Summary: What does a pissed off vamp do when he's dragged to the Hellmouth when he'd rather be swanning around Europe? Why, he gets inventive in order to have fun with the Slayer of course.

Rating: I'll go for R at this time. Though knowing me, a change is possible.

Disclaimer: These characters belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. I have merely manipulated his creation to make myself and hopefully you happy. I gain nothing but satisfaction mentally.
 

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He'd thought it was high bloody time they'd gone somewhere he wanted to for a change. Prague was a pretty place, filled to the brim with lots of throats and pumping hearts. Trust Dru to get all finicky and intuitive about the place. She couldn't just come straight out and say she didn't want to go. No. She had to make a song and dance of it. 'If we go I'll die, my Spike.' It pissed him off how she'd use that brand of bollocks every time it was his choice where they went.

And where did they end up? The sodding Hellmouth, of all places. The one in California—a town that could better pass for a set out of Hollywood's tackiest horror stories without any trouble at all. And as luck would have it, it was inhabited by a Slayer. Spike hadn't decided if he wanted to face this one yet, being that he was still stewing in his anger and getting more pissed by the minute as soon as he felt the strain of family bonds. Felt the expectation of buckling under to his elders even though he'd been top dog in his own pen for the past century.

He should have known the moment Dru started acting battier than usual that something more than her imminent dusting was up. Trust her to bring them right back to the Poof and his Barbie Girl.

Well, bugger 'em. He wasn't budging from his stool till this weaselly looking human had managed to get him good and sloshed. And maybe not even then.

"Oi. Barkeep. More blood, more booze. An' if you got anything by way of entertainment, pass that along too."

The little twitchy guy got twitchier, his eyes darting to the back of the bar and back sideways to his bleach and leather patron before diving under the bar. Spike could sense what the little human barkeep was frightened of facing, and to tell the truth, he wasn't up for this kind of confrontation yet either. He'd only been on this Godforsaken cesspit of hell for less than a night. If he could hold out for another century it would still be too soon to face his past.

The stinky scent of Angelus was blocking his sinuses pretty quick, and instead of turning and facing the elder of his once very close clan, he swept out of the bar with a swish of his leather jacket. Not like the ugly bastard had seen him in a while and knew exactly how he looked. And it wasn't like he'd ever cared to be anything to Spike but a mean selfish son of a bitch. And when you factored Darla into the equation—as he suddenly had to do when he caught sight of her up ahead—that description wasn't so far from the pale.

Well, this little trip was turning out to be all sorts of fun—for those that actually got a kick out of the old family reunions. He hated to think what other surprises Dru had in store for him. He was feeling pretty close to packing up the Desoto and squealing his way out of there—leaving Dru to fend with good old daddy now that she'd finally found him. Really didn't do a bloke's ego great walloping bags of good to know the chit you'd spent over a century following and loving had led you on a wild goose chase in search of her sire.

Well bugger that. He was sick of being Love's Bitch. He was sick of being the one who came second, or third—or if he even rated a thought. He'd known from the week he'd been turned that as much of a destiny he might have attributed to Dru, Angelus buried deep between her thighs had altered his perception a little. Still, he'd been a blind fool, and deliriously happy when Darla had had a turn and turfed the overblown forehead out of the nest and cackled that he'd failed to fly.

Spike couldn't get over the fact that the great Neanderthal could walk—and without dragging his knuckles on the ground. He never could get why the women fell head over tit for the big poof. Sure, he had the looks, and girls loved a bit of mystery, but surely that staid routine got old? Where was the fun? The excitement? Where was the bloody guts and glory that made unlife worth living?

Spike couldn't stand the mystery. The waiting would have driven him barmy, always needing to jump right into the fray and quench his thirst for being in it. A part of it. And he didn't mean the 'it' that Dru kept dragging him into. Still, Angelus had been out on his own for a century by now. Was still kicking along and seemed to be doing okay, if not actually flourishing. And whatever the Poof could do, Spike could do better.

Yeah, that's the spirit! Spike grinned and decided to follow the tarted up matriarch on her little wander, almost flinching when they came to the door of a club that had thumping great crowds of teenyboppers. It was humiliating—even if she was there for the food. Place was likely to have a bar, though, and he was more inclined toward the booze than the gullible necks that swam around in his vision. So, passing through the door, Spike made his way through throngs of hot sweating bodies and found himself right back where he was recently interrupted. On a barstool with a bottle of Jack sitting patiently in front of him.

He couldn't even be bothered looking around at the free range, more than satisfied to ignore everything for the night—the blood, his fangs—in favour of the sweet seduction of his booze. He loved the burn as it flowed down his throat. There was nothing like it, and over a century of getting his fill hadn't altered the thrill at all. It was more than his friend—sometimes the only comfort he could get while Dru was off sharing it out for all and sundry. Yeah, he might be a faithful type—even now couldn't bring himself to cheat in the way she did—but he was feeling pretty close to done sitting back and watching while she made him look more and more a fool in their world.

Despite knowing he'd unwittingly stumbled into a slayer playground, he hadn't expected to feel the little buzz through his body indicating that she was here. Behind him somewhere in the throng. Self-preservation made him swivel suddenly, seeking out the killer of his kind. He might never have picked her out but for the obvious. Middle-aged bloke in tweed around a teenage Caligirl—blond, tanned and high with the bopperish. Yep, Watcher. God they were so bloody predictable.

He watched them up high on the balcony, watched the old lecher circle behind her, whisper in her ear and her eyes scanning the mob below her. A quirky finger point and she'd located her first demon, though Spike could immediately tell it wasn't through any sense handed down slayer to slayer. Vamp hearing at it's best and he knew it was the clothes that gave the git away, and when the Slayer tore down the stairs in hot pursuit, Spike felt strangely inclined to follow.

It was an enlightening travel. Keeping to the shadows, black duster swishing comfortably around his legs, Spike dogged her every step. That he was acting all cloak and dagger didn't bother him a bit, even when he became aware that he himself was being followed by Darla and her catch of the night. In fact, it all just added to the excitement and he felt the thrill of the pursuit for the first time in ages.

He saw two humans escape from a crypt before the Slayer dived in, marching in on the impulse of Darla and then Luke's booming self-important masculinity. Spike almost giggled at the situation and the over-confident way the idiots had no clue who they were fighting, but he seized the opportunity of getting near the kiddies, wondering exactly what he was going to do. Not like he'd had a plan when he'd chased after the Slayer's scent. With a bit of luck, things might pan out the better for him without one.

"Hello there. Didn't your mother ever tell you it was bad to wander off with strangers? And in cemeteries too?" he tsked at them, watching with a reverent fascination as the boy leaked blood from the vein at his throat and the girl startled and clung tighter to the weaker one. Another stood by them, brave and sure despite the scared pounding of his heart and Spike could tell that this one knew the scariness of the night, even if the discovery had been too recent. He knew and understood more by the way he eyed Spike back, making the blond both intrigued and disappointed that he couldn't indulge in a little show and really bring them out of their safe delusional little world.

"She told us about scary monsters. We were just too stupid to believe."

Oh yeah, this one had guts, and Spike felt oddly impressed. Enough to decide to leave this group alone, particularly if they belonged in the Slayer's every day world. And as he made the decision, Darla and her groupie in the dated togs were back, sniffing and salivating over the spilt blood.

"Spike, what perfect timing," Darla almost growled around her fangs, her gruesome smile ruining the prettiness of her face.

"How right you are," he drawled, feeling once again the irritation and anger that had driven his sullen passage through the country to this hole of a town, Dru whining all the way by his side. One look sideways at the alarm the brunette boy was displaying and Spike had his plan—well, somewhat of one. He was going to liberate this trio from Darla and her boy—deprive old Batface of his welcome sacrifice into the here and now. Would bloody teach the lot of them for thinking they could force his hand at everything. With a bit of luck Dru would cop a bit of a burst over it all, but not before Spike made his merry way on out of the place.

With a renewed cockiness in his step, he moved just enough to flank the trio, showing his intent to take Darla's claim of a meal on his own terms. "This lot's off the menu," he proclaimed confidently, feeling quite pleased at the easing of the stronger boy's heartbeat.

Darla actually shook her head in shock, stepping up to look at him closely and finding as usual she didn't like what she saw.

"For crying out loud, do you have a soul too?"

Well, that came out of the bloody blue. The concept actually left Spike speechless, and his mouth flapped open and closed twice before he thought of an answer.

"Too? I thought I was the only one." Sodding hell! He suddenly felt like he had no clue what he was doing, and who ever heard of a vampire with a soul anyway? But it was the perfect cover, and as he felt the tingle of the Slayer's approach at his back—his unprotected back—he felt like it was the solution and a completely unique way of getting into the Slayer's good books.

