Prologue

He was a stupid son of a bitch.

No two bloody ways about it.  ‘Just call me Mr. Obvious’.  Now that the Bit knows, nothing will stay a secret.  “What else does she say about me?” he mimicked in his earlier pathetically hopeful voice.  Like it could possibly be anything good! 

She hadn’t even noticed.  Stood right in front of her, showing off the new threads, and nothing.  Not even a blink.  No dimming of the disgust. 

Bloody bint! 

All this effort, and she still didn’t have a clue.  But it’s coming, in the little package of the wonder Key.  Littler Summers. 

Bloody Hell! 

Better that it had stayed a secret.

Spike paced, and paced, and paced.  His legs stretched angrily with each step as he beat a frustrated path back and forth from his front door.  On a whim he stopped, and pulled it open as quietly as his jangled, hyper nerves allowed. 

Over the breeze he could hear Dawn’s strident voice. “Oh, like you didn’t notice.”

 He groaned and held on to the door, slumping against it in a sudden clarity of disaster.

“He’s so in to you.”  

He slid to the floor, silently shouting for Dawn to shut her gob before she spoiled everything.  How could the bint shoot him down like that when she had just told him that she appreciated him for talking to her like an adult, instead of the alien that all the Scoobies were?  Did she hate him that much that she would set him up against her sister?

Afraid to hear Buffy’s tirade of good versus evil- and he was nothing better than the spawn of Satan himself- he backed away from the door and sunk against the opposite wall, elbows on knees and head miserably on hands.

“Well, now we’re buggered.  Slayer will off you for sure now, you great git.”

Shaking his head, he fumbled over the memories locked forever in his skull. The dream that had brought it all out of hiding, the feelings inappropriate and wrong but still knocking him over the head with their obviousness.  He just wanted to crawl back into a tiny hole and cover himself up with earth for another fifty years and save himself for when she was dead and gone and his hope became hopeless.

He could just kick himself for feeling like a little fluffy-haired poofter from 1880, eager to impress a girl with sonnets and hearts, when all he was known for now was fangs and ridges and fists.  And trails- no rivers- of gushing blood.  ‘Not anymore’, he valiantly protested.  He wasn’t like that anymore.  He tried.  He did all he could to help her, to keep the bloodlust down, to protect her and her ridiculous friends.  To be different.  To be someone she could trust.  As long as he could fight the monsters by her side, he could do it.

His crush hadn’t yet been explored, but he was eager.  He was motivated; struggling, but motivated.  He knew he could change.  For her.  He could do anything, if it meant she would let him just look at her.  Not even touch her.  Just look without turning her sparky hate-filled greens on him.  If she would just let him through her barrier, allow him to be something for her.  Allow him to help.  Even if she could never love him back, and really he didn’t ever expect her to.  But if she could just…try…to have some faith in him, help him a little.  Like him a little. He could do it.  For someone he loved.  He could change.  For her.

Chapter One

Buffy felt her jaw lock in a permanent ‘Huh?’ 

Did Dawn really just tell her that Spike was in love with her? 

Every coherent thought- and all knowledge of how to conduct further thought processes- vacated her mind as she stood stunned in place.  Flashing images of five minutes ago reminded her that she wasn’t a vegetable, and instead of letting her usual disgust and dislike banish all Spike focus from her mind, she contemplated.

It was dark when she had finally decided to resort to using Spike as her very own bloodhound.  She hadn’t really been concerned that Glory had found her Key; just thought that Dawn had done another runner like the other night when they found her at the hospital.  It hadn’t even crossed her mind that the teen might have taken it upon herself to befriend Spike.  Though if she took the time, she supposed she could understand why Dawn might feel drawn to him.  She had just found out a shocking reality about herself- in Spike’s presence- and maybe she felt that she was now on the fringe of the group like Spike was.  Neither of them human.  Or at least not entirely so.

Anyway, find Dawn she had.  Sitting cross-legged on Spike’s sarcophagus and listening to scary bedtime stories from the resident monster. 

But it was almost cute to see the self-conscious way he had jumped forward to apologise for keeping Dawn there so long; he actually seemed concerned that Joyce and Buffy might have been worried.  Then when she had challenged him- making him continue his bloodthirsty story- he had seemed nervous, perhaps even insecure in the conclusion. 

Gave the little girl to a good family, my foot!  Buffy almost smiled, but controlled it when she saw Dawn studying her intently. 

There was no doubt about it.  Spike had seemed gentle, sweet- even playful- yet with such a load of alarmingly sensual appeal that Buffy now felt the jolt all the way to her pinky toes.  An icy shiver brought out the goosebumps on her skin and she allowed herself to give in to the urgent need for denial.  Denial in response.  But the facts suddenly had gained a clarity that felt a little sickly.  Oh God…the nerves, the sweet and gentle way he spoke to her, reassuring her of Dawn’s safety…maybe Dawn was right.  Maybe Spike did think he was in love with her.  Think.  It wasn’t as though vampires really could love.  Demons just couldn’t.

Buffy cringed.  Without word or sound, she tugged on Dawn’s arm and they meandered, dangerously unfocused, through the cemetery toward Revello Drive.

The cringe was secretly followed up with an inner grin of smugness. 

Someone liked her. 

Admittedly, the fact that it was an evil, murdering ‘someone’ that liked her was a little disturbing, but beggars couldn’t be choosers, and it was kind of flattering.  If she completely dismissed the existence of ridges and fangs, and forgot about the thousands of people he must have slaughtered over the last century and the demented ho bag he’d been devoted to for the same period, then she had a veritable little hottie after her.  Who wouldn’t be flattered?  In fact, if she herself were a vampire, she’d be panting like a horny teenager for him.  In that incarnation he had tons to offer.  The kisses they had shared during Willow’s spell were enough to suggest that much to her.

Sure, he was completely different from the guys she had traditionally gone for.  He wasn’t big, broad and tall.  She didn’t have to strain her neck to talk to him or look into his face.  She didn’t feel overwhelmed by his size just by standing near him.  And his bleached-white hair didn’t bring back every heartbreaking memory of Angel by association, and the times she had spent immersing herself in him. 

In fact, unlike Parker and Riley, there was nothing aesthetic at all about Spike that could remind her of Angel.  Only his ancestry could do that, and really, who ever bothered to think of that?  Spike hated Angel, and Angel abhorred Spike.  Thoughts of the two concurrently was not encouraged.  But thinking about the differences just made Buffy call forward the realities.

He was slight of build, though remarkably compact.  Strong in that special supernatural way.  Blonde beyond the bottle, he looked hot in leather, and possessed the sexiest swagger she had ever seen.  The way he fought was amazing- like watching art created.  Not that she would ever admit to him that she had ever noticed anything positive or a little captivating about him.  He had traits that she had never found in another, ones that made her jealous of Drusilla for having them be totally hers- his devotion, and care, and undying love.  The stupid bat just proved beyond doubt her insanity for dumping him. 

Buffy even knew without testing that Spike would be there for her in a fix, even probably without cash…actually, now that she thought about it, he hadn’t asked for any money the other night when they went looking frantically for Dawn.  Maybe the asking for money was just a convenient way to mask his satisfaction in helping, as well as giving him a way to finance his existence.  Great, even Spike gets paid to help.  Unlike her, who still had to rely on an allowance from her mother.

A gush of motherly concern hit them when they entered the house and Buffy felt relieved to have something new to take her mind off her sudden fixation.  It would be wrong to even consider that Spike was in love with her. 

After allowing Dawn to be swept along for dinner, Buffy decided that the best thing to do would be to ignore it- and, even better, him- and hope the whole subject got buried by some Big Bad flavour of the month.  Not that they needed another one because they so had more than they could cope with in Glory.

Buffy looked across the table at Dawn and it brought the conversation round to her.

“So Buffy, Dawn tells me that you found her at Spike’s?”  Joyce was smiling in relief, her daughter found and in no danger, even though she was sharing crypt space with an evil vampire.

Buffy was incredulous.

“Spike was telling her about his murderous past, in gory detail, too, I think. He tried to pretend it was all flowers and puppy dog tales. Innocent my ass.”  As she whispered the last sentence under her breath, Buffy continued cutting her food into miniscule proportions, feeling suddenly uncomfortable about the topic of conversation.  She looked down at her plate, praying to God that they would move on and leave her out of the talk.  The mere mention of Spike made her tummy feel all warm, and that alone made her want to dive out of the room and throw up.

“Spike has been so helpful lately.  Maybe we should invite him over for dinner?”  Joyce looked at her daughters expectantly and received a high wattage smile from Dawn and a concerned frown from Buffy.

