Chapter 23: Leap

Buffy perused the aisle of books with a careful eye. She was hoping the library had gotten the next novel of a series she was reading. She’d gotten into reading in a big way, recently. Nothing too verbose. She definitely wasn’t an academic, or anything. But reading was fun and also very anti-social so it went with her whole outlook these days. She often enjoyed reading the horror novels just so she could marvel (and laugh) at the way vampires were portrayed in them. They usually fell into two categories – brooding and tortured or wild and carefree. Although, come to think of it, that was pretty accurate.

They didn’t have the book she wanted. Buffy scowled and turned to leave, nearly walking straight into the young man who had been standing behind her. She apologised absently whilst trying to make her way around him. It was only when he spoke her name that she actually let herself look at him.

Oz gave her a polite smile and a brief nod of his head. He had a stack of college textbooks under his arms as well as other novels including, what looked to Buffy, like a book about the city of Rome. He was dressed in his usual sheepskin jacket – a wolf in sheep’s clothing – a faded green T-shirt with a baseball logo emblazoned on it, and dark blue jeans and sneakers. With his long spiky hair and cool musician stubble Oz was the quintessential college guy.

“What are you doing here?” Buffy blurted.

Oz’s gaze ticked down to the books in his hand “Books.”

“Right. Stupid question.” Buffy groaned inwardly. “Doesn’t the college have a library?”

“It does but I like to get out and mingle with the townsfolk once in a while. Keeps me healthy.”

She nodded slowly and eyed the door, “Well, I better…”

“Willow misses you.” Oz said gently.

It was a simple statement but it hit her straight at her core. She missed Willow. She missed them all. Her throat dried up as she tried to think of an answer to that but she couldn’t and when she felt the tears well up in her eyes she turned back towards the bookshelf to compose herself. Oz stepped up beside her gracefully and scanned the books with his eyes.

“Dracula,” He said, picking the book up, “the original classic. Or, if you’re looking for something a little more modern, Salem’s Lot. Of course, you could go with something kind of fruity like My Stepmother’s a Vampire. Your call.”

Buffy smiled a little, then it faltered. “If she misses me then why didn’t she come see me sooner, Oz?”

“I don’t know.” He replied, honestly.

“She just stopped visiting me in hospital. They all did. And I never knew why. I know that I wasn’t exactly cheery but I had a pretty good reason for that.” She eyed him, sideways.

Oz just nodded and motioned that he was going to go and check out his books. Buffy hesitated a moment before following him to the desk. There was no one in line so Oz made his way straight to the front, placing his books on the counter. Buffy stood slightly apart from it all, watching as he paid off an overdue library fare using several crinkled up notes. The woman behind the desk gave him a tempting smile but either Oz was oblivious to it or he simply chose to ignore it, leaving with a civil thank you and walking back towards Buffy. The librarian shot her a dirty look having clearly decided that Buffy was his girlfriend. It almost made her laugh that the woman was jealous of her. She had absolutely no reason to be.

They made their way outside into the semi-darkness of the Sunnydale street. It was approaching sunset and Buffy was hoping to get home, have something resembling dinner, and grab a more substantial coat before she ventured out to patrol.

“There’s this thing. Party. Over at Stevenson House,” Oz informed her. “Townie friendly.”

Buffy shook her head, “Not much for parties these days.”

“Okay.” He nodded, “The Dingoes are playing tomorrow night at the Bronze. Willow’ll be there. Xander too, I think.”

Buffy understood what he was implying.That it might be a good time to have some kind of reunion with them. And where better than a crowded place where fists probably wouldn’t fly. However, given The Bronze’s reputation that probably didn’t apply. She shifted from foot to foot, eyes on the descending sun.

“I don’t know.” She was the very picture of non-committal.

Oz gave her a brief smile “Just an option.”

He took a step backwards; to make it clear it was okay for her to leave. Buffy nodded at him and turned on her heel. She had only taken a couple of steps away from him when he called out her name again. Slowly, she turned back.

“For what’s its worth,” Oz looked her in the eyes, intently, “I tried to visit you. Once. But I wasn’t on your visitors list.”

Buffy just looked at him, having no idea what to say. The werewolf held her gaze a moment longer before turning and walking slowly down the street, books in hand. The Slayer watched until he was gone from her line of sight and then she walked away.

+ + +

By the time she came across Spike, later that night, she was in no mood for a confrontation with him. She’d already dusted three vampires and grappled with a Dravlok demon she had since lost and was attempting to track. Instead she had found the white-haired vampire sitting on the cemetery floor, leaning back against the doors of a mausoleum. Serve him right if the occupants decided to take a midnight stroll and he fell flat on his back when they made their exits. At least it might give her a laugh.

Spike was smoking a cigarette and looked up as she approached. “Nice night for it, eh?”

Buffy thought about her conversation with Jeremiah the night before. The fact that she had needed another vampire to point out Spike’s possible untrustworthiness was just sad. She was the Slayer and, hello, also had common sense enough to figure that out for herself. Or, at least, she should have. Maybe she was just deluding herself. So she decided to just come right out with it.

“Are you still killing?”

He spluttered, coughing loudly, after inhaling a large quantity of smoke. “You what?”

“It’s a simple enough question. One I really should have asked before.” Buffy stopped and looked down at him. “Are you still killing people, yes or no?”

“Buffy, love,” Spike murmured, fully recovered, as he stood up, “what’s this about?”

She sighed at him. “Just answer the question, Spike.”

Spike dropped the cigarette, crushing it under foot. Then he looked up at her and just stared for a couple of moments, hand pressed against his chest as if he were swearing allegiance to the flag. Buffy waited for him to come out with some sly remark, or any remark, but when time seemed to stretch on a little too long for such a simple question, she began to get suspicious.

The vampire blinked. “No. I’m not. Satisfied?”

“Not really, no.” Buffy watched him, more than a little perplexed.

“Well, we can sort that out.” Spike’s usual cavalier grin erupted onto his face. “I’ve got all night to get you nice and satisfied.”

As he took a step towards her she put her hand out and spoke, “Spike, if you are killing again…then tell me now. End this now.”

While I still have a chance to make things right Buffy added silently to herself. If he was killing again then she could forget about him. She could even kill him. Then she could go to The Bronze tomorrow, meet up with her friends, get reacquainted. She might be able to start over. Get her life back on track again. It wouldn’t be easy but it might be possible.

“I’m…I’m bloody not!” Spike cried, throwing his hands up. “What’s a guy gotta do to convince you, eh Slayer?”

Buffy looked him square in the eyes. “Swear on your life. I’d say…swear on Drusilla’s life or on anyone else you care about but you care about yourself most. So, swear on your life, Spike.”

“Fine.” He took several steps towards her, so they came face to face. “I swear on my life.”

She considered him for a moment and then took a step back and shrugged. Either he was telling the truth or he was lying. There was no way she could know for sure, but if she decided to trust him about this then maybe she could finally feel comfortable around someone else. By some crazy twist of fate Spike was the person who knew the most about her these days. He knew her physically, carnally and he knew her fears. She became aware in her periphery thoughts that he could one day use this all against her. Truly bring her to her knees in a powerful and violent crescendo.

Either she took the leap with him or she didn’t.

And Buffy was so tired of not taking the leap. So tired of playing it safe, of being alone, of isolation and alienation and all those other ugly words.

So, she nodded and felt the tension in her shoulders relax. And this time when Spike moved towards her she didn’t stop him. She pulled him closer.
 

Chapter 24: Reconciliation

The music from the nightclub pulsed out into the alleyway, a steady beat of techno sounds, without lyrics and made solely for dancing like a lunatic to. Buffy remembered dancing with Faith to a very similar sounding song. The memory made her smile, a little. Happier times. Simpler times. Before she got so messed up and before Faith went psychotic.

The Slayer stood staring at the entrance to the The Bronze. She’d been there for at least ten minutes, trying to weigh up all of her options. Either she went in or she didn’t. If she didn’t go in she knew she would regret it. And she was all about the no regrets policy these days. Taking a deep breath, she strolled towards the bouncer at the door. There was no one in line, it was pretty late, and people were probably already crammed inside.

Buffy heard the dance music cut off as she handed the guy at the door her money. He looked her over briefly before nodding and opening the door to the club. There was no real dress code for The Bronze, so she had to guess that he had simply been checking her out. And she felt oddly pleased about that. Which really showed the shift in her attitude over the recent weeks, when she thought about it. Sure, she’d still feel extremely uncomfortable if some guy tried to hit on her but she was okay with them looking. She knew she had her scars covered up.

She’d opted for a black cotton fitted shirt, tapering in at the waist and completely opaque – so the lights in the club didn’t highlight any of the damage – and fitted blue jeans with boots to complete the look. It was casual but still feminine. Her hair was tied up tightly in a bun and she’d actually made the effort to wear some mascara and lip gloss.

Stepping inside the club as the door slammed shut behind her the heat of the building swept over her like a rolling wave. There was a fair amount of people on the dance floor, though no music played yet as the band was setting up on stage. All the tables were occupied with people either standing or sitting around them, red paper beer cups littering all surfaces. Several people were propped up by the bar waving dollar bills at the staff and trying to shout over the din of multiple conversations.

People brushed past her on the way to the toilet or to the stairs that led to the walkway. Buffy looked up and found the balcony housing quite a few couples who were using it for their make-out sessions.

She winced as the band plugged one of their guitars into an amp and sent a high-pitched squeal across the club. Devon was tapping the microphone saying ‘1, 2, 3…testing” over and over again, whilst Oz stood to the side looking down at his guitar with concentration. As if feeling her eyes on him the werewolf looked up and awarded her with a slight smile and a nod. Buffy returned the low-key greeting.

