Sometimes You Have to Try

¤

The following evening Buffy glanced out the window and noted that dusk had settled over the city. Soon he would be awake. She smiled to herself, checking that all the candles were burning bright. She looked at the coffee table, which she had set ready for dinner. It was so low that they’d have to sit on the cushions she had gotten that afternoon – in exchange for the totally pretty but unwanted curtains – but it was sort of cozy in itself. She had found some nice plates and cups and glasses and a few silverware items for hardly anything at a local store and had now used said things to make a not-so-fancy-but-yet-agreeable spot for them to share the food.

She had gone to the Bronze and picked up some chicken wings, because she knew he liked that kind best.

And she had snuck to the dorm and taken a shower, plus now she had changed into a nice skirt and shirt. It was a plain black skirt and a dull white shirt, but she did admit that they fit her good. She ran her fingers through her hair one last time as she heard him ascend the ladder.

He stretched, barely glancing at her as he headed for the fridge.

“I’ve already opened one,” she said and he halted, turning his head to her, looking quizzical.

She grabbed the cup she had prepared for him from its place on the table and held it up for him to see. He hesitated, then slowly approached her, still looking questioning. She handed him the cup and he sniffed it, eyes not leaving her face.

“It’s warm,” he said.

“Isn’t that the way you prefer it?”

“You... heated it?”

“Yes. I also opened the bag and poured it into the cup, which I happened to purchase today,” Buffy replied. “And then I found a place for it amidst all its little mates here on the table,” she added with a slight gesture and his eyebrows rose at the sight which met him.

“Wings?”

“From the Bronze.”

“You went and got me wings from the Bronze?” he asked, incredulous. “Why?”

“What do you mean ‘why’? ‘Cause I wanted to, that’s why. I felt bad for waking you up and having you all annoyed about the curtains and for being in your way even when I promised I wouldn’t be and this is just my way of saying... thank you. For letting me stay here.”

He took a sip of the blood, finding nothing wrong with it he quickly drank it and once finished he held the cup up to get a better look at it.

“It’s cute, isn’t it?” she asked, taking a seat on one of the large cushions.

“Very,” he muttered, sitting down as well.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” she said, rising and running into the kitchen, returning with an opened bottle of wine.

“Where’d you get that?”

She smiled, taking her previous place and beginning to fill his glass before she answered:

“I stole it.” His eyebrows rose high and she giggled. “For being so terribly smart you’re awfully gullible,” she stated. “I found it over there.”

The last she said with a nod to the kitchen. Soon his face lit up with recognition.

“I got it months ago,” he mumbled. “Was supposed to use it when I finally...”

He trailed off, glancing at her and noticing the drifting scent of her freshly washed locks. It blended much too well with the soft touch of musk in her perfume and suddenly he felt light headed. He rose, nearly stumbling passed the couch but regaining his balance and heading for the door.

“I’m sorry,” she said, on her feet as well and bounding after him. “I should’ve gotten you’d been saving it for something special. I didn’t mean to... Don’t go.”

She grabbed his arm and he spun around to face her.

“Let go,” he grumbled and at the chill in his gaze she gingerly did as he asked.

“Let me come with you,” she pleaded silently.

“Eat your dinner and go to bed. I’ll be back in the morning.”

“Spike.”

But he wouldn’t hear her as he walked out the door, slamming it shut behind him.

She jumped at the harsh sound, standing still for another moment and then getting herself moving to clean up the wasted food. She wasn’t hungry. She paused in the movement of picking up her half-filled wineglass, raising it she looked at the light shimmering through crimson liquid. She made up her mind, putting the glass down she proceeded to blow out the candles before she grabbed her coat.

¤

He eyed the chipped black of his nail polish with a critical glare.

Why had he even started the trait? Give his fingers a personal flare? He remembered he had borrowed some from Dru one rainy afternoon when he hadn’t been able to sleep. He had splashed it on with no intent of ever doing it again, but Dru had enjoyed it. So he had kept it up until he could do it flawlessly enough to paint hers. She had loved that.

He huffed.

Bleeding loon, he’d have done better if he’d never met her. Then he’d never come to this cursed place. Then he’d never laid eyes on the sodding Slayer.

Why couldn’t he get her the hell out of his head?

Focus, mate, he instructed himself. Focus on anything but that blonde, sweet-smelling freak of a little g-...

“Wing?”

He stopped short as she was suddenly blocking his path, holding up the bucket of chicken wings and panting slightly. Bloody hell, she must’ve run fast.

“No, I don’t want any sodding wings!” he answered, taking the bucket from her and tossing it aside, a movement which made her look surprisingly hurt.

“Hey!” she objected. “I wanted some.”

He gave her a look and she dared a smile. When he didn’t show even an inkling of returning it, she let it fade and crossed her arms over her chest as she observed him. His gaze didn’t budge from hers and after a near two minutes of utter quiet she sighed.

“I don’t know why I even bother,” she finally stated, unlocking her arms and flailing them to the sides. “What am I doing with you? I’m wasting my time! Do you have people you practice your people skills on, because you should have. Now, since you need the for-dummies version I’ll let you have it, since I don’t have time to waste: I’m standing here, telling you that I, for some reason that’s beginning to grow dimmer by the moment, think I’d like to know you.”

“Thought you knew me already.”

“Thought you said I really don’t!” she shot.

“And exactly how do you propose to do this? Talking for hours? Permanently attaching yourself to my buggering hip?”

“Why are you so mean!”

“Because I’m evil!” he exclaimed. “Because you were never meant to be... This was never meant to... Sod it! I want you to gather your things and get the hell outta my crypt!”

“I’ll do no such thing, you pig-headed... blonde... stupid... blob!”

“I want to say ‘ouch’, but it just doesn’t apply,” he muttered. “Go home, Buffy. This... whatever it was... is over.”

He was about to turn from her when she was suddenly right by him, her soft hands clasping themselves firmly to either side of his face, forcing him to meet her gaze.

“Tell me you really want me to leave.”

“I really want you to leave.”

She rested her eyes in his for a lengthened moment, then slowly repeated:

“Tell me you really want me to leave.”

He stared down at her, feeling a ripping truth wanting to break through but he growled it away as he pushed her to stumble backwards. She recovered, and when he once more turned to leave she moved forward without thinking, kicking up one leg and hitting him in the small of his back, sending him to his knees. He twirled around and was on his feet in a second.

“This conversation isn’t over,” she stated.

They appraised one another, Buffy feeling a concentration settle over her that was unlike any she had ever experienced before. Then she moved forward. He met her kicks easily, almost laughing as he grabbed a hold of her ankle in mid-kick and then simply dropped it, taking a step back. She cocked an eyebrow, lunging again and he side-stepped the attack, grabbing her neck and pulling her to him.

“Careful, love, before we say things we don’t mean,” he murmured in her ear and she put an elbow in his side hard enough to make him let her go.

She twirled around, kicked up a leg and hit him in the chest, making him fall to the ground with a hard thump. He got up with a loud growl, glaring at her and she smiled sweetly, taking a little bow. He took a step forward and then put one palm to his temple, making a face of pure pain.

“Zap,” she smirked and he changed into his vamp exterior with another growl of frustration.

“God, Summers, sometimes I just wanna wring your neck!”

“And other times?”

“Come closer and I’ll bleeding well show you!”

She held his gaze, then walked up to him without hesitation, stopping with her chest nearly connecting with his, tilting her head back. Her whole stance was so defiant he wanted to shake her. Violently. But the sting still lingering in his neck reminded him that he shouldn’t.

“I’m waiting,” she said.

“Wouldn’t think you’d be one to play unfair,” he remarked.

“Oh, you mind?” she shot.

“You haven’t got it in you now,” he murmured. “I could break you in half.”

“Tempting, isn’t it?” she asked, then her face grew suddenly solemn as she took a step back. “What did I do? To make you hate me like this? I’ve seriously tried everything to make you at least tolerate me, but what do I get for it! Fang-face! And wishes of certain death!”

He blinked at her out burst, then changed into his human exterior. She looked at him, still aggravated, but the anger seemed to lessen at his new appearance.

“I’m a demon,” he said, voice lowered. “Everything about you says I’m liable to detest and preferably destroy you. Can you get it through your thick skull? It’s the way nature made us. Good and evil never coexisted. Never will. You can try all you want; it’s just the way it is.”

“It’s not the way it is,” she disagreed.

He shook his head at her, bringing out a fag and lighting it.

She watched him, crinkling her nose up; then she put her hands on her hips.

“You couldn’t break that in half!” she stated. His eyes grew as he coughed. “Alright, so make your move! I dare you!”

“You dare me? What are you – fifteen?” he retorted with a smirk. “’Sides, I’m not too fond of the searing ache that’d shoot through my entire head, was I to accept your... dare.”

“God, you’re so annoying!”

“And you’re lacking the moves, sweetheart. Might as well fess up to it.”

“Oh, shut up,” she muttered. “Where were you going anyway?”

“To Willy’s...”

“Let’s go to the Bronze,” she said. “And no protests from you, I’m all rallied up now. I don’t feel like going to bed. Take me dancing and I’ll forget all about the passed hour.”

He looked at her.

“Is it always that simple?”

“If you make it,” she answered firmly.

“Some things you can’t force, Buffy.”

“Sometimes you have to try, Spike.”

He watched her as she came up to him and then walked past him, continuing on her way. Eventually he followed, reluctant to join at her side and yet finding himself there, keeping his gaze straight ahead.

¤

“And what if trying to force it doesn’t work?” he asked.

It was two hours later and they had finally snatched a couch at the Bronze, having had to wait for half an hour. Buffy had been dancing for over an hour, but had relinquished to thirst and decided to join Spike at the bar. The club was packed, but nobody minded – this was why they came there, after all.

Buffy brought her legs to the side, folding them under her and making herself more comfortable as she took a sip of her drink before answering his question.

“Then you try not forcing it. And if that fails you turn to shaking the living daylights out of it ‘til all bad memories are gone and left are nothing but the good ones.”

He was shocked at her optimism.

“I am shocked at your optimism.”