“He’s a vampire, Mom.  What would you serve him?  Borsht made with blood?”

Her horrified attempts at levity went ignored by Joyce’s humoured giggle.

“I guess I could try that.  But Spike does eat food, Buffy.  At the very least I know he eats marshmallows in his hot chocolate, and I’d be willing to bet that he would eat other things.”

“Oh, oh…he likes those onion flower things at the Bronze.  And spicy Buffalo wings.”  Dawn was eager to share Spike’s culinary favourites in encouragement of his inclusion at their dinner.

“See?  Perfect.  Next time you see him, Buffy, ask him over.  Now girls, I’m feeling a little tired.  Would you mind clearing the table and cleaning up?  I think I might go to bed.”

Buffy looked up, worry shoving her out of her imposed horror-filled image of sharing a table with a vamped out Spike, slurping up spoonfuls of coagulated blood.

“Of course.  You go to bed.  We’ll take care of everything.”

She watched in concern as Joyce slowly ascended the staircase.  The clatter of plates being cleared from the table reminded Buffy of her duty to help, and she became involved in the nightly process of family chores, muttering darkly about bleached vampires that finagled their way into people’s houses where they didn’t belong.

Her earlier excursion out to locate Dawn, and then her exploration of Spike’s possible amorous feelings left her thoroughly exhausted- not to mention wigged- and so instead of patrolling she decided to head up for an early night in bed.  She felt overwhelmingly glad that she had moved back home as she trudged up the stairs and allowed her body to succumb to the weariness that emotional turmoil can produce.

Climbing into her bed after a quick wash and teeth brush, she closed her eyes and willed out all images of consciousness.  As she slipped further into sleep, one image stuck.  The nervous smile of a fiendish vampire. 

Oh Brother.

His figure was cast in dark allure; the roughened bark of the Summers’ tree his coveted hiding spot.  The burning tip of his cigarette floated in the air like a spastic drunken firefly, so dark was the night despite the lights lining the street.  Watching had become a habit over the past months and he could never surrender to sleep without this nightly vigil.  For a moment as it started he always hated her for his weakness.

As her bedroom light announced her retreat to bed, it was all he could do not to climb her tree and perch outside the window, getting the birdseye view of what form of perfection cast those shadows to roam the night.  He closed his eyes and imagined holding her image in his inner eye to taunt and eviscerate himself, making his loneliness sink within like the blade of a short sword.  He felt the cut, the gutting and the resultant gushing of his blood.  His vitality slipping away a little more each night that he had to accept that she would never return his love.

He had known earlier, when the Nibblet had spilled his secret, that Buffy’s stunned silence put the ring of death on any declaration he might have had in the offing.  It would take a man with more stones than he possessed to push that one out for her view and consideration.

The light went out and he hung his head in a sudden lapse into self-pity.  Why did he always fall for women who could never be there for him the way he wanted to be for them?  All his life he had been the romantic fool, falling for strength beyond him.  Well, perhaps not so much in Dru, though he knew it was there at her core.  But in their way all three had made fun of him.  Emasculated him.  None of them had allowed him to find his potential and help him grow.

Over a hundred years with Drusilla had certainly taught him a lot; the perfect kill, the perfect Master, the perfect lover.  She had taught him to be a wet nurse for her, his emotional and romantic self always succumbing to her petty will, but within the gentle devotion she had inspired in him, Dru had uncovered a core of steel that William never had a clue he could garner.  His death may have brought him finally to life, but it was she who had taught him to live.  Admittedly Spike had to watch his step around Angelus and Darla, but for those first few years she was his protector, his guide until he could establish his place and defend it with determined hate.

The street was silent now, and he knew that it was hopeless to hang around longer.  He set off at a slow walk, making his way almost unwillingly to the nearest demon bar that would let him drink in peace.  Usually unable to find it, he decided he may as well just settle for Willy’s.  Within a short walk Spike had made it to the alley that housed Willy’s fine establishment.

No words, just lewd gestures had Willy hastily departing with a sealed bottle of scotch and a shot glass.  Feeling uncomfortable with his back to the room, Spike turned and located a free booth toward the back and made his way to it.

He couldn’t put his finger on it, but the evening so far had offered a strange sense of looming in the shadows that he had been trying to make sense of all night.  An unsteady expectation had him on alert, and though he nursed the numbing liquid from the bottle, he was not eager for it to take him over for the night.  As much as he wanted to pass out and stop thinking of Buffy’s intolerant face when she found Dawn in his crypt, he knew that he was bound to only dream fantasies of her instead.  And he could do that just as well awake and on his toes.  The night definitely was excreting an insidious power that set his teeth on edge.  Passing a swift eye over the room, he found nothing to alarm him so turned again to his empty glass.

What should he do?

If he knew the Slayer- and he was pretty partial to the belief that he did- then she would reply to the Bit’s startling little statement with fierce denial.  She would pretend that she never even heard it, and really- as far as she knew- he didn’t know that Dawn had opened her big mouth on the subject.  He ought to crack Dawn’s skull for putting him in the shit like that.  So much for thinking she was a friend.

He was back to thinking about what he should do about it.  As hopeless as he thought the situation, he was still man enough to want to push it, to make her consider him; look at him as a possiblity at least.  Look at him with a little lust just once before she planted her fashionable boot in his balls.

Then again, maybe it was just time to cut his losses and just get the hell out of town.  As much as the idea galled him, he could go to Angel, try helping his lot of hopeless.  Might at least keep him in blood and smokes, and in time maybe he’d find himself someone who could like him for himself and give Spike hope that he was a little bit loveable.

He felt himself teetering on the brink of something.  As the alcohol slowly bled into his system he felt a decision on the tip of his tongue and the hurt started to seep into his heart.  He didn’t want to leave; wasn’t sure he could get through a day without seeing her.  The shrivelling of his dick every time one of her sarcastic gibes hit home was really a kind of sadistic reassurance, a sign that she thought of him at least in some capacity.  He smiled at the imagery, and barked a laugh.  She may as well cause everything to shrivel as he was more undead without her than he was when he originally hit this crap town.

On that morbid note Spike hauled his arse out of the seat and staggered on only slightly unsteady feet to the door.  He was a little amazed that no one had tried to challenge his right to walk the streets tonight.  No demon relative seeking vengeance on the turncoat vampire.

He set out on the path that would take him the longest to get home, completely unprepared to settle in for the night.  He heard a train whistle blow in the darkness of the night and felt a strange shiver brush over his skin.  Confused he lifted his eyes and looked around, sensing something off but not able to tell definitively what it was. 

For a moment he thought he could  feel a Sire’s pull, but shook his head knowing that Angel was tucked up nice and safe in his LA bed.  And Dru, well, she would be tucked up in some demons bed for sure.  That was the way she wanted it now.  As gutted as her decision had left him when it happened, he had accepted the pain now and gone beyond it.

Other things caused him pain now.  The chip.  There was bleedin’ pain if ever there was one!  The Slayer.  His topsy-turvy existence by her say so was enough to make him want to go on a rampage and cut all the sanctimonious Scoobies off at the knees.  But he wouldn’t.  Because she loved them. 

“Bloody hell, I’m pathetic.”

His pace had stopped to a short stumble forward every minute or so.  For some reason he felt a real reluctance to go home, almost like he sensed that this would be his last night in his own bed, and not in a good way. 

Some little thing tripped his instincts and his demon growled a warning.  Before he could complete his vampiric statement, though, Buffy was in his path.

“H-Hi.  Um, watcha doin’?”

He looked at her in shock, his senses slow but eventually he caught on to her speaking to him with a human greeting.

“Er, nothin’?”  He phrased it as a question, sure that she would point out that he was indeed doing something and- of course- it was no bloody good, but she was silent.

Her skin suddenly tinged a subtle shade of pink and he looked at her in wonder.

“Little late for patrol, luv. Gonna be sun-up soon.”  His voice was soft, almost affectionate, but her sudden focus on him had him catching the slip, and he visibly hardened his heart to her.  His mind was blank as he clawed through it for a topic of conversation, but once again a sense of foreboding gripped him and he took another look around.

“Couldn’t sleep.”  She had her head tilted seductively to the side and he had a sudden need to bite his lip hard in the hope of changing the direction of his dirty mind from the constriction of his pants.

“Right then.  Let’s get you home now.  No baddies left out tonight.  All good Slayers should be home and in bed at this time of night.”

He was fascinated by the gulp of her throat when he mentioned bed and his cock began to throb.  His confused reaction to her was either through seduction or embarrassment, but this weird tingle he felt announcing danger had him grabbing her elbow and directing her back toward Revello.  With an urgency he knew to be correct, he dismissed her behaviour in favour of getting her home and safe. 