What the hell. He could think on his feet. He could show that he cared—showing he had soul should be a piece of cake. For a few days at least. Until he had the Slayer exactly where he could snack on her.

"There's vampires with soul's now? Who ever saw that coming?" Her perky bewildered voice behind him actually hit something soft inside him and he thought—without his usual menace—that he's struck gold on this idea to whittle away her normal defences.

Spike turned and got his first good look at her—blonde with green eyes and a slightly panting body, emphasising the more than cute little package. Oh yeah, getting close to this one wouldn't prove much of a hardship at all.

"No one's ever seen me coming, Goldielocks." Feeling himself pumped with more balls than sense, Spike reached out and took her hand, marvelling for the briefest second the softness of her skin and the heat of her touch before tugging her behind him and into the group of her friends.

"On your bike now, luv. You've got no chance of winning here." Spike watched in amusement; Darla looked confused.

She took one impulsive step, as if to attack, then grabbed hold of her hungry companion with the fashion-reject shirt and ran, vamp speed having them out of sight in minutes.

"Whoa," Buffy panted, impressed. "You're much more with the helpful than creepy stalker guy."
 

Summary: What does a pissed off vamp do when he's dragged to the Hellmouth when he'd rather be swanning around Europe? Why, he gets inventive in order to have fun with the Slayer of course.

Rating: I'll go for R at this time. Though knowing me, a change is possible.

Disclaimer: These characters belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. I have merely manipulated his creation to make myself and hopefully you happy. I gain nothing but satisfaction mentally.
 

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Chapter Two

He didn't need to fake his amusement.  "Creepy stalker guy?  And who'd that be, luv?"

The Slayer shrugged.  "Just some random oddball that followed me into a dark alley and then gave me a mouthful of cryptic before slinking back into the shadows.  He gave me presents, though." 

Her voice was cute, in that bubblegum way that Spike normally hated but this time found...well...cute.  But not enough to forget the words that had passed those glossy lips.

Spike cocked a brow, trying and failing to adequately interpret that twisted explanation, though the modus operandi rang a bell or two in his subconscious.  "An' this generous soul didn't cough up with a name?"

"Nope.  But nothing to worry about, right. He's with the silver crosses; you're with the soul and the saving of my friends.  I know which Good Samaritan I'm backing."  And she blushed as her interested look froze upon his eyes and she quickly found the ground fascinating.

It was the redhead—obviously light-headed in her shock—that brought the subject back from the brink of awkwardness.  "I know I probably got hit in the head somewhere tonight, because dreams are kinda vivid in their oogyness, but soul?  Can someone explain that to my woozy brain?  And while you're at it...vampires?"

The Slayer's attention was back up from the thoroughly captivating grass and focused entirely back on him.  It made Spike tingle in an unexpected, and yet not entirely unwanted way.

"Cool."

It was just one word, but the gooey smile on the Slayer's face—the one that indicated that she thought Spike was the hottest puzzle in the shop—nearly succeeded in making him colder than being dead had done in the first place.  He was a bloody enigma now, and it scared him silly.  Right then, he could do this.  He could play this game and come out on top.  Sod having a plan.  He was a man—a bleeding master vampire for God's sake.  He didn't need a plan to make this work.

"So how'd you get it?"

Bugger!

<>Spike felt a little buzzed at her enthusiasm.  Her diminutive body fairly thrummed with excitement, and as catching as it was, it still didn't prevent his near panic driven rush for a reason to be the only vamp in the world with a soul.  It wasn't like he had an example to follow—a real life story he could duplicate for the few days it would take to finish off his third slayer.  So, he was left to grasp at straws.  To conjure up some ridiculous reason why his demon was caged and intent on doing good.</>

Typical that his inspiration would have a blind spot.  What other vamp would have thought to fake a soul in order to play a little game of cat and mouse with the Slayer without preparing a story?  Spike felt a growl rumble low in his chest, cursing the thoughts and explanations that wouldn't flow through his brain fast enough to make sense.  There was only one possibility he could think of, and it was so bloody farfetched he felt like laughing right along with the delivery of his lies.  Except for the classic 'giving the game away' part of that action.

"Right," he desperately improvised.  "Gypsy curse.  Was a bad boy and the buggers stuck me with a soul and made me a good boy again.  Veritable White Hat now."  He preened, hoping his cocky confidence would get him through this even if the banality of his excuse didn't stand up.

The redhead looked at him with such a strong sense of respect that Spike almost felt guilty for the subterfuge along with his shock.  No one had looked at him like that without being violently encouraged since he'd had to leave Dalton in charge of the minions, his haste to get Dru where she screamed to go forcing him to leave the nest without a holiday plan.  He'd soon found that sucked all kinds of balls.

This was...nice.  A human looking at him with such faith and belief that he really didn't deserve.  If it weren't for Darla and his contrary nature to do anything the way she wanted, this little kiddy group would have already been slaughtered.  Well, all right, the brave nature of the boy might have stilled his fangs momentarily too.  But really, it was all Darla and Spike's juvenile urge to stick it in her eye.

"Man, you really saved our lives.  And gypsies.  How old are you, anyway?  I mean, vampire right?  Walking undead.  You must have a story or two to tell.  Oh oh," the brunette suddenly exclaimed, manners hitting him at full flight while he was steadily climbing the adrenaline rush that made him as gawky as he always appeared.  "My name's Xander."  And he thrust a hand out in Spike's face, overly eager to make the acquaintance of one who could easily kill him.

The non-existent soul inside Spike cringed.  He'd won this lot over remarkably easily, and while that had been his intention all along, the way they were treating him—as someone they could possibly like and be interested in hanging around for his own sake rather than due to the ferocity of his nature—niggled at something inside that craved that kind of acceptance.

He gave a brief nod, his voice almost raspy with unaccustomed emotion as he introduced himself.  "The name's Spike."

As his cooler hand clasped the warmth of human flesh, the other boy slumped with a weak smile.  Spike jerked his head at the wounded figure, reminding them of the close call they'd just avoided.

"I think your boy might need some medical attention."  They all followed his gaze and blinked, surprised, at the white pallor of their friend.

"Ohmygod, Jessie.  We have to get him to hospital."  The Slayer raced in to take an arm, her eyes briefly catching Spike's before darting away and another blush tinted her cheeks.  Spike smirked before moving in and taking the human—now unconscious—and slung him over his shoulder.

"Where to?"

And they were off, a strange group of humans and pseudo-souled vampire internally shaking his head at what was without doubt the most bizarre couple of hours he'd ever existed through.

The Slayer kept close to his side, risking shy yet curious glances every couple of steps even during the seriousness of their flight.  While every impulse in his body told him to toss his burden to the side and jump her, he wasn't quite decided on what he wanted to really penetrate her with.  It near did his head in that he even felt a response to those giddy girly looks she was shooting at him, never having wanted anything from a slayer before but blood and their timely death by his hands or fangs.

Right, this Spike was soulful.  And what the bugger did that mean anyway?   Well, cut to the obvious, don't let the chit or her mates see him feeding.  That would completely blow his story out of the water.  Would probably do to distance himself a bit from Dru and her gaggle of gooselike minions for a while too.  And why didn't that thought sit a little less easy with him?  Having a break from his manic sire actually sounded like a blessed relief.  One that he'd almost pay any price for.

"So how long have you had a soul for anyway?"

Spike could see the curiosity and interest flare to life in her eyes and almost got lost in the thrill of the sexual heat he was almost positive she didn't know she was creating.  Still, there was a question in there somewhere and his mind struggled to grasp it before he mucked the thing up before it got started.

His pretend soul—came from his Wheeties packet that very morning.  Should have come with a warning.  'Proceed with Caution or the Slayer will cut your balls off for lying'.

"Yeah, 's been awhile.  Back at the turn of the century."

He almost laughed as three pairs of eyes bugged. 

"Whoa.  You're like, really old, man.  That's kind of exciting and stuff.  You must know all kinds of things."  The boy who'd introduced himself as Xander—and what an unbelievably poncy name that was—looked at him in awe and Spike could feel another flush of pleasure shoot through his body.  This being liked for not having done anything much was kind of addictive.

Spike almost stumbled at finally recognising the look that these children were bestowing upon him.  They looked at him like he was some kind of hero—even the Slayer, who was a heroine in her own right.  It made him feel dizzy that, without doing anything but repressing his natural demon reaction to food, he'd managed to get a degree of respect he'd as yet not achieved amongst his own kin.  A faux soul could do all that—create miracles.  It became a struggle for him to remember that it was all make believe, that more than likely at the end of a few days he'd be snacking on this lot.  An image of their eyes staring at him in betrayal hit him hard and he could feel a lump rise in his throat.  It wasn't what he wanted.  Didn't want the naïve redhead looking at him any different to how she was now, seeing him as something other than the animal he was perpetually reminded he was by Dru's insane ramblings.

