16:

~*~

For more than two weeks, everything was the same. The ‘fucked-up bitch’ stayed, despite pretty much everybody’s strenuous objections. Even Buffy was starting to doubt Spike on that one, but she kept her mouth shut. For now, anyway.

They continued the whole sleeping-in-the-same-bed-with-major-sexual-tension thing. Sometimes—no, make that all the time—Buffy wished that they could just consummate the whatever-it-was relationship.

But when they kissed, when they held each other, she could feel the uncertainty they both still had. For her, it was the uncertainty the resulting from having her whole world knocked sideways. For him...well, she wasn’t sure what it was for him. But he was uncertain, that much she could tell. Maybe he was worried she’d go all insane on him if they slept together. Whatever the reason, for now, they were celibate.

Celibate but not strangers. Now that she was in on what Jenkins, Inc. was really for, she was becoming real friends with everyone there, including Spike. Of course, her stomach did the weird flippy thing when she was anywhere from a hundred yards to a few feet away from him, but if she ignored that and the burning desire to kiss him, they could actually have a decent conversation. And Buffy liked that.

Everyone still slept, ate, and did everything short of make love with their weapons. Rayne hadn’t moved against them yet, but everyone was adamant that he would soon. Buffy was again doubtful, since they hadn’t even had a drug bust since she’d ‘crossed over’ (Xander’s Star Wars talk), but everyone else seemed positive that Rayne was going to attack soon.

So, despite the nervous tension that Buffy felt waiting for Rayne to attack, plus also the, um, sexual tension between her and Spike, for awhile, things were almost quiet.

Really. She should have known it wouldn’t last.

It was almost exactly three weeks after she’d learned the truth about the LAPD. It was late afternoon and Drusilla was, as usual, weirding everyone out. Some of them had only just awakened, since most of their work was done during the night. Dawn was due to come around some time later, probably around ten. Buffy was bored to death.

She found Spike in his room—his closet, to be exact. When she opened the door and saw him crouching there in the dark, she just about peed her pants, she was laughing so hard.

“Spike, what the hell are you doing?”

He looked at her with a look she could only describe as deep disgust. “What the sodding hell does it look like?”

Well, actually, it looked like...a grin grew on her face. “You’re hiding from Drusilla, aren’t you?”

“Buffy, don’t—“

“The Big Bad is hiding!” she crowed, and he buried his face in his hands. “Spike the big, bad street fighter is hiding from his ex!”

“M’ completely insane ex!” he pointed out, but his voice was muffled because his head was in his arms.

“Right,” Buffy teased, but after that she let the subject drop. She’d managed to make with the prying and get some info about Drusilla out of Anya, and what she learned made her feel really sorry for Spike. He’d been deeply in love with her. Having her here, now, couldn’t be easy.

“Listen,” she began, “You may not have noticed since you’ve been all hermit-ey, but it’s a really nice day and since Dawn’s not coming by till later, I thought maybe you might want to go on a walk?” Her voice ended about an octave higher than it usually did, mostly because she was terrified he’d think she was nuts. They’d become friends, but they’d never really done anything couple-ey. Well, except for sleeping together.

He stared at her, his eyebrow cocked curiously. “You coming on to me, Summers?” When her blush just deepened, he grinned and said, “’M surprised, but sure, ‘d love to. Gimme a minute and ‘ll be ready to go.”

“Great.” Buffy stepped aside to let him out of the closet and said, “Oh, by the way, I’ve decided to stop carrying around three pistols. I mean, nothing has happened, and doesn’t three seem kind of excessive to you?”

The look he gave her would have stopped a bull in its tracks. “No.”

Just that one word, but something told her she’d be really sorry if she didn’t obey. “Oh, okay,” she said in a small voice. “Sorry. I was just asking.”

He melted immediately. “’S a’right, jus’ don’t do it again,” he advised. “Look, baby, the lap-dancers are dangerous, an’ it’s you they’re really after.” He wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her hair. “Can’t lose you, luv.”

“Um. Right.” Her face was even brighter red than it had been a few minutes ago. “See you in a few, then?” she asked, quickly extricating herself from his grasp and practically ran for the door.

She heard him sigh. “Yeah. See you.”

*

Spike watched her go with what he knew was a petulant expression on his face.

Well, dammit, he had every right to put. Bloody bint was testing his patience past its limits. Every single sodding day, it was the same thing. He lusted after her so much he was starting to believe that he’d die if it wasn’t fulfilled.

But he couldn’t seduce her. Not yet. Hell, he was only just starting to become friends with her. Now, granted, he liked what he was gettin’ to know, but still. Seducing her right now just wouldn’t be fair.

Plus, there was the fact that the whole damn LAPD wanted her ass just as much as he did, only for different reasons.

Still, even though he reprimanded himself every day, even though he told himself that it wasn’t time to seduce her just yet, he still wanted to. God, how he wanted to.

His jeans, he decided as he exited the room, were entirely too tight. He ought to look into a new look. Maybe khaki?

He voiced the thought to Buffy as they walked through one of the many Sunnydale cemeteries a few minutes later. Funny thing about Sunnydale—dozens of cemeteries and no parks.

“Khaki?” Her voice expressed true horror. “Spike, why in the world would you want to wear khaki? You’d look like...” she paused for a moment, wrinkling up her nose in a way Spike found incredibly cute. “Xander,” she finished, her tone indicating that this was a very bad thing.

“Hey! I wouldn’t look anythin’ like the whelp!” Spike protested, though he was secretly pleased that she liked his look better than said whelp’s—and not just for his sake. If Anya thought Buffy was moving in on her man, well, if he didn’t kill her first, Anya certainly would.

“If you wore khaki, you guys would look like brothers,” she told him seriously.

“Would not! Hey, luv,” and he began to smirk; this would definitely get to her, “Like the top you’ve got on.” She was wearing a pink tank top that he really would’ve liked to wriggle her out of. “You ought to wear pink a bit more. Makes you look like Harmony’s twin.”

As he’d predicted, her eyes bugged out in pure fury. “What?” she screeched. “I look nothing like that skank!”

“True,” he said thoughtfully. “Your breasts aren’t quite as—bloody hell!” Pain, not severe but certainly noticeable, shot through him when she punched his stomach.

“You shouldn’t insult girls with police training,” Buffy said, smirking.


”So I feel,” he shot back, wincing. “Still don’t see how you can punch that hard. ‘S not normal. You’re not normal.”

“Oh, shut up, you big baby.”

He growled, and Buffy stuck out her tongue at him—an action that made him growl for an entirely different reason. Seeing her pink, wiggly little tongue had made him harden immediately. “Best watch it, Goldilocks, or ‘ll ravish you on a tombstone.”

Her eyes lit up. “Ooh, would you really?”

The image was just a little too pleasing. He found himself wishing he hadn’t thought of it, much less voiced the thought. “Um—prob’ly not.”

“Not even if I was really, really convincing?” Buffy edged toward him and put her hand on his chest, staring up into his eyes in such a seductive manner that pulling back made him feel like an absolute pillock. “Not right now, Summers. Got work to do, remember?”

“OK, the point of the whole walk thing wasn’t so you could work.”

“I work all the time. ‘S my job,” he explained. “We could find runaways anywhere.”

She gave him a look that said she thought he’d lost his mind. “In the cemetery? Are you nuts?”

“Well, yeah,” he replied, grinning, “But that’s not the point. ‘F course we’d find ‘em in the cemetery. No better place to look.” She was still giving him the look that said she was convinced he was crazy. “Well, it is,” he defended himself. “Crypts make great shelters.”

“Oh, of course. Of course a kid would want to sleep where they keep the dead bodies. However did I overlook that?” she asked teasingly.