Even if it meant that he would be that much closer to his own home. 

He sighed in defeat but allowed himself to relish the buzzing tingle in his fingers from cupping the bare skin of her elbow, before letting go and curling his reluctant fingers in a fist.  It was just to capture her warmth, as well as to restrain himself from grabbing her, shoving her up against a wall and attempting to shag her blind.

Darkness was lightening behind his back as he left her grudgingly alone at her front door.  Not a word had been spoken the whole walk back, and though for them the lack of insults was odd, the quiet had been comforting.  He hadn’t a clue what she was thinking, and he felt that in itself was a first.  But he found himself trying to block out his observation.  If she was about to mount a harsh argument as to why they were wrong for each other, then he could wait.

With one final wistful look, he turned and followed the well-known trail to home and prayed that he could sleep without craving the touch of his Slayer.  He just wanted to get some dreamless sleep.  Bloody hell did he need some rest.  The Slayer had him tied up in knots and he felt his sanity slipping through the resultant exhaustion his many fantasies and dreams were causing him.

He bypassed the fridge, the telly and his armchair, choosing to flop down on the hard lid of the sarcophagus and wondered when it was exactly that he decided to settle for such primitive conditions.  He’d always had a comfy bed, lived in reasonable style.  Why had he done nothing about setting up a decent place to sleep?  Downstairs would have been perfect.  A chill brought back his earlier conviction that he might be finally at an end for this place, and he was suddenly consumed by panic.  Spike hoped it wasn’t his death; just a move to nicer accommodations. 

Deciding that he was too tired to worry about it, he surrendered finally to sleep, and mercifully dreamt of nothing.

Chapter Two

The next night

The amused, story-telling voice of her mother startled Buffy when she finally got home. Her investigation of the train for clues had led to nothing but the sight of a number of taped body outlines and she felt weary at the prospect of trying to hunt down leads. As she ventured further down the hall she became aware that her mother was not telling her tales to Dawn, and the buzzing tingle that informed her of a vampire's presence finally made it through her preoccupied haze and she realised that Spike was here. Here!

Oh God. She paused for the barest shift of time, reflecting on her outfit and had to make a tremendous effort to prevent her fingers from doing a crisis comb through her hair. She closed her eyes briefly in disgust, more so at herself than at Spike, and swallowed hard in resignation. Except for that little pit down deep and almost hidden in her belly that was warming with excitement that she was to see him again.

She had spent the better half of the day fighting herself and her opinion of Spike, trying but not succeeding in finding any way to allow his crush to be acceptable. She couldn't do it. As fuzzy as the thought of his feelings made her feel, history and memory arose to shout it out. She had been down this road before, with nothing less exceptional than a vampire with a soul, and look where that had gotten her.

No. She had to be out of her mind to even allow a seconds entertainment of a romantic life with Spike. Her friends would go nuts; her mom would freak. It just wasn't possible. A year ago, even less, he wanted her dead. Just what the hell was he playing at now, making Dawn think he was in love with her?

It was wrong.

On so many levels.

Like Xander said, it couldn't be real. She shouldn't take it seriously. She wouldn't.

Even though he had been waiting specifically for her, Spike still seemed surprised when she finally made it to the kitchen. She had felt every single step down the hallway, and now she felt so tense that she could feel her teeth squeak. Joyce's story slid to an easy end but with the prospect of a new beginning, and Buffy found herself almost wanting to kiss Spike for interrupting and redirecting the action.

He ushered her away from her family and told her of info he held in regard to the train massacre. Shuffling her feet nervously, she tried to fob him off until finally giving in and collecting her coat and 'pointy sticks'. With a sickening sense of dread, she followed him to his hunk of junk car and got in.

The trip to their destination did nothing to relieve Buffy's discomfort. She was jumpy, and she knew it. So did Spike after she nearly dived out the door to prevent his touch as he reached over her to get his hip flask. She actually shrunk back in the seat in embarrassment when she realised his intention. With nothing left to do but wait and listen to his banal singing, she chose to study him and almost reeled in shock.

He looked different. Not so harsh. In fact, a lot of the black was missing. His pants were olive cargos, loose around his strong legs...legs she had always known were strong from his tight jeans. In fact, those jeans had merit. Wonder why he traded them in? The shirts had changed too- much more subtle and flattering and with a gasp she conceded that he actually looked really good with the change. Her face flamed when she caught him noticing her stare, and he smiled at her tentatively.

The duster was gone, and her eyes widened in disbelief. Her fear escalated as she did a quick count back and realised that his new look had been going on for a while now. Dread swallowed her breath as she finally accepted that maybe Dawn was right on the money.

Two loser looking vamps strolled into their view and she almost leapt out of the car to get away from what she was starting to understand. Not just understand, but believe. Her confusion over how she felt was digging in and she felt disorientated, and slightly out-of-control. Until anger suddenly gripped her and compounded with her tiredness. She had these vamps pegged from the start: losers and cowards. And the way Spike was trying to communicate with her had her wigged big time.

Sweet and gentle- cooperative.

The urgency to get away from him possessed her feet and she nearly ran for the door, only to come to a screaming halt when he pulled it open for her.

Asking him if he considered the time they had just spent together to be a date just flew out of her mouth, and it was way too late to take it back. Without properly preparing herself she had thrust herself into a conversation she both didn't want and wasn't prepared to have. Her refusal to allow any form of her past imprint her future allowed her brain to release the vitriolic words that fell from her mouth.

"Are you out of your mind?"

She wanted to put her hands around his throat and squeeze him until his head popped off. Red lightening bolts of terror were shooting through her in a frantic rush and her mouth kept time alarmingly well. While the inside of her head fought a raging battle of flashing red, she fought hard for composure rather than wailing on him with her fists. His comments of feelings, and in the work place, made her hitch her breath in horror, the possibility of his being right too shocking to bear. As she backed away from him, and he continued on a determined path toward her, her heart squeezed violently knowing what was to come. And she couldn't stop him. But what got her even more was that little hidden part of her that didn't want to stop this.

His abrupt change in character was what initially put her off-balance. His earlier almost puppy dog eagerness to gain her approval had now stepped aside for the assured vamp she had always dealt with. Oozing sex appeal. But it was mixed with a little shyness she thought, and she just stopped herself from softening.

She couldn't want this, no matter how good it made her feel; or how special. Spike was no good for her- he was no good to any human- and the world would be better off without him.

Her derogatory phrases repeated through her mind on a loop, and she took not a second to try to understand why she needed to remind herself of Spike's evilness. She felt tempted again to violence, though, when he tried to argue her down from her point of view.

At the end of her tether, she threw out her one, damning argument.

"Spike! You're a vampire."

She stepped back as he slithered forward a step.

"Angel was a vampire." His voice reeked with knowledge, with knowing, and confidence that he had shot her argument to useless pieces.

"Angel was good." She felt desperate, cornered, and she clung to all the old arguments with her life. She was right; she had to believe everything or risk invalidating all her decisions in regards to Angel. There was no room here for Spike to buck the system, to make her question what she had learned. Her experience with Angel was that she could only trust him when he was ensouled. Spike, sans soul, could not be trusted ever. It was a given. He was just playing another trick; it was another scheme to put her off her game. In no way would she let herself wonder why she entrusted her family to him.

His change of tone muddled her perception briefly. His sincerity robbed her of breath and just for one second she was desperate to believe.

"I can be too." He sounded determined, though hurt. "I've changed, Buffy."

And her walls slammed up in overdrive. This was one she knew. Soulless demons could not change, and she almost laughed at how he almost had her. Her argument came to her fast then and her refusal to accept his claim was almost violent, as was her desperation to just get away from him.

"What? That chip in your head?"

That little nod was a losing effort, for she was determined.

"That's just holding you back. You're like a serial killer in prison."

"Women marry them all the time." And Buffy scoffed. "But I'm not like that. Something's happening to me. I can't stop thinking about you. If that means turning my back on the whole evil thing..."

For one hesitant beat of time she wanted to believe, cling to his words and find truth in his eyes. She almost convinced herself that it was there, but commonsense came to her rescue and she denied it all. She wouldn't allow him to speak any longer, and with a forceful "You don't know what you mean..." she was gone, leaving a confused and defeated Spike in her dust.

*********

Spike sat in his car, listening morosely to punk music that made him want to dust himself. He had taken a risk tonight, thinking that he had picked up enough signs that she might not hate him so completely and he might be in with a tiny bit of luck.

Well! Buggered again!