Her eyes scanned the crowded club until they came to rest on a head of coppery-red. Willow. The witch sat at a table, front row and centre, to get a good view of her boyfriend. Xander sat with her sipping a bottle of beer, which he must have used fake ID to buy. Buffy looked around for any sign of Anya or even Giles but found neither.

She took a long, deep breath and worked the crick out of her neck. Her cheeks felt suddenly hot and she wondered if it was obvious that she was blushing. Deciding that it would be better if she just got it over and done with, the Slayer weaved her way through the patrons of the bar towards her friends.
Buffy had almost made it to the pair when a suddenly shudder ran through her body, the hairs on the back of her neck lifting up. She looked around but could see no one who looked even vaguely like a candidate for slaying. Shrugging, she resumed her course towards the table.

Buffy could hear Willow attempting to engage Xander in a conversation about how cute Oz looked up on stage and the boy was clearly uncomfortable with the whole deal.

After a long moment of indecision on what to say, Buffy came out with, “Oh my god, are you guys with the band?”

Willow turned around to give her the stink-eye but abruptly changed course when she saw who it was, a surprised expression pasting itself on her face. “Buffy!”

“That’s pretty much me,” she replied, shifting nervously from foot to foot.

“Are you here to scold us again? ’Cos I didn’t enjoy the scolding.” Willow questioned, a tad playfully but with a serious undercurrent.

Buffy shook her head and the redhead visibly relaxed. She stood, slowly, and there was an awkward moment before she reached over and pulled Buffy into a warm hug. The Slayer felt herself tense up instinctively but after only a moment she unwound enough to hug her back, even if it was a somewhat generic embrace.

As she pulled back, her gaze turned to Xander. He had remained seated, his finger tracing the rim of the beer bottle, facial expression defiantly moody as he tried not to look at her. She glanced back at Willow who pulled a disapproving face at her old crush. Buffy shook her head, indicating Xander’s reaction was understandable.

“Guess you hate me now.” Buffy remarked to him.

Xander locked eyes with her and said nothing.

She shrugged one shoulder “Hate you too.”

“Gee, thanks,” an almost smile quivered at the corner of his lips. “I always wanted to form a mutual hate society with my best friend.” Willow cleared her throat. “One of my best friends.” Xander amended.

Dingoes Ate My Baby started to play suddenly, loud music boomed out of their speakers and people on the dance floor jumped up and down, cheering, before settling down into more suitable dancing. Willow frowned, actually annoyed at the interruption, from what Buffy could tell. She motioned for Buffy to sit down at the table and then sat down herself.

“So, how’d you know we were here? Not that it’s not good because it is.” Willow nodded, “Right, Xander?”

He shrugged, slowly. “It’s good that you’re here, Buffy. But we still have things to talk through.”

“Yeah. I guess we do.” Buffy agreed. “So, let’s talk.”

Willow and Xander looked at each other then back to Buffy, neither of them saying anything. She tapped her fingers on the tabletop waiting for one of them to have the courage and come forward to say what they wanted to say. It wasn’t like they had had much trouble expressing their feelings the last time they had met with her.

Xander cleared his throat. “Right. Well. It’s just that…you’ve been avoiding us. I know we handled things badly. Okay, more than badly. Hellaciously, if you will. But we’re still your friends and you shut us out completely. It got to the point where we couldn’t remember the last time we had seen you.”

“It was easier that way, Xander. By keeping myself to myself I didn’t have to feel the way you all look at me.” Buffy replied.

“And how is that?”

“Like you pity me,” she said. “Like I’m someone to be pitied”

Willow shook her head, “Buffy, no.”

Buffy shrugged. “I can’t have people around me who can’t see past the scars. I need you to see me. You said before that I was a different person, well, that’s because circumstances made me that way. It wasn’t the scars. It was the reaction to the scars. I might as well have hung a sign around my neck saying ‘mutilated girl, come see the freak show’.”

“Well, cut us some slack, Buff. It’s not like there are blueprints on how to deal with this kind of thing. Everything we said…everything we did…seemed to rub you up the wrong way.” Xander added, carefully. “We couldn’t do a thing right, as far as you were concerned. I get that you were hurting, that you still are, but so are we. You gotta realise that. We’re all in the same boat. You might be the one who got burnt but we all wear the scars from that day.”

Buffy had to look away from his warm, dark eyes. She fixated on the band up on the stage. Devon was holding the microphone almost obscenely close, eyes closed in concentration as he belted out one of their up-tempo numbers. A spotlight had landed on Oz as he let rip with a well-practiced guitar solo.

She took a deep breath and turned back to her friends. “All I know is that I needed support. I needed my friends to be there for me. I was difficult, I was moody, I was a complete bitch to you guys – this I know. But I was going through something you can’t even begin to understand. I needed that anger. I needed it so that I could grit my teeth and get on with living. Because even that, even living, was like a trial for me. I wanted out. I wanted to be gone. In my eyes my life was not worth it. And when no one but my mother was there for me…it burned worse than that demon’s flame ever could.”

“Buffy,” Willow’s voice trembled, “we know we should have been there. We know that if we had then maybe things would be different. Maybe you wouldn’t still be so angry. I just…we’re here now. At your disposal. I’ll do anything to make it up to you.”

She wondered if maybe now would be a good time to tell them about Spike. They wouldn’t understand that. Their kind and gentle visages would melt away into disgust and scorn. The way Xander had reacted towards Angel made this perfectly clear to her. Yet, maybe, it would be a good idea to just get it all out in the open now. Save for confrontation and blame later on.

Looking at them now, so full of hope for reconciliation, Buffy knew she wouldn’t say a damn thing.

“You could start by getting me a drink. I’ve got a bad case of dry throat.” She replied.

Xander’s eyebrows rose. “Not to be confused with deep throat.”

Willow practically threw herself off her chair and ran towards the bar with a skip in her step. Buffy watched her for a moment before turning back to the table. Xander was looking at with a deep concentration. She wanted to flinch and move away, the scars on her back felt hot and clammy all of a sudden.

He placed the cap from his beer onto the table between them. Buffy looked at him questioningly.

“Bottle cap for your thoughts.” He leaned in.

She looked down at the table for a moment. “You always were a cheapskate. As for my thoughts…they’re mostly dark in a gothic, woe-is-me type of way. You don’t want to know.”

“Alright, then. I’ll just tell you my thoughts. I was just thinking that you have never looked more beautiful.”

Buffy rolled her eyes and scoffed, feeling her cheeks light up.

“I know, I know. Cheesy. But totally true. It’s not a line, I have a girlfriend now…a sometimes crazy, often nymphomaniac girlfriend but…still. You have this new way about you. Like, confidence I guess? I’m not explaining this very well.” Xander rambled, looking embarrassed.

“I beg you to stop.” She nodded, also embarrassed.

Xander gave her a quick grin as Willow came back to the table with a couple of colas. One for each of them, whereas Xander made do with his illegal beer. Buffy gulped down a large quantity of the ice cold drink to alleviate the flush that had alighted itself around her face.

“But, Buffy, I’m serious.” Willow sipped her own coke. “I’ll do anything. You can hit me if you like. Just not in the nose. No…no…you can hit me in the nose. I deserve it. Please, hit me in the nose.”

“I left my hitting hand at home.”

Xander balled his fist “I could lend you this one.”

“Ack, no!” Willow cried. “Not a man hand. That would be too much.”

He laughed. “Willow, you just gave permission for a Slayer to hit you. Buffy’s got more strength in her little toe than I have in my whole body.”

“Yeah, but…her hands are less threatening looking, you know? Less beefy.”

“And way less hairy” Buffy added.

“Totally.”

“Hey!”

Buffy smiled.
 

Chapter 25:

As Buffy exited the Bronze an hour later, she was instantly aware that there was a vampire near. Standing in the middle of the alleyway for a moment she paused to consider if going after a vamp without a stake was a good idea. Decided it was her duty, or whatever, to do so she walked deeper into the darkened alley. When she cautiously turned a corner and saw no signs of any demons lurking, Buffy sighed to herself. Assuming that she had just been paranoid she turned to go back the way she came.

And nearly walked straight into Spike.

He was leaning up against the chain link fence, a satisfied smirk on his face. He was happy to have surprised her. She had to wonder, though, how vampires did that. Just appeared out of no where. Buffy wanted to be able to do that. It seemed nifty. Not that she would tell him that. Instead she just scowled at him in annoyance.

“It’s rude to corner a girl in a dark alleyway,” she pointed out.

Spike stood up straight and shrugged. “I’m a rude man.”

Buffy rolled her eyes and walked past him back in the direction of the club and the main streets. She had decided to leave early because she didn’t want to push it. This re-established connection she had with her friends now was still very fragile and Buffy was tentative about not pushing any boundaries. They still had a long way to go before they would get back to a bond as strong as they had all once had. And she hadn’t even spoken to Giles yet. She thought that in some ways, she missed him the most. Not just because he was her Watcher and he was meant to guide her through her slaying but because he was her father. In every sense except biology.

As she passed him by, Spike grabbed her arm and swung her backwards into the fence causing it to rattle loudly. She started to tell him to fuck off but he cut her off with a rough kiss. Hands snaked underneath her shirt, groping her quickly. Spike darted backwards, away, before she had a chance to shove him.

“Are you insane or just an idiot?” Buffy asked, wiping her mouth. “My friends are in there. What if they saw?”

Spike glanced at the entrance to the club. “What if they did? And since when are those tossers your friends again?”

Buffy didn’t answer as she straightened her shirt. Spike snorted and folded his arms, either annoyed or just confused. She didn’t know which. The Slayer watched his face and when he didn’t say anymore she sighed and walked past him, again attempting to leave. And again he stopped her. He darted around in front of her and held his hand out towards her. She regarded him for a moment, unsure. Then slipped her hand into his.

