Snow Virgins

By Lizerrrbeathan

Summary: Post Becoming - AU - Way up North. Buffy & Spike find mutual grief is the strange meeting place as they

It started as half an idea--half idea/half idiocy--and something about oblivion via alcohol--he was too far North to consider anything stronger. No smack except the smack of being bitch slapped. No smack. No horse. No horse this far north except: the horsies. Dru and her horsies.

Dru.

First it was about the horsies--finding the wild horses--and no matter how many times he had explained--no more, no more Mustangs (No…Spoike...farther, justa a little more). So first it was about the horses then it was about the snow…the snow, making snow angels, angels, angles always Angel--and now it was about the sucker punch and oblivion…

And…and…stifle, stifle, suffocate…

No horse, no snow, only BYOB and it better be now.

It was the sound of music, that’s what drew him in. Focused his stunned meander toward something specific. It was the Sugarcubes and O.K. they weren’t The Clash of course but a damn fine band indeed and it was the sunrise song.

“Traitor: my punctuality is well known, when the revolution takes place, I’ll be late and I’ll be shot as a traitor. When the sun rises I will not see. I regret nothing. It was worth it.”

And he would have kept walking, boots crunching on the crystalline snow sounding almost, almost like bones breaking almost like…comfort…except, except for…coincidence. Coincidence. Separate events in alignment seemingly out of context to each other, existing side by side and simultaneously superimposed to…draw your attention. To make you pay attention.

To make you pay.

It wasn’t a booming sound, just the scratchy itch in the background, like the TV playing behind your phone conversation-just enough mixture of a familiar favorite to draw one’s attention from fore to aft. And of course enhanced vampire hearing, don’t you know.

He walked toward the sunrise song half stumbling, quite heady and caught surprised by synchronicity. Struck stupid by the thoughts in side his head being sung outside his head.

He followed the words of the song jacked up and streaming from somewhere back there--from that house maybe, that small house set a little to the right of the bar where he had been going.

He tilted his head, concentrating, and then heard under the song, the siren of another call.

It was the sounds of a struggle far off, somewhere there to the left behind the bar, he almost shrugged it off to follow the dying strains of his song but then:

“Ann…Annie…” The name of his Mother but dipped in derision.

His Mothers name always caught his attention even now after a century had been spent.

“Hey…Ann show us your fanny Annie…” This followed by the savage ripping sound of fabric rent and a hard slap. The sound of male laughter. He knew that sound--it repulsed and excited him simultaneously.

(...hurry…)

He felt rather than heard the word.

And then:

“Ann…God look at her ass! That’s quite a fanny Annie…” Another slap more sounds of struggle…the distinct sound of a zipper pulled down.

(…spoike…hurry…)

He moved getting a bead on the location of the voices.

“Hold her still for fucks sake…I thought you took care of it--“

“--I did! I dropped enough to take out an elephant…”

“I got it, I got it-Alan, grab the other arm…”

The sound of hand slapping bare flesh and male laughter--

“--Annie, Annie I’m gonna fuck your fanny--“

“Help!...Help me please…”

Scream stifled, grunt, with slap, slap, slap, laughing male bellow--Spike saw red.

It was his Mother’s name coupled with a cry for help. He ran.

“Fuck, Jake, no wonder you’re such an asshole--“

“Hey, I’m an ass man, hey Fanny Annie.” He gritted the words out as he slapped. “Fuck, I love slapping a bitch’s ass.” Followed by a sharp slap and more laughter.

“Hey whatever floats your boat--alright by me if you save me the first fuck of the best piece--thanks Ann I--we… really appreciate this--“

More laughter.

“We’re taking up a collection--leave you some…‘cab’ fare…”

Spike was counting heartbeats--nine, maybe ten counting the girl, plus the backdoor of the bar was open so it looked like they might be doing a train. Certainly nobody was trying to help the girl. He had to think for a minute. Kill them all? And stuck up here, the hell up here, in where Montana? It’d be all over the news. Self survival always on automatic. What the hell.

Four men were holding her down, stretched out on her stomach on the hood of a car while a fifth slapped her ass with one hand and stroked himself hard with his other. There were four, three no four men standing about waiting in line apparently. Leers on faces, beers in hand, dicks hard.

He could smell them.

He could smell her.

Slayer?

“Slayer?” He said out loud and stepped into the clearing. “Slayer?”

All the men turned to look at him save the one who was doing his slapping/jerk off business with the Slayer.

“Looks like you’re inconveniencing a… (not friend)…an acquaintance of mine…now if you’d pardon me…”

His polite air caught them all unaware. He strode to the man slapping, screaming a blue streak of obscenities and now finally hard enough was positioning himself to rape the Slayer--Spike pulled him away from her body just as his body spasmed and shot a stream of jism through the air.

“Missed your target, eh mate? Then I guess you don’t deserve these--“

And with that said he calmly reached down and grabbed the would be rapist’s two balls with one hand and yanked them firmly off his body.

“There now…no more worries now mate? ‘Bought getting it up an all, eh?” He threw one testicle to the right and one to the left and then roundhouse kicked the next asshole in line. He thought he heard bones break. Oh well...some survival instinct said consider--you still gotta get outa Dodge--but he hated wankers like these punks, torturers with no spine to stand up in a fight--like Angelus…artistry--he snorted and--

--sacked the next two with easy stomach punches, they crumpled like dry cake.

Bugger this was too easy.

The four men holding the Slayer down leapt as one at him--GREAT! Now this was more like it. He ducked under the first and let him roll over his back as he used the momentum of coming up to under cut Bully boy 2. Someone clubbed him from behind--pipe maybe--well now that just made him mad.

Without looking he extended his arm up and back when he sensed the minuscule beginnings of an updraft, the upswing of the pipe coming down again--grabbed the pipe in mid swing and then with a flick of his wrist banged the pipe back on the skull of batter up. There was a crunch of bone--broken wrist, and thunk on skull.

He was running a tab on the injuries--he wasn’t quite the impulsive big injuries spender he had been in his youth.

He sighed.

He jumped up on Bully boy 6’4” and head butted for all he was worth. Giant went down. Spike stood and surveyed the damage. Bodies lying here, there a couple of the blokes ran inside the bar--yeah you do that, you call the cops--

The Slayer.

He walked over to her taking off his Duster as he went he opened the jacket and rolled her body over into it--tucking her neatly in--

“God slayer how’d you get yourself into this mess?”

He held her in his arms, so light, barely there--turned and decided. He walked deliberately through the back door of the building and into the interior of the bar with her in his arms. All conversation stopped in their wake.

Warrior enemy carrying fallen warrior enemy respect the Red Baron and Blue Max.

The bar was lit on either sides with sparkling running lights of red, green, blue and white, all done up for the Holidays and he strode down the center like coming in for a landing

Proud. Proud.

He spoke casually as he walked words dropping like dead lead regardless.

“Any you wankers got a notion to complain to cops about the little toss--well…let’s just say I’d take it personal--and what was done the lady Ann here, I will do twenty times seven to you and yours--now what she’ll do to you when she comes round. I can’t speak to--but hear me when I say I’ve marked you all, I could find you anywhere, anytime and I will be true to my word.”

And with that, he turned around and roared at them all in gameface and then left amidst the sound of glass breaking and the startled screams of boys.

*

He sat in the chair by the curtained window of the motel room. He had driven the Desoto for about three hours--just in case of cop trouble--and was somewhere, well southeast of where he had found her.

He had tucked her into bed--but was reluctant to bath her. As often as he had taken care of Dru after Angelus had raped her, or she had taken care of him for the same reason, for that matter--he knew it was a personal time. He believed he had gotten there in time--none of those tossers had gotten to her but still. One could be very peculiar about being touched or held, or looked at even in the company of someone you had known for decades after something like that. The humiliation. Well he knew a thing or two about that. And…it was a thing, well…it was personal.

Also there was the matter of evidence. She was bruised, beaten and he wasn’t absolutely sure none of them had gotten to her. Would she want to press charges? She was all bout the law and order of things wasn’t she then? He wanted to be on his way but couldn’t leave her somehow. Habit of tending perhaps. Or maybe it was a relief to have something else at the forefront of his mind. Would she want to go to hospital?

Slayer. He shook his head. Something terrible must have happened for her radar to have shut down so badly. Her protective instinct shot to bloody shit.

Angel. Of course.