He left the vehicle; feeling bereft of all sense and purpose, and wondered again why he put himself through this. He could understand her opposition. It was a big jump. Her trying again with another vampire. But he knew as soon as that whole thing came up about Angel that it was time to admit defeat. She would never entertain the possibility that he could change. As far as she was concerned, all vampires were mindless lumps who couldn't think for themselves beyond which little sweetmeat was to be drained. Even knowing him all this time had not altered her mistaken perceptions.

Come to think of it, that raised a number of questions. It was Spike's belief that, other than the souled Angel, it was unlikely that any vampire had really been studied in depth. So why hadn't the Watcher taken advantage of studying him, noticed the way Spike had been changing, and getting his Slayer to know the truth about vampires? Other than that token effort when he'd first got the chip- when Spike had still been deep in denial- the Rupert had made no further effort with him. Perhaps if the silly git had done, then he wouldn't have to go through this stupid fight now. That he could get her to believe he was genuine about wanting to change. If Buffy would just give him a chance.

As he approached his own welcoming crypt he felt the anger and hopelessness escalate. He hated unrequited love. Hated it with a bloody passion. Why did it have to be another woman that couldn't see the good in him, the potential? He was ready to sacrifice everything he was for her, and she didn't care. She couldn't even sit there calmly and contemplate his gift. She was an instrument of good versus evil and she couldn't even take the time to consider what he was offering.

He entered the crypt and felt himself on the brink of defeated tears. A desperate sniff had him stiffening his back, and the sense of calamity he had searched the meaning of the previous night was upon him. He froze; knowing that it was crunch time and his fears about his continued existence in this place was about to be challenged.

He called out "Who's there," but he knew before she even opened her mouth. It had been a while, but how could he ever forget?

"A happy memory. Look who's come to make everything right again?"

Her soft hypnotic voice curled through him in relief. Finally some comfort, some acceptance; he almost sighed, then felt a strange stirring of guilt. He felt lost in her presence, felt hope. Wanted to seize her with her promises, claim back the night and his person. But the more he tried to remember who he had been the less clear he became of who he now was.

"You're a killer. Born to slash, and bash..." Her seductive madness curled his hand against her non-existent heart and he thought he felt beats, mad determined beats trying to warn him.

A killer. That was exactly what Buffy refused to let go of. She wouldn't allow him to show her anything different. The irony here made him want to collapse on the floor in hysteria.

A Killer. He felt afraid and filled with trepidation, but somehow hoped that he could finally again be accepted, be at last allowed to fit in. He was just unsure if it was the right group. But Dru gifted something to him, a chance to move on, to regroup and find himself again. Like she had done the first night of her bite. She offered him a home and a family, even if it was with the heaving bitch Darla. He felt her craving, her desire to regain her family, and he knew that she was just searching as well. She also wanted to belong.

How had they all cocked it up so badly? They had been strong- a force to be reckoned with- and then one stupid flash of conscience had their happy family splintered forevermore. Down deep, though, he thought he wanted Angelus back as well. The certainty of identity then was simple. No one questioned who and what he was. Particularly not himself.

With a determined growl he accepted what the Slayer professed him to be true and followed his dark Princess to where the test of night would come.

Back in black they did nothing less than glide into the Bronze. Spike resplendent in costume placed his arms once again around the one who had been his existence for over a hundred years, and waited. His patience was almost desperation as it suddenly hit him what they were here to do. It had been so long since he had tasted warm, living blood, and he felt fear tinge his experience.

As he followed Dru up the stairs to the balcony and caught her offering, he breathed deeply. He struggled to call up the animosity that would bring forth his feeding fangs, and hesitated. Even with knowing that this is how he fed, that this was how Dru expected him to feed, the twinge of regret he felt in his gut when he caught the girl wouldn't leave. It twisted and churned until he felt tears well up in his eyes and he knew it was too late. The girl was dead, and he had something to prove. With spiteful determination he brought forward his demon and tore at her throat.

Her blood tasted like poison.

*********

Buffy felt like kicking Willow's tush all the way to the cemetery and back again. She didn't need this. She didn't want to risk any more declarations from Spike, and she didn't think she could make her disgust any clearer. So why she was heading back there to talk some more was beyond her. Or at least it was until that traitorous little voice piped up and suggested that she actually liked looking at Spike.

She stopped dead. Oh. My. God.

Nerves rioted in her stomach and she quickly made it to a bush where she was able to dry wretch in glorious private.

On the bright side, she hadn't given Glory a thought all day!

She groaned as she realised that stupid Spike had taken over her entire day with this stupid crush, and she so couldn't afford to let it go on any longer. That was why she was going to his crypt. To end it once and for all. Yep, that was the reason. And she'd keep telling herself that for as long as she needed to believe it.

Of course, when she got there, he wasn't home. Her renewed sense of purpose wouldn't let her give in and sneak off back home so she decided exploring would take up some time while she waited. Finding an entrance to the lower level, she pushed the slab aside and slowly descended the ladder. She was so used to Spike's morbid personality that she didn't even flinch at his collection of skulls and coffins littered around untidily. He did, after all, live in a crypt.

She withdrew the lighted sconce and ventured further into the cavern stopping with a feeling of apprehension before a draped shroud. Unmindful of poking around in Spike's belongings, she drew the sheet aside and gasped. With a sharp intake of breath, she located her missing sweater and vowed silently to apologise to Dawn later. The pictures scared her: photos, drawings...was that her underwear? Refusing to think, she turned tail and ran back to the ladder. Her distressed preoccupation distracted her from taking notice of her spidersense so much so that, when she reached the top again, she was surprised to be confronted by Spike.

Still stunned by the disturbing display below, the blood trickling from the corner of Spike's mouth refused to register the way it should have. Her stuttered questioning left her unprepared, unfocused and unprotected. And God, why did she feel so hurt? It made no sense, and it left her completely vulnerable.

The sound of Drusilla's amused voice was followed by the immediate shock of a tazer, which overwhelmed her instincts, and she succumbed. A second shock and she was out.

Spike thought he would feel some measure of satisfaction when Buffy was caught. He allowed Dru the honour- knowing he wouldn't remain standing if he tried- but as she collapsed, looking at him with dawning horror and fear on her face, his resolve wavered. He took the tazer from Dru and shocked her out. He seemed better able to handle the look of betrayal from the woman he had loved for over a century. Spike picked up Drusilla and took her below, restraining her with his chains.

The bitch had done it to him again. Appeared when he thought he had it all figured out, had himself all sorted. She had rejected him disdainfully and he accepted that his love was hopeless. He had asked for help to change and been kicked in the teeth. Dru had tried tonight to reverse it all, rid him of his shaky confidence and restore him as the vampire he was always feared to be. One look at her golden lovely face and he was back in Misery Town.

Gently he lifted his Slayer and positioned her in his armchair, steadily restraining her with ropes so that she couldn't easily escape him. He'd make her listen to him or be damned!

As Buffy regained consciousness she directed a hard stare his way. Her eyes were wide and flinty, hurt and devastated that he had done this to her. But equally furious. He knew that it was a long shot, that she didn't trust him enough for this method to really work. But he had almost finished with the pity ditty for the night. He knew she would never allow him a place alongside her. She wouldn't let him help protect her, the Nibblet or her mother.

The unveiling of his feelings would have her forever on guard against him. Isolating him again. And it bloody hurt that she didn't trust him. He knew that he had given her little reason to in the past, but he felt that if she had just taken the time to recognise a little bit of something good in him then she would see it, that he could do it.

For her.

He didn't speak immediately, wanting to postpone the inevitable for as long as possible. He knew that the moment he opened his mouth that she would try to shout him down. It had been said already tonight- or at least implied- but she had been hiding so far within her Angel barriers that she hadn't truly heard him. To him, it was important that she knew. Whether she accepted was another thing, but he had to make this effort now in case he never had another chance.

"I love you."

He panicked as soon as her lips separated and she attempted to speak, her anger obvious in the curl of her bottom lip. He slapped a hand over her mouth in desperation and was glad for his foresight in tying her legs as well, when kneeling put his manly package in line with her feet.

"I love you. You're all I bloody think about. Dream about. You're in my gut, in my throat. I'm drowning in you, Summers. I'm drowning in you." For a second he felt hope when he saw the wonder in her eyes, the short seconds of 'maybe' that shone in the jewel green. He knew she wanted to argue, to shoot him down, but he'd already had enough of that. Desperate to get it all out while he could, he continued. "You can't tell me there isn't anything there between you and me. I know you feel something..."

He dropped his head for a moment, too afraid to look at her, too unwilling to see her hatred, her unacceptance. When he again raised his eyes to hers they were filled with tears, struggling to not escape and destroy his reputation further. Carefully he removed his palm from across her mouth but replaced a finger to stop her speech when she looked ready to let fly.