“Please! People are way too into the whole grudge hoopla. Holding a grudge is the worst thing a person can ever do, both to others and themselves! I mean; imagine a son that has a fight with his dad when he’s seventeen and then doesn’t talk with him for the rest of his life! It’s insane! They both miss out on having each other’s company on birthdays and weddings and anniversaries and holidays. No, here’s the formula – you say what you mean, and mean what you say, but you listen to other’s opinion. See, listening is key. A lot of misunderstandings could be avoided if people learned to listen a bit more to one another. Take this situation right here, for example. If my mother had listened to me I wouldn’t ‘ve run off to live with you.”

“Right,” he cocked an eyebrow. “And ‘ere I was thinking you came solely for the company.”

“Oh,” she smiled, patting his arm, “that too,” she stated honestly.

There was silence for a short while, then he asked:

“Think you’ll see Red?”

“Might, I guess...” Buffy shrugged. “Doesn’t really matter. After the freakathon last time I’d rather stick with you.”

“Cheers to that,” he smirked, clinking his beer bottle against her glass. He took a mouthful, swallowing it down as he rested his eyes in hers. “You were very different,” he then murmured, the music almost drowning him out and she frowned wonderingly. “When you were younger,” he elaborated. “You’re... older now. A bit wiser, even. But not as...”

She held his gaze.

“Not as what?” she pressed and he finally shook it off as nothing.

She swallowed the last of her drink and rose, grabbing his hand.

“Where are we going?”

“You’re gonna dance with me.”

“I’ve got half a bleeding beer left!”

“So let it bleed! I’ll buy you a new one! Come on!”

He had no more protests to offer and let her drag him onto the dance floor.

The music was pumping from the speakers and she twirled around before beginning to move to the rhythm. He stared at her, about to turn and walk back to the couch when the music switched and became slower; languorous tones drifting like smoke on water, softly stroking his sensitive ears until he felt as though his being was jiving to its gentle beat.

Buffy had her back to him now, her arms raised above her head as she snaked to the sound, her shoulder blades scraping his chest. He closed his eyes, but opened them in the next moment. Clenching his jaws together he still couldn’t stop his hands from moving to her hips, and then sliding forward, over her waist and to her stomach. His face was suddenly next to hers as he bent forward slightly, his lips nearly brushing her shoulder.

He was losing himself.

He fought to regain power, but she carefully turned around in his arms, her head tilting back as her nose graced his, a small smile gliding across her mouth as her hands found their way around his neck.

And so he again found himself on the dance floor of the Bronze with this creature in his embrace – though this nearness had never been intended. He felt her heart beat pounding against his ribcage. Sensed her blood pulsating through every corner of her. Her life enveloped him, and for the first time he didn’t fight it. He stared into eyes of green and let them mesmerize. Let them take him away.

His lips drifted towards hers more than once, and every time there was something in the back of his head that still had a voice screaming so loud it stopped the movement.

The moment he scented her arousal was when he woke himself out of the daze and brought her arms down so he could step away from her.

“Songs finished,” he said.

“So it is,” she agreed, producing a weak smile, her arms going around her and the sudden insecurity on her palpable. “What time is it?”

“Eleven.”

“I’m tired.”

“So go home.”

“I am. I mean, I will. I was.”

“Alright, then.”

“Okay.”

He stood still for another few seconds before turning and heading up to the bar. She watched him leave and sighed to herself. The way he had been looking at her and the way he had just held her... it had made her whole body feel weak. She felt like she was trembling as she made her way up to the coat check-in. She didn’t want to leave! But she couldn’t stay now without looking foolish and so she handed her ticket over and got her coat, proceeding outside.

She wondered which way was fastest. She was pretty good at keeping coordinates in her head, but it seemed every night they went to the club they took a different route. She stood hesitating when Spike stopped at her side. She turned her head to him in unhidden surprise.

“Going on how you’re fighting these days I think it’s best I come with you,” he said, taking a drag on the cigarette in his hand.

“Aw, so you do care,” she smiled, having him give her a look.

“If you don’t want me to, I’ll just head back in...”

“No!” she stopped him, taking a hold of his arm. “This is nice.”

He gave her a slight smirk at that and they began to walk.

“So, demons,” she said. “Why are they so bad?”

“Birth defect.”

“Yeah, by the looks of them I’d say that’s about right.”

He smiled, finishing the fag and tossing it with a flick of his wrist.

“That could start a fire,” she pointed out, crossing his path and walking up to the stub, stepping on it.

He chuckled and she turned back to him.

“It’s the way doing what’s right is stamped on your forehead,” he explained. “Doing what’s wrong is a demon’s privilege – one which most enjoy to its full extent.”

“Mh, like you,” she said and he wasn’t sure he liked the sarcasm in her voice.

“Why won’t you believe that? I have done everything in my power to show you exactly what I am.”

“Mh,” she said again. “Is that what you’ve been doing?”

She started walking again and he joined her, eyeing her profile and wondering what the bleeding hell was wrong with this girl’s head!

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he finally caved in.

“Action speaks about ten thousand megatons louder than words,” she simply replied, then she smiled warmly and started running. “I’ll race you to the playground!” she called over her shoulder.

He rolled his eyes at her, but couldn’t back down from the challenge and was soon closing in on her. She was laughing, rounding a corner and stumbling onto the grass surrounding their destination. She lost her balance and fell, bringing him with her as he was going too fast to stop cold turkey and tripped over her feet. She was still laughing as she rolled over onto her back, looking up at the starlit sky.

He didn’t want to smile, but did it anyway.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” she mumbled. “I wish I knew more about the names... I always wanted to learn.”

“My mum...”

He trailed off, suddenly realizing how easily it was for him to just start babbling about anything that came to mind whenever she said something as simple as this! Checking the urge he bit his jaws together and refused to look at her when she propped herself up on one elbow, waiting for him to continue.

Suddenly she reached out a hand, her fingers touching his forehead and he grabbed her wrist in a tight grip, bringing it away.

“Grass,” she mumbled as an explanation, clearly taken aback.

“Let’s get off it then,” he said, rising.

She looked up at him and he fought the impulse to help her to her feet by walking up to the swing set. She silently stood and soon came up to him, observing his back for a few moments before she walked around him and took a seat on one of the swings.

The last time they had been there she had killed her first vampire.

Well, she supposed it wasn’t actually her first, but...

“I wonder why I’m here,” she said out loud, not wanting to expect a response from him since he seemed set on clamming up on her.

But it came.

“That is the universal question.”

Her eyes met his and she had to smile. He returned it, though it was a weak excuse, and then he reached for his pack of cigarettes.

“Please,” she said. “Spare me just this once.”

He hesitated, then quietly complied. She smiled her thanks, looking away from him and being unsure of why she felt so awkward.

“You’re a contradiction,” he said, having her gaze in his again as she raised her eyebrows. “You say you don’t believe in holding a grudge, but you’re staying with me to get back at your mother, aren’t you?”

“No, I’m not... The reason I left was you... because I couldn’t see you. She wouldn’t let me. I’m not staying away ‘cause I’m mad at her. And she knows that.”

He tried to swallow what she had just said, but had difficulty with it. Why did she have to be so honest about every single thing!

“Slayer...” he began, but she got to her feet with a yelp and he swirled around to see what it was that had her so spooked.

Three vampires were deliberately making their way towards them.

“Wonderful,” he muttered. “Get your stake,” he added to Buffy. Her eyes widened. “You did bring your stake, didn’t you?”

She looked guilty and he growled as he turned to face the approaching demons.

“Can’t you just ask them to go away? Courtesy of everybody wearing fangs, or something?” she hissed.

“Oh, now she likes the fangs?” he scoffed, bracing himself for the attack.

The three moved forward at once, two heading for Buffy while one met the kick of Spike. The bleached turned his head to the Slayer, who was backing away from her assailants, her eyes going from one to the other.

“Okay, boys...” she murmured. “Which one’s first?”

They exchanged a glance and then both drew back one arm to deliver a punch each.

“Oh,” she said, ducking just in time and kicking out one leg, hitting one on the shin.

She straightened up and stomped the other on the foot before she turned and ran.

“Buffy!” Spike yelled.

“Just want a more open spot!” she shouted back, her heart hammering away in her bosom as she tried to think of what to do.

In the middle of that thought something hard hit her behind her right knee and she fell to the ground in a heap. Rolling over onto her back her eyes grew round right before another awesome kick was delivered, this one to her side. Another one hit her leg and she curled herself instinctively into a ball, closing her eyes.

There was sound of growling, then punches hitting bodies, and then the kicking stopped. She sat up immediately, seeing Spike fight off one of the vamps while the other pulled a sword from a sheath it had been wearing slung over one shoulder. Buffy stared at the scene as though it was in slow motion, then she got to her feet and began running.

The vampire was raising the sword, aiming it at Spike’s neck just as the blonde put a stake through the heart of the other vamp. The sword began to cut through the air and then the Slayer reached Spike, pushing him hard, out of the way. She swirled around, kicking her leg up and hitting the other vampire on the cheek. She heard the clanking sound as the sword fell to the pavement beneath their feet, and then the thud as the vampire went after it. A moment later the weapon was in her hands and she brought it into the chest of the demon, making it burst into ashes as she pulled the sword out again.

She was breathing hard, staring at the spot for the longest minute and then bringing the blade up before her face. She stared at its bloodstained surface.

“Didn’t think vampires bled,” she mumbled to herself just as the searing pain began throbbing from the wound in her shoulder.

She blinked, going down on one knee.

The last thing she remembered was being lifted by two arms and the distant scent of his leather duster.

How Lovely

¤

She woke up with a jerk, looking up at the ceiling and then around the room with disoriented eyes.

“Where am I?” she asked, but there was no answer.

She slowly began to remember, and soon she concluded that she was in his bed, in the crypt. She tried to sit up and an ache immediately began to pulsate from her right shoulder, making her draw a breath as she sat up fully, moving the covers to the side and swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. Her hand went to the place of hurt and she felt soft bandages. Carefully she got to her feet and realized she didn’t have a top on.

She blushed. By the feel of her shoulder she was certain circumstance had called for her nudity and still... She bit her lower lip at the thought of him seeing her... Then she got the thought out of her head and grabbed one of his sweaters, pulling it on with studied movements. She headed for the ladder once she was done, climbing it and coming up into the crypt, which was lit by the candles burning brightly.

“So you’re up then,” he said, coming from the kitchen and walking passed her to the coffee table.

She felt a slight sting at his indifference.