Spike was a tad bit annoyed. He was willing to joke ‘bout plenty of things, but this wasn’t one of them. To him, his work was dead serious. “Most ‘f ‘em don’t have a choice,” he told her quietly.

She stared up at him for a moment, those wonderful green eyes of hers shocked and contrite. After a moment she said, “I...didn’t think of that. Sorry.”

“’S—“ he began, but before he had a chance to finish with ‘okay’, three very large objects leapt out of the bushes and onto him and Buffy.

“Buffy!” he yelled, trying to stand up and come to her side. The two burly who’d knocked him down had other ideas, which they expressed by dealing Spike a strong punch to the nose. His blood began flowing freely.

Distantly he heard Buffy yell his name, but now all his attention was focused on the man in front of him. “You’re gonna die for that, you sonofabitch,” he growled, and launched himself at the man who’d hit him. Punch, kick, hit, get knocked down, repeat. It was something he’d done a million times, but this time it was just a bit different.

Though he was fighting frantically, his attention wasn’t on his own safety; it was on Buffy’s. Every blow he dealt was powerful, because he had to get to Buffy’s side. Every time he got knocked down it was ten times more bitter because he wasn’t helping her.

“Lemme guess,” he panted, landing a blow on one man’s right eye, “Friends of the LAPD?”

“Part of,” the man replied smugly. “And soon, you’re going down.” He leapt at the man, only to have Spike knock him out with the barrel of his gun.

“Right,” Spike said sarcastically, and delivered a blow to the other man’s temple that was so powerful he was knocked out.

At that moment, several things happened. Spike turned to rush to his girl’s aid, but even as he turned to go, another figure jumped out of the bushes and onto the back of the man she was contending with. Within seconds he was down.

Spike watched Buffy’s eyes widen till they were almost frighteningly huge—which scared him. Buffy wasn’t the sort of bird who was intimidated easily. “Riley?”

Spike swore. Riley. Her ponce of an ex who’d been threatening to rape her, or so she’d told him. Looked like he’d still need to help her.

“Buffy,” Riley said. “I’ve been looking all over for you. Look, it’s about Rayne, he’s—“

“Shut it, Riley,” Buffy said, her voice icy. “I don’t wanna here it.”

“But, Buffy—“

“I believe the lady said to shut her mouth,” Spike said, coming over to Buffy’s side and wrapping his arms around her waist reassuringly.

Riley scowled at him. “Who the hell are you?”

Yeah, he really didn’t like this guy. “That’s for me to know, an’ you to shut the hell up about,” he said, glaring at the man in as menacing a way as he could.

“Sorry, but I’ve got to talk to Buffy,” he said, before turning back to her. “Listen, Rayne’s insane. I’ve cut ties with him and I need to—“

Buffy gave an incredulous laugh. “That’s the best you idiots can do? What the hell do you think I am, the weak link of Jenkins’?”

“Buffy! It’s true!”

Spike studied the man. He guessed that maybe, if you were as dumb as a doornail, you might think he was telling the truth. Problem was, the man had that corn-fed look to him. Blokes like that were as transparent as glass. “Sorry, Captain Cardboard, but I find the whole ‘I’ve reformed’ bit hard to swallow. When Rayne’s ready to send the big boys, we’ll be waiting. Till then, sod off.”

“Buffy, please,” Riley pleaded, ignoring Spike, “You have to believe me!”

She darted a glance at him and then Spike. Spike just cocked an eyebrow at her, knowing what she was going to say. There was no way on God’s green and verdant earth that she could believe that wanker.

She didn’t. “You heard him, Riley. Leave.”

“But—“

A gun was suddenly pressed to his temple. “Get the hell out of here now, Finn,” Spike ordered in a low, deadly voice.

Riley gave him a look that could only be described as murderous and ran off.

Buffy turned to him. “I was handling it, you know.”

“Bollocks,” Spike shot back. “He was handling you.”

“Okay, that too,” she admitted. He almost choked when she leaned into him and whispered, “Spike?”

“Uh, yeah?” How in hell was he supposed to think with her this—bugger.

She stood up on her tiptoes, pulled his head down, and kissed him. And it wasn’t a gentle, thank-you kiss, either. It was a full-on, lip-to-tongue, I-want-you-now kiss—and all of Spike responded.

By the time they broke away he was so hard his pants were straining. “Bloody—“ he managed to gasp, before pulling her into his arms and kissing her again, this time even more deeply.

She threw her head back, moaning in a way that drove him insane, when he left her mouth and started nuzzling her neck, planting lazy kisses all over it. He pulled her up a bit with his hands, squeezing her ass in the process, before leaving one hand to support her and using the other to tease her fabric-clad nipples into hardness. He grinned against her neck when she gasped out his name.

His grin disappeared when she ground herself against his erection.

His body turned into a flame—he could have sworn he was turning into ashes, he needed her that much.

It was she who finally restored sanity to the situation. Seconds before they completely lost it right there in the park, she pulled away and gasped, “Spike. Home. Now.”

Spike would have smiled at seeing her go all BC on him, but he was too consumed by need to notice her usual endearing traits. All he could think was that he needed to be inside her right then.

“We can do it here,” he murmured, and tried to return to her neck. “You got protection?”

“Yes, pill, but—Spike—ahhh!—no,” she panted. “We can’t...we have to...it’s daylight,” she whimpered. “What if someone sees?”

That gave him pause. She had a point. Plus, dirty jokes aside, he didn’t particularly want their first time to be in a graveyard. “Right, then. Let’s get home,” he said, putting her on her feet. Before she had a chance to start walking, he grabbed her and kissed the breath out of her. “But once we get there, we’re goin’ back to where we left off,” he whispered huskily. “Got it?”

Buffy nodded, her eyes intent on his. “A world of yes.”

*

They practically ran home. Anticipation, mixed with incredible need and yearning, was smoldering between them. Buffy was quickly learning that when it came to motivation, nothing could top pure, unadulterated lust.

Lust that she’d initiated. She wasn’t sure if she was doing the right thing. Actually, she knew she probably wasn’t. Her brain was screaming at her to pull out before it was too late, but she didn’t want to pull out.

When she’d been fighting that man, she’d realized something. She could die any day. Rayne wanted to kill her, and the odds were that he might succeed. If she ever wanted to make with the—well, love-making with Spike, then she figured she’d better do it soon.

And hey, there was no time like the present, right?

Though she was incredibly worried about the whole Riley thing. That was big-time weird. She couldn’t help but wonder if maybe he was telling the truth, even though her intuition said he wasn’t. Riley was a lying bastard; she knew that. But what if...?

All thoughts vanished from her head once they reached the front door. As he unlocked it, Spike’s mouth once again descended on hers.

Whether by chance or design, the apartment was completely empty. They stumbled toward the bedroom, lips interlocked, hands trying and failing to neatly remove clothing. By the time they reached the bedroom, both were sans shirt and Spike was working on Buffy’s jeans.

They entered the room and Spike threw her down on the bed, locking the door. “Clothes off,” he growled at Buffy.

She grinned and obeyed, watching him greedily as he bared his body to her. When he finally discarded his jeans, he took a step towards her—and both stopped dead.

This was the first time they’d seen each other naked, and both were astounded.

Only one lamp, a red lava lamp that was always on, illuminated them. Buffy was practically salivating at Spike’s smooth, pale skin, bathed in crimson light. His wonderful face, the face she’d admired oh, so many times. Strong arms and legs that could cage her in, making her feeling threatened and safe at the same time. A wonderful chest, hard and smooth yet oh, so soft. And a rather large-looking cock that was currently jutting out at her.