"I know enough.  More than enough in some cases."

Before they could quiz him more, before they could get too far inside his head and begin to pick him apart, the hospital loomed large.  They barely made it through the door before the body was liberated from his shoulders to a gurney and the Slayer had taken charge, informing the staff of a rabid dog out in the streets striking indiscriminately at the neck.  What was even funnier—they bought it. 

Only on the mouth of Hell.

The others had gathered in the waiting lounge, spending their time sharing out vendor machine goodies while they waited news of their pale friend.  Spike stood uncertainly at the entrance, unsure what would be the soulful thing for him to do now.  Retreat quietly and wait for the next opportunity, or go and sit amongst them and do his best to behave like he was one of the humans.  The itch on the back of his neck decided him and he saw the subtle lightening of the night through one of the few windows to the outside.

He was about to turn on his heel, casting one last longing glance at the surprising group he'd encountered, when he felt her arm at his elbow.  The soft crunch of his leather was almost sensual as her touch lingered and he slowly turned toward her.  She was smiling and it overwhelmed Spike in that second how truly gorgeous she was.

"I don't think I told you my name," she said earnestly, like she really wanted him to know that she wasn't just the Slayer.

When she didn't continue, Spike smiled, feeling the decided lack of need for his patented smirk.  This was information he wanted, and suddenly not just for the purpose of psyching her out and killing her.  He wanted to know the name that went with the face as badly as he wanted to stay in that room with a bunch of kids who'd appreciated him more in thirty minutes than his entire family had in a century.

"An' what's that, pet?"

"Oh," she startled, realising that maybe she'd given herself away by the way she'd been intently studying every gorgeous plane of his face.  "Buffy."  Her voice was a husky whisper, her hand still lightly resting against his forearm and Spike felt the automatic laugh die abruptly in his throat.

"Beautiful," he felt compelled to say, and then he turned and left them behind.
 

Summary: What does a pissed off vamp do when he's dragged to the Hellmouth when he'd rather be swanning around Europe? Why, he gets inventive in order to have fun with the Slayer of course.

Rating: I'll go for R at this time. Though knowing me, a change is possible.

Disclaimer: These characters belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. I have merely manipulated his creation to make myself and hopefully you happy. I gain nothing but satisfaction mentally.
 

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Chapter Three

He smelt Angelus while on his way to shelter. Feeling buoyed with spirit and a half cocked plan, Spike had wandered during the remaining night while he searched for an acceptable place to sleep. Somewhere that was far enough away from the caterwauling tripe Dru would no doubt be squealing and the possible meeting of his family line. Instead, he'd almost tripped over the stench of Angelus while traipsing around the Hellmouth too close to dawn. Spike was just thankful the poof kept his distance. He'd had enough daft lessons in spinning lies for one night.

Truthfully, he still didn't know how to go about any reunion with his grandsire. They'd parted at a time when the foundations of their little foursome were slipping through each of their control. Angelus had left in the night while the rest were out hunting. Sure, Darla hadn't been quiet in her efforts to shame him out of their existence, but truthfully, Spike hadn't really believed he would go. At least, not without Dru.

Kicking Angelus from the pack had hidden Darla's true agenda. She'd wanted to bolt and couldn't be upfront about it, which was pretty true to form with the former prostitute. She'd never been the type to come out and be forthright. Underhanded and seductively dishonest, that was the granddame of their little family.

Without even meaning to, Spike stopped at the door of a crypt. It wasn't the ideal place, being so far from the nearest shade if he needed to make a quick exit while the sun was out, but it would do in a pinch. He could always go looking for something else the next night, when he knew the lay of the land a little better. All he really needed was somewhere that no one would think to look for him. And if he couldn't escape during the day, then Dru wouldn't be able to locate him till he'd managed to think through what he'd done.

Managed to sort out his thoughts in relation to the Slayer.

She was perky, and he liked it. Not enough to let her live, mind. But enough to indulge in some fun. And the kind of fun he could envision with this Slayer had his mind and body turning in twists. The way she'd looked at him hadn't been different to other women over the years—right before he'd revealed himself and ripped out their throats. That gush of horror mixed with attraction was an unbelievable high. No, not a different look, just more unusual for her already knowing what he was—assumed soul or no.

This time the game had changed. He'd unwittingly set himself up in an experiment that had provided him with time he'd never utilised before. Time he'd wasted with the quick kill. Drawing the Slayer out would be fun. It would be righteous to his vampire code.

It would be what Angelus had endeavoured to teach him over twenty long years of humiliation. And that thought alone froze his blood. That and the mental image of the Slayer's friends staring at him with hurt for making them trust him when he was nothing but a cold-blooded killer. That look of horror wasn't there when he imagined their deaths; only the hurt that a friend had turned on them. It made him uncomfortable and Spike was hard pressed to understand why. It's what he was, what he did. Trick humans into trusting him before diving in for the kill. He existed for the blood. He lived through depriving others of the privilege and he had never felt guilty about it before.

Now he'd crossed paths with Buffy.

Buffy. He couldn't even let his brain go down the path of laughter and sarcasm. He'd read a subtle perfection in her name and he couldn't take the fun in its silliness like he would have ordinarily. That she'd shared it with him—and under the circumstances of hopeful friendship—hit him deeper than he'd liked. However, it shifted the balance and he suspected this eagerness of hers for him to know her as a girl was what was causing his sudden attack of conscience. He had to banish it and get back to normal. He'd kill someone when he awoke—somewhere out of her view of course. Wouldn't do to blow the cover now he'd been received with open arms.

The distant alarm of pending sunlight made him drowsy and Spike found his way to the top of a sarcophagus. Letting his coat slip down his arms, he wadded it into a pillow and shoved it under his head. Arms flexed, he propped them under his skull and contemplated the ceiling. It was the first time he'd slept alone since Angelus was around to remind him Dru wasn't really his. Having her infidelity shoved in his face over and over had weakened him, yet made him determined to make her love him. Now it was a century later, and he'd never achieved that goal. And now the paternal figure of their family was back in range; Spike just knew it would balls up everything he'd gotten used to over the years.

Weary blue eyes were shaded by lids determined to close and Spike shut down his unhappy thoughts, eager to get the rest that would bring him back to the situation refreshed and hopefully full of plans. Hoped the night would bring him back to the Big Bad that he seemed to have lost sight of at the appearance of his fake soul.

And the little blonde that would dust him if she ever sniffed out the truth.

The thought of her hate suddenly seemed wrong; painful. He just needed some sleep to get it all back into perspective. As the last remnants of conscious thought drifted away, Spike knew he'd wake up with a renewed desire to sink his fangs into the Slayer. He just needed forty winks and then his world would be back to rights.

Then he'd be back to being Spike.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Her dreams had been filled with the relentless swagger of a vamp she couldn't stop thinking about. Buffy blinked sleepily before sinking back into her pillows and conjuring his image in her mind. His hair was radioactive, but it kinda suited him in a weird retro fashion. And that coat—she'd die to have a thing of beauty like that. Except maybe more on the newer side of the cow. And those eyes—they burned her insides despite being of an arctic blue. And it didn't take much imagination to picture the muscular build hidden under his eclectic wardrobe. He suited black, and he was just too yummy for words.

Thinking of how obvious she'd been in her attraction brought a high flush to her cheeks and Buffy groaned aloud. Why did she find it so difficult to think after the fact? Usually she was so level-headed around the underworld, but the thought of this one demon with lips that were full and she just knew could kiss like sin had completely thrown her. He had a soul, so that made it okay...

Didn't it?

Buffy smiled. Of course it did. He was one of them. Fighting on the side of justice alongside the good guys—and he was as hot as hell. She couldn't believe her luck.

"Buffy. Hurry up or you'll be late for school."

Her mother's voice floated up the stairs with all the dream shattering effects of a Jumanji stampede and Buffy groaned as she rolled from her bed. School: the necessary evil. Until two days ago, she'd been all set to be Normal Girl and do nothing but casually fail her classes like everyone else in her grade. With the abrupt acceptance of her duty in this new place, she'd shot that mission all to hell. Now that she'd managed to initiate her schoolmates to the realities of their nightmares. As well as get one of them hospitalised. It sure beat attending Jesse's funeral, though. And now that she knew these people, refusing to try to keep them safe just seemed petty. And who could refuse to fight off the forces of evil when she suddenly had the likes of Spike by her side?

The thought of late night patrols with him by her side, his coat subtly battering her legs—which meant she'd be walking super close to him—really made her destiny something exciting for a change. She'd lived through the downright frightening aspect of it, and now with the prospect of romance, she could see more pluses than minuses to being a chosen one. Well, that was settled then. The Slayer was in heavy duty crush mode. Now she could drive herself crazy wondering if the sexy hot vampire felt even a little of the same excitement over meeting her.