“I’m up then,” she murmured, following in his footsteps and then slowing to a halt.

“What?” he asked at her stricken expression. “It’s food, Buffy, wipe the astonishment off.”

“You... did this?” she asked, coming up to the table and having a seat on one of the cushions.

“No, you did,” he replied. “It’s the same setting from last night; I just went and got us more wings. The wine’s ruined, but I never liked that year anyway. Got us some better stuff...”

“Last night?” she asked and he met her gaze.

“You’ve been asleep for a while,” he shrugged, sitting down as well and grabbing the opened bottle of wine, filling their clean glasses.

“For a while?” she asked.

“You’re healing, love,” he said. “Wound’s not to toy with, it got you deep. How does it feel?”

“Sore,” she mumbled, reaching out to take the glass and wincing. He smiled a small smile as she changed hands, lifting the glass with her left. “To...”

“...the moment,” he filled in, and she complied, drinking the toast.

They were quiet for a short while and then they both reached for the chicken.

“Go ahead,” he said.

“No, no; you got them, you go ahead.”

“No, you need to eat something. Here.”

He grabbed a piece and unceremoniously threw it onto her plate. She looked at it, and then at him, and for the first time there was the hint of a smile on her mouth.

“Thanks,” she said, picking the wing up and beginning to eat.

He grabbed one as well, watching her. She finished hers and took hold of another one. He wondered distantly what she thoughts were running through her mind.

She had never been this hungry. And chicken had never tasted this good. She took another mouthful of wine and savored it. As she started on her fourth wing her eyes finally landed in Spike’s and she held his gaze, growing quizzical. Finally she asked:

“Anything wrong?”

“No.”

“Something’s wrong.”

“No.”

“Why aren’t you eating?”

He glanced at his untouched wing.

“Saving room.”

“You going out?”

“Yeah.”

“No, you’re not.” He cocked an eyebrow and she finished the wing, putting the remains down on her plate and swallowing as she kept her eyes in his. “Stay here, with me. Just for tonight. Please. I don’t wanna be alone.”

He gritted his teeth.

“Alright,” he muttered and she smiled brightly.

“Good!”

“You done?” he asked with a nod to the bird.

“Yes, thank you,” she answered.

“Welcome,” he said, grabbing their plates as he rose, walking into the kitchen.

Buffy climbed onto the loveseat, contented in the fact that he had humored her. Then a small frown appeared and she wondered exactly why he had caved in so easily... She hadn’t even had to ask twice. Then she realized why and she rose, turning to him as he came back.

“I acted on instinct,” she stated.

“Pardon?”

“Saving you. It wasn’t this noble act; it was seeing you almost get your head chopped off and reacting to it. You don’t have to feel like you owe me anything.”

“Don’t feel anything of the sort,” he said, posture growing rigid.

She eyed him closely, then sat down again. He cleared the rest of the table in silence. She watched him, wanting to say something to ease the tension, but lacking the right vocabulary. She played with the hem of the sweater she was wearing as he came up to the loveseat and sunk down beside her.

“Is that my sweater?” he asked.

She raised her eyebrows.

“Yeah...” she replied.

“Huh... Wanna play cards?”

She furrowed her brow.

“Depends on what you wanna play.”

“Poker?”

“I don’t know how to...”

“I’ll teach you,” he interrupted, rising to get his deck.

“Spike, if you wanna go play poker you can go play poker. Just... don’t play for kittens – it makes me sad.”

He came back up to her, pulling her off the couch by way of one wrist and plopping her back down on the previous cushion. He sat down facing her and began to cut the deck. He started with showing her the basics, and she listened intently. After another twenty minutes she thought she had it pretty much down.

“The rest is luck,” he stated, gathering the cards spread out on the table.

“Alright,” she said. “So... what’re we playing for?”

He met her gaze and then smirked.

“Money.”

¤

“And that means that your collection of rings now belong to me,” Buffy stated three hours later, splaying her winning hand over his losing one and he snarled.

“Unbe-sodding-lievable,” he muttered, tearing the rings he had been wearing off his fingers and one by one throwing them at her.

She giggled, sliding them all onto her forefinger and wiggling it at him.

“Don’t be a poor loser, Spike.”

“I think I’ve lost enough for one night,” he replied, getting to his feet and stretching.

“Is there any wine left?”

“I think so. Want some?”

She nodded.

He brought the bottle and their glasses back to the loveseat, on which she had yet again placed herself. She sat there, wearing his sweater and his rings. He glared at her, feeling a rumble which at least resembled annoyance rise in his chest. But then she shifted, bringing her locks into one hand and moving them to lie over one collar bone as she played a little with the ends of them. The dark blue of the sweater suited her, and the way it had slipped to reveal the smoothness of her unhurt shoulder had him sit down at the other end of the seat, as far away as he could get from her without being too obvious. He then stretched out the hand holding her wineglass towards her.

She took the glass before rising and walking up to the TV, switching it on. She turned the knob until she found a movie and then she moved back to the loveseat, sitting down again, only this time in the middle of it. Performing the deed as nonchalantly as she could muster. However, he stiffened, and she grumbled in her head as she gently slid herself over to where she had been previously positioned.

She took a mouthful of wine, set the glass aside and folded her arms, placing them on the armrest and letting her chin find a spot on them. The movie on the TV screen had an obscure title she had never heard of, and she only recognized one actor from a show she had followed once.

“Where did you put my top?” she said out loud, the words registering with her the following moment and she was startled by them. In spite of this emotion, she went on with: “I looked for it before and I couldn’t find it.”

She met his gaze as she turned to sit with her back against the armrest instead. He finished his wine, small smile showing on his lips and she crossed her arms over her chest conscientiously. The smile turned to a smirk as he put his glass down.

“I threw it away,” he said. “It was soaked through with blood.”

She swallowed, one hand going to the bandages.

“And then you...?”

“Love, I had no bloody interest whatsoever in seeing you without your clothes on before last night, and I have no bloody interest to now either. I didn’t see anything... well, not very long of anything you might not ‘ve wanted me to see. Alright?”

“Fine,” she grumbled.

He stared at her as she turned her head back to the TV. She was disappointed. Bloody hell, what a mess this was turning into. Either way he went he ended up producing that goddamn pout on her! Stay home. Alright, he stayed home. No, don’t feel like you owe me, go out. But...

He looked at the TV as well, then got to his feet.

“I’d better clean your shoulder,” he stated.

“What?” she asked, but he had already disappeared down the ladder.

She rose, leaving the TV on she followed him down, stepping onto the floor just as he came up to her.

“What’re you doing?” he asked.

“Thought you said...”

“We can do it on the couch.”

She smiled a crooked smile at that, walking passed him and up to the bed. Climbing onto it she placed herself on her stomach. He stood frozen on the spot for a few more seconds, then got himself moving, approaching her with a caution he didn’t think he should have to feel. But he felt it alright.

Setting the things he needed down on the bed he looked at her.

“Well?” she asked.

“Well, you’re dressed, for starters,” he replied and she smiled again, sitting up.

“Right,” she murmured. Looking up at him she grabbed the hems of the sweater before saying: “Close your eyes.”

He held her gaze, then did as she asked. He heard her pull the sweater over her head, and then lying down again.

“Alright,” she said.

“Need light,” he murmured, though his night vision worked perfectly.

He got himself moving up to the spot holding a nice supply of matches, grabbing a box and opening it up. He took out a match and tried to light it. It broke. He clenched his jaws together and tried again. Another snapped in half.

“Bloody hell,” he cursed silently.

A third and a fourth. As he got to the fifth he focused all his will on making it be set on fire and after a few seconds of this meditation he struck it against the box and there was a hiss as a flame burst to life.

Thank God, he thought to himself, bringing the flame to the candle standing closest and then taking the candle around the room. Setting it down once he had finished he turned back to the bed and his eyes rested in hers. She was still on her stomach, her head turned to the side and her gaze following him.

He came up to her again, having a seat next to her.

“Do your worst,” she mumbled with another smile, and he returned it.

She closed her eyes and he sat still for what felt like forever.

She wished she knew what he was thinking.

And then his cool fingers slid over her back, making her draw a small breath at the unexpected sensation as a million goose-bumps unfolded all over her body. The touch ended at the bandage covering her shoulder, and she clenched her jaws together as he pulled off the tape securing it there. He removed the bandage. Then she felt a sting as he cleaned the wound and she drew another breath. Soon his fingers were moving around the cut, inspecting it. Then something cool was put on and finally a fresh bandage.

“It’s getting there,” he said.

She opened her eyes and looked up at him.

“Thanks.”

A blonde lock of hers slowly slid from behind her ear and down over her nose and before he could stop it he had reached out one hand, his fingers gently pushing the lock back, fastening it again. Her eyes didn’t leave his face and he removed his hand with a sudden twist somewhere inside of him.

“I’ll be back in a few hours,” he said, rising.

“Spike...” she said, grabbing the sheet and covering herself as she sat up. “Don’t go.”

“I have to. Business, pet. I’ll be back in... a few hours.”

“You already said that.” He grabbed his duster. “You can’t keep running away,” she stated, voice lowered.

“Running?” he asked, suddenly smiling. “From what?”

She fixed him with a long look and then answered:

“From me.”

“Don’t be daft,” he said, still smiling. “I’ll be back...”

“... in a few hours,” she filled in and with that he was out of sight.

She sighed, curling her legs up and wrapping her arms around them, making a face as the wound let hear its objection.

¤

“Ateh nomad lirg. Girfa dreg,” the demon greeted and Spike gave a nod. “Are you sure you wish to part with these?” it added, holding up the two items Spike had opted to sell.

“Need the money, mate,” the vampire replied. “Three hundred.”

The demons eyes flared red.

“Lirg cotha dworg, you drive a hard bargain,” it then muttered, digging out a wad of bills and peeling three off it.

“Only when I have to.”

Spike took the money, stuffing it into one pocket of his duster before turning.

“The Slayer,” the demon said, “is it true what they say? She is weakened.”

Spike looked over his shoulder at the creature, then replied:

“Not yet.”

“But you will let the rest of us know.”

He smirked; then continued on his way, the glee soon fading as he entered the streets of downtown. So, the word was out. It had only been a matter of time.