Knowing that his arousal was for her, that he wanted her and no one else, made a whirlwind of emotions rise in her. Pride that it was she who could incite such passion in this beautiful man. Fear because she had that power. Wonder that something so perfect was about to be hers. And another emotion, more elusive yet more powerful than any of the others, that chased about the corners of her mind, making itself known a little more strongly than those times when he held her in his arms. An emotion that could grant eternal happiness, or crush her completely. And right now, that emotion was washing over her like a tidal wave.

Buffy gulped.

*

Spike saw the gulp, and he could have sworn at that moment that he’d never seen anything so beautiful. Of course, she could have done anything and he’d have sworn he’d never seen anything so beautiful, because the truth was, there was nothing more beautiful than the woman who lay on the bed before him.

Her face was hesitant and uncertain, yet at the same time completely resolute. Her eyes seemed to glitter at him, daring him, begging him, to make love to her.

Her soft curves were made sultry and mysterious by the red lights. Her breasts, small and pert, seemed to beckon to him. He ached to kiss them, touch them, worship them in the manner that they deserved—and he would. But right now, he just wanted to look.

Her cunt was covered by soft brown curls, currently glistening with evidence of her desire. Even as he gazed at her, she began to wiggle uncomfortably. “Am I—is something wrong?”

Her voice broke the spell on him. Feeling overwhelmed with something akin to both possessiveness and desire, something that was both and neither and so much more, he stepped towards the bed. Looking deep into her eyes, he placed his hands on her knees. “Nothing is wrong,” he told her sincerely. “You’re the most beautiful thing ‘ve ever seen.” He leaned down and kissed her, very softly, right above her clit.

“Perfect.” Now he kissed right below her clit.

“Absolutely gorgeous.” He planted a wet, open-mouthed kiss on her opening. After that, neither of them had the breath to speak.

He kissed her, rubbing his nose in her juices and brushing her clit with his tongue, delighting in her little squeals and moans. She gripped his arms, then his head, frantically, brushing her fingers over his cheekbones. God, could this get any more wonderful?

He got his answer when he inserted his tongue inside her and she screamed in climax. As her juices flowed with new abandon, he got his answer: yes. It could get a hell of a lot more wonderful.

When she began to float back down from her orgasm-induced high, he moved up her body. He had a raging hard-on, which was no surprise, given that he’d been eating her out as she ran her fingers over him. He paused at her breasts to kiss them, to swirl his tongue over her nipples just a little before reaching her face.

She yanked him in for a kiss, not seeming to care—or perhaps liking?—the fact that her arousal was still in his mouth. He poised himself at her entrance and looking into her eyes. “Buffy, my love,” he said, brushing her cheek with a finger, “You’re sure you want this?”

*

Good question. She could only stare up at him, marveling at his words. Buffy, my love. Could she hope that maybe, just maybe, these emotions that held her in their thrall were returned by him? Was it possible that he loved her, too?

“Yes,” she whispered. It was both an answer to his question and an answer to her own. Just looking into his eyes, she could see the love that shone there, the same love that she knew radiated from her.

He slowly began to push into her, and she gasped. How could anything feel so perfect? He was hard and silky at the same time, he stretched her to her very limit, and somehow, he wasn’t just entering her body. Even as she felt her body welcome her in, her soul opened up and accepted this man, her former enemy. It was right, it was perfect.

It was Spike.

*

He didn’t know what had come over him. Just eating her pussy had made him ready to come right then and there.

As he entered her, as he began to move against her, suddenly he knew:

This was bliss.

Buffy, warm and tight around him, was bliss. Buffy, gasping and writhing and convulsing around his cock, was bliss. Pure, utter bliss was holding her in his arms as she came.

It was him, it was her, and it was pure perfection. “God, Buffy,” he gasped, leaning over and kissing her on the nose as they moved together, “So—wonderful. Love you—so much—“

*

The words didn’t even register to her just then. She was too lost in the myriad of emotions that he was creating in her.

But some part of her heard his words and took them into a heart that had been both crushed and repaired by the very man who now moved inside her body. Somewhere in her mind, she heard his confession, and she took it into her soul.

When she reached the final peak, when everything he had been making her feel came to a head and clashed in an explosion of fire and light, all she could do was scream. As she began to float down, as he kissed her fervently, shot his seed inside of her, and collapsed on top of her, she met his eyes and whispered:

“I love you, too.”

She knew it was true. Maybe it always had been, but now that both had said it, there was no going back.

An expression of fierce tenderness came over his face, an expression she knew was mirrored on her own. “Buffy...” Spike trailed off, then rolled onto his side, taking her with him, and kissed her softly on the lips. “My Buffy,” he finished in a fierce whisper, clutching her tightly.

“My Spike,” she replied, pillowing her head against his chest and sighing in contentment.

She saw something out of the corner of her eyes. Suddenly, in the midst of all the strong emotion and confessions, she giggled.

“Somethin’ funny?”

“We just made love on rubber ducky sheets,” she giggled. The giggle turned into an outright laugh when she saw the tender, disgruntled look on his face.

They fell asleep in each other’s arms.

~*~

 

17:

Buffy woke in the middle of the night. As soon as she returned to consciousness and her memory supplied images of the previous evening, a beatific smile took over her face.

She snuggled into Spike, reveling in her memories: what he’d said, what he’d done, how wonderful it had all been... Hot embarrassment colored her cheeks when she realized that everyone in the apartment probably knew what had happened. The embarrassment left her, though, when she gazed at the man lying next to her.

He loves me, she thought, and for a second the traditional bells and hallelujah chorus thing went on inside her head. We made love, and he...loves...me. She didn’t think she could ever get used to that thought. She didn’t want to.

She sighed and stroked his cheek. He’d always tempted her most when he was asleep—he was so soft, so gentle...

Her stomach growled, and she made a face. She’d been having a moment there, looking at adorable cuddly Spike.

Unfortunately, she was really hungry.

She kissed his lips gently, careful not to wake him, and slid out of bed, covering her nakedness with his t-shirt and her discarded jeans, her gun in her left pocket. The moonlight hit against the blinds, just barely illuminating the room. Even as she walked to the door, her lover caught her eye. In the light, his skin seemed to glow. She smiled fondly. “Be back soon,” she whispered, even though she knew he couldn’t here her.

She opened the door and crept out to the kitchen. All those years of training were again coming in handy; as she moved down the hall, she was completely silent.

Bodies were draped all over the living room. Anya and Xander were cuddled together; Buffy smiled when she heard Xander snoring. Kennedy and Willow were all curled up...when the hell is Willow going to both telling everyone she’s gay? Cordelia was lying curled up in a chair, snoring slightly. She could see the glint of metal that came from the weapons everyone kept close.

It was a typical night at the headquarters of Jenkins’, Inc.

She opened up the refrigerator and rifled through it. They all ate out most of the time, but she and Spike made sure things stayed stocked up. And if she was remembering right, there should be some super-yummy chocolate cake right about...here. She grinned and took the plastic container out, shutting the refrigerator door. Grabbing a fork, she started in on the one piece still in the box.

Mmmm, chocolately goodness, she thought, closing her eyes in pure bliss. Chocolate and sex, two things every woman needed. She smiled happily. Now, she had both.

Soft footsteps sounded behind her. She whirled around, mouth filled with cake. She probably looked completely ridiculous, but when she saw who stood at the entry to the kitchen, how she looked ceased to matter.

“Naughty, naughty sunshine, covered in my Spike,” Drusilla cooed, coming closer, her eyes fixed on the t-shirt Buffy wore.

Buffy cursed herself. God, could I get any more stupid? Of course she’ll go crazier if she sees me in Spike’s clothes!

She opted for an ingratiating smile. Ingratiating was good, right? Maybe she could calm Drusilla down. “Sorry, I didn’t realize anyone else was awake. Did I make too much noise?”