Spike, to her surprise, twirled her around in a circle and then pulled her in close. One of his hands resting on her hip, the other clasping her hand. It was then, she realised, he wanted to dance with her. Buffy’s self-consciousness immediately kicked in and she tried to extricate herself from him. Spike held on tight and began to sway to the music that seeped out of the Bronze and on to their own little dance floor.

She knew that anyone could come out of the club and see them. Her friends might see them. And then how would she explain dancing with William the Bloody in a dank alleyway, under a starry sky? Buffy had no answer, had no idea why she didn’t just pull away.

She used to love to dance. Had never been one of those girls who were too embarrassed or shy to move to the pulsing of the music. She would twirl around and sway her hips, run her hands up the chest of the boy she had chosen to move with. Buffy remembered dancing with Willow, everything perky and sugar-coated, and light and breezy. Then there was the time she danced with Xander, full of scorn and vindictiveness, using him to provoke a reaction. Faith and Buffy, holding hands whilst they jumped up and down, moved their bodies with a liquid grace only Slayers possessed, the Chosen Two dancing like they owned the place. Owned the world. And they had, for those few minutes.

And now, here she was, sharing a dance with Spike. Life really took twists and turns you couldn’t anticipate, Buffy had come to learn. She guessed that was the whole point.

She pressed her face into his neck. “What are we doing?”

“Dancing.”

“I mean us,” she sighed, breathing in the scent of his skin. “This…isn’t supposed to be happening. Not with us.”

“The universe is funny like that.” Spike replied, hand creeping up her shirt. “Doesn’t listen to what you tell it.”

Wasn’t that just the truth? If Buffy had her way she would never have been burnt. She’d be with Angel, he’d be curse free and everything in life would be intrinsically right. Instead she was here. In the dark. With the wrong vampire, the wrong body, everything intrinsically wrong. Yet, at that exact moment? She didn’t mind all that much. It felt kind of nice to be held in someone’s arms, to have found a man who wasn’t awkward and nervous with his movements, who knew how she liked to dance, and who let her forget it all. Her burns, her problems with her friends and her mother, her slaying duties – none of them mattered for the length of that dance she shared with Spike.

But the thing about a dance was it always had to end.

The music in the Bronze ebbed and Spike and Buffy parted almost instinctively. She looked at him and something occurred to her.

“Were you in the Bronze earlier?”

Spike pulled a cigarette out. “No. Why, wanted to introduce me to your mates? I think they remember me, love.”

“No. I thought…” she shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. I should go.”

He lit the cigarette, took a puff. “Don’t let me stop you. But, ’fore you do go, how about we just nip ’round the corner and indulge in a knee-trembler.”

Buffy snorted and left the alley, hearing him follow her she slowed a little so they walked side by side.

Spike took a puff of his cigarette. “Patrolling?”

“Home,” she corrected.

“I’ll walk with you, then.” He glanced at her. “It’s on my way, anyway.”

Buffy smiled. “On your way to where?”

“Your bedroom.”

She laughed and carried on down the street. Spike was straightforward and she appreciated that. It meant there was no confusion as to what they were doing. It wasn’t love, but it wasn’t exactly hate anymore either. It was like a mutual understanding. They both needed each other in a way but neither of them would become too attached. At least, she hoped they wouldn’t because that would lead to a whole big mess.

“So,” he flicked some ash to the ground, “why the reunion with your mates?”

“Seemed like the right time.”

Spike snorted. “Bet those wankers are glad to be back in the bosom. So to speak.”

“Don’t call them that.”

“Why not?”

Buffy walked ahead, looking over her shoulder at him. “If you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends.”

Spike gaped, cigarette hanging out of his mouth comically. “Did you really just quote the Spice Girls to me?”

She found herself laughing again, the sound echoing up the street, and they walked the rest of the way back to her house in relative silence. Apart from the occasional muttering Spike was making about really ‘getting with’ her friends. Buffy mostly just ignored his cruder remarks and enjoyed the fact that she wasn’t alone. Every night she patrolled alone, walked home alone. Not tonight.

When Buffy told him he couldn’t come up she was lying, but he didn’t know that. Spike shoved her against the tree in her front yard and proceeded to try and persuade her otherwise. His methods really were very persuasive and Buffy found herself giving in to his demands after letting him sweat it out for a while. She told him he’d have to get in through her bedroom window and be quiet, since her mother was still up. Spike just grinned, kissed her on the nose and made his way around the house.

Buffy straightened her clothes and clomped up the porch to her house, welcoming the warmth as she opened the door and slipped in.

Neither of them had noticed they were being watched.

Chapter 26: Goodbye

Spike knew he wasn’t where he was supposed to be as soon as he woke up. He was still in the Slayer’s room, in the Slayer’s bed, when he should have been halfway to his lair by now. Yet as he lay with his chest pressed to the soft mattress, sheets tangled around his waist, and the gorgeous Miss. Buffy Summers only a few inches away…he found himself not caring. She too lay on her front, facing away from him. The sheets were bunched up around her waist also, revealing the canvas of her back. Spike let his eyes dance over the expanse of skin and barely noticed the silvery scars that graced her body.

His hand sneaked out to smooth down her hair against the pillow, careful not to wake her. Not for the first time since they had started these series of trysts, Spike wondered why he felt so attached to this girl. As usual, he came up with no clear answers. Just more questions.

The vampire sighed and was seriously considering getting out of bed like a good boy, when a sharp tapping sound drew his attention. Spike sat up abruptly, looking around for signs of danger. He saw nothing. A few moments passed and then the sound came again.

He slipped out of the bed and followed the sound as it became more and more frequent. Eventually, Spike realised it was coming from the window. He carefully looked out, hiding himself behind the curtain.

There was a man in Buffy’s garden, throwing stones at Buffy’s window. Spike felt his jaw tighten and he looked back over at the slumbering girl. Her forehead was creased showing the dream she was having to be unpleasant.

Quietly he pulled his jeans, boots, and duster on; not bothering with the shirt as he sloped out of the Slayer’s room and down the stairs. Making his way to the back door he pulled it open and stepped out into the darkened garden. The man was still there and turned to him as he came into view. Spike seized the other man up with a sneer. Curly black hair, blue eyes, medium height and build and one hundred percent vampire.

He had to wonder what a vampire was doing trying to wake up the resident vampire Slayer. So, he asked.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

The other vampire looked him over genially. “I was tryin’ to get Buffy’s attention.”

Buffy. He calls her Buffy.

Spike scowls. “Well, you got me. Lucky boy, you are. Who the hell are you then, mate?”

“Jeremiah.”

“Never ’eard of you.”

“I keep a low profile.”

Spike took a step closer, approaching the centre of the lawn. Jeremiah’s hands rested comfortably in the pockets of his jacket, a composed look on his face. Spike narrowed his eyes and tried to get a better read of the bloke. He was like a stone wall. Easily forgotten but hard to break through.

Jeremiah smiled, slightly. “I’ve heard of you, though.”

“All good things, I hope.” Spike spat.

“Depends on how you look at it.” He shrugged with one shoulder. “I’d really like to speak with Buffy.”

“Not gonna happen.”

The dark-haired vampire chuckled, looking at him straight on. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realise you were her keeper. My mistake. Can I make an appointment?”

Spike gritted his teeth. “No, but you can tell me how it is you know the Slayer.”

“Buffy and me? We go way back.” He scooped up a handful of small stones. “I’ll admit, I tried to get a little frisky with her when we were first acquainted but she knocked me back.”

Spike’s fists tensed at his sides. “I’m not surprised.”

Jeremiah nodded, grinning. “Yeah, why would she stoop to my level when she’s got William the Bloody? Although, she does think you’ve stopped killing, so she doesn’t exactly have all the facts. Maybe she’ll change her mind. I’m a savvy dancer and know all about good table manners…”

He grabbed the intruding vampire by the lapels and drove him backwards into the wall of the house, hard enough to knock the wind out of a human. Spike’s face automatically slid into its vampire visage, teeth lengthening, eyes bleeding to yellow, forehead ridged. His hands gripped Jeremiah tightly, their foreheads pressed together and every muscle in his body taut and ready to fight.

Jeremiah just laughed. “Spike, come on, let’s not turn to violence. Pistols at dawn would be more appropriate…but then I guess neither of us would win that. You should calm down.”

“Yeah, alright, how ’bout I calm down by battering your face in?” Spike snarled, slamming the other male against the wall again.

“All I was saying was that Buffy deserves to know. It’s hardly fair to her, is it? You think she’s not gonna find out? Come on, she’s a clever girl.”

He was itching to kill this bloke. “What I want to know is, why are you so bothered about her in the first place?”

Jeremiah frowned. “I like her. She’s a good woman. Pretty, funny, knows how to kick my ass ten ways to Sunday…what’s not to like?”

“She’s mine.”

“Oh, really?” His eyebrows lifted. “She never mentioned that to me. I guess she thought she was her own person. But, listen, you don’t have to worry anyhow. I only came to say goodbye.”

Spike leaned in closer. “I’ll be sure to relay the message.”

“That’s very kind of you. But I have a few other things to tell her too.”

Spike reeled his fist back and aimed it at the other vampires face. Jeremiah was too quick for him though; he ducked underneath the strike and danced backwards into the centre of the garden. Spike growled and leapt at him. Again, he simply sidestepped and Spike found himself sprawled in the mud. This served only to make him angrier, the need to shut this guy up before he spilled to Buffy his primary concern.

Jeremiah folded his arms over his chest. “I don’t wanna fight. I just came to see the girl.”

Spike didn’t bother to reply this time; he began to circle the stranger predatorily looking for a weakness, a way in. He faked a moved and the vampire fell for it, darting away, but Spike was upon him in an instance. They both tumbled to the floor, Spike straddling the other man. He let out a snarl and proceeded to punch the bastard hard about the head. He was just starting to think about where he could get a stake from when they were interrupted.