He had thought she was going to die the night prior. He had almost taken her to the Watcher’s, but had then shied away from that alternative, knowing that she would be kept away from him for sure. Confused and dazed with unfamiliar worry he had brought her to the crypt and patched her up as best he knew how. He had paced the floor for hours, trying to make sense of himself. One moment wanting her gone more fervently than ever and almost running up to tear the wound open again, to hell with temporary explosions to the brain. The other moment trying to stay still and calm, for her, feeling as though she needed it more than anything else. Watching her sleep he finally had dragged himself up to the crypt and stayed there, only checking on her sporadically and hoping that the sudden longing within him would abate.

¤

He got back to the crypt nearly four hours later. He had been in a brawl with two demons and killed both of them, but hadn’t been able to rid himself of the sudden sensation of not only doing it for the killing’s sake. This had made him go home as fast as his legs could carry him.

“Buffy!” he barked as he stumbled through the door. “Buffy!”

He looked around the room and felt like his stomach was imploding as his mind began to race with possible scenarios and reasons for her not being there. She had been abducted, she had been slaughtered, she had left.

“She’s left,” he repeated it to himself, very convincingly.

He walked through the empty crypt and climbed down the ladder, feeling relief mixed with a loneliness he wasn’t sure he could deal with. He slipped the duster off his shoulders and proceeded up to the bed, stopping at the foot of it as his eyes rested on her sleeping form. He smiled, tilting his head to the side before slowly walking around to get a better angle at her face. She looked peaceful. Not like last night, when she had been shaky and sweaty and weak.

“You’re not,” he said, sitting down beside her. “You’re not weak, love... I realized that a long bloody time ago. And you’re not weakened. This is a phase, one you’ll get out of. You’ll be back to your old self...”

He trailed off, eyeing her and then carefully lying down next to her.

“If I get you killed when you’re like this – the other you’ll come back to haunt me, kick me around the sodding crypt all day and not let me get any sleep. Make me put up those bleeding curtains after all...” He smiled a little at the thought, then it disappeared. “I’m not putting up curtains.”

“With cream,” she mumbled and he blinked, then the smile was reborn.

“What?” he whispered.

“Tea with biscuits and cream,” she answered sleepily. “And your mother was there saying ‘How lovely’...”

He reached out a hand and carefully brushed a few strands away from her face, but she moved a little at the touch and he retracted his hand swiftly, folding it against his chest and staring at her in anticipation of her eyes opening. They didn’t and he soon relaxed, feeling pretty dumb.

“What am I doing with you?” he murmured.

¤

The next morning she woke up with his arms around her. Her own were folded between them, and as she looked up she could see his chiseled chin, the outline of his jaw, and she noted that he was still wearing the same clothes as yesterday. Then again, when did he ever wear anything but black jeans and a black T?

She drew in his scent, let it dance through her nostrils and go straight to her head.

She shifted slightly just to get the sense of what his body felt this close to hers.

Then she shut her eyes and let herself fall back asleep.

¤

At six thirty-seven in the evening he opened his eyes and turned his head, expecting not to be alone in the bed for the first time in a very long time. When he in fact turned out to be, he brutally ignored the feeling of discontent and threw the covers off, getting up with a huff.

“Oh, stay in,” her voice rang from the ladder, and soon she emerged from the shadows, carrying a mug. “Made you breakfast in bed,” she added, trying a smile.

He smiled back, and she handed him the mug before sitting down on the edge of the bed. He did as well, feeling foolish and uncertain of what he should say.

“Thanks,” he finally murmured, vamping out and drinking his breakfast in a few hard gulps.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and then looked at her, noticing that she was studying him carefully.

“Does it hurt, when you change?” she asked.

“No.”

“What does it feel like?”

“Muscle cramp. For a second.”

“And you can do it whenever you want?”

“Pretty much.” He put the mug down on the floor. “How’s the shoulder?”

She moved it a little.

“Better,” she replied. “Seems to be done with the achies... Guess I’ll have a scar.”

She whined.

“What now?”

“Just... the beach and every nice evening dress I’ll ever wear again and...”

She whined once more, this time it made him smirk.

“Take it from me, love, you don’t scar very easily.”

“Neither do you, but look at that,” she remarked with a nod to his eyebrow.

“This? It was done with a specially forged weapon... in the hands of a special lady... Otherwise, it wouldn’t have lasted.”

She looked at it, then asked:

“May I?”

He felt something not far from a twirl in the pit of his stomach, and then he silently consented to her request; having her slide closer and reach up a hand to softly touch the spot. His nose nearly brushed her jaw as she stretched to have a better look, his gaze traveling to her neck. One of his hands without intention moved to the small of her back and he carefully pushed her nearer.

The feel of his sudden grip around her made her shift her head back to rest her eyes in his. A throbbing appeared out of nowhere, a need that was stronger than she had ever felt it before, the passion behind her growing emotions for him unraveled itself in the blink of an eye and she pressed herself tighter to him as she parted her lips for the kiss.

Suddenly there was a loud bang from upstairs.

“What was that?” he asked, rising and making her slide off the bed with a squeal and a thud.

“Me breaking my ass,” she muttered, looking up at him accusingly.

“Bloody hell, the wankers should know better than to break in ‘ere!” he growled, stepping over her legs and heading for the ladder.

She got to her feet, rubbing her lower back and frowning at his behavior. Though was she surprised? Whoever was upstairs, she was more than ready to take them on. Walking in Spike’s footsteps she halted, running back up to the bed and bending down to dig out a stake from the stash he kept underneath it. Climbing up the ladder she stopped half way as she heard the punches being delivered suddenly stopping, an unknown voice exclaiming:

“Hand her over, Spike!”

“I don’t know what the hell got into your dish tonight, but walk it off!”

“She’s here. We know she is. Guess we shouldn’t expect anything else from you, though it’s pretty pathetic of you to protect her like this. Thought you’d at least still want her dead...”

Buffy poked her head out of the hole just as Spike slammed the fledgling against a wall, gripping its throat.

“Watch your mouth, mate. You don’t know a flaming thing.”

The other vampire smirked, then the expression was replaced with burning hatred.

“You got a way to get rid of her, so get rid of her!” it hissed. “If it gives you too much of a headache we would most gladly finish the task for you.”

Spike let the other go with a low growl, pointing to the door.

“There’s nothing here,” he stated. “I dunno if the sodding rumors are true, I haven’t seen the Slayer for weeks. Now get out.”

“They’re not rumors,” another voice said and as Buffy looked to the right she noticed two more vamps by the door. “I saw her run. And you’re lying, Spike, ‘cause you were with her.”

“Yeah? Got a big mouth on you, but if you saw her run, why didn’t you follow?”

“I was busy,” the vamp replied between clenched jaws. “She’s losing power. And the right moment is just around the corner. We’re gathering our forces, Spike. Adam is leading us toward glory, and the death of the Slayer will mark the beginning.”

Spike raised his eyebrows.

“I’ll remember that,” he assured half-heartedly as the three demons left.

He shut the door behind them, turning his head to Buffy as she stepped up into the room.

“Gee,” she said, “talk about doom’s day cometh.”

“Oh, it’s coming alright,” he nodded.

She held his gaze at that and after a while he smiled slightly, walking up to her. She was about to say something when he stated:

“You can’t go out tonight.”

“There’s no need to overreact!”

“Buffy, you can’t hold your own out there.”

“I can too hold my own! Spike, you can’t tell me what I can and can’t do.” He raised his eyebrows and produced a pout on her mouth. “You just pretty much said you still want me dead... Was that a lie?” He stared at her, his expression unreadable, and then she gave him a little push as she exclaimed: “You can’t seriously wanna lock me up. And don’t tell me it’s what’s best for me!”

“Wasn’t considering locking you up – especially since no locks I’ve got could hold you, if you put your mind to it.” He paused, holding her gaze before adding: “I can’t have you die on my watch, love.”

“Right,” she murmured. “Something happens to me: something happens to you. Only how can I kill you if I’m already dead?”

He merely smiled weakly and she shook her head.

“So train me,” she said. He did a double take, then he blinked. “What? It’s not the worst idea,” she continued. “Teach me. Like Giles did.”

“Have you gone completely off your rocker!” he sputtered and she took a step back. “I will not!”

“I can’t go to Giles now, you get that, right? He’ll... shoot me with a tranquilizer dart and chain me to the bathtub.” Spike was about to protest, but then he could do nothing but nod in agreement. “You’re the only one who can help me. Spike, please. Please.”

She gave him such an earnest look that he felt the tightness along his spine slowly melt away, and he began to relax.

“I am nothing like the poof, so don’t expect repeating whatever he managed to conjure up,” he grumbled and a smile spread on her lips. “We’ll spar. You and I. Briefly. That should do it.”

Her smile widened.

“And are you doing this because you don’t wanna be all lonely at the Bronze, or because...”

“To hell with the cause,” he interrupted. “This is confusing as it is, just change into something comfortable and I’ll move the sodding furniture.”

¤

Nothing

¤

She put on a pair of sweat pants and a top, arranging her hair up in a ponytail before climbing back up into the crypt. He was wearing another one of those tight T’s and she pictured his bare chest underneath it, how it had felt under her palm when she had touched it... That moment felt like ages ago now.

“So, what can you do?” he asked.

“You just wanna know ‘cause it’ll help you kill me later,” she said, a teasing glint in her eyes and he smirked. “I don’t get why you don’t take those vampires’ advice and get rid of me now, when you’ve got the chance. Blaming the chip or the wrath of a dead me doesn’t quite cut it anymore...”

“Mostly you’re attacked by fledglings,” he blatantly swept past that comment and she smiled a little. “They’re not the most skilled killers, but they...”

“Can hold their own?”

“This ain’t some kind of a joke, Slayer,” Spike grumbled. “I’ll tell you this once, understand?”

“Sir, yes, sir.”

“Buffy.”

“Fine, where’d you want me?”

He gestured for her to come and stand before him, which she did. The candles were all blown out, and the only light they had to guide them was the bluish silver falling in through the windows and spread by the moon.

“We’ll do it slow at first. I want to see how quick your head is working.”

She braced herself and he gradually stretched out an arm, she raised her eyebrows and then couldn’t help but giggle. He brought the arm down, looking annoyed.

“Sorry! I’m sorry. Okay, I’m ready,” she said.