She could find out when she dragged him out to patrol with her tonight. If he was all with the soul having, and being a white hat, then he wouldn't mind watching her back. It'd be more than nice to have someone looking out for her for a change. Especially if it ended up that he was just as happy to watch her front as well. Buffy knew that she could pass out with delirious satisfaction if she could do some major watching of him, too.

It was amazing what a bit of Spike preoccupation could do for her 'getting to school on time' skills. Dressing, trading the usual side-step conversation with her mother at breakfast and heading off to school had all passed in a peroxide and black leather blur. Not that she would complain, except for when Giles raised an eyebrow and gave her the adult look of suspicion.

"See, ordinarily I couldn't do this. The talk. About vampires. A talk with vampires in it. But meeting Spike, gave me a bit of hope, you know? Sure, the other guys were bad, all with the spooky...and the fangs...and the putting Jesse in hospital, but how freaking romantic to have a vampire with a soul save us all. I love this guy. You think he'd mind having a groupie?" Xander looked eagerly at Buffy, hope and excitement making her want to laugh.

They'd gotten passed the 'demon's are a human form possessed' discussion and had flown straight into the 'how is this possible' conversation regarding the existence of souled vampires.

"I am certain you were rather lucky this Spike came along when he did. It sounds like disaster may have occurred without his help. But still, it is surprising that I haven't heard of his existence before." Giles's posturing left the teens to shrug noncommittally as they became lost in thought.

Jesse was in the hospital still, though he'd be getting out by that afternoon. But surviving a close call didn't mean that Buffy could avoid the job of finding out exactly what last night was about. She'd almost lost three of her new friends in one night and that reality didn't sit well with her inherent slayerness and sense of responsibility. She may hate her life now, may hate her destiny, but if she could do something to make sure her friends were tucked up safe in bed at night, then she had a duty she couldn't ignore.

And in typical freaky fashion, the conversation turned on its head—pushed away from the glorification of souled vampires and the romance of it all—to the guessing of what Buffy was.

Giles stood before them, all heart attack serious in his regulation tweed. "For as long as there have been vampires, there's been the Slayer. One girl in all the world, a Chosen One."

"He likes doing this part." Buffy didn't mean to mock, but it was so easy to do while he glared at her with lack of humour. With impatience and frustration.

"All right. The Slayer hunts vampires, Buffy is a slayer, don't tell anyone. Well, I think that's all the vampire information you need."

Xander begged to differ. "Except for one thing. How do you kill them?"

She thought they knew this part. "You don't. I do."

Xander was going to argue, and by doing that, he did bring up Jesse. They'd been so lucky the previous night. If Spike hadn't been there, Buffy had no doubts the blonde vampire with the trashy school girl look would have dragged her new friends into Hell. If not terrifying them before their death, then recreating them in the face of evil. Still, it brought back the focus and what she still had to do.

"This big guy, Luke. He talked about an offering to the Master. Now, I don't know what or who, but if they weren't just feeding then Jesse and Willow may have been a planned sacrifice or something. I'm gonna find where they were going to take them."

As much as she liked Willow, Buffy felt like rolling her eyes when the redhead suggested leaving the situation to the police to resolve. That would go nowhere near making Sunnydale safer and eradicating whatever this episode of badness was. If anything, it could make the bad occur faster by supplying whoever with a large group of useless officers for lunch. So, with minimal pointing out of stupidity, they moved on, trying to find a clue where to start the search. A lucky thing Buffy was switched onto the entirely too strange habits of the undead. A little technology and Buffy was ready and able with a place to start.

That didn't mean it made sense.

"There's nothing here, this is useless." She felt useless.

"I think you're being a bit hard on yourself." Coming from a watcher, the words seemed far too forgiving.

"You're the one that told me that I wasn't prepared enough. Understatement!" It wouldn't be so bad if she'd actually been paying attention. Slaying wasn't just about the fight—and the death—of the creatures of the night. It was about foiling plots and making the world safe. Now that she'd decided to live with the inevitable, these were things Buffy felt she'd have to try honing her skills at. The observation skills that may keep herself and her friends alive. "I thought I was on top of everything, and then that monster, Luke, came out of nowhere..." And who said she was as dumb as Harmony? Light bulbs flashed in her brain and Buffy had her starting point.

Buffy stood still as she thought over her almost fatal fight with Luke. Until an exasperated Xander leaped in and jumpstarted her to consciousness.

"What?"

"He didn't come out of nowhere. He came from behind me. I was facing the entrance, he came from behind me, and he didn't follow me out. The access to the tunnels is in the mausoleum! The girl must have doubled back and escaped through there while we were distracted with Jesse and Spike! God! I am so mentally challenged!"

Dammit, nobody disagreed with her. And she was meant to be all accepting that they wanted to jump the superhero wagon and come seek out the baddies with her? Hell no. Not likely.

She sliced through all their objections with unintentional putdowns, leaving Xander feeling inadequate—and that kind of made her giggle on the inside—and left them with Giles to feel important in the fight against darkness by researching The Harvest. She'd almost forgotten creepy stalker guy and his warnings of vague doom.

Which was kinda dumb she soon found when he snuck up behind her in the crypt.

She could have sworn that there was no one behind her, but as she rattled the chain on the entrance to the underground tunnels, he snuck up behind her, his unnecessary breath exhaling on a note of expectation. First impressions had Buffy seeing him as some weird guy who stalked her in the shadows. This time she got a better look as he stood in a more moderately lit area, the sun beating down on the stone building from the outside. Maybe if she'd never met Spike, she could have considered him good-looking. Maybe. As it was, Buffy found it hard to think of him as anything but creepy. In that sleazy way you do when someone sneaks up behind you on an increasingly regular basis.

"I don't suppose you've got a key on you," she asked by way of making conversation. Buffy almost didn't expect him to answer, but if he did, being vague was really what she'd counted on. He didn't disappoint her.

"They really don't like me dropping in."

That smirk was really off-putting.

"Why not?" If he knew what was down there—who was down there—then how come he kept his distance? Suddenly the thought of beating him for less obscure information seemed like a good plan. If nothing else it would let loose some frustration. Pity she wasn't allowed to just go attacking innocent bystanders, even if they did annoy her with their obscure warnings.

"They really don't like me." He smiled.

Weird much? She didn't know who this guy was or what his game was, but he was starting to spook her. Who followed young girls around cemeteries and into crypts to deliver such inane conversation and without asking her what she was doing? Better yet, how did he know all this stuff? Buffy could see through his game, though. He was playing with her, teasing her with half-delivered information and seeing what she would do with it. He knew the secret plans of these vamps who'd tried to eat her friends, and yet he hung around on the outside of the gathering. No, he was way beyond creepy. He was psychotic. She needed to be wary of this guy and watch that he didn't attack her. Who knew what to expect from the crazies of Sunnydale?

"How could that possibly be?" Sarcasm obviously hadn't been diverted by the simple calm placating that a wary slayer should have reverted to. Buffy's mouth—as usual—was working faster than her brain, still she felt reasonably safe around him for now. Just.

"I knew you'd figure out this entryway sooner or later. Actually, I thought it was gonna be a little sooner."

He was so smug, and she so did work this out fast. Nobody else had.

"Sorry you had to wait." Buffy tried to be patient, but this guy was ruining her plans. "Okay. Look, if you're gonna be popping up with this Cryptic Wise Man act on a regular basis, can you at least tell me your name?" She watched him expectantly, all manner of possibilities running through her head. He looked like a...Ralph. Or maybe a Derrek.

"Angel." The name flowed from his lips with a certainty that Buffy really questioned. As if anyone would name their baby Angel, knowing that one bright and shiny day that Angel would be a man.

Still, Spike hadn't laughed at her name the night before, even though she could see that he'd initially wanted to. Wasn't like she hadn't had that happen before.

"Angel. It's a pretty name." So is, though slightly inappropriate for a large man with an evil leer and the distinct absence of wings on his back. Still, talking about names and remembering Spike's reaction to hers wasn't getting the info she needed. She needed to put the puzzle together, and getting the intel from dark and broody wasn't doing it for her.

She turned back to the entrance of the cavern and held her breath. She really didn't want to go down there.

"Don't...go down there." He spoke with a small edge of concern in his voice and it stopped Buffy in her tracks.

"Deal with my going." He really should not be trying to tell her how to do her job. And who the hell was he anyway? She had his name but no rank and serial number.

"You shouldn't be putting yourself at risk. Tonight is the Harvest. Unless you can prevent it, the Master walks."

And there he was again with the cryptic messages and the knowing so much more of what was going down in this town than she or her watcher did. That so wasn't right.