“Spike, what the hell are you doing?”

The harsh whisper cut through the sound of his fist hitting Jeremiah’s face. He stopped and looked over his shoulder. The Slayer stood in the doorway of her kitchen, hair tumbling messily around her neck and shoulders, a fluffy white robe tied tightly around her waist, showing off the pale skin of her legs. If it wasn’t for the dirty scowl she was giving him, Spike would have said she looked divine.

He almost grinned, she still looked divine. The scowl kind of did it for him. Or, it would have, if he hadn’t have realised he was skating on a knife edge at that very instance.

He climbed off of the vampire on the ground and turned around to face her, face morphing back to its smooth lines. “I was seeing to this intruder. Making sure you and your mum were safe.”

“Cut the shit, Spike.” Buffy said in a no-nonsense tone, she squinted and then her eyes widened considerably. “Jeremiah?”

The dark-haired man sat up, slowly. Spike glanced down at him and saw his face was already beginning to swell and turn a nasty shade of purple. He could barely open one eye and his lip was cut, dribbling dark, cold blood down his chin.

Still, he managed a carefree grin. “Evenin’, Buffy.”

Spike watched as a look of actual concern flittered across the Slayer’s face before she promptly concealed it. He felt his blood start to boil again. Just how well did these two know each other, anyway? The Slayer couldn’t be playing him, could she?

“What is going on?” She asked, nostrils flaring.

“Nothin’ much, me and Spike were just getting acquainted.” Jeremiah stood slowly, brushing off his clothes.

Buffy took a step out onto the back porch. “Yeah, looked like your face was getting well acquainted with his fist. Jeremiah, what are you doing in my back yard? How do you even know where I live?”

“Followed you.”

Buffy recoiled.

Jeremiah put his hands up. “None too gentlemanly, I admit, but not for nothing sinister I swear. I just came to say goodbye.”

She frowned. “Why? I mean, why tell me? By rights I should slay you right now.”

Spike liked that idea.

“Oh, come now. I thought we were past the flirting threats,” Jeremiah smiled, taking a step towards her. “Me and Eloise are leavin’ town, Sunnydale is not the most friendly place. Demons roaming everywhere, etcetera.”

She looked at him blankly. “You’re an odd sort of vampire, Jeremiah. So, alright, I’ll bite – who’s Eloise?”

“My girl. Met her a couple of nights ago, I did. She’s sweet.” He tilted his head. “And aren’t I supposed to be the one who bites? Not that I’d mind if you fancied it…”

Spike just about managed to stop the possessive growl that started deep in his throat. Even in the darkness he could see Buffy’s cheeks colour at the vampire’s teasing. Then she shifted from foot to foot and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Spike’s bad mood worsened; she only ever did the hair thing for him.

Jeremiah shrugged with one shoulder. “If you change your mind, you know where I’ll be. Well, no you don’t, but I’m easy enough to find. I wanted to talk to you about some other things but I suppose you’ll just have to work them out on your own.”

Spike glared at the vampire but he didn’t pay any attention to him, his eyes focused on Buffy. The Slayer, for her part, looked mildly confused. Her eyes ticked between the two vampires who had been brawling in her back garden.

“’Bye Buffy. And Spike…” Jeremiah turned and looked at him, “…we should have a drink together sometime.”

Spike didn’t miss the implication in that invitation and, apparently, from the Slayer’s expression neither did she. The southern-accented man tipped an imaginary hat at the girl before exiting her garden and disappearing. This left Buffy and Spike standing in the pre-dawn darkness, looking at each other. She looked all kinds of suspicious and Spike gave her a blank look in return. He made a very conscious decision that if she straight out asked him in that moment if he was still killing, he would tell her. No matter the consequences.

But she didn’t ask. And he didn’t tell.

Chapter 27 Surrender

The courtyard was bathed in muted sunlight, the old fountain still as dried up and decaying as she remembered it. It had been a while since she had been here but nothing seemed to have changed. The poison ivy still crept up the walls; the potted plants were brown and wilting, it was almost exactly how it had been when she’d seen the place last.

Buffy pulled the brim of her sunhat lower as she felt the heat begin to warm unpleasantly against her neck. She walked slowly to the door and found it slightly ajar. Pushing it open gently with her hand she stepped into Giles’ apartment. It too looked exactly as she remembered it. With the exception of several books spread over the coffee table and floor.

The Slayer walked quietly into the living room, removed her sunglasses, and picked up one of the books titled “Glamour Spells.” Frowning, she picked up another one, “Healing and Recuperation Chants for the Advanced Spellcaster”. Buffy set the books back down and sat on the couch as she glanced over the pages of the open books. They were all magick books, all the same kinds of spells. Ones to conceal blemishes, or heal cuts and bruises, spells to aid recovery. Pages had been dog-eared, phrases underlined in pencil. Anything that related to scarring had been made note of, tiny scribblings in the margins – concerned with whether these spells were authentic or not.

“You can’t help me with spells,” she said simply.

“I can try.”

Giles stood in the archway of the kitchen, not looking at all surprised that she had sensed him there, unannounced. She turned to him; closing the book in her hand and putting it back neatly on the table. His apartment might have looked the same but Giles didn’t. He looked older. She hadn’t really noticed it before but his hair was greying and his eyes always seemed weary now. Buffy knew she was the cause of his premature ageing. Just one more thing to feel guilty about.

The Watcher took a step into the room, flinging the tea towel over his shoulder. “Not that I’m displeased to see you, Buffy, but I can’t remember the last time you ventured over here.”

“I can,” was all she said.

“Tea?” He offered, gently.

She shook her head and took her hat off, fiddling with the brim. “I’m sorry, Giles.”

“That’s quite all right. Just means there’s more tea for me.”

Buffy looked at him as he smiled at his own joke and she smiled back, laughing a little. Giles seemed delighted by this and looked as though he didn’t quite know what to do with himself. After a moment he turned around and walked back into the kitchen, filling the kettle up with water and heating it up.

Buffy stood and walked slowly into the kitchen, the long skirt gliding against her legs. She hadn’t worn a skirt in a long time. She leaned against the wall and watched as he spooned sugar into a mug, added a splash of milk and a teabag.

Giles turned back to her. “You’ve nothing to apologise for, Buffy. I should have handled the situation better. I am, after all, your Watcher. I was responsible for you and I didn’t…”

“Protect me?” Buffy stood upright and looked down at the floor. “Giles, I’m the Slayer. I didn’t dodge the attack in time, what could you have done?”

He folded his arms and said resolutely, “I should never have let you fight those demons. We were unprepared, outmatched and you weren’t ready.”

She shrugged slowly. “It was my idea to go and slay. I needed to. I needed something to take my mind off of…”

“Angel,” he murmured quietly. “I knew why you were out slaying every night. I knew you were emotionally vulnerable but I thought it might be beneficial to use your hurt and anger and channel it into slaying. I was wrong. I should have stopped you.”

“Newsflash, Giles; I’m pretty stubborn. I would have gone to that cave, anyway. But I probably would have gone alone and gotten killed,” she replied, looked up into his eyes sincerely.

The kettle abruptly started to whistle making them both jump a little and Giles made an apologetic face. He poured the hot water into his mug and stirred the liquid around with a spoon before scooping out the teabag and dropping it in the bin. Blowing on the tea, he took a sip and regarded her seriously. Up until recently she might have flinched or squirmed at his intent gaze but now she just returned it.

Giles cleared his throat. “Buffy…I’ve noticed a…change in you. You seem more at peace with yourself, which I’m glad about. However, I have been wondering what has brought about such a change in heart?”

Buffy paused a long moment before answering.

“Trust.”

+ + +

The grass was cold against her body; her skin seemed to glow against the backdrop of the night. So did his.

They were in the park, a secluded spot; Spike lay between her legs, his head over her shoulder as they lay recovering from a session of alfresco sex. Buffy wound her arms around him and stroked the hairs on the back of his neck without even realising what she was doing.

It was strange that she wouldn’t even feel slightly embarrassed lying naked in a public park with a very naked vampire on top of her. Earlier she had protested that if someone were to come along and see them she would stake Spike and then herself out of shame. Spike’s only reply had been that if anyone came across them in this state that they’d probably die from the sheer beauty of them both. That had gotten an eye roll from Buffy but nevertheless he managed to convince her. He always did.

She sighed and closed her eyes as he kissed her jaw line, nuzzling his face into her hair. With their chests pressed together, she could only feel her own heartbeat. It might have felt odd to her if that wasn’t all she had ever known. She had only ever had sex with vampires. There was something wrong with that, she knew, but she didn’t have any effort left to think too much about it.

Suddenly Spike growled. Buffy frowned as he pulled away to look her in the eyes. He looked angry.

“What?” She asked, suddenly not feeling so at ease.

Spike’s hand touched her neck. “You’ve been bitten.”

Buffy knocked his hand away and covered the bite marks. “Yeah. It happens sometimes. You must have noticed it before.”

“Yeah, well, tonight it bothers me. Who bit you?” He demanded, scowling.

“You really want to know?”

“I knew it. It was him, wasn’t it?” Spike shook his head. “Bloody Angelus! Gets everything he does.”

Buffy balked and pushed him away, sitting up. “No, not Angelus. Angel.”

“Oh, right. That’s completely different,” he snorted.

Buffy wondered for a moment what the hell his problem was until she realised it was fairly obvious. Spike was a vampire. He wanted to bite her. He was jealous because Angel had bitten her, what he didn’t know was that she had made him bite her. To save his life. She wasn’t just a willing meal for any bloodsucker. She had loved Angel but she never would have let him bite her for recreation. It just wasn’t who she was.

“I know what you want but –”

“But you don’t trust me.”