He glared at her, then repeated the movement, stretching his right arm forward and over her right shoulder, as though about to grab her neck. She countered it with her right hand and then turned around, stepping into him with her back to his chest and getting ready to throw him. His nose breathed in her scent and he pushed her away from him more brutally than he had intended as she stumbled a few steps and then turned back to him.

“Good,” he merely said. “Let’s continue.”

She furrowed her brow, but prepared herself for his approach. He still moved slowly, stepping up to her and then mimicking a blow to her stomach. She grabbed his wrist with one hand, stepping forward and into him, bringing his arm to the side before she placed one hand by the side of his neck, sliding one leg between his.

He cocked an eyebrow and she smirked slightly.

“Now what?” he asked.

She didn’t hesitate before she took a pinching grip on his earlobe, having him go down on his knees with a low:

“Oh, ow.”

Her smirk broadened as he looked up at her with an expression mirroring hers, then she let him go. He kept his eyes in hers as he stood; her form still close to his. Then she took a slight step back.

He nearly pulled her back again, but it passed as he forced himself to focus on anything other than her. It wasn’t the easiest thing to do.

“Let’s speed this up, shall we?” he murmured.

“Whatever you say, Obi-Wan.”

“Obi-Wan?”

“Whatever you say...” He gave her a look. “...love,” she finished with one of those bright smiles.

Without warning he delivered a punch for her chin and one of her hands immediately moved up, grabbing the fist and blocking it. Both of their eyebrows rose.

“Whoa,” she said.

“Let’s speed this up,” he repeated.

He kicked out one leg, aiming for her stomach. She blocked it with one of hers and punched him in the nose. He made a face, then rolled his eyes at her sorrowful expression. And on it went for nearly twenty minutes. They switched turns attacking and blocking, Spike wishing he could get bored by the fact that he couldn’t actually hit her, but it didn’t take.

Finally she stopped a kick of his and saw an opening, delivering one of her own to his cheek that had him fall to the floor with a loud thump.

“Oh, God, I’m sorry!” she exclaimed, dropping to her knees next to him.

“Bloody hell, Slayer, don’t apologize!” he growled, and then her hands were softly gripping either side of his face, moving it so she could take a better look at the spot which had taken the hit.

He stared at her as she inspected it, her fingers moving over the place gently.

“Doesn’t look too bad,” she said, having her eyes in his.

She smiled a little, letting him go carefully and sitting back.

“You for the Bronze?” he asked and her smile quickly widened.

¤

“Gilded Bronze for the lady,” Spike said, forty minutes later, standing at the bar of the club. “And I’ll have a beer.”

“You always drink beer,” she remarked.

“Not always,” he smiled.

She returned it, looking out over the gathered people and nodding her head to the music.

“Not as big a crowd tonight,” she said.

“Sometimes is that way on Tuesdays,” he shrugged, handing her her drink and taking his bottle with him as they headed for a table.

“So then you’re at Willy’s?”

“Not necessarily...”

“Depends on if you’ve managed to scare up some kittens?”

“Will you ever let that go?”

“Not unless you swear to leave them alone.”

“I swear to leave the kittens alone.”

“See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“No, not at all, like carving a hole in my head.”

She smiled, taking a mouthful of her drink.

“You know, owning a place like this would be pretty cool,” she mused, her eyes going around the room again. “I bet it’s a good income and it attracts all the cool clientele... ‘Course, I’d set it up someplace else. Morocco, maybe. Or an island somewhere in the Caribbean.”

“Any Hellmouths threatening to open over there, ‘cause otherwise I can’t see you putting little parasols in happy-color drinks, pet,” he pointed out and she sighed.

“Wow,” she then muttered, “now I know what I’m gonna be when I grow up. How weird. Wood carving as a hobby, my ass.”

He smirked at that, taking a swig of his beer.

A waitress came up with a fresh drink for Buffy; as the former put it down on the table she said:

“With compliments from the man at the bar.”

Spike looked skyward as Buffy casually turned her head to see a very fine young man raising his glass to her. She smiled, mirroring the gesture as thanks.

“I like the less crowded,” she stated. “You have a better view.”

Spike gave her a look.

“Please, save it.”

“What?” she asked with a smile.

“He buys you a drink and sends it over with compliments? His originality boggles my mind.”

She kept the smile on.

“Whatever do you mean?”

“Buffy, cheap is something you should never go for, no matter where you are or why you’re there.”

“And he’s cheap? He just bought me an eight dollar drink.”

“I just bought you that drink, didn’t see you swooning over it,” Spike said to that and she eyed him for a moment.

“Straighten this out for me – you’re comparing yourself to him or you’re saying buying the exact same drink as he did is in fact better just ‘cause that drink came from you?”

“I am saying...”

“Want to dance?”

The topic of conversation leaned in over Buffy’s shoulder, offering her his hand, and Spike’s gaze darkened.

“We’re trying to have a bleeding conversation ‘ere,” he said, but Buffy smiled at the stranger, placing her hand in his and rising.

Walking passed Spike’s chair on the way to the dance floor she briefly whispered in his ear:

“You’re just jealous.”

Spike glared at her back.

I am not sodding jealous, he thought angrily. Specially not of that pip-squeak!

But as he watched the Slayer slowly begin to move to the soft rhythms of the music and grinding closer to the other male he started to have questions flutter through his brain of her actually being attracted to the uglified mortal, of her wanting him to touch her, be that near her. Was she enjoying his scent? Spike thought he could smell the stench of the aftershave even where he sat! Was her heart beating quicker? Was she liking it?

Buffy smiled as she was spun around playfully. However, the spin went only halfway as she came face to face with a now close Spike, a feet parting the two of them as he had just concluded his approach. Her eyes fastened in his and as always she found it virtually impossible to break away from him.

“Sorry, mate,” he said to the other male, without taking his gaze from hers, “lady’s choice.”

She had the hint of a smile on her lips, feeling a need begin to beat its power within her as the glittering desire she held for him easily spread through her. When he took a light hold on one of her wrists, having her step into him, her heart beat elevated and her breath caught.

They began to move to the music, her free arm placing itself around his neck, her forehead to his before his nose slid from her cheekbone and down to her jaw, her eyes closing and one of her hands taking an almost desperate hold on the leather of his duster, clutching it tightly.

She didn’t want the moment to end. She couldn’t have him snap out of it and look at her with bewilderment... with denial. She had seen it on him every time they’d gotten somewhat close to each other and now she felt like she might rip in half if he did it again.

Then his voice sounded in her ear, husky and low:

“Want to leave?”

Her heart slowed. In fact, everything did as she pulled back to meet his gaze.

She wanted him. So badly it nearly hurt.

She nodded.

“Yeah,” she answered.

He seemed to wonder what was happening for just one split second, and then his hand slid into hers, entwining their fingers right before he moved them both off the dance floor and up to the exit. They stepped into the chilled evening air and she stopped, having him do the same as he turned to her. She reached up the hand that wasn’t holding his and touched his cheek, her eyes suddenly catching movement down the street.

She looked over and squinted, then her eyes grew as she made out a girl being dragged away by two larger figures and she let Spike’s hand go, beginning to run.

She brought her stake out, the two vampires turning at the sound of her pounding feet and they dropped their unconscious victim to the ground as the Slayer attacked, kicking one in the stomach and then sweeping the legs out from under the other. The first one moved forward and she ducked skillfully, kicking it in the chin and sending it flying before she crouched together and then delivered another kick to the second vampire as it was back on its feet. It tumbled back down and she was on it in an instant, sinking her stake into its chest before throwing the weapon straight into the heart of the first vampire, the two assailants combusting simultaneously.

Spike was awestruck. The poetry of her movements; how easily, gracefully she delivered every blow, was something that had to be admired. The strength which rested within her petite form was never to be overlooked. He had seen it before – but wondered if he had ever actually allowed himself the quiet pleasure of truly acknowledging it.

No, he hadn’t.

The sudden power on her was drifting at him through the air. And there was no selfishness that had triggered this, it was the mere act of the slay, and the saving of that girl on the pavement. The heritage of the Slayer. The truth of goodness...

Bloody hell, he growled in his head, but something else could do nothing but stare at her.

This girl could accomplish this. Could step outside herself and become a warrior. There was an aura around her in that moment, of perfect peace.

He approached her cautiously. She was still on the ground, but as he got closer she stood, brushing the ashes off. And then she turned to him; her face beaming.

“Did you see that!” she exclaimed. “I rocked! I did it! It was like before: I didn’t even have to think about it, but this time it was just... there! It was incredible. I wish I could share this high with you, it’s totally outrageous! Wow!”

She was around his neck the following moment, hugging him tight and jumping up and down. He smirked as she let him go, turning to the girl who was just sitting up, disoriented.

“It’s okay now,” Buffy said, walking up to her and helping her to her feet. “How do you feel?”

“A little woozy,” the girl mumbled.

“Go home and get some rest. It’ll all be fine in the morning and don’t go with strange men at night, let this be a lesson!” she reprimanded and the girl smiled weakly before seemingly following the first part of the advice.

Buffy watched her go.

“Ah, yes, the Slayer’s work is never done,” she said in a dramatic tone. Then she began jumping up and down again. “God, I feel like running around in circles ‘till I can’t stand anymore,” she said.

Spike merely smiled at that, beginning to walk and Buffy followed him, bouncing around him making zig-zag patters across the street. He looked at her, thoughtful. It was all so problematic, wasn’t it? And he didn’t approve of this new sensation in his chest, this disgraceful and sudden understanding... of her. For the very first time he thought himself have actually seen what the slayer was.

It must be that I’ve spent so much time with her, he thought. Too much time. I’ve seen the Slayer kill dozens of vampires before, and every time it merely ticked me off. Why the bugger would this be any different if it wasn’t for the fact that...

That what? That he was seeing a recap? The early years – uncensored? That he was witnessing with his own eyes what the experience had been like for her. That he could nearly taste the absolute power on her, and that he could sense the light it held. But it also held darkness... Perhaps that was what attracted him to her. Because he sure as hell was attracted to her.

She’s just a child, he thought ruefully.

Suddenly she jumped up on his back, wrapping her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck and he merely reacted as he hooked his arms under her knees.

“I feel so alive right now,” she stated. “Like nothing can stop me.”

They arrived outside the crypt and he set her down before continuing inside. She followed, having calmed down slightly.

“You know, I never said thanks,” she said, “for the sparring before.”