He stopped suddenly; he stopped suddenly, suddenly still and thought nothing. Just blank. And then:

This was an end to the day. The Day. This day. He looked at the clock. 1:10 a.m. well at least this day had become THAT DAY.

He stifled, he stifled, stay blank, stay oblivious…

Something else, something else, think, do something else…

He had to wake her up to find out what she wanted to do.

He pulled the chair up close to the bed and spoke softly never touching her.

“Slayer…Slayer…”

He considered her poor small battered face. Swollen lip, bad eye--well she will at least have the satisfaction of knowing she fought back--that was real important in recovering. And it was the biggest difference between him and Dru and why when she broke--she had broken so badly--always, always, fight back--your body may be badly broken, but it was always, always better than your spirit. Yeah even in her drugged state, she had put up a fight. Good on her.

“Buffy…Buffy…you gotta wake up luv…thas it…thas it…come on in…”

Buffy woolly and woozy focused in on the voice, some voice, familiar somehow, something she should pay attention to. A frisson of sensation fizzed at the nape of her neck: vampire. But she seemed strangely unconcerned.

“Come on luv…you can sleep later--gotta tell me what you wanna do--you wanna go to Hospital?”

What? She focused on the voice and summoned the center of her slayer to power her back into the world. She opened her eyes and blinked at him.

“There she is…” And he could have been talking to Dru for all the tender concern in his voice. This could have been Dru.

“There she is then…”

Buffy looked at the face leaning towards her considering.

“Here’s our bairen…”

“Spike?”

“It’s me an’all…”

He watched her face as she reached around trying to put together her life, her life all told, all remembered all until Angel…and then…leading up to the now.

Her face crumpled.

Bullocks. He was kinda hoping she wouldn’t remember. Maybe she didn’t, maybe…

“What happened to you slayer?” He asked

She thought back.

How to answer that?

Her voice came from far away and spoke to the most recent.

“Car broke down”--(she had had sex with that young guy at the gas station--remembered consuming him in a matter of minutes)

She edited that part

“…walked to bar to use the phone, got a drink at the bar…while I waited…”

Here her voice trailed down and out…

“Luv, you want me to take you to Hospital?”

She knew what he was asking. She had a memory now of fighting a woozy feeling, fighting back the drowsiness and then fighting back for limb and life…she remembered…and shut her eyes tight…

Stupid, stupid, stupid…

She had wanted to hurt herself, she remembered wanting to kill herself and then wolves in sheep’s clothing trying to make her dream come true. And then…no…no…no don’t wanna die…don’t wanna…

Stupid, stupid, stupid…

She started trembling, but somehow she forced herself to say the terrible word.

“No…”

“You don’t wanna go? You sure? It’s nothing to me, but you could always go and then change your mind later but at least you’d have the…uh…” (evidence)

“Were you there?”

“Walked kinda up…yeah, heard a toss going on…”

“How many?”

He looked at her carefully. Well, hell she was tough--she might as well get it all now.

“Nine blokes--“

A sharp pain pierced her heart and broke through her chest in a harsh sound.

“No, no, only one got close to you, I think, an’ he wasn’t aiming to …” (Fuck…he really was still an English gentlemen, damn William…could barely say the words to a lady in distress)

Experience with Angel victimizing Dru for all those years had taught him there was a universe of difference for a woman between sex an ‘al and being buggered.

The hardest rapes for Dru where the ones that struck at the source of being female.

Slayer had gotten off easy on both counts. Probably. Won’t be telling her that though. Probably knows.

“Stop…”

“So…Hospital?”

“No.”

No. She felt alright…down there. Her physical pain seemed topical and…and… But the test might show the remains of several sex partners in the past few days. The guy from the gas station, and then there was that guy, what? Two days ago from the truck stop in the back of his cab. It would only add up making her look bad and feel worse. No Hospital. But plenty, plenty of bad for her to think about. And then there would be a police report and then Giles would find her and she just wasn’t ready for that.

Terrible, terrible don’t lie down and take this--they had no right--

Fight back fight back inside slayer commanded.

“No.” She started to get out of the bed.

“Where you going?” He asked as she swayed and fell back against the bed.

“I’m gonna take a bath!” She screamed at him.

“Fine.”

And then her face crumpled into quiet.

“Lay down.” He pointed at the bed.

She swayed still feeling the effects of the drug and sank to the floor next the bed--ah, well compromise.

He went in to run her bath.

It was beginning.

*

She was staring at the water in the tub. Just staring. Just standing, staring like she had forgotten where she was, what was doing, just some accelerated merciful Alzheimer’s for the punch drunk. When she heard the click of the lock moving and the front door being opened.

He was leaving. He was leaving her here.

She opened the bathroom door, Duster still wrapped tight around her.

She said nothing just looked at him blankly, eyes a little wide, mouth set in a small line.

Spike stood framed in the doorway.

Beat.

They looked at each other.

Spike felt a little break, somewhere in there, somewhere in his living dead body where his heart had been giving orders when he was alive. He felt the poor neglected organ struggling for command over the carrion.

He couldn’t do it. Couldn’t leave her. It could have been Dru, it could have been Anne but in the end it would always be him, the fool and the list of things William would not do.

“Just going out to the car--got some clothes in the boot. If you don’t mind black that is.”

He nodded toward the duster, “I’ll be wanting that back see?”

What else could he say to convince her--“Get some food, tea, be back in five, ten tops.”

And with that he left.

Buffy stood in the doorway of the bathroom hands balanced lightly on the doorjamb one to the left and one to the right.

She watched the front door. Face expressionless. Body some running Diane praying, praying herself into stone, into tree into laurel leaves.

She watched the front door.

electric hum of the lights.

somebody dropped something next door.

spike

maybe footsteps coming

fading now

maybe not

front door brown wood and there’s the light switch just to the left and then the curtain…green…

why is it always green?

front door

quiet

Sound of key in the latch knob turns front door opens he comes in.

Spike looked at her still standing in the door way exactly as he had left her and said nothing.

Stepped into the room and knocked the door closed with the back of his boot and carried an arm full of clothes dropped them on the floor and put the bag of food on the dresser.

He deliberately said nothing, just set about, pulled two cups from a bag. Set one next to the bag of food and took the other with him and sat down.

He didn’t look up until she had finally gone inside the bathroom and closed the door. He heard the lock click and nodded his head.

He sat in the chair running his hands almost savagely through his hair finally gripping the hair firmly at the nape of his neck, leaned forward head between his knees, and rocking now almost keening he hung on, just hung on…

*

“So.”

She was awake, she had slept the rest of the evening and through to the next day and now she sat bundled up in layers of clothes--his and…(Dru’s) he had wondered about seeing the Slayer wear Dru’s old clothes but then thought, fuck it.

Buffy had wrapped herself in layers of clothes, t shirts upon shirts upon shirts--probably to disguise the original owners to herself. To redefine them through hodge podge fashion--that, and the cushion effect.

He could see herself trying to protect herself, to be, to look puffed up, bigger in the world. Or maybe it was getting cold in here? He checked the heat dial--what was good? He inched it up a little. It was getting cold outside. It didn’t affect him, but he could still feel it as cold--almost bracing. It eased him somehow and had gone out often during the night to light a cigarette and brace.

First night together gone, then morning and most of the day.

And here she sat freshly scrubbed, washed, (again--two baths and four showers)

All bundled up with a heart beat. Pain with icing. Should have been delicious. Should have been.

A little girl, a little killer of a girl. She was the Slayer after all, she could take a couple of questions--it was time to progress.

And he had to figure out--he had to figure out why the hell he was still here--what was he doing? He wanted to be out by now, had to be out before it caught up to him. Even he could only stay drunk or dazed for so long but he couldn’t seem to stop himself from taking care of her--almost on automatic. True he often didn’t know what or why he would do something until after it was done--and true he didn’t really care anymore ‘bout anything, but still--this was some kinda new gold standard for bizarre even for him.

Answers to a couple of questions might do.

“So, you have your cuppa?”

Buffy nodded holding her tea.

“So lets cut to it”. He sat in the chair across from her bed adjusted the curtains to allow for the indirect late afternoon light--she should have light. Looked out the window a moment at the falling snow, dusting everything, turning it all white…all right…ah Dru…

He turned and sat and regarded her almost casually. The vision of the falling snow, crazy shake up crystal snowball with a blond vampire as a centerpiece. Buffy stared wide eyed at yet another scene to fit somewhere into her life.