This floored her. She hadn’t expected her earlier words to Giles to be thrown back in her face like this. When she had told her Watcher that it was trust that had changed her she wasn’t lying, because she had set herself an ultimatum. Either she agreed to trust Spike completely and continue seeing him or she had to kill him. She had chosen the former option and even now with him being a possessive, egotistical vampire she knew she couldn’t kill him. It just wasn’t an option for her anymore. Buffy was in too deep, deeper than even she realised.

She shrugged slowly. “You want to give me another scar, Spike?”

He had the decency to look pained at that.

“It doesn’t have to scar,” he assured her. “Only right vicious bites scar. He must have really bit you hard.”

Buffy looked down at the ground. “You have no idea.”

“Oh, you like it like that, do you?”

She looked up. “No. He was dying; I did it to save him. He had no control over what he was doing.”

“Right,” Spike seemed sceptical. “Well, there’s the difference between me and him. I have control. I know how to make it hurt just enough. Make it hurt in all the right places.”

Buffy admitted to herself that he had a way of making things sound so damn appealing. But then she had the suspicion that he could be reading a list of groceries and with that accent it would sound sexy. She sighed and looked up towards the sky, the breeze blowing softly against her skin.

“Promise you won’t kill me?”

He chuckled a little. “Promise.”

“No scars?”

“No scars.”

Buffy looked his face over, trying to look for any signs that he would be lying to her. She wasn’t sure she could tell anymore, anyway. Trust. Trusting Spike was just something that she had to do. She was well aware he wasn’t the most reliable person to entrust with her body but it was a test she was determined to pass. She wanted to be able to let people in again, without automatically assuming they were lying to her, revolted by her, or about to leave her. Spike was like a pilot test for integrating herself back into society, so to speak.

The Slayer lay back down on the grass and Spike was back on top of her in an instance. He smiled and moved his head to her neck. She placed her hands on his chest.

“No, people will see it.”

Spike’s smile broadened. “Then I’ll just have to go somewhere nobody but me gets to go.”

Buffy frowned and watched as he began to move slowly down her body, leaving a trail of kisses in his wake. By the time he had reached his destination of her inner thigh Buffy was tingling all over. She looked down as he tilted his head up to grin at her. Buffy then quickly averted her eyes and found herself trembling in a mixture of anticipation and nerves.

When his tongue quickly flicked out to taste her skin, Buffy’s back arched and she had to grab at the ground to stop herself from fleeing. Things lower down in her body began to throb with need. Spike made a noise of approval, his fingers playing with her almost casually as she writhed around. He bit down.

Buffy gasped involuntarily.

Spike had been telling the truth when he said it wouldn’t feel like it had with Angel. Angel’s bite had been full of vigour and hunger, the lines between pain and pleasure blurring irreconcilably. Buffy had always been a little bit in love with pain ever since that night.

This bite was different. It was full of hunger of another kind. Not for her blood, exactly, but for her surrender. Spike wanted her to completely submit to him and he took the blood from her veins slowly, swirling the red liquid in his mouth like a fine wine.

All the while his fingers were inside of her, teasing and explorative, but never offering anything close to release. Buffy closed her eyes and felt the pull of his mouth, felt her life being drained from her at a leisurely pace. It was almost as though a line was being pulled through her body, touching all of her erogenous zones, on its path to her groin.

She began to feel faint but it didn’t bother her and she didn’t tell him to stop. She opened her eyes and looked down at him. His eyes were closed, the expression on his face one of pure adoration. Buffy wondered at that, at what exactly he adored, before she let out a guttural moan as he sucked harder. His fingers curled forward to manipulate a part of her that had never been touched before. All Buffy had time for was a sharp intake of breath before the orgasm hit her completely by surprise.

Then things started to get a little wonky and her eyes felt like they rolled back in her head and she passed out for a minute before waking up and finding herself staring at the stars.

Spike’s face appeared in her line of vision. Her blood coated his bottom lip and he licked it away when he realised.

“You still with us, love?” He asked, putting his hand on her cheek gently.

Buffy pulled a face trying to look around. “Us? Who…oh god…did someone die from the beauty of us?”

Spike laughed loudly. “I think you’ll be just fine.”

Chapter 28: Leaving

“So you lied to me?”

Spike watched as Buffy snorted and strolled up to her wardrobe, pulling a top out and holding it against her body. It was long sleeved and plain, not at all revealing or intended to entice. Spike had a feeling her whole clothing selection was much the same. It made him feel a little nostalgic for the Buffy from a couple of years a go who had kicked his arse and bared a whole lot of flesh while doing it. Not that it really mattered. He’d seen all of her flesh now. He nearly smiled until he remembered he was supposed to be angry.

Buffy put the top back. “No, I didn’t lie to you. It’s not like we made plans, Spike.”

“Thursday night is shag night. It’s a tradition!”

She rolled her eyes. “Every night is…‘shag night’ to you. Well, you’ll just have to get yourself off some other way.”

Spike flicked the ash of his cigarette out the window. He was currently perched on the windowsill, having been told that smoking in the Slayer’s room was a stakeable offence. This was his compromise. He watched as she continued to search for something to wear. Spike mostly wanted to see her out of clothes but he’d been denied that pleasure for tonight. No matter how charming and persuasive his arguments were, Buffy was not budging.

“Why’s this so important to you anyway?” He asked, curious.

“Because it’s Oz’s birthday,” she replied without even glancing at him. “I always thought he was too cool to…you know…age. Apparently not.”

Spike crushed the cigarette out on the window frame and chucked it out. “This is Red’s boy, yeah? Wouldn’t have figured you to be a man stealer.”

Buffy did look at him then, scowling. “Is that all you think about? He’s a friend.”

“I thought you didn’t have friends anymore.”

She didn’t reply and he didn’t push it any further. Spike just sat and watched her as she got ready to meet her ‘friends’ at the Bronze. He could hear Joyce making tea downstairs and singing along to the radio. It made him smile slightly. He’d always liked Buffy’s mum, she was a decent sort and had never been unkind to him. Except for the axe incident but, considering he was trying to eat her daughter, he had deserved that.

Spike’s smile widened as he recalled the other night when he had finally gotten to taste the Slayer. Her blood had tasted sweeter than he had imagined. He’d had Slayer blood before but this was something else. Maybe because she’d given it willingly, maybe because there was an extra sexual edge to it, or maybe it was just because she was Buffy Summers. Maybe it was all three. Whatever the reason Spike found himself craving her even more now.

He straightened and sidled up behind her. She didn’t see him behind her as she looked in the mirror with disdain. The vampire slid his arms around her waist lightly, chuckling as she jumped in surprise. Buffy’s eyes remained fixed on the mirror. He knew that she was wondering what they would look like together, if only he had a reflection. Spike kissed the top of her ear, hands attempting to wander up her shirt.

Buffy pulled away and turned around, shaking her head. Spike grunted. She really would not be distracted tonight. Bugger.

He found himself vaguely bored at watching her continuing plight to find the right outfit, so he brushed her aside and started rooting around in her wardrobe himself. Buffy made a sound of protest but eventually just folded her arms and sighed. It didn’t take him long to find something he liked. All the good clothes were stuffed at the back, rumpled, and smelling faintly of dust. He held up the silk halter top for her consideration.

“Nooo,” Buffy shook her head, grabbing the top and balling it up. “Not a chance.”

Spike put his hands on his waist. “And why not?”

“It’s backless,” she said as though it were a dirty word.

“So…?”

Buffy shot him a look, as though she though he was being cruel. Spike snatched the item of clothing back from her and laid it down on her bed, smoothing it with his hands. Then he went back to her wardrobe and pulled out a skirt. It was short, black, split up the thigh. Perfect. He laid it down beneath the top.

“There you are, love. If you tell anyone I just picked out an outfit for you like a right royal poofter, I’ll rip your throat out,” Spike announced cheerily.

The Slayer cast her eyes over his choice. “No.”

“Give me one reason why not.”

“I’ll give you two – that top is backless and that skirt barely covers my ass,” she pointed at the offending items and then at him.

Spike nodded. “Your point being? Oh, come on. You’re not still worried about your scars are you?”

“I’m sorry if I find them kind of hard to forget,” Buffy spat.

“Then use them. Cause a stir, make heads turn. That’s what your style used to be.”

Buffy looked away. “I used to make heads turn for the right reasons, Spike. I don’t want to be some sort of freak show.”

Spike tsked. “Buffy Summers, don’t be a silly cow. You can either let the scars destroy your self-confidence or you can use them to rebuild it. So people look, people whisper? So what? At least they notice you. You’re not some wallflower, love, you’re like me. We stand out. We get noticed. And if you wear those scars like you’re proud of them? It’s like a slap in the face to all those bastards who would make you feel small. You’re the Slayer. Show them how strong you are.”

Buffy watched his face for a long moment. He didn’t know what she saw there and he didn’t want to wager a guess. She sighed and scooped up the clothes from the bed, brushed past him and out of the room. Spike stood in the centre of her room feeling wholly out of place with all her girly things. He went back to the window, leaning his hands on the sill and sticking his head out into the warm night air.

The vampire felt suddenly very tired. No, not tired – drained.

“He's no good but I'm no good without him…” Joyce wailed, in the kitchen.

Spike wondered when exactly it was that his life got so complicated. But that was an easy question with an easy answer; the moment he had laid eyes on the Slayer. He sighed to himself, eyes scanning the view of suburbia he was presented with. It wasn’t his style. He could never understand why people would want to live packed as close together as ants with identical houses and identical lawns. He supposed it was so they didn’t have to be alone. But they still were. No one knew anything of substance about their neighbours. It was bloody tragic – not in woe-is-me Shakespearian way – but tragic nonetheless.