"Well, if this Harvest thing is such a suckfest, why don't you stop it?"

It really wouldn't bother her if someone else wanted a go at stopping the damage-bound monsters of the world from unleashing hell on earth. It wasn't like she was a control freak and just had to stop all the bad guys.

"'Cause I'm afraid." And the Angel grinned.

Buffy smiled, even though she couldn't work out if he was kidding or truly worried. Still, if he didn't want to help, and he didn't want to tell her about this Harvest thing, then she was probably going to be making a big mistake by diving into a situation that she had no understanding of. It was just an assumption, but there could be a whole horde of vamps down there. Until she had more of an idea—or someone at her back—it would be foolish to take off into the unknown. She was kinda glad this guy had stopped by to talk to her some more and give her time to think the plan out a bit better.

"You know what? I think you're right. I won't go down there just yet. I'll wait till my partner can go with me." Buffy stopped and felt an enormous smile consume her face. "He's got a soul, you know!"

The Slayer completely missed the look of bafflement that swept across Angel's face as she pivoted and almost bounced out of the crypt. She left him standing in the shadows, a finger pointing at his chest and his mouth flapping silent words of shock.

"A soul? But I'm the one with a soul."

And he stared petulantly at the fading back of Buffy Summers as she skipped away, confused and frustrated that someone had apparently stolen his identity. And then another word hit him in the gut.

"Partner?"
 

Summary: What does a pissed off vamp do when he's dragged to the Hellmouth when he'd rather be swanning around Europe? Why, he gets inventive in order to have fun with the Slayer of course.

Rating: I'll go for R at this time. Though knowing me, a change is possible.

Disclaimer: These characters belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. I have merely manipulated his creation to make myself and hopefully you happy. I gain nothing but satisfaction mentally.
 

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She'd tasted unsatisfying.

Spike propped himself against the stone wall of the alley, looking contemplatively at the stack of refuse behind the shop, not seeing the body of the girl he'd drained and discarded but thinking of it nonetheless. He was entirely lost in thought, wondering at the lack of thrill in the blood, and not seeing the usual poetry of the kill.

Buffy's hand on his shoulder had him spinning in his mind and his non-beating heart almost exploding with adrenaline at being caught.

"Hey. Whatcha doing?" Her smile was beatific and excited. For him.

Spike looked dumbfounded, then remembered himself and quickly wiped his mouth in case any blood had remained on his lip. By the look on her face he assumed she had no clue what she'd inadvertently caught him at, and it was good if he could keep it that way. Right, leading her out of the alley was a bleeding brilliant first step.

"Actually, pet, was looking for you." The lie popped out of his mouth without any real thought, but as her face lit up he wondered if maybe he'd wanted to be and that's why the freshly tapped blood had lacked the usual zing.

It was no use. This confusion he felt wasn't going to have him lose focus while only around the Slayer. Even with her presence far away from him he was all muddled up, wondering if he really knew what he was doing. He'd never questioned himself before, taking it for granted when things occurred to fuck up his perception. Now, it required contemplation to work out why he was waning in his determination to kill her. Needed explanation why her smiles made his body feel light and tingling in preparation for...something.

"I was kinda hoping you might wanna go on patrol with me?" Buffy was going for subtle-flirty-casual, but her eagerness made her forget herself. "I have to check out that mausoleum and try and work out this Harvest thingy. Might be a case of safety in numbers." Buffy looked up at him, hope bursting from every tensed muscle of her body.

Her anxiety was a turn on, Spike found, but not in the way he'd been expecting. She wanted to be around him, and the shock still hadn't dispersed. She actually wanted to be around a vampire—him—when he'd put an end to two of her kind this century. While he'd capitalised on the girlies being all hearts aflutter for him in clubs and other scenarios as a quick satisfying meal, he'd never had the opportunity of seeing them as anything but chow. Buffy was more before she'd even opened her mouth.

For one fascinating instant, Spike wanted to take time off from being himself. Go with the chit and see what it would be like to be something other than what he was for a change. What could it hurt? To take a time out and see how the other half actually lived—when he wasn't making sure they got good and dead.

"Nothin' better to do. Lead the way, luv." He could feel the heat of her body as she moved beside him, felt the fire of her gaze when she thought he couldn't tell. He felt robbed of all his sense and hard won identity by the time they drew to a stop outside the same crypt that had seen the action the previous night.

They hadn't spoken one word on the whole trip. Hadn't needed to as Spike tried to block out the easy way they were together with the image of a terrified redhead laying in a tangle of limbs back in the alley. That's who he was—what he did. He had no real place for a soulful outlook, even if he was pretending to have one. Which begged the question, didn't it. How bloody long was he planning on this pretence of goodness? How much of himself was he prepared to sacrifice just to get under the Slayer's defences?

"Remember Creepy Stalker Guy?"

Buffy pulled him to a stop outside the stone structure and Spike tilted his head and watched her. She was so young, so innocent and yet so distracting in an uncomfortably appealing way. There was something different in her mix—something other than the rippling power of the universe making her the Slayer. Something that added to the complexity of her failure or death. Something that threw Spike completely off his game.

"Yeah. Is he still following you?"

Buffy grimaced, and then nodded her head. She was standing so close, her body barely a touch away from his and it made the air around them almost crackle and seem heavy and tense.

"Um, kinda? Well, if you mean does he pop up behind me wherever I go, then big with the affirmative. In fact, I was just bringing it up because I'm expecting him to be behind door number one. Wanted to give you a heads up, even though I told him I wouldn't be going down in that vamp nest without my partner to back me up. He wasn't interested in the job." Buffy stopped and her eyes widened comically as the impact of her words on Spike finally registered. He looked totally gobsmacked.

"Do you need me to protect you from the Big Bad?" He should have sneered, really he should have. He'd meant to. Started to. His lips were obviously broken, or maybe it was just his brain. Every time he was around her she surprised him and his reactions became unfamiliar.

"Shyeah. As if. I just thought it'd be kind of nice—" Her eyes dropped to the ground, hands and body shifting nervously as she admitted what she'd hoped. "If maybe you'd watch my back."

The last time Spike had been shocked into have eyes that bugged was when he'd walked into the middle of his first ménage a trois, Angelus pumping into Dru like a racehorse while Darla rode his back complete with crop. At the mention of her back, all Spike could suddenly see was sweat slickened skin and his hands aching to touch. The answer seemed more than obvious.

"'Course, pet. It's what us souled vamps are here for." Such an abomination of words should have choked him to get passed his throat—yet they were delivered with an ease that Spike couldn't have thought possible. This bloody chit certainly kept a bloke on his toes.

Mention of the dreaded 'S' word brought thoughts to mind he'd tried to keep at arms length while he'd rested. What it would mean to have a soul—to actually be the vamp she thought he was. The word itself had been like a trust switch and once thrown, he didn't even have to prove himself. Sure, she expected him to turn on his kind—and being that the majority of those he hung around were a bunch of wankers, it wasn't too big an ask. Even the prospect of leaving Drusilla behind didn't cut as deep as it might have once. It was funny how much a man cut himself off and saw the outside world clearer when the woman he'd loved—convinced himself he'd loved—for the past century mentioned another name once too often.

Spike had been forced to follow the psychic whim of his sire as she searched for Angelus. Dru had refused to accept that she wasn't loved. Some pretty twisted pixies had whispered lies in her ear, promising that if she could just find him, he'd want her back. It was nothing but smoke and mirrors and another example of how shot her poor mind was—again thanks to Angelus.

But if she was right—if they did find the bastard that had made a profession of tearing Spike's world apart time and again by trailing his stubby hands over Dru and leaving the brunette shaking in lust—then everything Spike had been would be over. He knew enough—felt the urge deep enough—to believe that. He knew Angelus was here, residing in this hungry mouth of hell. He just wondered which one of them would be devoured first.

Now the Slayer was warning him that the demon Spike most wanted to avoid could be right behind the door, listening in on their conversation and hearing Spike's distinctive accent. She didn't know it, of course. Couldn't have a clue about the family connection between the two master vampires who were playing a dangerous game of cat and mouse with her. But he was brought into a possible confrontation a lot quicker than he'd planned. Took some skill to avoid those that were too close. He knew Dru had already found her way. Of course he'd heard how The Master was trying to get a leg back up into the real world. As far as he was concerned, the silly sod deserved his underground tomb and should bloody well stay there and keep out of the younger generation's hair. It didn't surprise him at all to know that Darla had slinked back to be at the old codger's beck and call, and now Dru and Angelus had found their roots.

Well, not Spike. No bloody way was he getting involved in such a pissy plan. It would fail. As much as he didn't know about the Slayer and her mates, he knew that she'd win. The scent of victory clung to her, and even though he'd managed to get himself under her wing and her trust in his absent soul, he didn't want to be the spy in her ranks.