“Why you trying to kill yourself?”

Buffy looked away. That didn’t deserve an answer. He didn’t deserve an answer.

“Trying awful hard to kill everything virtuous and bright about you. Trying to wipe out your virginity five different ways to Tuesday. I’d say, yeah, that qualifies as trying to kill everything you are.”

“Oh, like that isn’t your wet dream?” Buffy spat like a hot cat. A crazy kitten too small to understand friend from foe.

“Not right now. Maybe not anymore.” He sounded so sure, she stared at him.

“Why you trying to kill yourself?”

She ignored him turned the other way and pulled the blankets up around her to shut him up, to shut it out.

*

She woke up sometime during the night noticed immediately an ease of pain in her body, Fast healing. The pain in her body was going, going but where? Suspicious now, she watched pain move from her body, she watched it go traveling…into her heart. Into her mind. Her soul.

Every blow, every physical offence was eased, drawn away from the place of impact, drawn up out of her body and then drawn onto her most secret self. She would never be Buffy again.

Clean smooth flesh, bruises fading…and tattooed interior.

Mommy

Her small hands stroked the satin smoothness of the motel bedspread.

She had come face to face with evil most pernicious over the past three years since her calling but after the exotic extreme black of the Master, the charisma of…yes Spike and Dru and of course the world celebrity Angelus--who would be looking for evil in casual clothes?

Ordinary men and evil hidden in plain sight.

No more. No more thinking.

Speaking of evil. Here was one of the banes, nay almost banner boy of the bane of her existence right there. He had fallen asleep in the chair. Almost beautiful in repose. His dark nature minimized by sitting so still. So still. Quiet. Alabaster skin, shock of white blond hair and the snow falling behind him gracing the air sweetly swirling in an almost benediction.

Spike in snowlight.

He seemed so strangely lacking in life force. His usual crackle and hum was far and away. She felt no threat from him. He looked gaunt too. Well more than usual, more than she had remembered.

The bones of his face lit by the exterior light outside the motel.

Quiet. Repose.

She looked at the big fat snow flakes falling. It was coming down fast. She’d never been in a snowstorm, now she might be snowbound.

Snowbound. Bound by snow.

Soft white piling up around him…and her--soft snow round them, quiet. Stealthy. Cushion and carrion. Soft cradle of freezing death.

It was beautiful. It was the silent ‘o’ in awe.

Sun was coming up. She could see the black night blur to purple. Wait. Sun coming up directly behind. The sky was overcast but still. He had sat himself there last night. A master vampire sitting at a naked window, setting himself into a deep sleep and…

“Why are you trying to kill yourself?” Buffy asked the corpse.

She watched him. She watched the newlywed sky, purple changing its mind to deep blue to dark orange and just how much light would it take to dust a vamp?

She could be clinical, she could. She could just observe--here she was in the amazing position of discovering just how much light would make the baby go blind.

The sun began its climb. Quite a mission statement: To obliterate the black night.

Apollo racing to fuck Diane. Tenacious light on a search and destroy of all, all things dark. All things of the night, all things moonmade…

And if the sun sought him out and removed his blot, what was that to her? The judgment had been made by better heads than hers. Ye yonder sun god making a clean sweep of the night and the complexity of the occult. White light taking its turn.

She had discovered evil could be hidden and sly and horrible in an everyday everyman way and here he was: Spike offered up on a platter. This was a good, easy kill--evil out in the open and obvious for the sun to purge. With so much evil hidden, so, so much to watch out for all the time- not only demons now but all of mankind and where is the kindness in that kind of burden? So wasn’t it good to have nature on her side to take care of this the obvious? The sun knew what it was doing.

It would be medicinal to watch.

Good bye black knight, bad night gone with the moon goddess…

(…wait a sec--where is Drusilla?)

The sun was on the sill now, a steadfast…unthinking, unfeeling moving machine…

A sharp pang, a spike in her heart and she shoved her fist in her mouth to stifle a scream.

*

He awoke unsurprised to find he was still pinned down by the Slyer held hard by her as he sobbed. She wouldn’t let him go, wouldn’t let him get up to go to her, to pick her out of the snow. How could he have left her on the snow? She would be so scared, so confused, so lost out there by herself, he had to go…

Buffy held him and buried her face in his neck. Oh god…oh god…--she had never seen anyone or had herself ever experienced grief such as this.

It almost made her second guess her instinct to pull him away from the window…almost. But Slayer or woman’s intuition or rescuing him for rescuing her or whatever--the urge had been too strong and just for once, she wanted no more death and no more killing, not even the killing of killers.

She held his sob wrecked body still until she felt his energy shift and his muscles relax somewhat. His pain was so acute he lay on his side and doubled his body--she held on to him from behind Held him and kept his jackknifing body from being thrown about the room.

It was almost like an epileptic fit of sorts.

Harsh, hard crying, tears of blood, body spasming in pain.

She was surprised to find herself crying with him, for him, for her…

She found herself smoothing his hair and kissing the back of his head. Anything, anything to help stop the pain. It was hers now too, almost like osmosis it moved from him to her and then mixed with hers back to him again, by being halved it became bearable for both and by being shared and compared it brought--proportion.

Dru, death, destiny death, the Calling, death, The Master, fallen Angels, innocence broken and once broken why not break it all…why not run round the room kicking and screaming and breaking every, every, everything…

Running from Sunnydale, from Angelus, from Angel in Acathla now. Angel was in Acathla. He had found a new lover in hell and she, Buffy had sent him into his new lovers arms and so she ran running trying to break herself into such small pieces she wouldn’t ever have to see herself at all anymore--if the girl who loved Angel was broken and gone then her pain would be gone too.

But Buffy was a loving girl. And face to face with the extremity of Spike’s predicament, to bear witness to such heartbreak regardless of who or what or whatever brought her back a little way back to herself.

Because anyone, anything that could break that way--could love.

And if it is true that love makes you fall down broken and wanting to break isn’t it also true that being a witness to someone else’s heart break…brought back her love? Her compassion.

Like a math equation

Love to break but watching you break brings me back to love…

No more. No more thinking.

She kissed his back right between his shoulder blades and felt it fall and be received.

He gripped her arms that were braced around him, held on, held on and let her love him.

*

He had finally fallen asleep, maybe it was sometime into 9:00 a.m. when she had realized he was no longer moving and for a moment, yes, for a moment she thought he had sobbed himself to death so still was he. And she had to smile. It wasn’t funny ha ha funny…maybe just irony of a kind and her hot skillet holding the broken eggs of his omelet--coincidently funny.

She lay next to him on her back and stared at the ceiling and it is safe to say that she the Buffed one, formerly of L.A was air head bound again and very much enjoying the sequel.

Ceiling. Teeny tiny crack and god knows when was the last time somebody painted this room?

So she was wide awake when housekeeping tried to enter the room--god she hated when they did that--check out wasn’t until noon--traditionally. She bolted up off the bed and was on her feet already making a ‘hushing’ gesture to the startled middle aged woman, with cleaning cart in tow.

Buffy spoke low to the woman: “No, no thank you--insomnia problem--he’s finally fallen asleep…”

“Well check out is at noon--“She smoothed back a loose red lock of hair, almost indignant.

“Uh huh and it’s what? 10:20?” Buffy stared pointedly at her and then suddenly thought--oh my god this woman does this on purpose. Goes into a room way ahead of schedule to get a peakidty peak perhaps. Shiiiit. That was sad--but somehow she knew it was true. Huh.

Knowing now, Buffy stared her knowledge into the small woman and watched her crumple under her gaze. Buffy decided to cut her some slack.

“Look I’ll go to the office and pay for another day--k?” And with that she closed the door firmly but quietly on housekeeping. Well…that was kinda…fun. Small power play. She looked at Spike. Mercifully he was still deeply asleep--she sensed he would be for some time. Now would be a good opportunity to get out, pay for the room, and maybe get some new clothes for herself. Do a quiet recon--what was the last day she remembered? She really didn’t know what day it was and suddenly she felt a little bereft and understood immediately why prisoners or castaways always made a big deal of marking the time--it helped shape the world. Keep chaos a little, just a little under control. Manageable.