He didn’t have much pity for humans, in general, but he was self-aware enough to know that he was getting himself dangerously attached to one. And he would only hurt her in the long run. Spike would never stop killing. It was a part of him he couldn’t deny. He wasn’t Angel, he didn’t have a sodding soul to hide behind and blame his past deeds on. He didn’t want one. He was proud of the mayhem he’d wreaked. He wore his conquests as surely as he wore his duster. Spike was content with himself and didn’t need nor want to change.

But he feared he might start to if he hung around Buffy enough.

And that wasn’t an option. He had to get out of town before she reeled him in completely because when he fell for a woman he fell hard.

Spike nodded to himself, resolutely. He would leave tonight. No goodbyes. Just blow out of town and move on. It had always been his style but something about it didn’t seem right anymore. Spike chalked it down to his raging libido. Leaving town would mean leaving behind the opportunity to have it off with the Slayer any time he wanted (except on her friend’s birthdays, evidently).

He managed to convince himself it was purely for the physical gratification that he had stayed this long…for about five seconds. Spike wasn’t an academic by any means, but he knew the onset of infatuation when he felt it. Best to get out while he still could. It might hurt her but he’d end up hurting her a lot worse if she found out about his lies. Lies always surfaced.

It was time to go.

“I can’t wear this…”

Spike jumped, hitting his head sharply on the window frame. He cursed loudly and repeatedly as he turned around. Buffy looked back at him, her face twisting in a way that made it clear she was trying not to break out into hysterical laughter.

“It’s not bloody funny!” He cried, rubbing his head.

Buffy’s smile broke and she managed to splutter; “Your face…” before the laughter took over.

Spike folded his arms and glared at her as she shook with laughter, the sound filling the room and drifting out into the street. It wasn’t long, however, before he rolled his eyes and half-grinned. It was just nice to hear her laugh like that. She sounded happy.

Spike’s smile fell. I have to go.

“You look wonderful,” he said softly, a little sadly.

And it was true – she did. The halter clung pleasantly against her breasts, exposing long lines of pale but perfect skin, catching the light prettily. The skirt showed off her great legs with a good deal of thigh on display. She’d get the attention of any red-blooded bloke within half a mile.

“I do not,” Buffy shifted from foot to foot.

“I’m all aquiver.” He smiled, taking her hands.

She let herself be pulled into him. “I really can’t wear this.”

“You really can and you will,” he insisted, glancing at the window. “I have to go.”

Buffy frowned. “Go where?”

Spike leaned in and kissed her softly on the mouth. Pulled away. Climbed through the window. He smiled at her. “Have a nice night, Buffy.”

“Okay…” she called back. “I’ll see you tomorrow…?”

He jumped down to the backyard without answering and left. He didn’t look back.


+ + +


The music was so loud that Buffy could barely hear herself or her friends speak. They sat around a table by the dance floor, Oz with a purple party hat perched on his head. He didn’t look uncomfortable about it, since he never looked uncomfortable, but he didn’t exactly seem perky either. The werewolf was surrounded by gifts. Willow had brought him a new T-shirt, which he wore dutifully. It was yellow with a picture of the moon on it and ‘Midnight Moonlight’ scrawled underneath in faded writing. The blow-up werewolf doll Xander had purchased was watching guard over the table, and the Pink Floyd ‘Dark Side of the Moon’ vinyl from Giles was in pride of place in the middle of the table. Oz kept eyeing it to make sure it was still there.

Buffy kind of wished she had been let in on the whole werewolf theme everyone seemed to go on for their gifts. Instead she had bought him something she thought Oz had been lacking his whole life – a copy of ‘My Stepmother’s a Vampire’. No one else around the table had understood but Oz had smiled at her in a knowing way.

Now, here she sat listening to Xander tell another joke and feeling kind of hot in her cardigan sweater. She’d worn the outfit Spike had picked out for her. She had simply added the cardigan as a way of accessorising…and totally defeating the point he had been trying to make. Buffy sipped on her coke and watched as Willow kissed Oz gently on the cheek, his arm slung around her shoulders easily.

Buffy doubted she and Spike would ever be that comfortable with each other. She couldn’t see them going grocery shopping together and doing the dishes. Domestic bliss wasn’t on the cards for them. It was okay, though. She didn’t expect that and she didn’t expect a fairytale this time, either.

“I like your skirt, Buffy,” Willow smiled, pointing at her.

Xander nodded rapidly. “You’re rocking that outfit. Oz was gonna wolf-whistle but he didn’t want to live up to the stereotype.”

Buffy smiled, embarrassed. “Thanks. It was just something I threw together…”

“You look hot.” Giles observed.

“Giles,” Xander’s eyes widened, “you finally noticed the hotness of the Buffster!”

Giles scowled at him. “That was incredibly uncouth even for you, Xander.”

“Uh…thanks?”

Everyone at the table laughed but Buffy was just glad the subject had been dropped. She could almost get used to wearing the skirt, even if she feared she was baring more than she intended, but what the hell had she been thinking wearing a halter? Now she was practically sweltering but she couldn’t remove the cardigan and reveal the scars beneath.

“S’cuse me, I do hate to interrupt, but I had to come over and say hello,” a familiar voice said from behind her.

Buffy turned and looked over her shoulder as her friends stared at the newcomer. Jeremiah waved at her jollily, a bright smile lighting up his chiselled face. Buffy gaped like a fish. He was back? Already? And obviously not shy. His clothes were different too, blue jeans and a plaid shirt, much more in keeping with his southern hottie image.

“What are you doing here?” Buffy managed to utter. “I thought you’d left town.”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Oh, well, that. Yeah, I was halfway to New Mexico but then I just did the darndest thing; I turned around and came back. Crisis of conscience, you know?” Jeremiah moved up to the table and held his hand out to her friends, greeting each one in turn. “Nice to meet you, I’m Jeremiah.”

Buffy held her hand up. “How? What? What – about Eloise?”

“She ditched me back in Arizona. Broke my heart really,” he turned back to Buffy. “May I have this dance, Miss Summers?”

Buffy just gaped at him again. What was he doing? He was a vampire and he was asking the Slayer to dance? In a crowded nightclub? In front of her friends? That was a new kind of evil, she decided. She caught Willow giving her the thumbs up and Buffy thought she might die of embarrassment right then and there. Giles was eyeing Jeremiah up carefully and Xander was just openly staring.

She shook her head. “No. No dancing for us. None.”

“I just need to talk with you for one minute and then I’ll be gone – really, this time.” He looked at her intently then made to sit down. “Or we could just talk right here…”

“Dance it is!” Buffy jumped up.

The Slayer grabbed his elbow and dragged him to the corner furthest away from her friends. She didn’t know if he would bring Spike up or not but either way she couldn’t take the chance. Jeremiah took her hand and pulled her in close, putting one hand on her waist, the other taking her own hand. It reminded her of dancing with Spike in the alleyway, away from the rest of the world. Now, here she was, with a whole club full of people around and her friend’s eyes boring into her. She could feel a hot flush creeping up her neck and had to resist the urge to bolt out of the room.

“Jeremiah, what the hell do you want?” she demanded.

He swung them around jauntily. “I want to make sure you know what you’re gettin’ yourself into.”

Buffy looked up into his blue eyes. “You mean Spike?”

“That I do,” he nodded, his fingers playing with the hem of her top. “I know you’re not stupid and I know you can take care of yourself but I can’t help but think that maybe you’re being a little naïve in regards to him and his…hobbies.”

“Just say it, Jeremiah.”

He leaned into her ear. “He’s not off the juice. We vampires…we kind of like the taste of human blood. It’s like our thing.”

“He’s not killing,” she pulled back to look into his eyes again. “He’s not.”

“Are you convincing me or yourself?”

Buffy started to move out of the circle of his arms but he held on tight, she whirled back to face him, angry. “Who the hell are you to tell me this? I’ll tell you – you’re a vampire. A vampire I barely know. A vampire I don’t trust. I trust Spike.”

“Why?” He asked simply.

“Because I do,” was her equally simple answer.

Jeremiah sighed softly and tilted his head. “Well, I tried, Buffy. Remember that I tried.”

She didn’t know what he meant by that and by the tone in his voice she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. Buffy again tried to extricate herself from his grasp but he didn’t let go and she got the impression that he wanted to finish the dance. She was half tempted to slap him and storm away but that would cause too much of a scene and he didn’t really deserve it. Despite the fact that he was a vampire, he seemed to be a vampire that cared about her. Why he cared, she couldn’t fathom and she didn’t trust him but she didn’t dislike him either. He was weird and jolly and random and totally unpredictable but he was Jeremiah. Whatever that meant.

He smiled down at her, cold hand entwined with hers. “Never thought I’d get a chance to dance with the Slayer. You’re a good woman, Buffy. I hope you realise that.”

“I’m not so good,” she sighed and looked at his chest to avoid eye-contact. “But you’re an okay guy too. For a vamp.”

Jeremiah chuckled as he whirled them across the dance floor energetically. “High compliments, indeed. I can’t help regretting something, though.”

“What’s that?” she asked warily.

“My timing. If I’d gotten into town just a few days earlier, who knows, it could have been me and you doing the horizontal waltz,” he waggled his eyebrows.

Buffy rolled her eyes but smiled good-naturedly and he scrunched up his nose and pulled a strangely adorable face, causing her to laugh a little. The music slowed and so did they until they came to a stop. He held onto her for a moment before releasing her. She held his eye contact as he tried to convey some deep message with just the power of his mind. After a moment he reached up and took her chin between his thumb and forefinger.

“Look after yourself,” Jeremiah insisted. “And if you ever feel like tasting my gumbo, just whistle and I’ll come a-running.”

Buffy snorted. “Tasting your gumbo? Is that some kind of euphemism?”

Jeremiah laughed. “Goodbye Buffy.”

And then he left. Really, this time.