For one brief moment, he saw himself more as the lover in her bed. Though he suspected she was too innocent to allow him that close, he couldn't stop the sudden phantom thump in his chest at the hope he could convince her to. As soon as the image of naked flesh began to make him stare at the reality in front of him, he remembered the sprawled body of his latest victim. He was standing beside the Slayer now, wondering at the pleasure the thought of naked Buffy flesh brought him even while he had another woman's warm blood thumping through his veins. Suddenly he felt wrong, and in agonising confusion, Spike stared at the ground.

There was nothing he could do. If it was his fate to encounter Angelus behind this door—some kind of cosmic payback for wanting to keep the Slayer's back—then he'd accept it. Embrace it for what it was. His penance for not being the right amount of demon. For letting his own side down while his evil nature battled with the desire to feel real. Wasn't like the git wouldn't expect it. He had always been saying Spike was never enough. Over a hundred years had proven him correct. Not enough for Angelus to stay and raise them right. Not enough for Dru to love him despite the magic she'd seen the night he'd died. Not enough for Buffy unless he lied about who he really was.

For the first time he wondered what it would be like: to be the Slayer's lover—her beloved. To be the one she trusted above all others, the one who kept her balanced and alive. The one who fought by her side and kept evil as far from their pinnacle day as he possibly could. It was a fantasy that proved Spike should be dusted just for thinking it.

He hadn't noticed that Buffy had caught his eyes and that they had begun staring at each other with longing and interest. She barely blinked as she seemed completely lost. Time passed slowly and Spike could feel the earth shift them closer together. He could feel the warmth of her body on the night—could feel it reach out and catch him in its spell. He didn't want this, not really, and yet he couldn't turn his back on it and let her know his lie. Really didn't want to see the look on her face when she took that step back and placed a stake in her empty hand.

"We should probably do this." Her voice was husky and it made her sound older than he guessed she was. He wondered if she was talking about the search, or if she was eager to explore the more obvious possibilities between them.

Spike nodded, willing to head off on either one of those options as soon as she let him in on which she'd chosen. As soon as she dropped her eyes, he knew. Right, they were risking the poofter. Great.

Spike took a deep breath as he dug into his duster pocket for his cigs. He lit up with sexual flare, smirking as he heard the escalating heartbeat of the girl beside him. She seemed awkward as she rushed passed him, brushing against him like a whisper in the dark, and pushed open the door.

The interior was black, barely any light from the moon shining inside. Spike inhaled, then let out the air in a relieved rush. "Whoever's been stalking you, pet, he's not here. Looks like it's just you and me." He saw her subtle shiver and felt himself grinning. He still had it, whatever it was. Just because it never impacted on Dru didn't mean he was completely hopeless as a man.

Sticking as close behind her as he could without touching her, Spike followed her to a chained gate.

"Looks like they're not eager to let us in, luv." He reached passed her face and gave the gate a bit of a rattle. It may have emphasised his point, but that wasn't his motive. Something was happening to him, and he couldn't describe it, no matter how much he wanted to. But there was this compulsion to be near her, to tease the force around her to see if she'd break and allow him close. Allow him to flow into her skin and break his own barrier of propriety between soulless vamp and slayer.

He left his fingers curled through the wire of the gate, his face an inch away from her cheek. Buffy didn't move, didn't breathe from what he could tell. And then, slowly, her lungs resumed their normal scheduled activity and he marvelled at the rightness of it. And felt his body react in all sorts of ways as she gently exhaled and her body drifted closer to his. Felt movement of bits she didn't need to be exposed to just yet as he felt the sheen of aroused persperation raise up on her skin.

Slowly Spike dragged the pads of his fingers over the wire until he reached the padlock keeping them out. He sucked in a breath of her, his face turned into the side of hers as she stared straight ahead, and then yanked the bolt free. The shock of it moved her, and Spike almost collapsed in giddy excitement as her jump had the side of her breast brush against the inside arm of his duster. He gulped, and then nudged her forward with his hand in the small of her back. Her skin scorched him.

And his journey began.

 

Don't forget to let me know what you think. It might just inspire me to do chapter five.

Summary: What does a pissed off vamp do when he's dragged to the Hellmouth when he'd rather be swanning around Europe? Why, he gets inventive in order to have fun with the Slayer of course.

Rating: I'll go for R at this time. Though knowing me, a change is possible.

Disclaimer: These characters belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. I have merely manipulated his creation to make myself and hopefully you happy. I gain nothing but satisfaction mentally.
 

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She obviously belonged in the dark. Spike strutted alongside her, holding slightly back to watch her progress through the tunnel and finding himself apprehensive the closer they drew to the Master's prison. Her stride was strong, purposeful, but he was a skilled vamp and could sense her fear—even if the scent hadn't been as strong.
The waft of terror was strong all along this underground tunnel. Spike watched her but she didn't sense everything that he did. Didn't know that humans had been led down here, not so long ago, and had ended abruptly. As strong as she was, he hardly expected her to remain stoic in the face of death—in those that she'd failed to preserve. He could wait for her pain—not craving it nearly as strong as he had even the previous day.

Their progress was steady but cautious, and for that Spike was grateful. Each step brought him closer to a lifestyle he'd been fully a part of until just days ago. He'd been thoughtless and accepting of the life he drained away alongside his princess and minions. It was what he was, and as much as this slayer intrigued him—for reasons other than the fight to the death—he couldn't imagine being anything else. Didn't mean he didn't wonder at the possibility that he could.

And it didn't mean he was in any rush to carry out the plan, though. Not now he'd felt the static of her presence. But agreeing to this—actually deciding to keep her safe and fight by her side—challenged a piece inside of him that he was loathe to admit still existed. Brought him to a place where he could confront the demons of his kin with a slayer by his side at a time when he'd not been thinking clearly. It was too dangerous and not part of the plan.

How would this look? He'd already allowed Darla to announce his supposed soulfulness to the vampire world. Had she passed the info on to Dru and the Master? More than likely. The little bitch always liked to be the instigator of trouble—especially if it got old Spike in deep. Bigger question was how did he feel about it?

They pulled up just outside the lair—hopefully far enough away that the vamps within couldn't sense them. Couldn't sense that a slayer and a master vampire were biding time just outside their door.

He didn't want to go in there. He could hear Dru's cackle and knew if he turned up with Buffy at his side, his sire would expose him for the fraud he was. And he didn't want that. Didn't want Buffy to hear how it had been his plan to knock her off as he rolled into town. Didn't know why he wanted her to remain oblivious to his purpose, other than that he wanted her to keep the peaceful bliss between them.

Wanted her to believe he had a soul.

The thought should have made him nauseous, and in an attempt to reattach his balls, he conjured up the image of his latest victim, the redheaded lass, and suddenly the sickness intensified. He'd gone after a girl resembling Buffy's friend, the one who'd looked at him with hopeful acceptance. Now he could see the exact shade of their hair and wondered if it had been a subconscious substitute—an attempt to kill what he really didn't want to.

Buffy took a step—a hard determined step toward the hole in the wall. Spike felt himself flood with panic as he grabbed her arm, held her still and then yanked her back into his chest. His arm curled around her waist and he felt fire spring along his limbs, his body tingling inappropriately as she agreed to the contact. Agreed to it and sank further into his contours. A blast of her thumping heartbeat consumed his hearing and Spike could do nothing but hold still—very still so as not to make a decision he wasn't ready to weather the consequences. Once he'd taken that defining step, he knew there wouldn't be an easy escape, and killing the girl hadn't completely escaped his game plan yet. Even if the thoughts did leave him queasy. The act in itself might be the balm to sooth his itch.

The smell of her hair almost brought him to his knees and it was only the warmth of her hand hesitantly covering his at her waist that drove sense back into him. In a complete turn around, her heat was like a bucket of icy water and Spike mentally slapped himself up the side of the head. This was too dangerous, allowing himself to be lost in the sensual promise of her young flesh in evil's backyard. It was like making out with the enemy's daughter while he lingered at the front door. Romeo and Juliet they weren't and the quicker he got his head together, the better they both would fare. Well, maybe not her. Not once he'd regained his focus and took her to the place he'd always wanted, ever since he was coerced into this deadbeat town.

Not enough steps away were his sire and the rest of his family—the ones that hadn't bolted on him anyway. In his arms he harboured their enemy. Against all that power, Buffy didn't stand a chance—and even though he wanted her dead, he would always be fair. And one little girl taking on plural master vampires in the name of saving the world was signing a death warrant. An' it just wasn't bloody cricket. Wasn't fun. No, until he could take her out on his own terms, he couldn't let her get herself slaughtered. Besides, knowing his luck she'd be just what the old bugger needed to escape his rather lovely underground prison.