Money. Well Spike had to have money--he paid for the room and had bought this food. She checked the bag. Cold, soggy French fries and a smooshed cheeseburger. Well it was the thought. Somehow the sight of the food made her want to gag and she turned instead to her leftover tea. Sucked down a little liquid and started rooting around for his wallet. Not in the pockets of the duster--she looked at his still form lying on the bed and saw the telltale outline of a square shape in his back pocket.

Great. She was reminded of the magician’s trick of yanking the tablecloth from beneath the dining table setting complete with candelabra and thought: piece of cake baby. To remove wallet from vampire’s back pocket leaving sleep intact.

She crawled onto the bed behind his form and without preamble slid two fingers into his back pocket, grabbed the wallet like a vise and pulled it out. It was easy, cuz his jeans were so loose. Huh. Loosing weight bad. Wonder when was the last time he fed and then the sheer insanity of it struck her. She saved him so he could kill again?

Her mid slipped a little sideways and she waited to see if some pearl, some buried something would be revealed in all it’s natural earth logic and make her suddenly wise.

Nope.

O.K. O.K. just one thing at a time, something would begin to snap crackle if she went near that thought again, so she just wouldn’t O.K.? She checked the wallet. Ssscheech. Had about three hundred bucks in there--nay three hundred and sixty three.

She sighed. Just couldn’t think about it. Go pay for the room.

She picked up the loose key from the dresser and the ring of keys--(for the car?) Put on his duster and opened the front door of the motel room--

--She couldn’t move. Not funny. Not a spell. Just stopped cold by the solid open air of the outside world.

The dangerous world.

A girl slamming into the wall of other peoples unorganized evil intentions.

A world where anything can happen.

She heard a small moan come from the still form on the bed. She looked at his body, he looked almost Calista Flockheart skinny intense--she would need to find him some blood. She left the room and went outside closing and locking the door behind her no problem and without a second thought now that she had the survival of someone else to solve--now where were they and how in the world would she explain needing so much blood? Experiment for school? Yeah that sounded good.

She walked toward the motel office walking carefully on the snow, hand extended gently lightly touching down now and again on the wall of the building when needed and went on down the unshoveled walk way.

*

It was bad. This could be very bad.

Her soup was getting cold as she read and reread the article and related articles about the psycho man who had ripped up a bar somewhere up north--somewhere near Kalispell.

She sipped her coffee, dunked her chocolate chip cookie and ate it in bits all with a little tomato soup chaser--she had to have some kind of vitamins, she knew that, she sat very still, all the very picture, the very portrait, all Vermeer--but inside she was starting to run, she sat there running while reading about a man, average height, bleached blond hair, black leather who had terrorized patrons of a local bar.

Four men had been hospitalized--two in critical condition. Three others were treated and released. Injuries were unspecified.

And an interstate man hunt was underway. Someone that dangerous must be psychotic or a trained killer or, or, the article hinted at, drew one’s conclusions to: a terrorist of some kind.

No mention made of drugging a woman with car trouble and holding her prisoner to be gang raped.

Buffy closed the paper. She put both hands together and rubbed and clenched them as if trying to stimulate warmth into her extremities. Into her numb battle weary extremities.

She sat in the booth at the restaurant just down the street from where a psycho bleached blond leather clad serial killer knight in shining armor lay sleeping.

She finished the soup, she still wasn’t hungry but she knew she should be and that her body needed the nourishment.

O.K. O.K. one thing at a time, her mind began to sort and problem solve for the first time since before Acathla. She felt the acceleration of clear thinking and saw clearly all the steps for Bonnie and Clyde to take to avoid that very un-Hollywood like ending. No. No this was going to go down via the very best high budget sappy depression era musical. No ‘come and get me you dirty screws!’ for Buffy and Spike.

She had the Desoto with her which was good--because she had a lot of errands to run.

*

She was surprised, nay shocked at what she found in the trunk of the Desoto.

It was blood lots and lots of blood.

But instead of strewn about and helter skelter and her worst nightmare realized smeared and drenched in trophies in the back of the trunk and what she would be horrified by, but fully prepared to see--it was blood sure enough but all neatly stacked in plastic pints.

Blood bags.

Spike had been bagging it.

“Well knock me over with a cotton ball”

What else had he hidden back here? She found a sawed off shotgun--well that would have to go in the river. The axe was o.k. and could be explained to cops even the S & M stuff and man she didn’t even know what some of that stuff was for and how it could even be used--just put it in a box and pushed it far back into the trunk. Yeah, she only kept the stuff that could be explained if they were stopped but anything walking on the outside of that line--well into the river with you.

She got acetone from the hardware store and cleaned all the black protective paint from the inside of the windows. They would just have to travel at night. Trunk looked lightproof and seemed big enough--big enough to house a vampire in an emergency--probably why he kept the car. She took the army blankets from the trunk and threw them in the backseat--he could always hide here, emergency, always plan ahead. What else?

Clothes. They would both need new clothes or different clothes; had to try to fit in to the local landscape. She had seen a second hand store down the block, something like a Goodwill would be good. She was already imagining dark blue flannel shirts, maybe plaid--no, she knew Spike would indeed rather be found dead than to be dusted in something so prosaically local.

That didn’t come out quite right.

And the hair of course, that blond would have to go. Maybe hers as well. Do everything they could to blend in, bland away.

The thought was almost comforting. The thought of no one, no guy sending her a second look. Yeah, yeah, she would do that. This is what they would do.

Question: How many people had seen Spike at the Motel when he checked in or roamed about? They should leave soon, very soon. Her instinct still said they were o.k. for now--but soon.

And just when had she started thinking of the two of them that is the separate creatures of Buffy and Spike as: ‘us’?

*

She just got back to the motel when it started to snow in earnest. She wasn’t a northern person definitely not snow savvy but she recognized determination when she saw it. And these little bitty flakes meant business.

Now would that be good or bad for them? Good it might slow down a police search--bad if it stalled the road trip

outa High Noon.

She unlocked the door, swung it open and tossed the bags of clothes onto the floor by the dresser. She walked in carrying a couple of bags, blood from the car--it would need to defrost--food and various sundries.

She wasn’t sure what to expect when she got back. The sky was overcast no daytime walk but Spike, being creative as he was, she didn’t doubt he was capable of inventing a brand new form of stakeicide if he wanted.

Huh. Was the wood of the motel room furniture real? Would stacked veneer do the job?

He was sitting up in bed. Back propped up against the headrest, face still and quite composed.

Buffy’s heart fluttered a little when his eyes met hers. Well that’s a funny reaction. To cover she walked to the dresser and put the bags down. She spoke over her shoulder.

“Found the blood in your car, it needs defrosting but should be o.k.”

He said nothing.

“I took your wallet, had to pay for the room again…and…get some food and clothes, some winter clothes--not new though just second hand and…and…(she was rambling why was she rambling?) And…”

She sat down in one of the two chairs by a small table at the window. She took in a deep breath and let it out. She just didn’t feel like talking anymore so she stopped. After running around everywhere all afternoon she stopped. Just stopped.

Her hands were shaking again; she pressed them together in her lap. Inside. Inside now not outside. Where had this attack of nerves suddenly come from? She took in a deep breath and let it out.

He said nothing so she got up to take a bath.

*

She couldn’t seem to get the water hot enough. Maybe we should find a new motel. Huh it was a ‘we’ now wasn’t it?

She stretched out in the tub filled up with hot water, she let the drain open and the spigot run water rushing hot full on almost all the way to burnt--left it running so the water in the tub wouldn’t have a chance to cool down.

Just couldn’t seem to keep the water hot enough.

It was the fingerprints, that horrible feeling of the oily residue of those creatures touching her…it was so hard to think of them as men--they hadn’t been able to hurt her, really hurt her body, but they touched her, touched her body and her…faith.

Well one thing that was good to find out--she didn’t want to die, she had fought back without thinking and just how much damage had Spike actually done?

Hot Water. More.

‘Boil that dust speck…’ some old Dr. Seuss thing wasn’t it?

“Boil, boil, toil, and trouble…” well we all know that’s Shakespeare but who the hell knows what comes after that?

(Cauldron roil, toil and bubble…) No I just made that up.

“Slayer…” the door opened a crack--

--What surprised her was that she was absolutely not alarmed whatsoever. Now that should be alarming.

“Slayer?” He called “…Sorry, you couldn’t hear me with the water running…”

“Open the door, its o.k.”

She moved the plastic shower curtain to hide her body leaving her head visible.

He opened the door to the steam filled room and the vapor was sucked through the crack to the cold room beyond.