"I know you hate me. That you think you will never love me. You were right. Angel does have a soul. He was forced to be good, and it took him a century before he still made that choice. But I had the will. I think you broke it tonight." He smiled sadly at her and his chest ached. "I know you hate me. I know you think I'm delusional. This thing between us? It's wrong. I know it. I'm not a complete idiot. But around you, I feel different. Like things are possible. But you don't want to help me and I don't know what else to do. I can't stay here and see your disgust every time you look at me, or use me for help and think I only want the money. It's time for me to go, Buffy."

And finally the tears broke free, miserable streaks that ran down his cheeks, and for a few stunned moments he was unable to speak. He watched her face frozen in shock, and something else he was unable to see clearly through the blur of his eyes.

He leaned in closer to her face, his lips resting a whisper away from the corner of her mouth, his eyes squeezed shut in his deepest hurt.

"I will always come back if you need me. If things get bad with that Glory bint, or you need help to hide Nibblet, or, just...anything. I'll be there for you. I'll be in LA. Angelus should be able to find me." He paused again before he gave her the last shred of his hope. "I'm not going to look for ways to get the chip out. So, I'll stay safe for you. Don't ever be afraid of me. I'll never hurt you. Not interested in killin' Slayers anymore." The husky scratch of his voice ceased, almost fully consumed with emotion, sorrow making his heart black and bleeding.

His eyes still closed, he moved slightly to brush his lips over hers, sucking gently -and surprisingly without opposition- on her top lip. The kiss only lasted for mere seconds, but it blew his mind. He sunk into a depressive state, grieving that he would not see her each day; her smile, her hair, her eyes and her skin.

She was lost to him and he just didn't have the strength to fight a losing battle. He was tired of women not wanting him.

All the purpose he had reclaimed earlier had dissipated on the winds of uncertainty, and even though he had a feeling his decision now was monumentally wrong, direction was forced and it was time to go. He stood, and stepped away from her, she still and quiet, looking at him in shock.

"Dru's chained downstairs. By the time you get those ropes undone, we'll be gone. Tell the Bit, I'm sorry." A pause, a plea. "Don't forget me, Buffy."

He grabbed his duster and was gone.

Chapter Three

Minutes were devoured within the frozen vacuum of time that Buffy had almost instantly surrendered too.  Those words had tripped her alarm triggers and suspended her rational belief.  Leaving.  She felt numb, vacant of all feeling until the hurt from her chafed wrists bled through the walls of her denial, and she understood.  Spike was gone.  She had sat almost comatose with disbelief and hurt throughout his little speech, his tears crashing through her defenses until all her hope exploded outward, but all she could do was sit silently.  Spike was gone.

Feeling leaked steadily into her limbs and the numbness began to subside, leaving her with gaping wounds and sores that she wished were physical.  Her brain regained activity last and when it kicked in; Spike was gone.  Spike was gone.

“No,” she called out frantically, tugging hard on the ropes that cut into her flesh.  “No,” she protested louder, but as the ropes loosened and finally fell from her bloodies wrists, she knew it was too late.  Her vampire tingle had been fading as she had resembled her statue routine in the chair, and now it was gone.  Continuing to deny like had been her habit all night, she wrestled with the final ropes around her ankles and stumbled forward to her knees.  Crawling urgently forward, she gripped the poles of the ladder and almost threw herself to the lower level.  Her knees ached with the thud of landing and she surged to motion again, seeking through instinct for his trail.  Chains still swayed in movement from where he obviously had kept her safe from Drusilla, and an entrance to the sewers seemed to leer at her in victory.

The emptiness of the cave around her forced her to admit defeat and she collapsed to her knees on the dusty flooring.  The shrine was still in place, though through suddenly blurry vision she could see spaces.  Where before drawings and photos of her had covered every space, now there was bare wall where her face used to reside.  That he had taken something to remind him of her should have freaked her out, make her want to go all Slayer on his ass, but for this one moment all she felt was hope. 

He didn’t want to forget her completely.  Just remembering his words- the ones that made him cry-told her all she needed to know about his feelings for her, and his lack of desire to abandon her.  He didn’t want to let her go, and he wouldn’t cut himself off from her either.  He had offered her help if she needed it for Dawn or her mother.  He had offered himself for her benefit also, and that last one she couldn’t deny to herself any longer.  Nor could she deny the sharp, almost searing pain she felt in her heart for the loss of him in her life. She could blame no one but herself for his need to leave.

She got to her feet and looked around slowly, not willing yet to leave the one space he had been last.  She found his trunk of clothing- all the new pants, and shirts and the chocolate leather jacket-that were really very nice.  She found a few books on a shelf, and picked them up thoughtfully.  She dumped them in the trunk and moved on to the shrine in her honour.  Carefully removing the pictures and her sweater, she placed them in the trunk with the rest and decided to pull it up the ladder with her. 

Upstairs she found bottles of bourbon, a very warm looking blanket, and a ‘Kiss the Librarian’ novelty mug.  In they went.  The television and chair…well, she wasn’t Superwoman.  Holding the trunk with deliberate possessive care, she left the crypt and took her bounty home, hoping no one would be up to quiz her about her night or her new box of goodies.

She made her stealthy way upstairs unobserved and dived for the bed, the trunk bouncing softly on the mattress.  The blanket-more an old-fashioned quilt she now observed- was first out of the pile.  The bourbon was set immediately into her cupboard to stave off temptation.  Almost reverently she pulled out photos and drawings and really looked.  The pencil and charcoal lines of her face betrayed a sensual hand that caused her breath to hitch painfully in her throat. 

Had Spike done these?  His vision had been inspired, wanting, caressing, the lines flowing sensually over her features like warmed satin over cold curves.  Sensual and erotic. His care swept her up in a draft of longing, and her lower lip trembled.  Not until she saw several drops of moisture hit the surface of the top picture did she realise that she was crying.  Her body shook with the effort to keep her cries silent. 

Putting the pile of pictures aside, she withdrew a pile of shirts- clingy spandex that had warmed his flesh.  The colours were altered forms of his traditional standby, amidst them all was only one black and this she scrunched into a ball and held to her face.  Comforted by his scent, the faint drop of alcohol and tar, she let the hurt go and sobbed.  She curled into a ball on the surface of her bed, shuddering at intervals.

His face…the resignation on his face as he told her what she had been convinced were  lies, a story concocted to knock down her guard and take over her mind.  His misery was so beautiful in its reality; the expression of emotion more convincing than his words.  The one thing she felt caught in, however, was his decision to leave.  To not stay and fight.  Spike had always been a fighter, but then details niggled at her memory and the burden was uncovered for her useless mind to grasp. 

He always gave up, when it came to love- an exercise in futility and heartbreak. When it came to Cecily.  When it came to Drusilla.  Turned by the rejection of one, and abandoned through the rejection of the other, she had uncovered a pattern that she found personally wounding.  He doesn’t fight for the ones he loves, not when their refusal to have him is absolute.  Or at least appears to be.

Her brow creased in sudden confusion.  Was her rejection absolute?  He had only just professed his love tonight; an inkling of his interest was fresh.  The course of their history ran through her mind like a motion picture screening the highlights of summer, and she gasped in knowing.  She had always used her hate, her disdain and disgust to keep him below.  Once the government had taken care of his lethal tendencies- his predatory power-she had stuck in her blade of emotional wounding to keep him vulnerable.  One small computer chip modified his behaviour while she alone devastated his nature.

He had handed her a gift tonight- had offered her his heart on a shiny but dented platter. And though he suspected her of wanting to pitch any of his offering to the nearest bonfire and destroy, he had made himself weak to her so that she could know the truth.  That in itself was something Buffy Summers had trouble with: the truth. 

But the shininess of his eyes was too intense, too beseeching for her to ignore, or bury her head in the sand in ignorance.  As torn as she now felt in her beliefs and expectations, she could not deny to herself that he had told her a fundamental truth; his love for her was deep.  It was consuming.  It was necessary to him.  And he had left rather than let her use the knowledge against him and hurt him further than she already had been.

The fear that engulfed her washed steadily over her long-standing defenses until all she felt was tiredness and acceptance.  Another had left, promising devotion and help when needed, would be back if wanted.  Could she trust in him to not get rid of the chip, and believe that he would never be a threat to her family and friends?  She wanted it so much- suddenly felt desperate for him to not be like Angel, full of empty promises and hope.

Sitting up, she stroked the leather jacket, admiring its sheen and colour and wondered when Spike had found (adopted) good taste.  Then she wondered why she hadn’t noticed his change.  His permanent black should have been conspicuous in its absence, yet no one had realised. 

