regularly scheduled vampire vs. Slayer show.

Spike ran his hand along her back taking his time to feel each bump and indentation. The texture of her skin was rough in places, newly scabbed, whereas in others it was smooth as silk. It was a wonder for the senses.

“Don’t think this changes anything,” Buffy whispered “This...what we did. It doesn’t mean I’m not the Slayer anymore”

Spike shrugged “Never said it did. Wouldn’t find you half as interesting if you weren’t”

“Thanks,” She replied sarcastically, sitting up.

He watched as she leaned down and picked up her clothes, slipping them on quickly. Spike wasn’t too pleased about that. She couldn’t leave so soon, it just wasn’t proper.

“You can’t go yet, we haven’t even cuddled” He smirked, grabbing her shirt.

Buffy looked over her shoulder at him “I’m going home. My mother will be worried”

“Your mum can wait,” Spike pulled on the shirt “We’ve got so much more to discuss. Living arrangements, how many brats we want, whether you’ll be wearing white at the wedding or not...”

The Slayer wrinkled her nose “Have I mentioned how not funny, you are?”

“Good thing I’m a looker, then” Spike beamed.

She pulled a face and tried to pull her shirt back from him, he didn’t let go and it ripped all along the seam. Buffy looked down at the shirt and then lifted her eyes to his. Spike let go of the material and fixed a charming smile on his face.

“You...I hate you” She pointed at his face.

Spike playfully tried to bite her finger but she pulled it back “Yeah, I hate you too, baby. Still, I’d be willing to fuck you again”

The Slayer huffed and picked up his T-shirt “Never again, Spike”

“You say it, but you don’t mean it”

Buffy pulled his shirt on “I do mean it. You’re a vampire, I’m the Slayer. We don’t do this”

“You’re not nicking my shirt, Summers’” He sat up, face resolute “You can’t just screw a guy, then threaten to kill him, break up with him, and then steal his clothes. Didn’t anyone ever teach you how these things work?”

She stood and picked up her jacket, slipping it on “Break up with you? Spike, we were never together. And stop it”

“Stop what?” He arched an eyebrow inquisitively.

“Talking like that,” She slipped her shoes on, flustered “...like we’re talking”

Spike frowned “You make no sense”

“Stop talking to me like we’re a couple. We aren’t. What happened to the big bad, hmm? A couple of nights ago you were ready to kill me and now you’re joking around like we’re best friends. This isn’t a game. If you don’t leave then this is going to end bloody”

Spike looked into her eyes “Well, I’m not leaving”

Buffy scooped up a stake, looked at it “Your choice”

He watched as she picked up the rest of her scattered weapons. Even now she moved with a Slayer-like grace. She smelt of him, of his scent. Spike knew that her scent was all over him too now. Demons would pick up on it and he liked that. It would give him major credibility if the underworld of Sunnydale found out about it. It would mark the Slayer as his territory and could provoke two different reactions from the demon world – they would either avoid her at all costs, or seek her out and slaughter her.

Spike figured he should maybe warn her about that but she was being such a bitch he decided against it. Let the cow find it out for herself.

“You’ve really lost your sense of humour, blondie.” He remarked.

Buffy shrugged, turning back to him “What have I got to smile at?”

She had a point there. The Slayer’s life wasn’t exactly a laughfest at the moment. Spike had even noted the absence of her annoying friends when he’d been keeping an eye on her. He knew they were still in town, had seen them out and about more than once. He supposed they’d been keeping their distance for a while now. Bastards.

Not that he cared.

“So, when do I see you again?” He asked, half-jokingly.

Buffy held up the stake, her face emotionless “That depends. When do you want to die?”

She didn’t wait for an answer, though, likely anticipating the sarcastic reply that was on his lips. She turned and left and it was like she had never been there at all. Spike sighed and lay spread-eagled on the bed looking up at the ceiling. It had been an odd and eventful day.

The Slayer would be out for his blood if she saw him again, and not in the nice way. Still, he’d started to think that killing her would be a waste. There were so many other ways to have his fun with her and he was determined to try them all.
 

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