The sight of the slayer, hair plastered to her head and the thought of her naked in the tub steam steaming--affected him, almost not at all other than a strange desire to dunk her in cold water for what she did to his car.

“Slayer…”

“Close the door, you’re letting in the cold air.”

He came into the room, closed the door behind him and sat on the toilet.

“Slayer what the hell do you do to me car?”

“Ohh….that…” She acknowledged his vague sassiness as something maybe good…maybe…

She had stripped the car of him, his presence; stripped the windows too, like she was going somewhere soon--without him.

What? If she was going to leave why hadn’t she left this afternoon? She had taken his money, his car, left him high and dry why had she come back? He had thought maybe he was wrong, but when he had gone out to his car--well now he wasn’t so sure. He had been tempted to run, just run but after last night…well it didn’t seem right to make a decision that didn’t involve her skinny white ass. He waited.

“Cops will stop you, driving around like that with the windows blackened--“

“--Cops could never catch me Slayer--“

“Not one car maybe…how about blackbird, blackbird three states full?”

He tilted his head.

“Read the paper I brought in Sunny Jim--we’re on the lamb now--and I don’t mean feasting on the poor little wooly ones or gyros either not even with a great cucumber sauce and fries--oh maybe I’m getting hungry…”

He got up to leave and was at the door when Buffy realized Spike had gone out to his car--why had he gone out to his car? Was…was…he thinking of leaving--without her?

“Spike…why did you go out to the car?”

He heard the tremble in her voice and something inside him relaxed almost into a sob--she was worried about him leaving her.

“Something I had in the trunk--I heard you running the bath and thought you might be doing the sauna treatment again--this may help with the sweat lodge.”

He tossed her a tied off plastic bag containing green looking herbs, well they weren’t green looking, they were green absolutely and they looked like herbs, hell it looked a little like reefer…

She looked up at him cautious--“How did this miss my search and destroy?”

“Its tea…put it in the bath, it’ll help…clean you out…do a nice sweat…”

“Well you’re just font o’facts…”

“Hang around 121 years, something’s bound to stick.”

He left, closing the door quietly behind him.

She poured a third of the tea in the tub thinking: He wasn’t going to leave me.

He stood on the outside of the bathroom door smelling the herbs hit the water thinking: She wasn’t going to leave me.

*

I may be good for nothing else in the world except taking care of other people. Or one other person, or all the people in the whole world, as in ‘save the world.’

The thought of him leaving had left her devoid of purpose--had scared her deeply silly for those five seconds.

It wasn’t that she was afraid of being alone, or of living alone, sitting here in the bath she came to begin to understand for the very first time why it was she, herself, Buffy Anne who had been called to Slayer. Willingness to fight, coordination, resolute spirit that was always part of it but the real thing was here if she wanted to look at it.

She loved people. She loved people who loved. It was her nature to love loyal, loving, soggy sods (to use a Spikism) who braved a world trying so desperately hard to redirect the force of everyone’s energy toward being small and mean. She was here for that small glimmer of love that survives in the blackest heart. And didn’t those slivers deserve a chance to thrive?

It may be pointless and hopeless and she may as well do battle with Neptune backed by the ocean but she would do it. She would be the dark horse of white light.

Soon.

She would be compelled to return.

People had a right to live well--they had a right, and if it was within her to try again, she would.

She would have been interested to discover that Spike in the next room going through the ritual of preparing their evening tea to be thinking much along the same lines.

Not the Roman god reference--Buffy had this thing these days for mythology--more like along the lines of having someone to take care of. He had realized quite suddenly that it helped him to take care of someone else. It didn’t make him weak as it had so often been observed of him. He picked up the kettle on the hot plate and poured hot water over herbs into cups.

So bloody English. Had to have his tea--and she had to have hers too--do her a world of good.

No, no, he may bloody well be here his whole life from stem to stern consternation for somebody else. He was so often accused of being selfish and what of it? But…and here the true confessions of a demon under the tutelage of a bookworm--he truly, truly was really all about being second. For good or ill advised action--he was strongest when someone else was more important to him than himself.

*

Birds of a feather flock together.

*

They lay together that evening. She of the freshly scrubbed inside and out. Man, that tea in the tub and done the trick--it had detoxed poison from mind and body and left her body shining and her spirit lighter than she had felt for half a year. No matter that she knew the feeling wouldn’t last. She relaxed into it and lay spooned, her back up against Spikes chest.

Very few words had been spoken they had just laid down within a minute of each other and pushed themselves up close starved bodies craving contact as the snow fell outside. They watched it fall through a crack in the curtains, its subtle hypnotic persuasion. The world isn’t sharp and hard--see? See? It’s soft and round and white and totally brand new.

All made all new all over again.

Spike thought he heard Buffy say before she drifted off something about teeny tiny snowflakes and how you really gotta respect how by themselves they were nothing just little melty bit o way’s but holy american revolution how nothing would have happened--they would have had no impact on the world at all whatsoever save for…group effort. How they could change the world when they stuck together and man how those snow flakes could stick together.

Or something like that.

He smiled. Spike smiled. He liked his Slayer. He liked her. He was glad he had saved her…or had the music he heard that night saved her?…or had his grief saved her…or Dru wanting to go so far north…or his mothers name…or…

He drifted off to sleep.

*

His grief. Her grief. Funny.

Neutered by grief. The great peacemaker. Well maybe not for everyone. But.

How funny that grief was their meeting place. How funny that grief had subdued his need to kill. That grief had subdued her need to live. And in this brave new Switzerland and on this strange gray morning they were sitting there at the table by the window--both of them just as pale as you please having a cup of tea together.

No wonder the English so loved their tea--living in a country of the perpetually cloudy they needed every bit of sensual stimulation they could get. Hot sunshine in a cup. A cuppa.

It was strange, another day had come and the sun was up but it was still so deeply hidden behind heavy clouds that the day stayed dusky. As gray as the middle tones of grief. Its noncommitment hanging between day and evening made it the perfect peacekeeper.

She had dyed her hair brown that morning--he wouldn’t let her touch his head but in the end had relented to the color washout in 24 shampoos that was really more like 7 really, Buffy had explained and he had finally given in to a very light brown color. But only after she had waxed on about how he put them both in danger by choosing to remain a flashing neon bull’s eye in a police shooting range--he had given in. Took one for the team ‘an all.

Brave boy. She was smiling at him.

“Cut it out…” He said, but hid his smile with a small sip of tea with shot of blood chaser.

“Can’t. You just look soooo dreamy…” Buffy rolled her eyes a bit.

Dreamy. Dream. Huh. Buffy had had brown hair in his dream and here she was as he had seen her, or dreamt her--he shrugged it off. Dru loved that kind of stuff--he always had to let it go--if he thought about coincidence, or premonition or whattall it would burn a small hole through his brain.

”It’s getting better isn’t it?” Her question was shy and small but so sincere he stopped to consider

“I can think of her now and wince and not faint, so maybe…maybe…but then it can hit me sudden like and…” He shrugged He suppose it was the same for Buffy. She talked chirpy, but her eyes were so sad like now. Up a couple of notches to ‘function, oh yeah look at me while I function’ or down to near suicide sad. Somewhere near the low end now I suspect.

“Do you blame me?” She asked

He didn’t ask her what she meant; he knew what she meant he decided to tell her the terrible truth.

“Killing that wanker…well let me tell you--if you hadn’t, I would have found a way to with or without the soul, it was all the same to me so we might as well understand each other and be up front about that. But Dru. No. You dint kill her. I’ll tell you something--she had it planned; knew me so well she figured out just how to strike within the strike, if you know what I mean…”

Thinking of Angelus, Buffy nodded that she did, she did understand.

“I know now that she knew…that she had known her Daddy was gone and had kept it from me see? Kept it from me and was mad as a spitting snake about me siding with you and betraying them and all and then she hid that from me too--hid her anger with crazy dreams of seeing wild horses and…snow…and you know I’d a done anything to try to make it up to her so as we are driving north see, trying to keep a low profile an’ al’ and here she is, planning her…escape…escape into the snow angel she had made before sunrise. You see it don’t you? What she was trying to tell me? Her ashes spread perfectly into a snow angel she’d flapped out. She told me plenty with that. It was her screaming out with every last bit o sanity left in her that she would rather be with her Angel in hell than…than with me on earth. Oh yeah. She knew what she was doing…she knew…”

What could Buffy say to that?