Decision made, Spike squeezed his hand on her waist and pulled her with him as he took a step back. She resisted his physical message, but then the she turned and took in the silent force of his expression, and they retraced their steps out of the tunnel. Spike's hand never left the contact on her body the whole way—their path silent yet trembly as they gave in the strength of their mutual attraction.

Buffy grasped his cool fingers when they reached the gate, some blink of fate allowing her to link gently with his. Spike felt the rising lump in his throat, felt the prickle of something that was not tears at his eyes. Why her acceptance of him and her interest was having such a damning effect on him, he didn't know. But he was failing to control it and he could see the worlds of disaster opening up right in front of him. Almost as clearly as he could see her glistening lips as she licked them almost nervously. She looked up and caught his gaze, Spike almost tripping in his mind at the naïve desire that was reflected there.

She wanted his kiss—and the knowledge stunned him.

Spike's lips tingled in need, though. Wanted with some life of their own to feel the soft promise of slayer lips—even as Spike himself reeled from realising the incongruous behaviour of the pair of them. This was wrong—though if he had a soul then maybe it wasn't so bad. If he had a soul—which he didn't. And he wasn't likely to get one anytime soon. Yet, her lips beckoned and the pull was strong. She still held his hand and Spike felt his other move to cup her cheek, his thumb stroking whisper soft against her skin.

The time for totally fucking up his life was at hand and Spike started to close in, his face falling closer as Buffy's eyes drifted shut. He could feel the warmth of the air barely between them, his own need to breathe suspended as the desired touch of their mouths became inevitable—and then the throat clearing that ruined the moment and alerted Spike to what he should have been able to sense immediately. Company in the guise of family, and suddenly he was willing to fight to the dust for this petite girl who was stealing the breath he didn't need, but felt a compulsion to cling to.

"Bloody hell, way to ruin the moment, Peaches."

The brunette startled, his eyes narrowing on what he hadn't suspected. Living low and in hiding had made him rusty and with the overwhelming presence of his own sire, he was finding it difficult to use his vampire gifts the way demon nature intended.

"Spike?" His tone was disbelieving and Angel took a step closer to look at the girl who'd inadvertently redirected his path and taken over his heart.

The younger vampire had strategically positioned himself in front of the slayer—for what reason Angel could only guess. Spike had a reputation—had earned it on the eve of his own leaving, and Angel felt the twist in his gut that he might lose this girl before he'd even made much of an impression.

"Let her go, Spike." Voice hard, body tense, Angel waited for the younger to do as he was instructed, the authority of his familial position being automatic and in no need of relearning like his other senses.

"Not bloody likely. Not lettin' you step in to tear her to bits."

All three stood still, tense as the wait stretched. Then Buffy decided she'd had enough.

"Hey, down with the testosterone." The other words she'd planned died in her throat as Angel vamped out in front of her and growled around his fangs.

"Buffy, get away from him. He's a vampire and he'll kill you."

"Oh what a load of bollocks. I've got no bloody intention of killing her, you pillock." Spike was just getting started, finding a wealth of anger and hatred at being abandoned by the one who—maybe not cared exactly, but who held a duty toward him and Dru yet felt no hesitation in taking himself off and away to whatever draws a single unlife held for him. He wanted to twist that head off, see what colour his lumpy dust would be as it was sprung suddenly upon the air.

"Spike has a soul. He's not going to hurt me." Her green eyes and happy smile was proof enough that the option of souled Spike sat pretty with her. She watched Spike and simply thrummed with confidence in him.

If two thirds of the crypt's occupants hadn't already been dead, then the solid morbid silence might have been more overwhelming. As it was, the sudden quiet of the two males as they both reeled in shock would have been more entertaining if Buffy had been aware of the joke.

Angel recovered first. "W-what?" He was incapable of speech, the revelation too much for his lazy brain to cope with. It was pure luck that held him that way until Spike could get his head around the revelation and realise that all hell would break loose if he allowed the truth to come out now. Besides, it wasn't as if Peaches could refute his story. He hadn't been around for a hundred years so what would he know? And the existence of a souled vampire was just so fairytalish that Spike was banking on the fact that Angelus would be too stunned to argue.

"That's right. Yours truly's all souled up," Spike smirked, practically daring the Great Almighty Angelus to come up with a plan even half as creative. He was finding a bit of an upside to the declaration too. The light that shone from Buffy's smile almost singed his eyebrows. It caused an excitement to shoot through Spike's body that had been missing in his days for a very long time. This girl liked him, enjoyed being in his presence simply because . Sure, his strength might have been a tasty bonus, but he could tell she wanted more from the arrangement than just his muscle. Though he wouldn't be impartial to extending that little invitation a little further. Particular body parts had been a mite neglected of late. Dru had been practising abstinence in preparation to her big reunion. He'd thought it was for the Master, but now Spike could picture it easily. Dru, laid out on her back and legs in the air while Angelus pounded the living shit out of her.

The obscenity of those thoughts threw him and Spike was suddenly reminded whose presence he was in. Angelus, the greedy plonker that could never keep his mitts to himself. Well, not this time. Dru may have been his destiny, but Buffy was—well, did a bloke have to know these things in advance? She was something and he'd be dust before he let the evil greasy paws of his grandsire anywhere near the girl.

"Oi, what are you doing here anyway? Dru's been expecting you and I'd rather we just said our piece and act like ships passing in the night—all nice and quiet like." Spike very subtly began nudging Buffy to the open door of the crypt, ready to defend her if he needed to but knowing that she wouldn't exactly be all damselly—which he really liked in a woman. Especially this woman. Even Dru still expected to be protected and act all weak and kittenish—even though Spike knew she was far from it.

They were almost there when the dazed confusion began to dissipate and Angel took a step to stop them. Not thinking, just reacting, Spike sent him flying against the wall of the crypt with a thundering punch to the jaw. The heavier vampire lay slumped on the floor, stunned, and Spike took his chance. Grabbing Buffy's arm, he tugged her forward and led her out of one dark into the lighter darkness of open air.

Spike ran, only mildly surprised when slayer speed proved just short of a match for his own pace. Eventually he stopped, pulling her into an alley and watching around the corner to make sure they weren't followed. And then the memory of what Angelus had interrupted started to ache with the deprivation.

"You know that was creepy stalker guy, don't you? I don't think he would have, oomph—"

With one feather soft kiss, Spike slammed another door shut. He couldn't possibly kill a slayer he'd saved from his granpappy.

Not when her lips tasted of sunshine.

Summary: What does a pissed off vamp do when he's dragged to the Hellmouth when he'd rather be swanning around Europe? Why, he gets inventive in order to have fun with the Slayer of course.

Rating: I'll go for R at this time. Though knowing me, a change is possible.

Disclaimer: These characters belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. I have merely manipulated his creation to make myself and hopefully you happy. I gain nothing but satisfaction mentally.
 

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Chapter Six

There was dreaminess involved. Much with the dreamy that Buffy couldn't wipe off her face, no matter how much she didn't try.

"You should have seen it, Will. Sure, Angel wasn't really much of a threat." She paused and contemplated. "At least, I hadn't thought so till he went all ridgy and fangy with the vampness. But anyway, where was I?"

"Drooling over the Spike kissage," Willow gushed and then giggled. She was so envious of Buffy. The souled vampire had seemed so very different to what Willow would have expected a vampire to be like, if she'd ever known they existed. And she didn't think it was even because of his soul, though that was a situation that definitely bore research requirements. And while she was happy her new friend had found love—or what was turning into the possibility of love—so soon after moving to Sunnydale, Willow couldn't help the little pulsing jealousy that made her want to change places and be the one to have felt that closeness with someone. If she was honest, she even wished a little that it could have been with Spike.

It was hard to be too resentful though when she watched Buffy melt at the mere mention of the vampire.

"It's so weird, Will. I mean, Angel has sort of been helping me out, you know, with giving me those cryptic clues about hellmouth badness, and his eyes looked so sad and he seemed to want to help, even if he was a little creepy. You'd think HE was the one with the soul, not Spike." Buffy snacked thoughtfully on her apple and completely missed the shift in Willow's comfort.

The redhead looked alarmed at that. "Do you think that's possible? Two vampires with souls?"

"Pshyeah, so not. I mean, come on, Willow. Don't tell Spike I said this, but don't you think the idea of a vampire with a soul is totally lame? And to have it forced on you because you don't have discerning taste in the people menu? Nope, I think it would be much more romantic to fight against the odds of your nature. To know that you were reborn into evil and yet fell in love with a beautiful girl and turned your back on it all, just so you could be with her forever." Buffy fell neatly back into the dreamy land she'd been in earlier, her mind's eye seeing a soulless Spike riding up on his swift black stead, sweeping her up into his arms and prodding the beast to gallop them away to safety.