Drusilla cocked her head. “I could hear you screaming,” she said dreamily. “And the stars screamed, too. My Spike, all burnt by the sunshine...my Spike...” she trailed off.

OK, Buffy was starting to fell a little less ingratiating-ey and a little more fight-ey, hearing her endearment for Spike being spoken by this loony bin. She took a step forward. “Listen, Drusilla, you need to get to bed.”

Suddenly Drusilla’s eyes focused on Buffy. The hate in them almost made her gasp. “You’ll kill him,” Drusilla breathed. She took a step forward. Something in the back of Buffy’s mind warned her that she ought to move, but she couldn’t seem to make her feet work.

“You’ll smother him in the light.”

“Okay, listen, you’re not really being very—“

A knife suddenly appeared, clenched in her right hand. “Kill the sunshine and Mummy shall be happy,” she hissed. “That’s what the King of Cups told me.” She grabbed Buffy by the arm and plunged the knife down towards her shoulder.

She grabbed Drusilla’s arm and twisted it, causing the knife to fall to the floor. The clatter woke Xander, who launched up, saying, “I swear I didn’t do it! It was all Pooh’s fault!”

And somehow, in the midst of knife-stabbage, Buffy found herself snorting with laughter.

Laughter that was quickly cut off when Drusilla jumped her. She squirmed underneath the taller girl, punching whatever surface was available, not really caring that as a former police officer she way outclassed Drusilla in terms of fighting. Bitch tried to kill me, I’m gonna do as much damage as is humanly possible. Still, she held back a bit. She didn’t like hurting people.

She punched Drusilla and threw her off, leaping to her feet and yelling, “Xander! A little help he—ow!” She turned back to Drusilla, who’d grabbed the knife once again and raked it across Buffy’s cheek. It was a glancing blow, but still, it burned like fire.

She spun and kicked Drusilla, maneuvering as best as she could in the small kitchen. She should have known that girl was a psycho killer. Actually, she had known—Spike just hadn’t listened.

Xander ran into the kitchen, followed by all the others, but for some reason he didn’t try to help her. No one did. Buffy would have liked to ask them why, but she was too busy. her adversary didn’t seem near ready to give up just yet.

Drusilla pounced, waving the knife about crazily, trying to get another stab in. The knife again grazed her, only this time it was her shoulder, and it really hurt. Buffy hissed in pain and her face hardened with resolve. She’d had enough. Screw not trying to hurt Spike’s ex.

She drew back her fist and punched the girl right in the eye. The force of her blow sent Drusilla careening backwards, knife flailing about. The watching crowd scattered.

“Spike! Spike!” Drusilla wailed, apparently unaware that Spike wasn’t there, “The naughty sunshine hurt Princess!”

“Damn straight, and the naughty sunshine’s a bit annoyed now,” Buffy snapped. Stepping forward, she snatched the knife out of Drusilla’s hands and grabbed a handful of dark hair. “So fuck off.”

Her fist slammed once, twice, thrice into Drusilla’s face before the girl finally passed out. Buffy sighed and dropped her now blood-flecked fist, looking down at Drusilla. It hurt, seeing her lying there and knowing that she had been the cause of all Dru’s pain, but at the same time, she couldn’t be too terribly sorry. The knife was evidence enough that Drusilla had been out for blood.

“Well, that was—“ she turned around and halted when she saw Spike standing only a few feet away from her, looking livid.

Aw, he was being all protective. It was so sweet. Buffy smiled a bit. “It’s okay,” she told him. “I knocked her out.”

But he wasn’t looking at her. In fact, he strode right by her, straight to Drusilla’s side. “What the bloody hell did you do to her?”

Buffy stared at him. She glanced over at Willow, but the redhead just shrugged. What was wrong with everybody? “What do you mean, what did I do to her? She tried to kill me. I defended myself.”

He looked at her coldly, turning Drusilla’s head from side to side. “This was a vicious beating, Buffy, not defense. What—the—hell—did—you do to her?”

Her mind barely registered the last bit. She was fixated on the whole vicious beating thing. “It was not vicious. She came at me with a knife!” She pointed to the wounds on her shoulder and cheek. “Or are you just not seeing that?” she spat. She couldn’t believe this. They’d made love only hours before, and now he was treating his ex better than her. “Spike, what is your problem?”

“She’s helpless, you silly bint,” he snapped. “And you hurt her bad, maybe injured her for life. You could have just taken the knife away!”

“Taken the knife away? Buffy repeated, fury rising. “Taken the knife away? Are you insane? You wanted me to risk my life so Little Miss Insane-o could stay in one piece?”

Spike picked Drusilla up. His face was cold, empty—completely devoid of the emotion she’d seen there earlier. “In a word, yeah.”

“I don’t believe this!” Now she was screeching. “Do you care that little about me? What, was tonight some quick fuck?”

He winced at that, but his face stayed closed in. “Sorry, luv, but ‘ve got better things to do than moon over you. I got what I wanted, and ‘ve moved on.”

Tears filled her eyes as she watched him gently lay Drusilla on the counter and put ice on her face. Moved on, or gone back? She wished she could say it out loud, but all she could force out was, “Spike...please?” She wasn’t even sure what she was asking for.

“Buffy, for God’s sake, don’t start blubberin'. ‘m busy. Either help me fix the mess you made, or leave.”

Buffy stared at him, eyes wide, tears streaming down her face. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be happening. “Spike. You told me...you said...”

“That I loved you?” Spike smirked. “Damn, you’re a naive li'l chit.”

Buffy whirled around, expecting to see angry faces—but all she saw was what looked like masks. Cordelia, Kennedy, Tara, Willow, Faith, Xander, and Anya were all stony-faced and impassive.

“Cordy—“ she began, but the tall brunette cut her off.

“Oh my God, Buffy, don’t even start,” she said. “You sleep with a guy, he tells you he loves you, and you actually believe him? God, how I ever put up with you for all these weeks...you’re like the annoying little kid in the Welch’s commercial.”

Now her lips was trembling. She was thisclose to out-and-out bawling. “Xan—Xander?”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Buffy, stop being such a baby,” Kennedy snapped. “You’re out, okay? Get over it and leave.”

She stared at them, at their wooden faces, at the malicious glint she swore she detected in Drusilla’s now-open eyes...at the empty, cold expression on her love’s face. She gazed into his eyes, trying to read them, to tell what was really going on. This couldn’t actually be happening...could it? “Spike?” she whispered pleadingly.

For a second—just a second—she saw something in the blue depths of his eyes. A flash of some sort of emotion—regret? Sadness? Pain? She couldn’t tell. But it was gone as quickly as it had come, to be replaced by the worst nonemotion of all: apathy.

“Jus’ leave,” he ordered her flatly. “’m not interested in listening to a little girl’s whining. Get out.”

There was that phrase again. Get out. They’d all said it to her...

Maybe they all really meant it.

Once again she felt her entire world come crashing down. Pain filled her, pain and loss and betrayal—again. Only this time it was worse, because these were people she loved. The only friends she’d ever had, the only man she’d ever loved, and they were against her. Every single one of them was against her.

Fine. Her grief-filled brain could formulate one thought. If they were against her, then she was against them, too. Her face turned as cold and empty as theirs as she put her emotions on lockdown. “I don’t know what you guys’ problem is, but I’ll find it out. And then—“ she strode over to the door, ignoring her cuts, and put on her jacket. Placing her hand on the doorknob, she turned back to face them and vowed:

“And then I’ll destroy you.”

She walked out, slamming the door behind her.

The night was cold, but she didn’t feel it. She couldn’t really feel anything. Everything seemed frozen, as though that last betrayal had numbed her emotions permanently.