“Don’t mention it,” he replied, fixing her with a look as he added: “Ever.”

She smiled self-consciously, suddenly dreadfully aware of where they had left off before.

Oh, God, why did I have to run off like that? she whined in her head. Saved a life. Saved a life, she then chose as a mantra.

“Spike...” she began, only he moved up to the ladder.

“I’m going to bed,” he said, descending.

“Sure,” she agreed. “You enjoy that now, while I crawl under the couch and die.”

“Did you say something?” he asked, sticking his head back up.

“No,” she smiled. “Nothing special.” He disappeared. “Only that I wanna crawl under the couch and die,” she hissed, hiding her face in her hands.

Finally she dragged herself over to the loveseat and lay down on it. It wasn’t late, but she felt exhausted. She closed her eyes and slowly drifted off.

Spike lay in bed trying to go to sleep, but unable to as he was waiting – for her. He lost his patience after fifteen minutes and kicked the covers off with a growl, still in his jeans he headed upstairs. Glaring around the room he stalked up to the loveseat and paused, having the oddest sensation of warmth in his chest as he looked down at her.

Dammit, he thought, but couldn’t stop himself from sitting down on the edge of the coffee table to watch her soft features.

His eyes went to her hand, resting right by her nose, and he moved his arm to let his fingertips softly grace her palm before he let his own meet it. Linking their fingers together he brought her hand away from her face, a slight smile playing on his mouth. He reached out his free hand and gently stroked her blonde locks to lie behind her shoulder.

I can’t, he then thought, letting her hand go and standing abruptly. I can’t!

He was about to walk back downstairs when his gaze caught on her and he hesitated, then made up his mind. Lifting her up in his arms he held her tight as he carried her down the ladder, placing her on the bed and pulling the covers up he eyed her for a few more moments before turning, going back upstairs to take her place on the loveseat.

¤

She woke at noon. It took only a few seconds for her to be wide awake once she realized where she was, since she couldn’t remember how she got there. Looking under the covers she saw that she was still very much dressed, and she furrowed her brow quizzically. Turning her head to the side she noted Spike’s absence and she brought the covers aside, rising and stretching and walking up to the ladder.

Climbing it she yawned, stepping up into the crypt and immediately seeing his feet sticking out over one of the armrests of the loveseat. She felt herself melt at the mere insinuation of what he must have done last night and she smiled as she approached the place of rest. She walked around and kneeled next to him. He was on his stomach, his face turned to her and she reached up a hand, stroking his hair tenderly. Then she straightened up into a standing position, kissed him gingerly where she had just stroked him, and fetched her pocketbook. Checking how much money she had left she decided on breakfast; heading out she closed the door quietly behind her.

¤

He was dreaming of fried eggs and toast and the scents followed him out of the dream as he opened his eyes, blinking sleep out of them before sitting up. His gaze landed on Buffy, who was partially out of sight in the so-called kitchen. She was dancing – to music. He frowned. Where was it coming from? Then he saw the small radio placed on one of the sarcophagus. She leaned back to get a better view of where he was seated and noticed that he was awake.

“Afternoon!” she greeted with a smile, flipping one of the eggs onto a plate and grabbing the mug filled with blood she had prepared.

“What time is it?”

“Sometime in the afternoon,” she shrugged. “Last I checked it was ten minutes passed two and I was on my way back with this beauty,” she added with a nod to the radio. “Someone had just thrown her out on the street, poor thing. Imagine that.”

“Yes, imagine that,” he said. “And who was it again that said picking stuff up off the street was something of an offense?”

“That chair’s still here, innit?” she countered, handing him the mug and coming around to sit next to him, grabbing the fork she had brought for herself and digging in on the eggs.

He drank his blood in silence, finishing half of it and putting the mug down on the coffee table; facing her as she was just putting the plate down as well, but as he opened his mouth to speak she suddenly jumped to her feet.

“You won’t believe what else I got,” she said, walking up to a corner of the crypt and making something, which had been rolled up and leaned against the wall, fall over with a thud.

He squinted, then rose as well, coming up to where she was kneeling, untying the thick string tied around – what he now concluded – was a rug. She got the knot open and rolled it out. He stared at it.

“You got...?”

“Oriental as they get, baby,” she smirked, standing. “Or at least for being made in Kentucky. And there’s three more of them. I think they’ll go nicely downstairs. Make the floor less cold when you wake up, you know.”

“When you wake up, you mean,” he remarked and she met his gaze with a small smile. “Buffy...”

“Well, who am I to decorate this place without your full consent?” she interrupted. “I can let the curtains go, that’s fine. But you live here and you need to have stuff that makes it feel like your home. I saw a few chests that I think might be good for keeping weapons in and... clothes or whatever you want. The guy selling them is leaving for New York and he doesn’t want them with him so he’s willing to take less than nothing for them...”

“Buffy.”

“Yes?”

“I can just go take them.”

“No,” she disagreed. “You can’t. He needs the money.”

“Then I have money. Don’t spend more of yours on me... ‘s not... right,” he murmured, looking away from her and turning, walking back up to the loveseat.

She watched him go, then followed, taking her plate and looking at the blood left in his mug.

“You’re not hungry?”

“It’s too early,” he muttered.

“So go down and go to sleep,” she said, heading into the kitchen. “I’m fine. I got some magazines and I was thinking about taking a better look at the town. I feel like I’ve only seen it at night.”

She put the plate and the mug aside, leaning against the counter for a moment catching her breath before she put on another smile and headed back into the room. She couldn’t get her nerves to act the way she wanted them to. Every time he looked at her she had a feeling of falling backwards come over her. She couldn’t stop the dizziness or the subtle ache which produced it. And she didn’t want him to go to sleep. And she didn’t want to leave the crypt again.

He looked at her as she took her previous seat, folding her legs under her and meeting his gaze calmly. Why was she so calm? He couldn’t get the image of her last night out of his head; for once he found himself speechless, the words pressing somewhere in the back of his throat, but his mind too entangled in her to be able to sort them out.

He wanted to go downstairs, fall asleep, and wake up with her gone. And really gone, this time. Her old self back to kick his ass if he so much as glanced at her the wrong way. That was clearer, simpler, easier to respond to than this.

“Why do you?” he asked silently and she looked questioning so he elaborated with: “You said you didn’t know why you bothered... What is it that makes you bother with me?”

She didn’t answer for a short while, eyeing him with a gaze that was gentle before she said:

“There’s good parts to us, and there’s bad parts. I’ve grown up with the bad parts... My parents fighting... ” She smiled, though it was sad, and then continued: “But then there’s been the good parts too... My mom and I have always been close, and I’ve always felt like I could tell her anything; even when she’s been arguing about me with my dad. I was barely surprised that he isn’t here, you know? We talked about it, her and me... but it’s like I told her, I never felt like it was my fault because neither of them let me.

“They made me realize pretty early on that there are different sides to everyone. Really different. I think it’s helped me a lot, when I make friends and stuff. I try not to get stuck on the cover. Like with you... The cover was...” He cocked an eyebrow and she smiled again, this time warmly. “... neat,” she finished the sentence and he smirked. “But I had to see what was... under it.”

His smirk widened and she beat back the blushing sensation on her cheeks with a laugh.

“You have this warped image of yourself,” she said. “And believe me, I’m a pretty good judge of character. You act like you don’t have a choice in who you are, but you do. I know there’s a demon in there, and it’s fierce and argh and makes with the blood; but there’s also a remaining human being, Spike. You may not think so, but I’ve seen him. I’ve seen you. ...That’s why I bother.”

He shook his head at her.

“That’s... the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” he stated.

“Of course it is,” she said.

He was taken aback with her frankness, with her misled opinion of him. How could she say that? How the bleeding hell could she!

“Moving on,” she said: “Why can’t you wear something of the things I bought you? I know you like red ‘cause you have some of that already, and the sweaters would...”

“Don’t,” he murmured and she blinked. “Don’t try to change me. You think all you bleeding well have to do is bat your eyes at me? Doesn’t work that way, pet. So, don’t.”

“I wasn’t,” she replied softly. “I like you the way you are,” she assured, suddenly sliding over to him and before she could even think or react to what she was doing, she gently straddled him. This was what she had been waiting for ever since she woke up that morning, she realized that. An opening to be close to him. She rested her eyes in his as she continued her previous statement with: “Bleached.” A mischievous smile finding a momentary home on her lips as she buried her fingers in his hair, adding: “’Cause it does make you stand out in a much too dull crowd.” His hands slipped up her jeans-covered thighs and for a second she couldn’t breathe, but then she went on: “Scarred,” sliding one hand to his eyebrow and gently tracing the markings there, before pulling her head back slightly meeting his gaze.

Her heart was beating so fast, her thoughts were a faraway blur, all she could focus on was the moment. He could push her away, she thought; but she wouldn’t withdraw. She brushed the tip of her nose with his before she slowly moved her mouth to his. She paused, then let her lips meet his carefully.

He parted his slightly and she kissed him softly on first the upper, then the lower, before deepening the kiss. His hands had moved to her back and his grip on her hardened, his tongue meeting hers. The kiss was languid, her breathing slowing with growing arousal. She moaned quietly and he felt how the desire he had somehow kept at bay began to lick its flames through him, making him take a hold on her arms and pull her away from him.

He glared up at her; her gaze surprised and nearly pleading.

Then his mouth caught hers again and he understood that reason was no more an issue. Nothing was, nothing mattered. Nothing apart from her.

Buffy had never been kissed like that before. So that every movement he made sent pleasurable shivers through her whole body. He took hold of the hems of the top she was in and brought it over her head, her hands in his hair again as his mouth found her breast. She gasped silently. His tongue trailed up to her throat, to her ear, to her mouth and she met it with her own, the kiss still slow and deep. His thumbs teased her already erect nipples and she groaned right before he slid them together to the floor, placing her on one of the cushions and propping himself up on his hands, looking down at her.

She touched his cheek and then trailed her hand down his chest, her eyes not leaving his. She unbuttoned his jeans with deliberate movements and he smiled a small smile before kissing her cheek, continuing down to the side of her throat before pulling back to take off the pants. She swallowed, tingling all over, not really used to the explosiveness of this craving that told her to touch him, touch him, touch him!