And his claims.  He had told her that he had tried to change, that he wanted to be different for her; and this is what caused the hurt to well up inside again, promoting a tremendous sense of failure and confusion.  Could Giles be wrong?  Was it possible for demons to change?  She preferred to think no, comfortable in her worldview.  But, as usual, it didn’t sit with their knowledge of Spike.  Spike was the breaker of moulds, a trendsetter- not a follower.  His actions had never been consistent with normal observed vampire behaviour, so why had they forced him into that box?

His face would haunt her dreams tonight, she knew.  That smooth white skin of his stunningly attractive face would stick in her thoughts until she wanted to stab herself to escape the torture. 

His sincerity warmed her heart and all of a sudden reality slammed into her like a semi into the front of a house.  Its impact obliterated her self-control.  Internal screams held her captive as she came to know, she was on her own.  Up against Glory she now had no strength in her hip pocket, no back-up plan or sanctuary for Dawn should Glory get too close.  She had driven away her only hope of getting out of this alive.  Sure, he said he would come back if she needed him, but she needed him now and he had already left.  It wasn’t what they did…come back.

No, she had to face it.  Spike was gone.

And she had never felt so cold.

The steady hum of the engine had numbed his mind of all interference.  Dru chattered beside him in riddles until he withdrew into himself to keep his sanity intact.  His past held her in over a century of affection and compassion, but now he felt like ripping her bleeding head off just to shut her up.  She felt like a stranger to him now- only two years apart and he felt like he had never spent more than a second in her crazy presence. 

He had become so wrapped up in Buffy that his whole past seemed to be wiped clean, and that thought held him in shocked quiet.  If he had such a clean bloody slate, then what was he doing leaving her?  Getting himself involved in this evil again?  He hung his head, defeated, knowing that he was one step closer to proving himself the monster that she claimed him to be.

His retreat from Buffy and his sincere declarations had not been swift; in fact, he could be accused rightly of dragging his heals on the escape.  He had unchained Dru then lead her out at a walk, that little light of hope that Buffy would unravel herself and come after him- and beg him not to leave- still resisting extinguishing with each dragging step. 

But of course, she didn’t.  He had strained to listen for any movement at all to show that she had come undone from the ropes, and he had heard nothing.  Long, long minutes of nothing.  And to him, those minutes had been telling.

When that realisation hit, he had felt like running; running like William, crying and broken for the failure to win love yet again.  But Dru would have caught him again, tuned in to his pain she was.  Instead, he walked and her conversation with pixies had begun.

He had pointed the De Soto in the direction of LA but shrunk away every time Dru reached over to caress him, to congratulate him on being such a good boy or such a bad doggie.  He hadn’t even made it out of the sewers before he could admit to himself that he had made a huge mistake.  Dru was going to expect him to feed from her kills, and later kill again on his own. 

He had made a promise to Buffy that he wouldn’t get the chip out, and he would stand by that.  He had to be sure that she would not be afraid that they would be back to a 'to the death' relationship, and he owed the Nibblet, even if this was all her fault.  If she had only stayed quiet on the topic he could have stayed watching from the shadows, never revealing to Buffy how he truly felt.  Her ignorance could have been his bliss, but now he was lost to it all.  No more brown baggies from the blood bank, and at that he had at least expected himself to be pleased.  Instead, he just felt more damned, like his bridges were burned before he ever had the opportunity to make the choice of crossing.

Very little that Dru had relayed once they hit the road had made much sense to him, so he had no idea where they were headed.  Other than it might be a good idea to avoid Peaches for the moment.   Her bizarre language chattered on like talktime radio and he marvelled at how out of practice he was at deciphering her meaning.  He supposed that was as good a sign as any to prove to him how far apart he had grown from her.  Not his frail princess anymore, she resembled a mentally fractured child.  Spike cringed at the implication that he would need to return to the passive carer for Dru.  He felt beyond that now.  Beyond it, but running from what he could have been.

It was taking awhile for his head to clear anyway, and if he heard Dru try and take him over again tonight he could very well stake her.  He was feeling pretty irritated with the bitch, annoyed at her for coming to town and giving him the opportunity to leave Buffy behind. 

She stood as a symbol of his cowardice. 

He was running away. 

He could hardly believe it, but that was exactly what he was doing.  The coldness in Buffy’s eyes clenched hard on something he thought he had been protecting for years, and he just couldn’t take her knowing he loved her but treating him with disdain anyway.  If he stayed, he knew that she would turn his love into something evil.

The heady thrum of the vehicle on the highway kept his preoccupied mind on track, a very narrow track that refused to consider the real implications of his decision.

“They’ll all be laughing, William, that you have come to town.  The Angelbeast is changing, but William can help him find his place.  He’s the one, my Spike. He’ll have all the answers you’ll seek.”  Her face was concerned, imparting news that did not make her smile.

“What’s that, luv?”  His gaze never wavered from the road, with the heavy thwacking of rubber tyres on tarmac lulling him away from the car, from her.  He was amazed at the rise of anger he felt toward her.  His patience was completely shot and he would rather tune her out than hear what doom she had to inform him of the decision he had made.

Steady multitudes of lights began to greet him as he drew closer to his destination and he realised he would need some kind of direction.  If it were up to him, he’d forget all about Darla and make his own way, but now Dru had a taste for her family he knew she would not be content until they were all clinging together like girls at a wedding. 

Entering the city, the apprehension he hadn’t really been expecting started to spread across his skin, causing cold bumps to appear across his arms.  This city brought memories, nothing too hideous, but it set a standard nonetheless.  It called to William the Bloody in a way that he hadn’t experienced since he had been shoved together with that bloody chip, and in a way, he was warmed by it.  Excited even.

As he stopped at lights, he searched out the blood, sweet little morsels wandering around in packs completely clueless about what way they were about to go.  Like herds of sheep.  His gaze flickered back and forth, refusing to settle on one and making a choice about his dinner.  As his eyes finally settled on a young blonde girl, she looked up at him and he fancied he saw green eyes before gunning the engine and getting away from her as fast as possible.

“Not to worry, my little love.  We’ll stick to brunettes.  No pretty little blondes for you!”

He closed his eyes in sudden fear of what he had just been doing.  No.  This isn’t what he wanted.  He said he would stay safe for Buffy.  He knew how dangerous things were for her right now and he hoped in the back of his heart that she would seek him out for support, or his strength if that was the only thing he could give her that the Scoobies couldn’t.  If he succumbed to bloodlust, resumed the hunt, it was just another step to becoming that creature who would never have allowed himself to risk a closeness and bond with the Slayer.

He felt a sudden panic, a flash of want almost searing through his gut in memory of the girl in the Bronze.  How wrong her blood felt, how wrong everything felt about the act.  He would never have guessed he could see his past actions as evil, and perhaps he still couldn’t say it now, but this human consumption gig?  Was feeding his anxiety rather than his hunger.

Suddenly he felt grateful that they were to pick up Darla as it delayed the inevitable, giving him vital extra minutes to think.  It kept Dru on the passenger side talking up her storm of discontent.  It kept happy meals off the menu.

What it didn’t do, however, was keep Buffy out of his head.

Tears welled up again in his eyes as he remembered the completely fucked up night he’d had, how he had royally cocked up any chance he may have had of one day being her friend, of gaining her trust.  He knew she was on the way there as leaving her mother and sister with him for protection was tantamount to proof.  An annoyingly emotional lump settled in his throat, clogging all passage up and becoming painful as he accepted that he had blown it.  Big.  Fucking.  Time. 

He had to get it all out of his head before he became as loony as Dru.

No, all he had to concentrate on was finding Darla.

Chapter Four

Dawn was angry.

Dawn was livid.

Dawn was really hurt.

Spike had left, leaving Buffy mostly, but by extension that meant her. She had relied on him to be Buffy’s backup against Glory. She’d relied on him to give her moments of sanity when she started to freak out too much about being this key thing. Not only that, he had left without saying goodbye. She knew that he hadn’t promised lasting devotion to her or anything, but she had thought that they were becoming friends. She had hoped he might think it was cool being buddies with an ancient dimensional key as much as she thought it was so totally cool being friends with a Master vampire.

That word stuck in her throat for some reason, made her feel a little uncomfortable. Friends. He had left because Buffy had rejected his romantic overtures.  But what confused her most was that he had kept it secret for a long time now, so why did he choose to finally reveal his feelings to Buffy? True, Dawn had told Buffy how the cute vampire felt about her the day he left, made it so Buffy could no longer walk around oblivious to the Spike’s feelings, told Buffy that he loved…Dawn’s eyes widened in sudden guilt and shame.