“Angel got his soul back just before I killed him.”

It had just come out and she had had absolutely no, no intention of telling him, or anyone that.

She continued.

“I saw it come back--I could see him back in his eyes; he didn’t know where he was or what had happened and I killed him before he could remember.”

Silence.

“Well you know how I feel about…but still I don’t know if I ever could have killed… (Dru)…”

He didn’t say it, but with that concession he let her know that he understood, truly understood how difficult it had been and how much she suffered.

“He finally got at me didn’t he?” (Angelus)

Spike looked out the window. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, you’re what? Seventeen years old? And you have the Slayer mind and access to ancient whatnot, but still, he…he’s had centuries of experience in torturing mind and body with sex as his favorite medium. Wouldn’t surprise me AT ALL if he ALLOWED his soul to come back just so you’d have to kill him with it--knowing how it would affect you an all. He was never above cutting off his nose to spite his face. He was always about the grin and whatever it took to keep it plastered to that smarmy face. So yeah, he got you alright. But it’s up to you if you stay gotten. It’s up to you if you wanna let go of being proud of the pain and bounce back. That’s the secret--you give up pride of the pain than you can bounce back any which way you want. But at least it will be your choice.”

“I’m not giving up my pride…just cuz you run crying and sniveling--“

He cut her off unperturbed “--don’t be deliberately obtuse, you know what I mean, proud of the pain--you know ‘oh look at me, see how special I am because I’ve suffered’…you let go of pain being the thing that makes you special in the world, to other people--then you’ll be o.k.”

Her face was crumpling; she was trying so hard, it was all happening so fast, so much, so fast…

“You think it was my fault, what happened?”

“Now I didn’t say nothing like that did I?” Now he was indeed getting a bit angry.

“You said it yourself Angelus got at you, softened you up--from what I heard him say about you, I imagine he played on all your worst fears. Bloody Hell, I KNOW what he’s all about and he got to my in that wheelchair fucking Dru, raping her too, making her scream so’s I could hear her but not help. I know him and he got to me. So cut yourself right away from that.

But you do gotta ask yourself--like with any battle gone wrong--what was in me head before I went in? What kinda of thoughts was I thinking? Your guard was way, way, down and you dint need me to tell you that.”

Silence for a moment.

“I glad Dru is dead.” Buffy said coldly

Spike clutched the mug in his hand a little tighter.

“She killed Kendra in cold blood. Hypnotized her or something they told me; wouldn’t even let her go down fighting. Just killed her; slit her throat like an animal. Didn’t even have the guts to fight her.”

“And who’d she learn that from then?” Spike’s voice was deadly.

He looked at her, his face hard then soft again like he didn’t have the energy to sustain a fight, not even a verbal one.

“So alright then, I hurt you with the truth, so then you hurt me with the truth. That’s the way of it, I suppose. But I said what I did to you out of…respect. From what little you know of me, you think I would I enjoy seeing you put down easy? Where’s the glory in that?”

They sat quietly together for about five minutes both of them wondering if Buffy would head for the door when Spike spoke again. Softly

“I’ve been where you’re at Slayer. Give it some time, just a little…and when you’re ready to be yourself again…well…let it happen…if you want…just let it…you don’t have to stay ‘gotten’…”

He somehow couldn’t find a way to make it clearer than that without hurting her feelings again so he stayed silent. He never had to worry about this aspect of healing with Dru…because, well she just wove the new experience into the pattern of her broken mosaic…no, this was advice from him, from a formula that had worked for him years ago and he hoped, well...that if he still wanted to live badly enough, he would engage it again.

Alright no more words.

She said nothing but the air between them had grown smoother.

She said softly almost asking: “You…you’re a demon…how can you know …how can you…”

“Feel?” He supplied. She nodded her head and looked at him with an open expression. She really wanted to know.

“Ask yourself something Slayer. Where’s the logic with all the creatures on one side of creation being able to feel and all the ones on the other side not? Tisn’t logical. No balance. Not to mention literature ripe with tales of creatures switching sides. How can that happen if they can’t be interchangeable somehow?”

She said nothing but her brow wrinkled slightly, pulling together.

“Oi. Eh! I saw that! You were thinking!”

“Perish the thought…” Said Buffy and they both smiled.

She looked into her tea. She wouldn’t say thank you, couldn’t say it cuz it might mean more talking and she was done for the day, for the week and then of course absolutely NO talking about that night, which she would never do ever, but she would think it, she would screw all of her enormous will up and think it very hard--she would think thank you and mean it.

They sat drinking their tea in a middle gray day with sweet snow cushioning the fall. They sat in quiet for almost half an hour before Buffy suddenly said.

“Let’s go.”

He looked at her.

“Let’s go now, right now…”

He had spent a hundred years in reverent awe of all instinct female, and nodded his head.

They packed everything up and within fifteen minutes walked out into the day, sun grieving for the earth far behind the clouds.

A good day for a vampire and slayer to travel together in the front seat of the car fighting over who gets to drive.

A perfect gray day built by grief.

*

Three and a half hours later a Montana state police car pulled into the motel parking lot doing a cruise and spot check for out of state plate’s siren all sotto voche.

*

She had fallen asleep on the passenger side of the car. Spike was driving of course. It was very hard indeed to toss him from the saddle and look at her there. Her body curled a little in toward him with one of her arms loose now in the crook of his right arm. As if even in this small sleep of a car nap she needed his escort.

He would time looking at her, to when they would pass beneath a street light strung along the threshold of whatever city they were going through now. He would time it to when the first light of the arc would illuminate her face, sweet now, her right hand tucked in under her chin…light away…and then it was eyes back on the road, arc of street light lamp leading to, illuminating the Slayer and then eyes back to the road and on it went like that for hours.

*

They were in Denver and it was a week away from Christmas and Buffy was out on the ice skating as she had been for the past two days when she suddenly decided.

I want my Mom.

I want my Mom. We could talk about triggers, old buttons pushed by emotion memory, of ice skating with mom watching or the Christmas song that had just come on--it was Danny Kaye wasn’t it? Danny the lesser, not Bing, but better in her book of life. Being outside under the night sky, stars, stars and those little stars, little bleeps of light talking to each other at the beginning of ‘It’s a Wonderful Life.” It was all that and none of it, it was just the plain old fashioned visceral call of family from one who loves you above all else on earth.

Mommy.

It would be o.k., she would be o.k. now.

She felt her attention pulled to the man sitting on the bench at the side of rink. He was back in black leather--figured in a big city like Denver one could bring back the unmentionables. He had skates on and could actually skate quite well--but most times he just liked to watch her. Loved to watch her move, skating forward and then suddenly shifting and then backwards she flowed. He had noticed how could he not notice, it was his body after all--that he sometimes woke up next to her a little hard and even now, watching her body he felt his body begin to hum a tune he didn’t know all the words to.

What was he feeling?

Heart hum and grow a little hard and…and…he had to ask, had to consider if his sex was coming back to him…and with that coming back…then how far behind would the blood lust be?

This pall of grief that had so effectively neutered him and let them co exist so well in each others company was lifting, muting and her company was such a sweet balm the gray was going. But what would it mean if coming back to himself in full strength, grief gone only to loose her? Was the world trying to drive him mad?

Certainly no torture could have been better conceived or executed by Angel/Angelus whatever.

He was even beginning to think like her as a concession to her.

He saw her body slow down to a stop and she stood, just stood looking up at the night sky. Watching her face fill with peace and pleasure and then…home…thoughts of home…

Oh god, he felt a sharp piercing in his heart. Oh god, how can there be any pain left in the world that he hadn’t yet felt? He was like a blind man making his way ‘round the world didn’t see a thing just went around feeling, feeling, feeling, feeling it all…him and his feelings. He made a lousy vampire.

She looked him in the eye and saw him get up and without breaking eye contact; Spike skated over to where she stood in the center of the rink…

He took her elbow and letting his feeling, this…feeling flow into her, felt her accept it, accept him--she tucked his arm safely under hers and they began to skate in tandem.

Heady music playing, lights sparkling, glinting off the crystalline ice people parted for them and then stopped, turned and watched the two young people, the sweet boy and girl hair shining and dipped in brown sugar, skate, nay, flow around the ice. Spike had been watching Buffy so closely for the past two days he knew her style and rhythm and she in turn, was such a natural she found his way with ease.