She sat up as he got the pants off and her arms were around his neck, her lips kissing his shoulder, his jaw line and then he kissed her, tilting her back again. Their tongues were getting rougher now, his hands going to the button in her jeans and getting it open in a second, taking his mouth from hers to trail it down between her breasts, past her bellybutton and farther. Her eyes widened as her pants were done away with and she drew a sharp breath as his tongue found her clit, arching her back she grabbed the cushion, gasping and writhing from the unexpected sensation coursing through her.

When she thought her body was about to fall apart he moved up, entering her, and she moaned loudly. His lips were at her throat, her hands once more in his hair as she held onto him, meeting his thrusts as easily as if she had never done anything else.

She climaxed, but he kept moving within her, producing wave after wave of untamed ecstasy before he followed the same path, her mouth finding his and she kissed him fervently.

She was still breathing hard when they ended the kiss, her eyes were closed as he gently pulled out of her, and then she looked at him. He stared back at her, still in a daze as well, but distantly aware that he had just crossed a line he could never step back over.

Then she wrapped her arms around him, cuddling close to him, and he felt the most alarming tranquility settle over him. When she met his gaze he smiled, and she returned it. Then she kissed him, and he kissed her back, and the world was them.

Nothing more.

Eteralia Exis

¤

Sometime during the night they had moved down to the bed. The covers were on the floor and they slept in a bundle of limbs, her hair spread out over his chest. As sunlight filled the city outside, they stirred at the same time. Buffy moved her head with effort to look up at him, and he met her gaze with one of those small smiles. She smiled brightly, though; pulling herself up to offer him a kiss.

“Wonder what time it is...” she said, putting her head on his shoulder as he absentmindedly played with one of her locks.

“Either really early, or very late,” he replied.

She smiled again, not able to keep her fingers from sliding over his stomach. Then she brought one leg up and slipped on top of him. He brought her hair away from her face and they looked at each other with sudden seriousness.

“We probably won’t remember it,” she mumbled. “Later, I mean.”

“Doesn’t matter now, love,” he said and she had the smile on once more.

¤

“So we finally get there and Darla goes ‘Wait, wasn’t that supposed to be in the middle of the square?’”

Buffy nearly choked on her orange juice before she started laughing. He chuckled as well. She kept a smile on as she took the last bite of her toast. They had made breakfast and decided to have it in bed. Both still naked and neither minding, the covers having been retrieved but lying piled up against the headboard.

“So... Darla bit... Angel?” she asked, Spike nodding and she proceeded: “Angel bit Drusilla who bit you. Quite the family tree. What about your real parents?”

“My father died in an accident, when I was six, so for most of my childhood I only had my mum. Missed my dad a lot, but I still thought mum was enough... More than enough. They were good people. Decent, hardworking.”

“And they loved you.”

“That they did,” he agreed. “A long time ago.”

“But you must’ve had people who loved you since then. Drusilla loved you.”

“She loved me, pet, when it suited her. When she was tired of me she’d ask me to go away.”

“And you did?”

“It only ever meant leaving the room. When she got sick... She’d have these visions, yeah? They told her terrible sodding things, gave her nightmares. For the most part she didn’t mind them, but sometimes they frightened her and right before we came here she... I knew I was losing her, that’s why we came here. She didn’t even know where we were, at first. Then she felt the Hellmouth. Well, she got her cure. I got it for her, and did she thank me? Was she bloody grateful? She went back to Angelus as soon as he showed his bleeding face!”

“Calm down,” Buffy soothed, reaching out a hand and stopping him as he was about to rise. “What else?” she encouraged.

“Angel... bloody poof! Never liked him, you know? But the women in my life...” he murmured, eyeing her before looking away from her. “I left with Dru ‘cause of him. Took her as far away as I could bloody well manage. In Brazil things were good for a bit... But she was distant from the beginning. Looking at me strangely, like she didn’t recognize me anymore. And then...”

He trailed off and Buffy placed a hand on his cheek, making him meet her gaze.

“Then what?” she pressed gently.

“Then she asked me why I couldn’t kill you,” he murmured. “She told me all she could see when she looked at me, was you.” Buffy’s hand dropped, her brow furrowing with astonishment. “I thought it was ‘cause of this thing that happened before we left. I... I helped you. I had to. I couldn’t take on Angel and Dru together alone. So you and I...”

He trailed off again.

“Wow,” Buffy said.

Then she moved closer to him, kissing him on one temple before hugging him tight. He wrapped his arms around her as well, nestling his nose into the cranny of her neck and listening intently to the soft thumping of her heart.

“Ice cream,” she said suddenly and he pulled back to look at her. “You don’t happen to have any, do you?” He smiled, shaking his head. “Then I’ll go get some,” she said determinedly.

He held on tighter and she smirked, kissing him deeply before pulling away. He let her go with a disgruntled moan, rolling onto his stomach.

“Hurry,” he called after her and she laughed, climbing the ladder and retrieving her clothes.

Getting dressed still wearing a smile she grabbed her wallet and ran out the door. Rocky Road, she decided. And some vanilla. And some chocolate syrup. She could almost taste it on her tongue. She paused her step, thinking. It was close to two o’clock in the afternoon, which meant her mother would be at the gallery.

I could take a quick shower, she mused. Get back there smelling all fresh and irresistible. After last night I sure could use it.

That thought brought a wider smile to her already smiley face and she giggled to herself. She felt so good.

I’ll get the ice cream first, she nodded. Then I’ll run home, hop in the shower and be back before he knows it.

¤

“Calor!”

The young god leapt out of his chair, facing the approaching elder.

“Yes, father?”

“Is it true what your sister is telling me?”

Ath appeared in the doorway and Calor gave her a deadly look before having his gaze back in his father’s.

“I am almost done...”

“You? Yes, you are almost done, alright. Shed the spell this instant. You have no inkling as to how it might effect...”

“Sir, with all due respect, I have been training with Grei for more than is necessary to know how to properly form a spell. Sir.”

“This instant,” his father merely boomed. “Do you understand?”

“Perfectly, sir.”

The older turned and left the room, Ath lingering.

“Thank you, that was quite formidable of you,” Calor muttered.

“It had gone far enough,” she said silently. “And you would not listen to me.”

“Perhaps for once I was right and you were wrong,” he remarked. “I have no influence over what the outcome of this will be, just as I had no influence over the actions they have all performed to bring them to the conclusion. It is true: the spell has run its course. Had you merely prayed patience for a few more hours, sister, you might not have had to alienate me.”

“Cale.”

But he turned from her and she sighed, leaving.

He closed his eyes.

“Eterall exis,” he whispered. “Let it be lifted.”

¤

Buffy let the warm water soak her head, pulling her fingers through it and reaching for the shampoo bottle. Putting some in her hair she massaged it into thick foam, liking the feel of it, enjoying every second of everything, it seemed. Even choosing the ice cream had felt wonderful. Paying for it, for crying out loud! She smirked to herself, stepping into the rays again, rinsing the shampoo out and hoping he would like the scent.

But then her movements began to slow down. It was as though she was blinded by a flash, leaning against the wall behind her she stared straight ahead until her sight cleared. She shook her head, feeling completely disoriented.

And then she began to remember.

¤

He was just zipping up his jeans when he heard the door of the crypt open. He couldn’t keep the smile down, hearing her descend the ladder. As she entered the room, her gaze locking with his, his face dropped.

“Oh, bugger,” he mumbled right before she drew one arm back and punched him so hard on the nose that he flew back, landing on the bed.

She was on him the next instant, pinning him down as she straddled him, her fist connecting with his face three more times before she said, voice strained with emotion:

“Give me one good reason why you’re not dead yet.”

He stared at her, at the burning rage in her eyes, and realized why he had come back to Sunnydale. It was crystal clear. A revelation. And he was so screwed.

“You... don’t have a stake?” he offered as an answer to her question and one of her hands went to his throat, but she wavered and he saw it. “You can’t strangle me, pet,” he pointed out, her grip tightening.

“I can tear your head off, though,” she bit back.

She didn’t know what she was feeling. The anger was too ripe, and it spread through her too easily for there to be room for anything else. This creature had taken advantage of a situation that... She began to shake with fury and decided to climb off him, feeling as though she was about to ram her fist through his ribcage. Goddamn vampire! She got off the bed, crossing her arms over her chest as he sat up.

“How could you!” she exclaimed.

“It wasn’t only me, and you bloody well know it!”

“Oh, my God, this isn’t happening,” she shook her head, shuddering before glowering at him. “Dammit, Spike, how the hell could you! Oh, right, you don’t have a conscience. You can do whatever the hell you want, right? Well, I am telling you right now – if you’re not packed and out of this city before sundown tomorrow, you will be dead.”

“Slayer, I...”

“Shut up!”

She ran her hands through her still wet hair, taking a deep breath before meeting his gaze again.

“I mean it,” she stated, his expression growing solemn.

She turned, and left.

He didn’t move. Couldn’t get his muscles to function.

“Well...” he murmured. “That was expected.”

¤

She nearly turned and went back in. After all, she knew exactly where he kept his weapons. It wouldn’t be very difficult.

But in the next moment there was another, but extremely bizarre feeling tugging at her, making her continue on her way faster than before as she fought it down with everything in her.

She arrived back at the house, dazed and out of sorts. Her whole being seemed suddenly drained and she closed the front door with a low click, wishing more than anything that her mother could be home. Just to give her a sense of familiarity. Everything felt foreign and far away. She walked into the living room and sunk down on the couch. It smelled nice, like home. She closed her eyes.

“Buffy?”

She eased her eyes open, resting them in her mom’s. The Slayer had no idea of how long she had been asleep, but was thankful that it had been dreamless.

“My God, Buffy. Oh, my little girl,” Joyce said, wrapping her arms around her daughter in a tight hug. “I was so worried about you. And how could you go back to that place! And you are grounded until...!”

“...I’m me again?” Buffy filled in, pulling back and holding Joyce’s gaze for a few moments. “I’m me again,” she then clarified and Joyce looked stunned before she smiled hesitantly.

“How?”

“The gang must’ve cracked it,” Buffy shrugged, her face then turning regretful as she added: “I’m so sorry, mom.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“Wasn’t my fault!”

“Well, it wasn’t. Was it?”

“I guess not,” the Slayer murmured. “I just...”

“What?” Joyce asked as Buffy didn’t continue, the younger glancing at the older before smiling a small smile.