Crap.

So it was her fault.  She should have stayed quiet. Buffy probably said something to make him suspect that she knew or might even be interested, and let it all out. Except Buffy wasn’t interested, and would have probably been pretty nasty to him.   Now he was gone, and they only had Buffy’s strength in the arsenal against Glory.

They were screwed, and it was all Dawn’s fault.

If Xander had thought he would feel anything other than euphoria to hear that Spike was gone for good, he would have laughed himself hoarse. He hated the vamp with a passion fuelled regularly by insults and pilfered cash, so he couldn’t see his life as being anything but bliss when the bleached pain in the ass decided to up and rain on somebody else’s parade. So initially, when Buffy announced at one of the nightly Scooby meetings that Spike had unhitched his tent and set out for greener pastures with Dru in tow, he felt like breaking out into the Snoopy dance.

In fact, he and Giles had bonded over the event, their sarcasm levels disappearing amidst their jollity so much that the girls all started to feel a little uncomfortable at the strangeness of their behaviour. All of them, including Giles, partied like it was the brink of the Millennium at the Bronze, even if the girls did all seem to be a bit on the quiet side. They danced and made merry and patrolled in packs.

And that was when the happiness started to fracture the smallest bit.  And then crack wide open. Barely a week had passed since the big event for them all to see the results of what Spike’s absence was to mean to them, and more directly, to Buffy.

Vampires and demons seemed to just collapse out of the woodwork en masse and not a night went by that Xander or Giles didn’t drag themselves home with a slight concussion or a bloodied gash on various parts of their body. In fact, the only one who escaped the majority of injury was Anya, who very wisely objected to putting all their lives in danger and stayed with Dawn and Joyce to keep them company. Of course under the guise of keeping them safe. But they all knew the truth, and envied the ex-demon’s quick thinking.

It was becoming increasingly obvious-particularly by all the barbed comments flowing from the mouths of all those newly courageous demons- that Spike had actually helped quite a lot and managed to keep the demon population down without letting on to the Scoobies of what he was doing.

In the middle of his incredulity, Xander was kind of impressed. Mainly that Spike had been taking care of all the vamps, but also grudgingly because he had never made them aware of his acts. Well, never made Buffy aware. Because after finding out the vamp had the hots for the Buffster, they had all taken turns expressing the wrongness of all that is Spike, the creepiness of his stalking, and his selfish acts of only helping when it was going to get him some consideration. Enough consideration to get into Buffy’s pants, that is. Xander hated that maybe he’d been wrong.

With the passing of yet another week, Xander became one of the first who would admit that they might have been a bit hasty in bashing Spike with the ‘evil vamp’ stick on a regular basis. And he really hated to admit it, but he kind of, well, just a little bit…missed him.

When the choices of good pool partners came to just about no one, could anyone really blame him? And there was no one left he could throw out his sarcastic/nasty comments to and not get belted a bit about the head. And the guy did manage to prevent his becoming a tasty treat to a vamp or two on the odd occasion, not to mention he’d been around for a couple of the apocalyptic moments. Those sorts of things held people together, even if you did hate them. Which made Xander start to wonder if he really did hate Spike at all, or if he just held on to a bit of a grudge.

But the point was, the demons on the Hellmouth were getting out of control and for some reason, it seemed wrong that Spike wasn’t there to help them out.

And then there was Glory.

The God from hell.

Literally.

The strain from that particular situation was beginning to create a noose around their necks; one that was tightening way too quickly. That, on top of the stress of nearly losing Joyce to a tumor and having Dawn be all glowy key thingy was starting to unravel the dream team.

He had never realised that the snark that Spike contributed to their little get-togethers might have actually helped keep them grounded. Other than Giles, he was also really the only other adult amongst them. And he really hated to acknowledge it, but the guy was smart. Almost Giles-smart he was willing to bet, and he really came through in a pinch.

So, yeah. He was ready to admit it. He missed Spike. And with Glory closing in, they needed Spike.

So, it was about time they thought about possibly trying to get him to come back.

Once Xander had decided to broach the subject with the Scoobies- feeling relaxed that he had finally admitted all that to himself- he recalled that incy-wincy little detail that Spike had gone back with Dru.  Which probably meant he was all with the ‘no more chipness’ and the willy-nilly killing of humans.

Why oh why did he never see the reality of a situation before it was too late? His fear of pre-chip Spike suddenly exploded from his comfy resigned acceptiness and he panicked. That fear took over and he knew he couldn’t suggest bringing him back. What if they found him and the first thing Spike did was go straight to Xander to rip his head off- or worse- his throat out? He had been pretty mean and horrible, and the taunting, yeah, that might have been kind of a bad habit to get into. But surely Spike knew it was all in jest, just having a good time with the jokes and stuff? Now he felt torn; he knew they needed Spike, but if Spike was dangerous again, well….

The only option he could think of was starting to make him feel kinda queasy, but his earlier resignation was still with him and he marched over to his phone almost angrily. Clutching the receiver in sudden apprehension, he called Will to get a phone number off her, ignored her concerned inquiries and hung up. Breathing deeply, he picked it up again and dialled, praying that he was not doing the most stupid thing he ever had to date. Looking over his past, the small frown between his brows convinced him it wasn’t possible.

When the phone was finally picked up on the other end and an impatient “hello” barked out, Xander released that long held breath shakily and closed his eyes in hope.

“Angel? It’s Xander. I was hoping you could look into something for me…”

Buffy was angry.

Buffy was livid.

Buffy was really hurt.

Not one of her friends seemed to even see that Spike’s leaving had pained her. No one noticed that she never smiled now, though to be fair she supposed they might have put that down to the nearly losing of her mother and the whole keyness that was Dawn. Not to mention Glory breathing down their necks like a dog with vile halitosis.  And she’d pretty much gotten over the leaving that was Riley.

The only one who seemed to have the smallest clue was Tara, and she was too shy and timid to even attempt to ask Buffy how she was feeling about driving another guy away, despite her annoyingly regular claims that feelings for Spike would just be eeew and icky.

Even if her head had almost imploded and turned to liquid mush when he gave her that small kiss, tender but way hot, before taking off with his ho of an ex-girlfriend. And the thought of them going for it after he claimed to be in love with Buffy made her just want to curl up under a mountain of bedcovers and howl to the moon in anguish. She’d told him that she hated him, then tortured herself with images of him macking on Dru and wanted to kill something violently. Oh yeah, her hate was real!

It was just so much bad timing. And bad teaching. Bad Giles! If she had just been taught that it was possible, to be on the look out for signs of change, not been so doggedly determined to believe only in bad, not that varying shades of grey rubbish, but the indiscriminate levels of good and bad. He could have been climbing the ladder of bad maybe, on a higher rung of bad-just a little bit bad-approaching good. If she’d known it was possible, she might not have thrown it back in his face. She might have been a little more willing to try and help him.

What was it he’d said to her just before he’d left? He had possessed the will and she’d broken it. Why did that failure make her feel stark and miserable? The only cause she could understand was that she must have believed him. Believed it possible. That he had really wanted to change, had been trying to change, but without a soul he found it difficult, which is why he needed the help. And she’d denied it. Man, she was such a bitch. A self-obsessed bitch, who just might have a little crush on the deserting bleached vampire babe.

The crush she could deal with; get over, in fact. She was well on the way to getting over it, it was gone, completely out of her mind. No crush. But the Glory thing…so wasn’t going away in a hurry. She didn’t want to admit it and tried really hard not to show it, but she was scared. She wasn’t strong enough to fight her one on one; she didn’t even think she would be strong enough a hundred on one.

But it wasn’t Spike’s physical strength she was afraid she was missing. It was his mental strength, and his devotion to the Summers women. She had a horrible suspicion that by denying him emotional access to her burden that she had banished an ally that would have put himself first before he would let them be hurt, and his emotional stake in their welfare might have made him more resourceful. It wasn’t like he wasn’t: he had managed to stay plenty of steps ahead in protecting himself and Dru from angry lynch mobs for over a century, so he must have some thoughts on how to get them to safety and keep them there. And if it came down to running, then she would feel a hell of a lot better knowing that Spike was there to watch their back. Not to mention, drive!

So, two weeks down the track of Sunnydale minus Spike, and Buffy daily wavered between riding it out and phoning Angel to ask him to find Spike for her. Begging him to bring Spike home. She gasped at that and tears filled her eyes. She was so blind. This was his home.  She had no business making his existence here so awkward and unpleasant.