One by one everyone on the rink stopped to watch them. It wasn’t as if what they were doing was so incredibly fancy or award wining or whatnot…it was the way they were…together. Beautiful, so sweet and fresh and young and untouched by the terrible turns in the world. Virgins.

What would it mean if the wonderful gift they had found in each others ashes, to rise all shiny and new and better than before if it meant he would go back to killing and she would go back to killing him?

But tonight on the threshold of being healed they held.

Virgins loving and loving and under the doting eye of their patroness, the Moon.

*

It was in Death Valley and say no more about the cruddy symbolism he was aware too well aware of this cosmic joke. The music had been jacked up--Violent Femmes it was and Buffy was actually digging it. It was four hours past sunset and three days from Christmas and the air had turned warm again and so the window was rolled down--her hair flying, head thrown back laughing, she was going home, she was gonna see her Mom she was happy, heart pounding it out like on an ancient drum--blood pumping….slayer…

Spike felt his demon tweak and growl as it woke. It was waking up to find the most delectable of girl’s right next door. Oh the sweet lure of the girl next door.

Spike’s hand gripped the wheel, white knuckled and petulant he called inwards--no, no, you left me…you can’t come back any bloody time you like…

But didn’t matter what he called, or who he pretended to talk to…there was no separate entity. He was the demon, it was him and shadows of William but not like a partner you could divorce in California with a 50/50 property split. The grief was still there but he was stronger now and not likely to break under the demons demands and so…and so…

He pulled the car over to the shoulder well off the road. Buffy puzzled, listened.

“What? Is there something wrong with the car? I didn’t hear anything?” And then her senses, the nape of her neck fizzed its special soda popping her bubble.

She looked at him clutching the wheel, staring straight ahead. She felt instinctively for the stake in her waistband then realized, doesn’t have a stake haven’t needed one…yet. Before she could think another thought, he jerked open the driver car door and ran off into the night.

Spike. Oh Spike.

*

She sat on the hood of the car smoking a cigarette waiting for him to come back. The night was, so, so quiet. Unlike vamps she could walk around in daylight, but for her it was the night, always the night. It was a choice.

She listened. Night sounds.

She wouldn’t go back in the car, one, she didn’t want to leave him out there and two…well, two it wouldn’t do to be trapped in an enclosed place if…if she had to fight him.

She had a pretty good feeling about what happened and…what didn’t. He had taken himself away--he had removed himself from her so he wouldn’t hurt her. That had to mean something didn’t it?

“Buffy?”

It was him. His voice sounded sad, resigned and a little triumphant all at the same time. What could you say? Spike was complex.

“Yeah, I’m here, I know you can see me…” Buffy called out her voice strong. Letting him know in case he was wondering--I am the Slayer.

“Yeah, yeah I see you--just wanted you to hear me coming is all.”

Beat.

“Feeling better?”

“I had to kill something Buffy.”

Oh Spike my friend, my friend…I’m gonna lose my friend.

“Did you find something?”

“Yeah. Jackrabbit.”

“You killed a bunny?”

“Yeah. I killed a poor defenseless bunny…”

Pause.

“You need some more blood? There’s still plenty in the cooler.”

“Wouldn’t say no.”

And with that she ground out her ciggy on the side of his car--

“Oi Eh! I saw that!”

“That’s what you get for killing bunnies--“

“--A bunny--“

“A bunny.”

She walked to the back trunk, keys in hand keeping the length of the car between them.

He noticed this of course.

“Sorry Slayer…”

“You can control it!” She snapped at him while she opened the trunk. “I’ve seen you control it--“

“--been down for the count for a while--surprised me is all--didn’t see it coming.”

That’s not true, but best not to tell her about his growing sexual attraction for her. Might not be the best time for that particular confrontation.

“But you can control it now?” She held out a blood bag to him. He stepped out of the darkness and she saw him lit now by the moon. There were no streetlights in the desert. There was no light in Death Valley. He was about three feet away, he seemed taller somehow--it was Spike. Spike. All of him. Her good friend of the past two weeks was gone. Or enhanced or…

“Spike.” There was a bit of a break in her voice.

He took the blood bag from her, letting his fingers touch hers as he did. She felt the current run between them--but was it the frisson of love or antipathy?

“Sorry Buffy,” He said again, but sounded less sorry this time.

“No you’re not.”

“I am.” He paused looking at her with huge eyes, drinking her in, her eyes, her skin, her scent.

“But put yourself in my shoes, luv…”

“I’m not you’re love…”

“You are you know…” And with no preamble whatsoever he lifted his left hand to stroke her hair...brown haired Buffy.

(Brown Hare)

No, no, she was no bleeding rabbit, she was Buffy and brown-haired Buffy belonged to him…didn’t his dream introduce her to him? The real girl belonged to him.

He stroked her hair, her face, skin so smooth…Buffy…

She stood stunned, warmed by his gentle touch.

He leaned in and kissed her mouth--pressed his lips almost chastely up against hers. An electric current spread out through their bodies from the place of contact.

He drew away from her without another word and walked a way into the desert to drink his blood.

She closed the trunk of the car and moved around to the passenger side and threw the keys onto the drivers seat. She waited. God, life was a funny thing--where was the prat fall that would turn falling, falling into fun? Into something funny?

He came back and stood by the driver’s side and addressed her but kept looking down, wouldn’t look up, wouldn’t look at her.

“I love you Buffy. Where and how it happened, who can say, but its here now in me and no mistake--but…but you best keep a sharpened stake on you at all times and a quick eye--for a little while at least…”

And with that he got behind the wheel and waited to see what she would do.

She was the slayer. He was her friend. She was the slayer. He was her friend. She was the slayer…

She opened the rear door and got into the back seat--so she could keep an eye on him--or escape through the back door if need be and it was wise and circumspect and Giles would have given her call a standing ovation--and what had the events of this past month taught her if not caution and--first do no harm…but still, still she felt like she had betrayed him in a way she could never take back.

He said nothing and started the car and began to pull away back onto the pavement and then suddenly:

“FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! YOU ASSHOLE! STOP THE CAR! STOP IT!” Buffy opened the back door and got out as the car was still rolling and then just as Spike thought she meant to stay behind in the desert she jumped in to the front seat next to him, yelling almost screaming:

“YOU, YOU, YOU! How dare you do that to me? YOU JUST BLOODY WELL WILL CONTROL YOURSELF!”

“Buffy…Buffy…” he reasoned, trying to interject, “You have to stop shouting…it hurts my ears…”

--“YOU WILL JUST HAVE TO CONTROL YOURSELF AND THAT’S ALL THERE IS TO IT!”

Spike slipped into game face and growled back: “IT DOESNT HELP TO HAVE TO THE SLAYER SHOUTING BLOODY HELL AT ME NOW DOES IT?”

Oh. That stopped her. Looking at his demon visage, a little more subdued Buffy continued:

“Shh…shh….o.k. o.k….talking quiet now, being quiet…sorry Spike…”

Near tears he shook off his demon and regarded her with blue eyes--

“This is serious Buffy…”

“I know…But I trust you Spike, I really do…you just gotta control yourself, you gotta, cuz you’re the only one in the world I trust like that right now and, and I’m not sure what kind of world there would be for me if I couldn’t anymore. And...and you need me too. Please control yourself. Every creature should have free will right? Cuz otherwise--it just wouldn’t be fair, right? So please Spike…I’m gonna sit up here with you and sleep next to you and be your friend because you got it under control--and if that means we stop every five miles so you can kill bunnies, then that’s what we’ll do. K?”

He was looking out the driver’s side window so she wouldn’t see him cry. Poof that he was, proof that something irrevocable had changed in him these past weeks.

She was tempted to touch him, rub his shoulder--but wasn’t sure what would set him off, so she waited while he set the markers.

Finally he turned to look at her.

“All right then.”

The car rolled crunch, crunching gravel, roar of car engine as they rolled away and the night life went on without them.

*

Next day, that is, their day is night. Next night.

6 hours from Sunnyhell.

She had said nothing for hours. She had said nothing since coming back from the phone booth pumping change into the metal box--no trace, cash jingling change only, no trace to phone cards, credit cards for these calls.

She had gone casually into three different stores and between them all, bought every different paper local and national and as far intrastate she could get and then finally it was the phone calls.