As she turned into a cemetery, her only thought was peace. She needed a place to stay—Spike had told her that sometimes, runaways slept in crypts. She wasn’t a runaway, but she was homeless.

Homeless. The word reverberated through her skull. They don’t care about me, Spike doesn’t love me, and now I’m homeless. Homeless. She repeated the word over and over again, trying to give it some meaning, trying to come up with anger or hate or any feeling over what had just happened, but she couldn’t.

She was empty.

And the worst part about it, she mused as she searched the cemetery for somewhere to sleep, was that she could almost feel her heart breaking, yet it caused no pain. She knew it would some time, though. It had to.

She had lost the man she loved. That was something she’d never recover from.

“Buffy?”

She whirled around, hand immediately going to the gun in her holster. As soon as she saw who it was, she pulled it out. “Get away,” she ordered in a quavering voice.

“Buffy, wait. I just want to know what happened to you. You’re bloody.” Riley took a step forward, reaching out as though to touch her cheek. Buffy’s grip on the gun tightened.

“I told you not to move!” He was only about ten feet away. If she shot him, she could kill him.

Riley’s face showed confusion. He was a good actor. “I thought I’d told you. I’ve broken ties with Rayne.”

“Yeah, you told me,” she snapped. “I just made with the not-believing. Who sent you, Rayne or Spike?” She spat the last name out like it was poison.

“Spike?” Riley sounded bewildered. “What does Spike have to do with...oh my God, Buffy, did he hurt you?”

“What? Oh.” She suddenly remembered that she was bleeding from two different cuts. “No. He didn’t hurt me.”

‘Then who did?” Riley again took a step forward, and this time, Buffy didn’t try to stop him.

“Drusilla.” Now her voice was leaden. Every word she spoke was numbing her further.

“The crazy girl? Rayne let her loose?”

“I don’t know. All I know is, the bitch came at me with a knife and no one c-cared,” she said, fighting to keep the tears at bay. Numb. She was numb. She couldn’t feel...

Riley reached out and brushed her chin, tilting it up so she was looking him in the eye. “Look, Buffy, I know you don’t trust me, and I know that I don’t deserve to be trusted. But you’re hurt and alone, and I swear to God, if you just come with me I’ll get you cleaned up and no one will touch you. Not Rayne and not Spike. I’m finished with them, Buffy. I’m starting a new life.” He gave her a peppy-looking smile. Any other time she would have decked him for it, since stuff like that was way annoying to her. Now, she just stared at him as he asked, “Would you like to start a new life, too.”

A new life. A life without pain, without intrigue, without betrayal or sorrow. A life where she could trust what people told her.

A life without Spike?

Something inside of her screamed in agony, but she forced a smile on her face. “I’d love to.”

“Excellent!” Riley’s smile widened. “This way, then.” They walked over to his car, got in, and drove off.

Though tears were running down her cheeks, Buffy refused to look back. Spike had been her past. Wherever Riley was taking her, that was her future. She wasn’t sure if she trusted Riley or not, but she knew she couldn’t trust Spike.

As they left Sunnydale, one thought was in her head: Goodbye.

~*~

 

18:

As soon as the door slammed, Spike turned back around to the group. “Okay, guys, we’ve got a sweep to do, and now that that—bitch is gone, we won’t be loaded down. Let’s get moving.” He quickly brought Dru back to her room, laid her down tenderly, and exited the apartment. The others followed.

Everyone in the room swiftly and silently gathered their things. One by one, they slipped out of the door, walked down the stairs, and into the alley next to their building.

Spike watched his colleagues assemble. The soft, sickly glow of a streetlamp illuminated their faces. They all looked sad.

When everyone was there, he said, “You think she bought it?”

“I think she bought it a little too well,” the whelp said, frowning at the closed door. “Did you see her? I don’t think the Buffster’s ever been that upset.”

“Yes, you were very cruel to her,” Anya said flatly. “Especially after you two enjoyed many orgasms earlier tonight.”

Spike groaned, burying his head in his hands. “Bloody hell.” It had hurt so much, seein’ his girl stare at him with betrayal in her eyes—again. Forcing cruel words to come out of his mouth, watching as each statement made her crumble just a little bit more, had damn near broken his heart.

“You know it had to be done, Anya.”

“Yeah, but...poor Buffy,” Red said, frowning. “I think she really believed us.”

Spike frowned. Buffy’s emotional state was probably even more fragile than it had been before he’d spilled his soul out to her. But his girl was strong—she’d survive.

“What if she thinks we’re all against her? What are we going to do then? I mean, as it is, once we let her in on the whole security cameras thing she’s so going to hit the roof,” Cordelia pointed out.

“The fashion bitch is right,” Faith said. “B’s smart, but just a little tightly wound. She’s not gonna just forgive you for that stunt you pulled.”

Spike knew she was right, but dammit...”’S not like I had a choice! Bastard put cameras in every room in the bleeding house!”

“Who?” A new voice asked. “Rayne?”

Spike shook his head. “Riley, Bit,” he told Dawn. The girl came and sat next to him on the wooden crate he occupied. “Sodding ponce had the house wired. I had to convince Buffy we all hated her.”

Dawn winced. “Ouch.”

“Quite right,” Anya told her. “Especially since earlier that night Spike and Buffy were trading orgasms.”

Spike glanced at Dawn. The teen had an absolutely huge grin on her face. He barely restrained a groan—he knew what that smile meant.

“Aieeeeee!” Dawn shrieked, bouncing up and down so hard that the crate’s wood creaked. “You guys did it! Omigod, I so knew this was coming! Oh, it’s so cute!”

“Or it would be, ‘f Buffy didn’t currently think I hate her,” Spike reminded her.

He winced as her face fell. “Oh. Why the hell did you do that?” She fixed him with an accusing look.

He shifted uncomfortably. Bugger it all, the Bit was like his conscious, only more annoying.

Now she was archin’ an eyebrow. “Explain now, Spike.”

He glared at her. “You remind me of m’ old schoolmarm, you know that?”

“Spike...”

Warning, I’m-gonna-beat-you-bloody tone included. “A’right, a’right,” he snapped, “Gimme a minute.” He sighed, ran his hand through his hair, and began:

“Got a phone call from Red in the middle of the night. Told me the ponce’d set up cameras in all our rooms, includin’ the bedroom. She was out on the fire escape. Told me Riley was still with Rayne an’ was lookin’ to either recruit Buffy back or kill her. Only way he could get her back would be ‘f we turned her away—an’ since he was watchin’ the house, he’d know ‘f it was just a charade. Everybody else already knew, Red’d told ‘em earlier, when they were out.

“So when Dru tried to kill ‘er, I took the opportunity an’ made her hate us all. Now she’s wanderin’ around somewhere.”

Dawn’s eyes were wide. She heard crazy things every day—the place she worked at wasn’t exactly known for its pristine clientele—but this pretty much took the cake. “Okay, what happened to just killing Riley?”

Spike shook his head. “No can do,” he told her regretfully. “Woulda thought you knew even before we did—Rayne’s movin’ in. He’s got half the lap-dancers shacked up in Sunnyhell right now.”

“Oh my God,” Dawn said softly. “Really not good.”

Spike nodded. “The only way to be able to keep fighting was to get Buffy out, an’ it had to look convincin’. There was no way to tell her. She doesn’t have a cell phone, an’ it’d look way more suspicious ‘f she got a call in the middle of the night than ‘f I got one.”

“So you pushed her away.” Dawn shook her head. “That sucks big-time. What are you going to do now?”

“Good question,” Faith said. “We gonna try to get B back?”

He wished to God that he could answer yes, but he knew he couldn’t. The second Red had told him Riley had gone mad scientist on them, he’d known Buffy was lost to him. He shook his head.