“It’s nothing,” she then said.

“Has it got to do with...?”

“It’s nothing,” Buffy repeated, putting her arms around herself and looking away.

Joyce eyed her in silence, then patted her leg, saying:

“Of course, honey.” She rose. “Are you hungry? I’ll make you something.”

She disappeared into the kitchen and Buffy rested her head back down, curling herself up into a ball. Memories kept washing over her. Of easy conversation, even of laughter, and of a friendliness she could only believe had been dreamed up by whatever spell she had been under... And then there was... kissing... and touching... and...

She closed her eyes tight, willing the images away, willing the warmth away, willing it all away until the ache where her heart was missing him so badly she wanted to cry, softly pulled away.

¤

“Mom. Mom, wake up.”

“What...? What is it? Is something wrong?”

Buffy sat down at the edge of the bed, shaking her head.

“No,” she said. “I can’t sleep. I feel like I’m losing my mind. I need to go see Willow.”

“Now? It’s the middle of the night.”

“I know; that’s why I wanted to tell you. So you don’t worry.”

Joyce smiled at that, stroking Buffy’s hair tenderly.

“Buffy, I trust you. I trust that you know what you’re doing out there. But when you were fifteen...”

“I know,” Buffy interrupted with a smile on as well. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“But you have school.”

“I can skip it for a few more days... I hope. Don’t think I could concentrate right now anyways. I need to... come back down.”

“Alright, you’re old enough to make that decision for yourself,” Joyce said with another smile and Buffy returned it. “But waking Willow...”

“Mom, don’t sweat it. I just need to ask her a question and then I’ll let her go right back to sleep.”

¤

“They’re everywhere!” Willow exclaimed, sitting up and drawing a breath.

Realizing it had been a nightmare she let the air out with relief.

“Frog-dreaming again?” Buffy asked, seated on her own bed.

Willow turned her head to her friend, nodding.

“This time they were eating marshmallows and toasting their genius and hey – you’re not supposed to know about frog-fear.” Buffy smiled tryingly and Willow had a stunned expression on before she returned the smile happily. “Thank goodness! I mean, I didn’t dislike you at fifteen or anything like that, but... I’ve missed you! So this means you’re back... completely? To normal? Well... the normal that is you.”

Buffy nodded.

“Do you remember anything of... what happened? Because when you woke up, the way you were before, you couldn’t remember anything of... anything.”

“Oh, I remember, alright,” Buffy said, the tone of her voice making Willow raise her eyebrows. Buffy noticed and waved one hand. “Never mind, it’s not... crucial. I just want to know what it was that did it. I need to know, Will. Was it a demon? That I can slay? Please, please, tell me it was a demon. That I can slay.”

Willow grew hesitant and Buffy felt her hope sink like a rock.

“We still have no idea what caused it,” the redhead said, expression apologetic.

Buffy frowned.

“No idea? How’s that possible. You guys... made it go away, right?”

“We really didn’t,” Willow replied. “I’ve been researching my brain numb and I couldn’t find anything that might indicate what or who did it. I guess our last bet is something divine, but it’s so rare that they ever intervene that I don’t...”

Buffy’s expression was growing more set by the second and she interrupted by saying:

“No. I know who our last bet is.” She walked up to the drawer holding her weapons and grabbed a stake. “I’ve been waiting for a good enough reason to kill him. Last bet: he loses,” she added, walking out the door.

Willow stared at it as it closed, still not entirely sure of whether she was awake or still dreaming.

“At least there are no frogs,” she told herself, pulling her legs up as she anxiously glanced around the room.

¤

I want it to go away.

It was all that she could think as she stormed her way through Sunnydale.

I want it to go away.

Her pulse was racing as she reached the door of his crypt, the stake in her hand felt fragile and strange. She swallowed hard, allowing herself a moment to brace herself before she kicked the door in and stepped through the doorway.

Of course he’s not here, she thought. He’s at the Bronze... Or maybe he’s at Willy’s. Probably eating kittens and cheating badly at poker!

She glared around the place, noticing the loveseat and having a rush go through her stomach that made her turn away from it. She rubbed her forehead tiredly, trying to make anything out of the different signals flashing on and off. One for stop, one for go. But she didn’t know which one she was supposed to follow... Which context they applied to.

“Buffy?”

She swirled around, for no apparent reason hiding the hand holding the stake behind her back as she faced him. He looked questioning, and sleepy.

Oh, of course he could sleep like a baby! No guilt there!

“Just tell me why,” she demanded.

He stared at her, seemingly growing more awake by the second.

Good.

“Hey, you seduced me, Slayer, not the other sodding way around,” he then stated, taking the steps dividing them and with a harsh tug bringing her arm out from behind her, huffing before letting it go. “Sneaking up on me, are we?” he muttered. “How’s that for unfair?”

She clenched her jaws together, meeting his gaze and feeling the oddest tingle up her spine. She loathed him in that moment. So deeply that she wanted to scream. Instead she exclaimed:

“This is all your fault!”

“My fault!”

“Yes! If you’d just sent me on my way when I first came here then this would never have happened! God, why couldn’t you just act like your normal self and kick me to the curb! What the hell did you care if I couldn’t stand being babied! This is so your fault!”

“You didn’t come here because you couldn’t stand being babied; you came here because you were told not to see me! I didn’t encourage you in any bleeding way and you still saw fit to drop in uninvited and claim a space in my bed!”

She hit him at that.

Hard.

He stumbled to the side, regaining his balance with a growl as he vamped out.

“That’s right,” she nodded, taking a tighter hold on the stake, “make this easier.”

He seemed to settle down, straightening his posture as he held her gaze and then shook his face back into humanity.

“I know,” he murmured, “you’re asking yourself how something like me could dare touch something like you. Something so pure and fine. Something so holy and sanctified. Something that’s everything I’m not, yeah? Maybe what you should be asking yourself is how something like you would want to touch something like me.”

She raised the stake with a look of fury and he smirked, holding his arms out.

“It’s never this easy.”

“It was all a game to you, wasn’t it?” she asked, lowering the arm again, her gaze cold with detest. “See how far you could take it? Well, you sure took it all the way, didn’t you? Are you proud of yourself? I know you’ve wanted me dead forever, but I had no idea just how warped you actually are!”

“Slow down,” he said, furrowing his brow.

“Don’t look so clueless! How long did you plan it!” she exclaimed, throwing the stake at him, though it didn’t hit point first and merely fell to the floor with a low clank. “How much did it cost you! Who helped you do it! I want a name, Spike, not a shady description of a house or an alley or...”

He suddenly smiled.

“You think I did this?” he interrupted her and she rested her eyes in his. His eyebrows rose high. “You think I did this!” he barked. “I was perfectly happy before you tumbled through the bleeding door setting up camp! Look at that couch! Look at those cushions! That’s all you! The sheets in my bed are you, Slayer! They even sodding smell like you! You think I invaded your privacy? What the hell did you do to mine? I didn’t want you here, love, and I tried to make that clear; but you wouldn’t take the hints. You barged right through them! You can’t blame any of this on me! You’re the one who did it. All of it! And if you’re so buggering stupid as to think I’d conjure up this situation, I wish I could hit you as hard as you bleeding well just hit me.”

“I didn’t do this!”

“Then who did?”

“Not me.”

“Of course not you. Has to be me then. Only I have no sodding idea how!”

“Then find out!”

“I didn’t do it!”

She glared at him, crossing her arms over her chest.

“You should’ve taken me to Giles,” she said.

“Bleeding right I should’ve,” he huffed.

“You should’ve let them take care of me! Instead I was stuck here with you learning how to play poker and suck a chicken wing dry! You have so many talents, Spike, I am in awe.”

“I thought I’d get some money off of you or I wouldn’t have taught you how to play poker and I don’t want to hear another bad word about those wings, Slayer!”

“Hah!”

“Hah what!”

“Hah, get some money off of me! Your schemes sure do come back to kick you over the head, don’t they? You bleach the brain cells right out of there, don’t you? I feel sorry for Drusilla, having to put up with your idiocy for such a long time. I can’t even imagine having that sort of patience. Look at you! I can’t believe I was stupid enough to let you...!”

She trailed off, gaze still scolding. His was beginning to burn as well.

“That’s fifteen for you,” she grumbled. “Thinking you know exactly what’s best for you while very simply ignoring everyone else.” He cocked an eyebrow. She gave him the look of death. “Have you packed?”

His eyes turned a darker shade of blue.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he stated.

“Yes, you are – to hell, if you decide to stick around.”

He didn’t want to show how much that comment actually scathed him, his expression growing harder.

“Buffy, you can’t make me leave just ‘cause you’re not comfortable with having me close by,” he said.

“I’m comfortable. Very. But I don’t want you here.”

“Oh, I see. And since you own this town and everything in it I should immediately leave, is that what you’re saying?”

“Pretty much.”

“Slayer, you’re not going to kill me.”

“Oh? And why’s that?”

“Because, love, you’re not as high and mighty as you may think. You know you can’t chuck all the blame for this on me. You know that that’d be... wrong.”

She gritted her teeth.

“I was here first,” she tried feebly and he smirked. “Please,” she then added slowly. “Spike, can’t you just go?”

He tilted his head a little, eyeing her.

“No,” he then said. “Not before the chip’s out.”

She glared at him, annoyed once more.

“Right, so you can kill again. That’ll make me feel the need to let you skip town.”

“It’s not just about the kill, you know?” he murmured. “It’s about being whole...”

“Yada, yada, save it. I’m so not in the mood for it. You know, a part of me does wish that I could pity you, Spike; but I can’t even do that.”

She turned, but with a growl he was right behind her, twirling her back around to face him.

“I never asked for your bloody pity, Slayer, or your understanding. But you still saw fit to step into my world and rearrange every last bleeding thing, didn’t you? I shouldn’t ‘ve let you... I shouldn’t ‘ve listened to anything you said, but it was out of my control the moment it started. I never was as weak as when I was with you. I don’t ever wanna feel that way again.”

She was staring up at him, taken and confused. Cornered. Finally she said:

“Good,” and stepped back.

“Don’t forget this,” he reminded, holding up her stake and she blinked, trying to gather her thoughts, then she took the weapon with a bleak smile, which she killed off the following moment before turning and heading out the door.