He waited for her by the car and was on his fourth cigarette. She had come back. Didn’t say a word just got quietly into the passenger side. Didn’t even insist on driving even though it was way her turn. He got into the drivers side and they drove off and had been driving for at least two hours into the heart of California when:

“One of them is dead.”

Didn’t need to ask who. You hoo know who.

And thus began what was probably going to be the most important conversation of his life.

He countered with:

“Which one?” He was curious is all.

She didn’t look at him.

“Head injury. Cracked skull, brain swelling…Mom and Dad crying, funeral and flowers and ‘had I sent some?’ and ‘thank you if I had--no time yet for notes but don’t know everyone Jeremy knew and what’s your name again?’…” She broke off.

“Tosser.” Was all Spike said.

He took a drag on his cigarette. Then he decided to add his own epitaph of ‘Jeremy: the Tosser’

“6’4” and a Bully boy, mind you--bet he’s been one all his life, never using his strength to help the little bits in the school yard--always the Tosser. Lunch money, and stolen apples and all and finally goes to war in the backyard of a bar; loses himself in a mob. Let’s go of every Sunday lesson on mob say so; declares war in a style no better than Angelus--found ‘em, found ‘em all right there in a mess they made, they made the mess Slayer--I just cleaned up the floor with ‘em is all.”

“Spike.” She said his name with such a strange mixture of love and caution he had to take side ways glance at her.

“Spike, what did you do?”

“Told you ‘an all…”

“He’s dead.”

Spike looked over his shoulder and then pulled his car over to the side of the road. He turned off the engine.

He spoke without looking at her.

“They were about to skewer you Buffy. Make no mistake. I was there…I saw it…I felt it…they set the stakes high, what? Then play the wanker and run to the cops for law and order?”

“But did you have to…hit them so hard? One dead, so far, maybe another might die…and…and they’re trying to sew it back on but it may not take…you…you ripped off a man’s…”

“Oi Eh! I did at that! And believe me if I felt for you then at that moment even…even…”

Here Spike’s voice broke a bit, as he fought for control…

”I held back Buffy; I was bloody circumspect I was! I know how to use me fists and fangs and if I…felt for you then…even …even a…farthing of what I feel for you now…they’d ALL be dead and they would been hard put to figure which bits went with which coffin. And now they cry ‘Havoc!’ (?) Well Bloody hell! Fuckin’ WANKERS one ‘an all. And to make you feel bad to boot? Well, as it is I’m of a mind to go back up and teach them all a little respect--”

“--NO!”

“--They crossed me Slayer. I warned ‘em an all and they crossed me. In some circles, enough said.” He lit a cigarette.

Buffy took in a deep breath, the funny thing was, she understood him, she understood his warrior logic but she would have to talk to him in a way that he could relate to. In his language of ties that bind. And she was his now. He had adopted her into his concern, as he was with her--maybe not as extreme but…well vampires, at least this vampire, as she was coming to understand him, certainly felt emotion and loyalty very far into extreme.

“Spike…” She touched his shoulder lightly and moved in a little closer to him. He waited.

“Spike I can’t explain why, I know what you say and what you did makes sense and I…I might have done the same, probably worse…but the thought of hurting human beings, who…well it’s in my blood to protect them…so the thought of hurting them more, especially after the fact--despite them all being…well…evil…would hurt me bad Spike. I don’t know why or how but it hurts me so bad when people hurt…”

He turned to look at her, his face open, wide blue eyes drinking hers in; he looked at her, his eyes shining with pride and a little sad resignation too.

“It’s cuz you’re the Slayer…”

She blinked.

“Slayer’s back luv, isn’t she then?”

They looked into each other’s eyes and then fingers joined the tangle as they wove together.

“Yeah.”

*

Just quiet. Just driving in the car with no music, just the humming wheels and the sound of the night wind when Spike would roll the window down. Which he would do every half an hour or so. Roll it down for about ten minutes then roll it back up always asking her casual like but still concerned for all that:

“S ‘alright luv? Not too much?”

She would shake her head looking at him; never taking her eyes off him and his every habit and gesture and twitch.

No. Never too much.

*

Mom.

Mommy

“Maybe you should call first.”

They were in the Desoto parked the wrong way on the opposite side of the street so Buffy could watch the house on Revello Drive. So she could house watch.

“She put the Christmas lights up this year. See those white and blue lights weaving around the porch pillars? I had to bug her to let me do that last year. She thought it was kinda tacky. She owns a gallery you know--has a fine eye…but she put them up this year, see? She hated them but she put them up…maybe…cause I liked them…you think?”

Spike was of two minds.

Clearly Buffy wanted to be with her Mum, craved her Mum and he wanted her to be happy to have what she needed. But. Obviously it meant once she left the car crossed the street, crossed the threshold, Spike would be crossed out of her life. He would have to be crossed out.

These past two days on the road had shown him that. The demands of the demon had increased and indeed his true desire for bloodlust was there. It was there. Not toward Buffy. He had discovered the thought of killing her had been very easily circumvented by thoughts of fucking her. And thoughts of fucking her were tempered by loving her.

He loved her completely.

As only he knew his heart was capable. And he also felt this would be his last love. He knew it.

It was insane and impossible but she was safe from his fangs. Hurting her would be like an act of suicide.

And he had a strong will to live. So did she. That was why they were still here on the planet.

She was safe from his fangs…but other humans weren’t. Even now as he desperately wanted to keep her with him part of him wanted to push her out of the car so he could go kill somebody.

And hurting people would hurt her…fuck, fuck--not enough time, it’s all happening so fast and how can anyone change that much so fast? He needed time…

He picked up her hand and kissed the back of her knuckles tenderly. She turned her body in toward him and stroked the side of his face with her free hand.

No need to say thanks, hurt too terribly to say goodbye.

“Come up with me…”

He shook his head slightly.

“Buffy…” the word was so, so, so soft.

She suddenly pressed her cheek up against his.

Shock.

“Oh…god…” She breathed, suddenly “Oh…god…”

She wrapped her arms around him he seized her and buried his face in crook of her shoulder.

The horror of goodbye.

Her face buried against his neck and all she could mutter was, “oh god….oh god…no…no…”

“Shhh…shhh…” He crooned kissed her shoulder her neck her face…her lips…

It wasn’t a sweet kiss, it was desperate like two people drowning and each in an avid bid for life was saving, blinding, and pushing the other under the water in turn--it was filled with as much pain as pleasure. In her whole life, no one would ever, ever be able to kiss her like that again. She would never allow it--this part of her, the earthy brown haired girl, the real, real, under the golden glam desperate and brave and resolute and kind and crazy and bitchy and broken and healed and sweet virginal brown sugar would belong to Spike.

She leaned in next to his ear and started speaking she had to get it all out fast.

“If you don’t come in, can’t come in, don’t come back, leave here, get out of Sunnydale now, right now, not here please not here can’t stand the thought of…just promise me you’ll leave and I’ll never see you again..”

His breath hitched at that--he was shaking his head against hers--no, no, that was too much, he would have to see her, sneak back maybe…

“Promise me Spike…promise me that I’ll never be the one, have to be the one who comes to kill you…”

She grabbed him tight and with her whole soul and slayer strength she would squeeze this promise out of him…

“I will…I’ll promise if you do something for me…” in answer she hung on listening “I’ll leave and you’ll never see me again but if you need me, need help, ever, ever you’ll call for me…go to Willies or just think it hard from your heart and I’ll hear you I swear I will and then I’ll hafta come back…I’ll haft to luv…”

He felt her nod against his head and then as she ripped herself out of his arms and he thought he heard her say (“me too, you ever need me…”) but maybe not, maybe she just thought it.

Car door slam and she was gone.

He watched her run across the street and up the steps of the house as if once the momentum had begun it was best not to stop, stop to think, stop to go back.

He saw her knock on the door, her shoulders shaking--he recognized the tall woman who came to the door as the axe wielding matron and had to smile. Like Mother like daughter, like, like…

Joyce stood stunned for just a moment and then grabbed her child crying out a sound that comes only from the empty womb of a Mother. Primitive and feral and now complete, complete now that child was back child was back…

“Mommy, Mommy, Mommy…”

Spike could hear Buffy’s muffled sobs breaking against her Mothers breast and thought, good, good…

He started the car and pulled away quickly and even though the Desoto needed a muffler and there was a bit of a tire squeal so wrapped up in her Mother’s arms as she was, Buffy never even heard him leave.

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