“By now, she’ll be in Captain Cardboard’s care. That’s the only safe place for her—‘f they think she’s cut ties with us, they won’t hurt her. Maybe when we make the last move, we can get her back. ‘Till then, she’s gone.”

His voice was steady, almost calm, but his innards were in turmoil. Buffy. His thoughts were racing frantically, but it was her name that kept surfacing. My Buffy. God, ‘m such a wanker. She could be gone forever. There could have been another way. But he knew the truth: there hadn’t been. He’d done what he’d had to do, and now it was tearing him apart.

“Wow. Harsh.”

Spike glanced at Dawn. Her voice, too, was nonchalant, but he knew the Bit almost as well as he knew himself, and she was upset. The only thing hiding it was years of experience on the street.

“Speaking of final confrontations, when exactly is that going to be? I’m tired of playing cat-and-mouse with Rayne. I want vengeance, and I want it now!”

Spike cocked an eyebrow at his sister. “Impatient, much?”

She gave him a brilliant smile. “Very.”

Good thing he’d come up with a plan, then. Probably one of the worst plans in the history of bad plans, but it was somethin’, at least.

“Right, then. Here’s what we’re gonna do.”

~*~

The SUV was quiet, much more upscale than the DeSoto—and way, way less comfortable, to her way of thinking. Riley drove so well, they could have used him as an example in a high school driver’s ed class. Buffy was super-bored.

They’d stopped by his apartment and he’d fixed up her wounds and given her some aspirin. Before they headed for LA, they’d also stopped by Wal-Mart and gotten her a tank top and some underwear. Buffy knew it was silly, but she kept wearing Spike’s shirt. She felt like it was her last link to him.

Riley had tried to initiate conversation, but Buffy’s replies had been monosyllabic when she’d bothered to say anything at all. She knew he was making an effort, but she still didn’t trust him.

She also couldn’t make herself care. The numbness was leaving, and with every mile they drove came more pain. She didn’t want to go back to LA. She wanted to stay in Sunnydale, with Spike. But she couldn’t.

Because he hated her.

“Of course you’ll live with me for the time being—“

Buffy’s head lifted sluggishly—she couldn’t seem to move quickly. “What?” she screeched, before she remembered that he’d just saved her so she should probably be nice. “I mean, um, sorry. You have a house in LA?”

“An apartment,” he told her. “It’s small, but it should be big enough for two. We’re going there now. You can crash on the couch, and then tomorrow we’ll see about getting you a job. Okay?”

He was being really nice, she noticed distantly. A little too nice, if you asked her. “Riley.” For the first time since he’d found her, her voice was hard, aware.

He tensed. “Yes?”

“Why are you doing this?”

His muscles relaxed, and she wondered what he’d thought she was going to ask. “I told you, Buffy,” he said, in a tone that sounded almost like a recital. “I’m turning over a new leaf, and helping you is the first step.”

“Really.” Flat skepticism rang out in her voice, and she realized—she was still worried about how much she could trust Riley. She was still sure that she could trust Spike. Part of her was insisting that everything that had happened in the house was all part of some bizarre-o dream.

God, she was messed up.

“Yes, really,” Riley snapped. For a moment his voice sounded menacing, but then he modified it. “I mean, yes. Of course. Look, Buffy, I know you don’t trust me, and that’s okay. Just give me a chance. Please.”

Hadn’t he said that before? Buffy frowned. She couldn’t remember. Everything was hazy from the moment she’d seen Drusilla on. Everything except Spike’s cold face, his pain-filled eyes.

Hate flooded into her. He’d been in pain? She was in pain now! He’d hurt her, called her names, turned away from her and told her he didn’t love her. She had to put him behind her...

She smiled at Riley. “Okay. Chance given.”

...No matter how much it might hurt.

~*~

Riley turned out to be true to his word. They drove for about three hours before reaching LA. He wove through the streets, sighing when they stopped and cursing other drivers.

If it weren’t for the fact that her heart felt like it was being torn apart, it would have been a nice, cozy, domestic scene. As it was, it felt like a kind of refined torture.

He drove through town until they came to a nice, reasonably upscale street. Parking outside a tall brick building, Riley grinned at Buffy and said, “Honey, we’re home.”

She frowned. “Please don’t say that,” she requested quietly. “I’m hurting, Riley.”

She watched the emotions play across his face out of the corner of her eye: frustration, murderous rage, and then determination. When she turned to face him full-on, his face was again smooth. “Sorry, Buffy, I forgot,” he said seemingly contritely. “You want to go inside now?”

Buffy settled on nodding. She unbuckled her seatbelt and got out.

When her feet hit the pavement she had to fight to keep her knees from buckling. God, she was tired. The emotional night had left her feeling ready to collapse. Just a little while longer, she told herself, and then you can rest. With Riley in the same apartment...no, Buffy. No second thoughts. They betrayed you.

Riley took her hand and led her to the door. The doorman let them in without checking ID, which Buffy found a bit odd, but not really suspicious. With his hand proprietarily on her elbow in a manner that seriously bugged her, he steered her over to an elevator.

As they walked, Buffy looked around herself with interest. The room was well-furnished; the reception desk was dark wood that matched the floor. The ceiling was tiled, but the tiles were the same soft golden as the couches at the far corner of the room. Low lighting and soft music invited the apartment’s occupants to sit down and enjoy themselves.

It was luxurious, which was surprising. Any other time Buffy would have wondered where Riley was getting all this money, but now she just wanted to sleep. Even as they walked, her lids were dropping.

She wasn’t too tired to not be astounded, and more than a little afraid, when the elevator opened to reveal a tiled white box. It was almost blindingly pale. “Riley?” Buffy asked as they started to walk in. Wait—she didn’t want to go in. Something was up.

“Riley, stop!” She frantically tried to dig her heels into the ground, but her legs weren’t working right. Actually, she realized suddenly, they weren’t working at all. She blinked, but when her eyes closed she had to fight to keep them open. All her limbs were floppy, and Riley was practically carrying her.

“Aaah!” She tried to scream, but her throat muscles were lax, too. It came out as a whimper. At about the same time, she realized that even if she had been able to scream, it wouldn’t have helped. The whole building was deserted.

“Shut the hell up, bitch,” Riley spat, hitting her across the head and stepping into the elevator. The doors closed, and she was encased in horrible, blinding whiteness. She didn’t want to close her eyes, but she did anyway. Even those muscles were limp.

The last image in her mind was of the ‘aspirin’ Riley had given her. Drugs. It was a trap—oh, God, Spike!

She felt Riley hit her again, making her head spin. The elevator door opened, and she forced her eyes open slightly. Fuzzy blackness edged the corners of her vision.

Rayne’s smiling face greeted her, along with a crushing blow to her stomach.

And as she went spiraling off into darkness, her mind screamed one name: SPIKE!

~*~

 

19:

They were all sitting in the alley, discussing their next move. Everyone was tired, tousled, and in Xander’s case, a little ripe. A map of LA was sketched into the dirt. As everyone else listened, Willow gave a detailed description of the LAPD headquarters.

It was all a bit cliché, Spike mused. ‘f course, if it’d bring the LAPD down, then he wasn’t exactly complaining.

“I don’t know so much about the actual officer’s, you know, offices, but I heard they’re cubicles and Rayne’s office is right next to—Gunn? What’s going on?”

Spike whipped his head around to see what had happened to Gunn to make Red so distracted. Generally she’d just ignore an intrusion.

As soon as he saw the man, he rushed over and helped him onto a garbage bin. To be honest, Spike wasn’t sure how the man had made it into the alley, he was so exhausted. His head was glistening with sweat and he was gasping for breath, but Spike couldn’t wait. “What the bloody hell happened?”