"B-but wouldn't that be kind of dangerous? In a Romeo and Juliet kind of way?" Willow asked with a slightly nervous tickle in her voice.

"Huh?"

A crease deepened between the redhead's brows as she thought over the scenario. She could see the romance, just like Buffy said, but she could also see the danger, not least the possibility of herself being eaten on the vampire's journey to redemption. The vision of Jesse on a gurney, looking too pale mixed with the reality of knowing how close he could have come to being dead—or worse, turned—kept Willow feeling a little on the skittish side when it came to considering soulless vampires and how much control they might even have over their demons. What Buffy thought was romantic might not even be possible. Those vamps they'd run into the other night certainly seemed to have nothing on their mind but draining Jesse. And her. Willow still had nightmares just imagining the reality of becoming lunch—or well, dinner was probably closer to the mark.

"Can soulless demons actually have enough free will to choose to be good?" Willow thought it was a good question, one that she was going to be thinking about the answer to alot. Not that it was relevant to anything, but she was nothing if not inquisitive and an overachiever. Still, she didn't like that look of uncertainty and fear that clouded the Slayer's eyes.

"I don't know, Will. I guess not. They're evil, right? So, I guess without a soul they have no reason to feel guilty about killing innocent people."

Buffy looked so dejected, so unhappy that Willow wondered if she even realised that the existence of such an anomaly didn't even apply to her.

"Buffy, Spike has a soul, so you don't need to worry about it. Makes you wonder, though." She'd dived into the philosophical and Willow felt the familiar excitement that came with learning new things and thinking about worlds of possibilities.

Buffy's relief at being reminded that Spike was already restrained and fighting on the good side warmed Willow's heart. She would have hated to be the one to make Buffy question herself—consider the validity and propriety of falling for a vampire, whether he was bound with a soul or not.

"Wonder about what?" Buffy had jumped from being worried right into intellectual interest. She nibbled again at her apple while Willow put her thoughts out on the air, knowing that Buffy's attention span might not last. "Is everyone just born with a soul? I mean, do we all have a soul to lose? And if we do, how do some humans lose it. That could explain why some humans are beyond evil, right? There's serial killers, rapists, Snyder."

Buffy choked between a laugh and a chunk of apple in her throat. "Good one, Will. Not so sure we can lose our souls while we're still human, but I guess the reverse makes my job a little less clear cut. If humans can go bad and act evil, what's to stop vamps from trying to be good? And how can I dust them knowing they could have potential?"

Willow didn't even have to think. A crisis of faith and conscience in her job could get Buffy really really dead and that was something Willow would prevent at all costs if she could. "If they're snackin', then you're slayin'. No time to put labels on them when you have lives to save. I think it's safe to assume that most vamps are out to put major holes in the population. Sure, there might be the odd vamp who wants something better. Maybe even one who falls for the beautiful girl and turns his whole existence around for love, but I don't think you'll find him in the graveyard, Buffy."

Buffy nodded, feeling the expected confidence in Willow's conclusions and recognising her need to eradicate evil from the world as something more than just her duty. It was something she needed. She never wanted to ever see another person she knew in a hospital bed—not if they were put there because she was being slack or Miss Avoidy Slayer. And if they ever made it to the morgue—well, that would only be because she'd gotten there first.

It was a quiet, contemplative walk back inside.

The library was filled with new soldiers to the cause. Xander sat at the research table, swapping jokes with a newly flushed Jesse while Giles flicked through some ancient tome in the background.

"Ah, yes, Buffy and Willow. I assume lunch was satisfying." Giles ducked back into his book, not waiting for an answer to the inane question and so missed the girl's conspiratorial amusement.

"Sure, Giles. It was a veritable feast and we had waiters and hey, even the merry ole Queen of England pulled up a square of turf to eat with us." Buffy watched Willow, an expecting smile tilting her lips and then broadening as Giles betrayed his preoccupation.

"Really? That's quite wonderful. Now, about this Angel you met on patrol last night—"

"So, Jesse, all up and about. How's all that blood pumping through your body?" Buffy rushed out, somehow feeling guilty yet not sure if he knew about what actually happened to him or if Xander had tried to keep him in the dark so as to not make himself look like a nutcase.

"It's the strangest thing, you know? I mean, I leave with this really hot girl, and wham...in the hospital with a chunk out of my neck. It's like some kind of corny Anne Rice novel. If I wasn't so sure I was hallucinating, I'd say that gorgeous blonde was a vampire. Freaky I know, but the accident must have caused me to hit my head or something. Stranger things haven't happened, right?" he joked, smiling around the table at his friends as Giles coughed in the background. It brought Jesse's attention to the strange group and he leaned over to Xander, his eyes watching everything warily. "Hey man," he whispered. "What's with the hanging around with the school librarian and making with the friendly? Did something happen while I was laid up?"

Xander giggled nervously, checking between the girls and Giles before he abruptly pushed his chair back with a screech. "You have no idea," he grinned before leading the way out of the place. Jesse shrugged at Buffy and Willow and followed.

The sudden silence echoed in their absence until Giles stepped forward and nervously approached Buffy with anxiety inspired hand wringing. "I do apologise, Buffy. I had no idea that it was your intention to not confide everything in this boy. I just assumed—well, we have all learned it is dangerous to assume, so I will keep my peace until you advise differently."

"No biggie. There was no harm done. Jesse's got some serious denial in his life, though." Buffy found it kind of amusing. She didn't mind if he knew her secret, but as much as it was Xander and Willow's choice to start accepting the darker side of life as real and to support her, it was their right to decide if their friend should know too. She'd already been a bad slayer and let the cat out of the bag. She didn't want anymore responsibility, though she wondered how smart it was to let him continue his oblivious life while living on the Hellmouth. Without the knowledge and the tools to adapt to the danger, he may not live for much longer. She'd managed to save him once—or rather, Spike had—but she didn't relish the opportunity of doing it again. She'd rather he made like a Star Trek guy and live long and prosper.

It was something she was beginning to accept she could never do.

"We'll tell him soon," Willow confirmed, somehow reading Buffy's mind. If not then the frown on her face had extra special revealing powers.

Buffy nodded, but still there was something niggling at her, and even though it was daylight, she couldn't help but feel whatever it was, it was too late.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Jesse stood and watched the blonde. Last night he'd gotten lucky and was able to walk by her side right out of there. Last night he'd looked cool to all those Sunnydale High sceptics that had expected him to finish school a virgin. He'd held his head high, strolled out confident and excited. Almost cocky. And then it had ended—he wasn't quite sure how. Or rather, he believed he knew how, just thought he had to be insane for it to be so.

Tonight she was back—but probably couldn't bear to look his way again. If what he remembered happening was true—and despite Xander's weird story about a pack of wild dogs knocking him over and almost mauling his neck till he was bled to death, he really believed it was—then he'd shown himself to be a loser. Whatever purpose she'd chosen him to fulfil, he'd failed. He'd bailed by knowing a pretty scary girl with superpowers and some bleached blond stranger that bounced out of nowhere. He'd been saved and the beauty that had smiled his way, had tasted his blood, wouldn't want to look at him again.

There was something locked far away inside that tried to argue that his way of thinking could very well get him dead, but that seductive thrill he'd felt at having sharp teeth slice through his soft skin like a heated knife through butter kept it weak and heading toward silent. She was dangerous. He couldn't deny it—and yet that precarious link she held between life and death thrilled him beyond anything he'd ever been able to grasp.

So it was that he was pulled forward and across a crowded dance floor to be once again within her grasp, despite his heart pounding the warning that she didn't want him—would only kill him, and without biting him at that.

Her eyes shone when she looked up and saw him. Recognition made something flare to life—anger at being made to look foolish, disappointment to find she'd wasted time on the likes of him, or eagerness to once again sip from his neck—but though he saw it, he could never put a name to it. He just wasn't that clued into women, into people, and so whatever truths he could have discerned from her gaze became something unreachable for the likes of him.

Her smile was enticing, cheeky as a perfectly manicured set of nails came out to lightly scratch down his neck—scraping while she stared in fascination at the bandage that covered her bite. Suddenly he felt aflame, didn't want the cover as the puncture marks flared to life and sought contact with their creator. The heat grew bolder, sharper and became so piercingly deep that he almost lost his breath. Sweat broke out on his skin as her hand wandered down over his chest. Last night had been all about appearances. Tonight was all about the pain, and he felt disturbed for craving more. Her hand caught at his and her fingers twined around his stiff digits, the tug on his hand a little more brutal than he would have expected from such a girl if he hadn't known what she was.

It was wrong, he knew that, yet as she led him to the door, pausing to lick purposefully, seductively on the unmarked side of his neck, he couldn't recall anything else feeling so right.

And so he was drawn out and back into the night.

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