+ + +


Spike leaned against the side of the Desoto, smoking a cigarette. He was staring at the Sunnydale sign. ‘You are now leaving Sunnydale, come back soon!’ He’d been staring at it for the past half an hour. Spike sighed, took one last puff of his cigarette then crushed it out underneath his boot.

“Bugger,” he murmured to himself as he climbed back into the car.

He drove forward, knocking the sign over, then did an abrupt u-turn and headed back into town.

Chapter 29:  Ready

Buffy was having one of those mornings. Well, it was the afternoon actually but that wasn’t the point. She lay in bed, mostly awake, staring at the ceiling of her room and not wanting to drag herself out of bed. She knew she was wasting the day away and that lounging in bed was lazy and idle and all that but she didn’t much care. It was one of those mornings.

The bed felt cold on either side of her and so she stayed rooted in the spot she had warmed up for herself over the night. The covers were half on the floor, a pillow had spilled off the bed at some point in the night but she couldn’t motivate herself to retrieve it.

She yawned loudly, arching her back and causing the muscles in her entire body to ache wonderfully. Joyce was listening to the TV and the muffled sound of voices mingled surprisingly well with the birdsong coming from outside her window. Buffy turned and looked at that window. The curtains were shut and warm orange sunlight coated the room – not blinding, just illuminating.

It was nice.

It was odd but now that she was just being quiet and still and, hell she’d admit it, lazy as hell she could actually smell her room. Definitely odd. It was like entering a new house and being hit with the inherent smell of the place. The residents who lived there every day couldn’t pick up the scent but someone new, a stranger to the place, could. And now Buffy became aware that her room was a mixture of musk and dust and something else, something sweet – oranges, perhaps? – and that she had never noticed it before.

It was interesting, and also totally inconsequential, she was sure it had something to do with becoming deadened to the world around us. Of being so used to something that it didn’t even register with you anymore. In much the same way as you could guide yourself around your room in the dark knowing where and where not to step, or of walking to school and finding yourself at the building with very little recollection of the journey there.

Buffy yawned again. She was even starting to bore herself, now. It was probably maybe possibly time to get up. Maybe.

She closed her eyes and shut down again for a moment or less and then she was awake again. Early-afternoon-slept-for-thirteen-hours-tiredness was weird and also kind of magnificent. It really was time to get up.

With sizeable effort Buffy threw her legs out of bed and regretted it immediately as the warmth of her bed dissipated within a second. California was never really cold but Buffy would admit she was a big wimp when it came to anything non-warm. Is that even a word? She didn’t know.

Resolutely she sat up and then stood, grabbing a robe and wrapping it around herself. She padded heavily over to the mirror; her footsteps sounding loud enough that Joyce could probably hear them from downstairs. I’m such an elephant in the mornings…or afternoons, whatever. Who cares; was the Slayer’s first coherent thought of the day.

She looked rough. Always did as soon as she rolled out of bed. Her hair resembled a bird’s nest and the dark circles under her eyes were pretty depressing too. Almost unconsciously, such was it a part of her everyday routine, Buffy grabbed up her hairbrush and combed through the long dirty-golden tresses.

She needed a shower but she felt too lazy to even do that. It was just the thought of all that effort of getting undressed and then with the washing and the shampooing and the…it was too much effort. Today she was slob-girl.

Looking slightly more presentable – but not much – Buffy left her room and made her way downstairs. Joyce was sitting curled up on the couch watching TV, a cup of cocoa in her hands and a croissant stuffed in her mouth.

Buffy stood in the doorway for a while, as had become her custom, as Joyce tore her eyes away from the television to look at her daughter.

“What’re you watching?” Buffy asked.

It was a stupid question, as Buffy could see that her mother was watching the news, but it was conversation and that in itself was progress. She knew she still made her mother nervous, concerned she would explode into violence and verbal abuse at any moment, and that she herself was tentative about reconciling with Joyce and with her friends. It was hard to try and take herself back to a place of comfort among them that she hadn’t been in for a long while. And it was hard for them as well.

Joyce removed the croissant from her mouth. “News. Something about some bodies found…”

Buffy walked over to the couch and sat on the opposite end to her mother. The space between them still evident but lessened. She turned her eyes towards the television where a reporter filled the screen, microphone held close to mouth, tie slightly askew, and voice monotonous.

“…in the quarry, by a group of teenagers. So far there are no similarities to connect the victims. Unconfirmed reports of neck trauma to all five but –”

Buffy changed the channel.

Warnings from southern-accented vampires and her own nagging inner voice attempted to make themselves heard again but she brushed them aside and closed the door on them.

“Mom,” she said carefully, uneasy.

Joyce looked surprised for a moment. “Yes, Buffy?”

“I’ve been thinking about my hair.”

“Your hair.”

Buffy nodded, eyes still fixed on the TV screen. “About getting it cut. Or something. And maybe about getting some new clothes.”

Joyce shifted on the chair but said nothing.

She pulled in a silent breath and turned to look at her mother. “You want to come with me?”

“Sure.”

And that was that.

+ + +

Much later, Buffy was showering. She’d had her hair washed at the salon but still she felt the need to shower, making sure she got all the discarded hair off her. She didn’t want to risk having it all stuck down her shirt and making the scars on her back itch like crazy. It felt weird; her hair. Like it was different. It felt so short. Even though it still reached just below her shoulders. She missed the comforting weight of it, the way it used to reach her lower back. Used to cover it.

Now she could feel the warm water sluicing over her scars, rivulets following the indentations of them like long spanning roads. But it was important to have done this, she knew. It was symbolic and all that other stuff therapists liked to spout at her.

She’d had a therapist for a while. A nice woman, really. Young, eager to help, attentive and intelligent. Buffy had spoken barely two words to her in all of the nine sessions they had had. The Slayer still remembered the way the woman, Lucy her name had been, had smiled at her sadly at their last session as Buffy was leaving. Then it had been Lucy’s turn to say only two words to Buffy.

“Find someone.”

Buffy hadn’t entirely understood what she meant at that point. She still wasn’t exactly sure. She probably meant for Buffy to find someone to lean on, to talk to, and to just be comfortable around. Maybe she had even meant for her to find someone else like her. Someone with scars. Buffy hadn’t found either of those.

She’d found something a whole lot more complicated and difficult and dangerous and implausible.

She’d found Spike.

She couldn’t lean on Spike, he wasn’t a talking buddy and she would never be entirely comfortable around him. He still had his fangs, after all. He wasn’t like her. He didn’t have scars. Not that he’d shown, anyway.

What he did have, though, was the ability to push her buttons. To say just the right thing to make her want to prove him wrong.

He was sneaky like that. Pushing her into making decisions and choices she had been too afraid to make in the past year.

She’d cut her hair and she’d updated her wardrobe and in a way it was because of him but it wasn’tfor him. Just like all the other things he’d led her into. Talking to her friends. To Giles. To her mother. Spike wasn’t even aware that he was the reason she was trying to make amends with them. He didn’t realise he’d pushed her into taking responsibility for herself and for getting her life back together.

Just the idea that an evil vampire had helped her would have seemed ludicrous not so long ago but things had changed and Buffy’s outlook on life had changed a lot too. Sometimes help came from strange places.

Buffy continued to contemplate all this while she stepped out of the shower and towelled herself off. She walked up to the mirror, condensation having fogged it up, and wrote on it with the tip of her finger. It was a juvenile thing to do but Buffy needed to be juvenile once in a while and, really, who could resist writing on a cloudy mirror? It was like the law or something. You had to.

Then she left the bathroom. And even as she did the word she had so artistically scrawled on the glass began to run.

'Ready'

Her room felt cold in comparison to the bathroom after a long hot shower and she shivered slightly as she walked to her dresser to pull out some pyjamas. It was only then that she realised the window was open, the light curtains blowing in the chill breeze. Buffy spun around as the door to her room slammed shut. Her Slayer stance loosened only slightly when she saw Spike. He had been standing behind the door. Who does that??? She wondered to herself, still slightly shaken.

“You know, there’s this custom where people announce themselves when they break into other people’s houses,” she told him, folding her arms over her chest.

He shrugged with one shoulder. “That was my announcement. Nice ensemble.”

Buffy managed not to blush. She really should learn not to walk around in just a towel. It never ended well. She shrugged in reply and went back to the dresser to find clothes. Clothes seemed very important all of a sudden.

Spike sauntered over to her bed and sat down, kicking off his boots, frowning in concentration whilst looking her over. “You’ve done something. To your hair.”

“Yeah, it’s called a haircut. Maybe you should consider one,” Buffy riposted.

Spike pulled a ‘you’re so funny’ face and lay down on her bed as though it was his own. Buffy ignored him as she left the room to get dressed. So, he had seen her naked – didn’t mean she was going to put her jammies on in front of him. That was just too ‘old married couple’. When she returned he had his eyes closed as if he was asleep, but he wasn’t and she knew that. So, she did what anyone would do. She took a running jump and leapt on him. Spike grunted loudly as she landed on him, kneeing him in the gut.

“Bloody hell! You crazy mare! What’d you think you’re doin’?” Spike protested raucously.

Buffy just laughed, only really serving to incense him more. He wrapped his arms around her and rolled them over. Sadly, he miscalculated and they toppled off the bed onto the floor. Spike landed on top of her cursing and bemoaning his poor knees or some such, while Buffy just continued to laugh. She’d been laughing a lot lately. As if now that she had uncorked it, she would never stop laughing. Like she was closing down and every single laugh must go!

Spike rolled his eyes, not amused. “You’re insane.”

Insane or not, he kissed her, and she laughed into his mouth, hands automatically sliding around his neck. Then somehow he got naked, which wasn’t bad, but it was such a blur that she barely remembered it happening and then he was pulling up her shirt and then there was her mother coming through the door.

Wait. What?!

“Buffy are you alright? I heard –” Joyce burst in, worried. “GAH!”