Gunn was their muscle, but due to the fact that he was also rather smart, Spike had recently placed him in charge of handling gossip and rumors in LA. He wasn’t supposed to report back to them until the next week. Knowing what he did about Buffy’s whereabouts, Spike was beyond worried.

“Gunn! Sod it all, man, start talking!”

“Spike, I think he’s a little out of breath,” Red told him, her eyes fixed on Gunn. She seemed more worried about Gunn than the news he might be carrying, and though Spike knew he ought to be, too, somehow he couldn’t force himself to be overly distraught about it.

“No—I’m cool,” Gunn gasped, leaning back. “I gotta—it’s about that girl of yours. The nice one.”

“Buffy.” His voice was flat, refusing to betray the turmoil he was in. Oh God, was Buffy in trouble? The only reason he’d been cruel, the only reason he’d forced himself to do the unthinkable, was because he had to get his girl away from danger.

Every time he thought of what he’d said, what he’d done—when he thought of the crushed look in her eyes, the absolute heartbreak she must be going through when she remembered his words, it felt like there was a knife twisting in his belly. He was trying to be cold and leader-like on the outside, but his inner ponce was whimpering, Buffy. Buffy, my love, forgive me. I only did what I had to.

“Yeah, Buffy. Word came to me—few hours ago. I hit a hundred on the highway, man, that car you gave me is tight..” Gunn spoke quickly.

Spike frowned. “You’re changin’ the subject, mate. Best tell me what happened to Buffy and fast.”

Gunn grimaced. “Okay, you caught me. Got word from a custodian at the Randall Building...ya’ll know where that is, right?” At Spike’s impatient nod, he continued: “Riley’s a turncoat like you said, Spike, but they’re not gettin’ all cuddly with the lady. They drugged her, and word is Rayne’s planning on questioning her. The guy said that...”

Spike didn’t hear anything after that. Rayne’s planning on questioning her. Rayne. Oh, God, no. He’d delivered her straight into the hands of the one person capable of inflicting pain upon her far worse than death. Buffy was going to be tortured, and it was all his fault. He was responsible for the worst pain his love could ever feel.

“Spike?” That was the Bit’s voice. He glanced at her for a moment before falling back into apathy. Poor girl, she looked terrified. Well, she ought to be. They all ought to be. Without Buffy, his world was nothing. He was nothing.

“Spike? Spike, you can’t stay in a love-sick haze forever. Spike, dammit, stop it!”

Someone else was calling his name. It was his sister, and not only was she yelling at him, but she was also shaking his shoulder.

“Bloody hell, Anya, what do you want?”

His sister’s eyes were staring into his, and for once, they looked honestly concerned. “Spike, if you want us to rescue Buffy, you can’t go all semi-catatonic on us now! We have to move quickly!”

“Anya’s right, Spike,” Cordelia said earnestly. “Just because you had to be a total jerk to her and now it was all for nothing since she’s in deep crap anyway doesn’t mean you can just tune us all out.”

Although Cordy’s idea of motivating was rather amusing, he still didn’t move. His mind wasn’t capable of focusing on something as complicated as standing up. He was too busy thinking of Buffy, of the woman he loved— of what he’d said, what he’d done, and wishing he could undo it all. He kept seeing her eyes, so beautiful, so green, staring at him in love as she climaxed...

And then a few hours later, staring at him in utter disbelief and betrayal.

“Spike! God-fuckin’-dammit, get your sorry ass up now!”

His jaw was dealt a right cross of absolutely stunning proportions. He reeled back, smacking his head against the brick wall and jolting back to reality.

“Faith, you bug-shaggin’ mad little—“

“Don’t even start with me,” Faith snapped. “You needed that.”

Spike rubbed his jaw. Well, he could see something other than his memories now, that was an improvement. But...”Coulda started talkin’ without you takin’ swings at me,” he informed her.

Faith only rolled her eyes. “Right. Look, you okay now?”

“More or less. Although ‘m gettin’ a huge bruise on m’ jaw.”

“Okay, guys, cut the crap,” Kennedy interrupted. “Spike, you had your pity party, now it’s back to reality. Buffy’s stuck in the Randall Building. Now, are we going to get her out, or are we going to mope in the alley until our asses fall off?”

“Nice way to put it,” Xander said sarcastically. Kennedy flipped him the bird.

Spike would have smiled it his heart wasn’t breaking. That was his team, all right, true to form. They were all squabbling now, completely ignoring their venerated leader.

“A’right, all,” he announced, standing up. “Get your guns ready and all that rot. We’ve got a rescue to do.”

Personally he thought it was a rather impressive little announcement, but everyone ignored him. Bloody hell. “Is anyone listening?” he asked, starting to get annoyed.

They continued to bicker.

Okay, that was it. He was gonna kill ‘em. “All of you, shut your bleein’ gobs b’fore I rip your throats out!” His roar was loud enough to be heard three streets away, though he rather hoped it wasn’t.

Silence fell. If they’d been in the country, you could’ve heard crickets chirping, it was that quiet. “Right then,” he said when they’d stopped glancing at each other and started paying attention to him, “we’ve gotta get to the Randall Building, and we’ve gotta get there fast. Cordy, Anya, get your cars. We’ve all got our weapons, right?” At everyone’s nod he said, “Good. Let’s go.” He turned to Gunn. “I want you to stay here,” he said. “Drusilla’s in the guest room. Tie her up or kill her, your choice, but restrain the bitch will we get back.”

Gunn stood up, wincing, and nodded. “I can take care of one crazy chick,” he said, though he didn’t look exactly eager. Oh, well. Spike didn’t really care. Right now, there was only one goal in his mind: rescue Buffy.

“Um, Spike?” Tara spoke up. “I think—can I stay with Gunn? He looks done in, and, well, Drusilla can get kind of mean.”

Spike stared at her for only a second before nodding. Tara was a good bird, but she wasn’t too great in a fight.

Anya looked him up and down. “You look ready to collapse,” she said matter-of-factly.

Xander patted her on the back. “Way to encourage, sweetie.”

“You think so?” Anya was practically radiant.

“No, that was sarcasm. God.” Cordelia rolled her eyes. “Even I could recognize that.”

“Um, guys? We’re supposed to be rescuing,” Willow reminded them.

The guilty looks on everyone’s faces gave him grim satisfaction. “C’mon, then, let’s get over to LA.”

They all trooped over to the two cars. On the way, Faith fell into step next to him. “Think we’re doin’ the right thing, just charging in like this?”

He shot her a sharp glance. “You protestin’?”

Faith held up her hands defensively. “Hey, you’re the boss. ‘Sides, you know me, half-suicidal anyway. But...” she lowered her voice. “She’s just one person, and we’re risking everything, here. Seems a little crazy to me.”

“Faith.” His voice was hard; he had to set her straight now.

She halted. “Yeah?”

“’m not doin’ this because ‘s sane. ‘m doin it because I have to. I put her there. She’s in Rayne’s claws right now because I drove her there. Now, I gotta get her out.”

He didn’t know what she saw in his eyes, what conclusion she drew from his words, but her eyes narrowed. She stared at him in silence for a moment, rubbing two fingers together, before she said, “You love her, don’t you?”

Spike arched and eyebrow at her. “Where’ve you been?”

Faith was grinning and about to reply when Dawn yelled, “Guys, come on, we’re ready to go!”

“Okay, studly,” Faith said, unsheathing a knife and twirling it around on her knuckles. “Let’s go save B.” She strode off confidently.

But as Spike got into Anya’s car, his expression was closed in, and his head was spinning with worried thoughts. Unlike Faith, he knew exactly what Rayne was capable of.

What if we’re too late?

Anya sped toward LA. The speedometer crept up: 80, then 90, then 100, and finally, amazingly enough, 110. Any other time he would have been scared shitless, not to mention a little annoyed with Anya for her reckless driving. Now, he just wished she could go faster.