She wasn’t ready for Angel to know so much, though, and she didn’t think it would be safe for Spike if Angel knew that he thought he was in love with her. Bad Buffy, not thought. Is. He is in love with her. And it was like a rainbow had cleared the sky and filled it with nothing but radiant hope. In multicolour. Epiphany. She felt all right with that. So he loved her. How could that be a bad thing? The world just wasn’t filled with enough love, and what individual had so much they could risk rejecting something so precious? Certainly not Buffy. That was for certain.

So, she headed over to the desk and picked up the phone, taking a deep breath for courage and dialled Angel’s number, only to exhale in bitter disappointment as she got an engaged signal. Over the next twenty minutes she pressed redial to the same result. In an angry huff she slammed the phone down, grabbed a few stakes and headed out for the Magic Box. Time to meet up with everyone for patrol, and hope that the vamps weren’t so plentiful tonight. And that no one got more hurt than usual.

Who would have thought that either Spike’s reputation or skill had kept the population down so much. Oh yeah. She needed him back bad.

Spike had re-entered the family fold with both trepidation and confusion. It had been over a century since he had last seen Darla, and the memories had not done her justice. He begrudgingly admitted to himself what Angelus had seen in her and could see the faint hints of why the great poof had fallen for Buffy. He obviously had a thing for blondes, and Darla quite frankly was a bit of all right. A stunner, even. But she was a right viscous bitch, and she did not favour him with familial affection for his belated return.

All this just reaffirmed for him that what he felt for Buffy was even more real, as he obviously had never been attracted to her for her hair colour but the light within her-the light that brought truth and love to all those lucky enough to bask in her goodness. He dropped his head, sad, no longer within reach of her.

He began his foray back into evil by accompanying the girls on the hunt, becoming swept up in the adrenaline rush of chasing down thumping heartbeats, even if the scent of their fear was more off-putting than arousing like it used to be. Once he caught them, though, he stopped, at first convincing himself it was because he didn’t want to blast himself with the chip. But after a few times of witnessing Dru break the neck of his victim and offering him the still warm body for engorgement, the activity he thought would consume his demon in rightness again only served to unnerve him and bath him in feelings that strangely felt like guilt.

Once he had unwittingly followed a blonde, and her cracked neck lay before him, smooth in her deathly offering, and all he could see was Buffy and her shame and disgust in him. Under the watchful eyes of Darla and Dru he closed his lids and drank, but his demon was shrinking back within him, horrified and lonely.

They returned to their newish home, an apartment Darla had forced from some lovesick git who had hung around like a pet. Spike collapsed into a corner of his room and tried to control his shaking body.

The next night, he stayed in.

They brought him a corpse. He had sunk his fangs into the neck slowly, and as the first gush of blood hit his tongue, he gagged. Thrusting the flesh away he curled up into a ball and refused to look at them.

For a couple of days they had laughed at him, but otherwise he was ignored. They were leaving behind them a bloody trail that he knew would bring Angel to the doorstep sooner or later, and for the first time he prayed for his Yoda to show up and plant a stake in his chest and end his misery. He couldn’t understand it, but his demon was screaming at him in rage to kill the women and get rid of the threat that they were. It was unprecedented, but he felt protective of the breathing masses beyond his door, and disgusted in himself for letting Dru and Darla lead him back to a lifestyle he had started to overcome.

The days turned into a week and then two, and his body started to weaken as he continued to refuse blood, until they no longer offered and no more death lingered within the walls of the apartment. But pain made a sweeping entry as they changed their focus and strung him up, let him hang in chains from the ceiling, and painted his beautiful body in shades of holy water and blood.

They cut him into strips, flogged him with whips, stabbed him with knives, and drained him of his consciousness as well as his fortifying leftover blood. He hung uselessly, barely a patch of white left to view of his skin, his arms pulled from their sockets through the continual jerking away from pain, and his cock a shrivelled and burned parody of its former self. They and stripped him, using their tongues and hands at first to arouse him to do their will, but as he remained limp, they decided he should burn.

As he continued to hang there from day to day, he could feel himself sink within his mind on too many occasions and so had resorted to talking to the Lindsey pup who had remained loyal and hopeful, but never fearful of his murderous houseguests. He was unaware of all the things he said to the git, mindless babble from a hungry, delirious and mutilated monster who had compiled his mistakes over and over until he couldn’t find his way back.

He talked of Buffy. Must have done, because as his body faltered and his insides became blacker, she was all he could think about. Her hair and eyes, her look of wonder when he confessed to her his feelings. The gentleness of her interaction with her friends and family. He wanted to be with her so badly, just to rest his head in her lap and beg her for forgiveness. Beg her to help him. Beg her to let him kiss her feet.

After three weeks, he was a broken vamp. He was obviously terribly weak and starving, living with his gameface continuously pushed forward, but he didn’t even growl in hunger when Lindsey would try to get him to break out of himself once the girls had gone out. It never occurred to him to provide other blood. Truly, he didn’t care that much about nursing them, unless it was Darla. And Dru didn’t seem that concerned, so he limited his care to just getting Spike to talk each night, if only to hear his stories, fascinating as they were.

One night Lindsey returned home to find Darla and Dru gone, Spike hanging like the dead from his ceiling, and a feral Angel standing in front of the spectacle with such a look of hate on his face that Lindsey felt fear in the presence of these vampires for the first time in weeks. As the two conscious men stood still, by some kind of silent unity, they both took in the blonde who had been tortured to an inch of his unlife.

Angel felt nauseous; grief for his family rising unsure as he took in the damage that his girls had inflicted. After his talk with Xander it had taken him a week to track Darla down and pick up some details of their exploits. That Spike had only been involved at the beginning of their renewed killing rampage had confused him, particularly the stories circulating that the male Master wouldn’t feed, from live victims nor soon after, the dead.

Deep in his own confused longing to return to that life, despite his shiny soul, Angel hadn’t much cared except for the desire to wipe out every member of his family. It wasn’t the damage they were doing to the population that made him wish to wipe them out, it was rather his feelings of failure. Harris’s call did nothing but renew those as he was made to understand that Buffy was in great danger, but it was Spike they wanted back at the Hellmouth.

Then within one night, an occasion to be remembered for his certain decision to reclaim the brute of his past as his future, the horrible sense of nostalgia and yearning he felt to renew ties to his whole family and resurrect their flagging reputation as pure menace and danger.

One night he surrendered to the arms of his leading lady, writhed in pure bliss to be returned to Darla in the way that he had craved for over a century. Not even Buffy had held him like she had, and then the unthinkable had happened.

The unconsidered.

He hadn’t lost his soul, but in a moment of pure torment he had regained his mission. Knowing he could never have his family back without turning his head on their destruction, he had determined to dust them and his renewed search for Spike yielded results.

He felt conflicted and disbelieving of these tales of self-deprivation for the vampire until he had finally located Spike and seen for himself how the female members of their family had treated him, and knew. Only their anger would have made them do something so punishing, so deplorable to a newly embraced returned member.

The gaunt haunted face, the skeletal body of one who had always been pretty, well muscled, was almost destroyed in its starvation. Angel cringed, then allowed tears to fall for the suffering of his Childe, for he knew this depravity was not an isolated experience for him. Here the sight of William reaffirmed his epiphany, he could never risk Angelus coming out.  And according to the perils of the Sunnydale crew, he had to help mend emotionally and physically his errant Childe and return him to the place they termed his home.

That Xander Harris was the one calling, and almost begging for him to find and bring Spike home if he still had the chip, was astounding in itself. Not to mention insulting and hurtful. He doubted the boy had ever felt the need to recall Angel back to their group. But a secret call to Giles settled his worries that the boy had been hypnotised into stupidity; Spike, he admitted grudgingly, was one of them and they needed him back. He helped Buffy enormously.

His scoffing had echoed down a dead line as Giles hung up on him. That had him stumped, but believing they were all on drugs. He hadn’t dared hear Buffy agree to needing the peroxided annoyance. So, he’d just started the search, bringing him back to now.

Though it galled him, he allowed Lindsey to help him detach Spike from the chains, then they collected his coat and torn clothing, wrapped him in a blanket and carried him out to Angel’s car. Lindsey climbed into the passenger seat, and whether Angel wanted to hear it or not, he relayed three weeks worth of the demoralising and macabre activities of his Sire and Childer, with the annihilation of William the Bloody being the main focus. By the time he was finished, Angel was incredulous, and disturbed. His own creation had trumped him, turned his back on his evil ways and attempted to change, all without the benefit of a soul. And made himself sick because of his lack of direction and support.

First things first, he had to get him healthy and then get to the bottom of this mess, and he had the unsettling feeling, the bottom was going to be a place too close to go.