Spike looked up, surprised. “Oh…shit. Hi Joyce!”

Chapter 30:

“Oh my god! Buffy!”

The Slayer shoved Spike off of her and jumped up in possibly the fastest manoeuvre of her entire life. A hot flush felt like it was burning her face, her shoulders, and setting a path of fire down her back. It caused her to actually wince and shift from foot to foot. Her mind was racing a mile a minute; she had no idea what to say. A brief thought – ‘how could you be so moronic?’ flittered to the surface of her consciousness before it too was lost in the melee.

Spike jumped to his feet, giving her mother an unobstructed view of his complete and utter nudity. Joyce screeched and covered her eyes as she clawed blindly around Buffy’s dresser for something. Spike hurried into his jeans just managed to zip himself up when Joyce whirled around with a cross in her hand pointed directly at him.

He flinched and took a step back, knocking into the bed. “Oh, come on now! There’s no need for that! It’s me – Spike.”

“Get out of this house!” Joyce cried, arm still covering her eyes.

“Look, Joyce, I know this has been a shock but –”

Buffy shoved him towards the window. “Just go!”

“Yeah, but –” Spike started.

“Go!” She ordered sharply.

Spike frowned at her, a flash of something that looked like hurt in his eyes, before he sighed and climbed out of the window, clothes in hand. Buffy stood at the window watching his descent just so she didn’t have to look at her mother. She could feel her hands sweating as she balled them into fists and thought she might be having a panic attack.

She’d been found out. This was it. There was no way she could fix this.

“Buffy, what the hell is going on?”

The Slayer took a deep breath and turned towards her mother. The look on Joyce’s face was one of absolute shock and confusion. Buffy could only guess she mirrored the same expression on her own face, albeit for different reasons.

“I don’t know,” she responded, shakily. “I just…it’s complicated, mom.”

Her mother’s face darkened. “No, Buffy, it isn’t. You’re having a relationship with a vampire. Again. Haven’t you learnt anything?”

She shook her head vehemently. “It’s not like that! It’s not a relationship!”

“Oh, well. That’s much better,” Joyce replied, expression turning weary. “Buffy, did I raise you this way? It’s bad enough you’re using him for sex –”

“Mom!” Buffy whimpered, embarrassed to hear her mother even use that word, despite the seriousness of the situation.

“No, don’t ‘Mom!’ me! He is a vampire, Buffy. He’s a demon, he’s not human. It was bad enough with Angel but Spike doesn’t even have a soul, am I correct? Did he get a soul, Buffy?”

She looked down at the floor. “No. It’s not the same, mom. He’s not Angel. And I don’t want him to be.”

“Neither do I. I don’t want him to be anything to you.”

Buffy did look up then. “You liked Spike. You made him cocoa for god’s sake!”

“That was before I found out he was corrupting my daughter,” her mother folded her arms, eyes searching her daughter’s face. “He’ll drag you down to his level, Buffy. He lives in the dark. That’s where you’ll end up too. And your friends won’t understand this. Just like I don’t.”

“You don’t have to tell them.”

“Yes, I do,” she replied. “I’m going to call Willow, have her come around and do one of those spells she does…uninvite or…whatever…” Joyce murmured mostly to herself as she walked toward the door.

Buffy caught her hand. “Mom, please don’t.”

She looked down at their hands for a long moment then back up to her daughter’s pleading eyes. “I have to do what’s best for you. Even if you hate me for it,” she pulled away and left.

Buffy sat down on the side of her bed, a numbness enveloping her. It was time. The confrontation was finally here. She knew how they would all look at her; disgust, confusion, maybe even hatred. She knew that but she had to be strong. A part of her wanted to do the easy thing; run away, hide. Maybe it would be better if she did but she wouldn’t. This was her town and her life and she had to stand firm in her decisions.

Buffy stood and walked over to her wardrobe, pulling a light yellow sundress out and examining it. Though it was the middle of the night she changed into the dress and then sat down at her vanity table and brushed through her hair carefully. It didn’t seem right that she be dressed in pyjamas when her friends came calling. She had to meet them on even ground.

As she worked a tangle out of her hair, Buffy looked at herself in the mirror. Her face was devoid of make-up and pale, her eyes seemed darker than they once had. The dress had thin spaghetti straps and she was sure part of her scars were visible in places. For once, it didn’t matter. There were more important things to worry about, or not worry exactly, but to consider. Like how she would get them to understand and if they couldn’t then where she would go from there.

Buffy mused on all of this as she drew in a deep breath and made herself presentable.

+ + +

Xander was the worst, she knew he would be. They all arrived together; Xander, Willow and Giles. Piling through the door and asking a hundred and one questions of her mother before they spotted Buffy standing in the centre of the living room. The sundress threw Xander for a split second before he started in on his barrage. A lot of it wasn’t even coherent, just a bunch of swear words and flailing arms. Buffy stood still, her face portraying a sereneness she didn’t really feel, and waited for him to calm down enough to make some actual sense.

Willow stood behind him looking upset and betrayed. Buffy didn’t know what that look meant but it hurt to see it on her friend’s face, maybe even worse than the raving anger Xander was portraying. Giles, for his part, stood in the doorway eyes turned towards the floor – a quiet disappointment about him. Buffy knew that was usually the calm before the storm.

After about two whole minutes of getting abuse shouted at her from a boy she had thought respected her enough to let her make her own mistakes and decisions, Buffy had had enough. She raised a hand in a gesture to make it clear she wanted him to stop. When he didn’t, she spoke up.

“Xander,” Buffy said with a level voice. “Enough. If you have something to ask, then ask it. If not then shut the hell up.”

His lips formed a tight line. “Yeah, I’ve got something to ask, Buffy. When exactly was it that you became a vampire groupie, huh? Are you completely insane? You do realise he’s just using you; you’re just a joke to him, right? And another thing; Spike? What the hell!”

She blinked. “You want me to answer all that chronologically?”

He gritted his jaw. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing?”

“Yes,” she answered simply.

“Really? Well, then maybe you’d care to let us, your friends, in on it?” Xander motioned with his arms to them all.

Buffy looked at them each in turn. “I needed something to…to make me feel alive again.”

“Something. You got that right, at least. He’s a thing, Buffy!” Xander spat. “And he’s dead! How can a dead thing make you feel alive?”

She shrugged with one shoulder. “Because he treated me like me. Like I was still Buffy Summers. He didn’t tiptoe around me, too afraid to say what he really thought. He didn’t pity me and he didn’t put up with my crap. He was just Spike and I was just…me.”

Her only reaction from him was a shake of the head and a grimace. He didn’t understand and by the looks everyone else was giving her neither did they. Buffy sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose gently. Joyce, who had been standing by Giles, turned and left. Moments later sounds of tea being made and dishes being washed could be heard.

Her Watcher took a step forward, eyes level with her. “Your unpleasant association with him aside, Spike is a killer. He is a murderer and you didn’t see fit to inform us that he was back in town. Instead you carry on with him behind our backs. You are the Slayer. It is your duty to kill vampires, nothing more.”

“He isn’t killing anymore,” Buffy asserted quietly.

It was at that point that the whole room exploded into a cacophony of noise – shouts and swearing and disbelief. The Slayer scrunched up her eyes against it all for a moment before opening them again. The only thing she really wanted to do right now was get out of there. She didn’t need to hear their protestations and insinuations.

Willow shook her head, face pinched. “Buffy, come on. He’s Spike. He wouldn’t give up killing for anything.”

“He said –”

“Oh, so he said? Well I guess it must be true then!” Xander yelled, hand waving about as though it had a life of its own. “He’s evil! Lying is pretty much a part of that! I can’t believe you’d be stupid enough to fall for that.”

“I believe him.” Buffy said firmly, her voice carrying across the room and bringing with it a heavy silence.

It was Giles who spoke next. His voice low and strong. “I don’t think of you as a foolish person, Buffy, but I do think your judgement has been impaired. Clearly, we need to re-evaluate some things…but when it comes down to it, you’re either with us or you’re with him. There can be no middle ground in this.”

A low ache started in Buffy’s stomach. She turned her back on them so they wouldn’t see how this was affecting her. When the room went deathly silent, she realised that her scars obviously did show. Her friends had never really seen the damage the flames had done to her skin, it wasn’t as though she was about to go around showing them. For a moment she wished for her longer hair to hide them away but that moment passed and instead she squared her shoulders and clenched her jaw.

Buffy turned back to them, noting Willow’s shock and Xander swallowing solemnly but her eyes were for Giles.

“If you make me choose between you or Spike, I’m going to choose neither. I choose me,” she said defiantly, chin raised. “And if I choose to continue seeing him, then that’s my decision. You’re all my friends and I respect your opinions but I have to have conviction in myself.”

“Well, yourself is obviously wacko!” Xander threw his arms up in the air. “I can’t listen to this anymore. I can’t do this.”

He turned on his heel and stormed out of the door, after a moment’s hesitation Willow ran after him. Maybe to comfort him, maybe to get out of there, or maybe both. That left Buffy facing Giles in the centre of her living room. Neither wavered from their intense eye contact.

Giles spoke first. “I’ve always encouraged you to believe in yourself, Buffy; but I can’t condone this. I won’t. And you won’t change your mind?”

“I won’t.”

“Well, then,” he stepped back and shrugged slowly. “I suppose there’s nothing more to say. Goodbye, Buffy.” Giles turned to leave.

She called after him. “Goodnight Giles.”

He paused for a moment; back to her, then shook his head and left closing the door quietly behind him. The Slayer stood rooted to the spot in the middle of the room feeling suddenly hollow. It could have been hunger but it was a deeper kind of hollow. One she doubted she would be able to fill up. Blinking, she finally took a step forward and then another one and without really knowing why she found herself walking out of the house, barefoot and distracted.