Hold on, luv. Please, hold on.

~*~

Buffy woke slowly, pain clouding her mind. Her first conscious thought was of Spike. Her second thought was, Where am I? And then memory came rushing back.

Spike. Riley. Aspirin. Rayne...Oh, God. She let out a whimper as the cause behind her pain finally hit her.

A second later, she wished she hadn’t. She kept her eyes screwed shut, but heavy footsteps alerted her to another’s presence in the room—wherever that room was.

“So, you’re awake, are you?”

She cringed. She knew that voice: it was Captain Rayne.

“Open your eyes, bitch! I know you can hear me!”

She kept her eyes shut.

There was no warning, not even a rustle or an angry mutter. One second she was lying on the ground, praying to be let out of this place, keeping her eyes shut in a feeble attempt to deny that she had really been captured. The next, she was hauled to her feet, and a fist plowed into her face.

Her eyes flew open and connected with Riley’s small, piggish ones. He smiled gleefully and punched her again, only this time he let go. She flew across the small white room and hit the wall—hard.

Buffy caught herself on her hands and knees, fighting not to hit the floor, struggling to contain her whimpers. That would only give them satisfaction.

She stood again, noting that they’d at least left her clothes on, and turned to face her captors.

Riley, Angel, Rayne, Harmony, and Veruca all stood at the other end of the room. One wall was covered in irons and pokers and other incredibly unsavory-looking things. Some very medieval-looking chains were coming from the wall. Buffy poked the wall she was against with her toes—it was plaster, nothing special. She couldn’t see a door.

Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit!

She straightened as best as she could when Riley starting to walk toward her. Her muscles ached like fire, and she could tell that they still weren’t working properly, but she fought to stay upright all the same. Maybe if she could hold on, fight back, someone would rescue her.

But who? a nasty little voice in her head whispered. With a sinking feeling, she realized it was right. The people she trusted had abandoned her. No one knew she was here.

But that didn’t mean she had to give up. Buffy lifted her chin and stared haughtily at Riley as he came closer. “Nice dose. It wore off fast,” she said in as snide a tone as she could summon.

Riley smiled nastily. “It was supposed to,” he told her.

“Yeah, we figured that if we were going to like torture you, then we, you know, wanted you to feel it,” Harmony piped up.

“Is that so?” she said, still fighting for disdainful casualness. “Well, hate to disappoint you, but there’s not gonna be any torture today.”

Riley huge, ham-like fist came crashing toward her. She ducked and pivoted, so that instead of hitting her, he hit the wall.

Which was definitely plaster, Buffy noted with interest, since his hand crashed right through it.

Unfortunately, it was flimsy plaster, so sticking his hand through it didn’t seem to affect Riley much; and, spirit aside, Buffy was unarmed. Still, she fisted her hands. She might die—actually, there was a fairly good chance she would—but she was going to go out fighting.

“So, answer me this,” she taunted as he flexed his knuckles.

She leapt for him, dealing him a blow to the face and then to the groin. “Were you planning on torturing me all along?” Punch. “Or was it a spur-of-the-moment kind thing?” Spin, kick, punch, duck, and—ow!

Someone had come up behind her and hit her over the head with a bludgeon. Her head spun, and the next thing she knew, those chains were being put around her wrists and legs.

“You see, Buffy,” Rayne said calmly, coming to stand over her as Harmony rushed to help Riley, “We need information. There are a few things that don’t add up, and we knew you could provide us with some answers. We understand that you’ve been intimate with William Jenkins recently?”

“She was so doing him,” Harmony said matter-of-factly. Despite the fact that she was in chains, Buffy rolled her eyes.

“No kidding,” she said sarcastically.

She was rewarded with yet another kick to her ribs. “Treat us with respect, you whore,” Veruca advised.

Rayne knelt down in front of her. Buffy wished she could stand up, but the chains were placed in such a manner that her feet could only move a few inches and her arms just a few feet. Just kneeling like she was then hurt.

“We want information, Ms. Summers, and we want it now,” he said in a hard voice. “I know you’ve heard from all your little friends about what we’re capable of. You don’t want to find out first-hand, do you?”

“My little friends hate my guts,” Buffy spat. “So sorry, I know jack.”

Rayne shot a glance at Riley, who shrugged apologetically. “She’s right. That’s why she came running to me.”

“Well, you at least know what they’ve told you before. Tell us that,” Rayne cooed.

“Not on your life,” Buffy snapped.

A gunshot went off right next to her head. In spite of herself, Buffy flinched and jumped to one side. The chains constricted her movement, and she fell in a heap on the floor.

“Perhaps you misunderstood.” That was Rayne again, still cool as could be. He put the gun back in its holster. “We are in charge, not you. You will tell us what you know, or we’ll give you our worst. Understood?”

“Bring it on,” Buffy whispered, and she spat at his feet.

He didn’t get angry and knock her out, the way she was hoping he would. Instead, he crooked a finger and called out the one word she’d been dreading to hear: “Angel?”

He came over immediately, insane grin fully intact. In his hands was a pair of metal prongs that ended in serrated, hooked edges. Thinking about what it might be used for, Buffy grew sick.

“Yeah, boss?” Angel asked. “You gonna let me play a little?”

“Try a lot,” Rayne said, smiling. “Don’t kill her, and don’t let her pass out. Oh, and make sure she can still talk.”

Buffy paled at his instructions. Oh, God no.

As Angel advanced, fly unzipped, tongues at the ready, she shut her eyes. Please, Spike, hurry. She didn’t care if he hated her. He had to be coming. Somebody had to have told him. You’re my only hope. God, please, make him come.

After that, she could only scream.

~*~

They got stopped about twenty miles outside LA. It was an LAPD cop who stopped them. Anya poked her head outside the window. “Yes, officer?” she said sweetly.

“Show me your license,” the man said in a bored tone of voice.

Spike watched his sister blink innocently. “Of course, officer,” she said. She turned to Spike, who sat next to her in the passenger seat. Wordlessly, he handed her a gun.

She whirled around and pressed it against the man’s temple. “Now, here’s the thing,” she said calmly. “You’re gonna let us go, because if you don’t, your brains will be the newest decoration to the highway. Got it?”

The man nodded. His face was a mask of utter fear.

“Thank you!” Anya said. She then reached up and whacked him across the temple with the gun. He fell in the ditch on the side of the highway.

Kennedy and Xander were in the backseat. They didn’t even blink when Anya rolled up the window, put the car into gear, and sped off to catch up with Cordelia.

*

Buffy didn’t know how much time had passed, and to be honest, she didn’t care. All she knew, all her world consisted of, was pain.

And if the look on Angel’s face was any indication, he wasn’t half finished yet.

There were cuts on her thighs and arms, and her muscles hurt more than ever. Blood from a cut on her forehead was constantly welling down into her eye. She was just barely restraining tears.

“Now, I’m going to ask you again,” Rayne said, his voice as calm and patronizing as ever. “What do you know?”

Angel took a piece of skin on her calf in the tongs; her clothes had long since been reduced to tatters. Buffy closed her eyes, knowing what would happen if she didn’t answer. Part of her was begging the rest to stop, to be realistic, to just give in to the inevitable and tell him everything. But the rest of her refused.

“Go to hell,” she whispered.

Angel’s grip on the tongs increased until the blades cut through her leg. He twisted, twisted, wrenching the skin out of shape, causing blood to fountain every which way and stain the once-pristine walls red. And then, when that bit of skin was nearly shredded, he yanked.

The tongs ripped away a chunk of skin about an inch square, revealing red, angry, bloody meat underneath. Buffy screamed in agony as he discarded the chunk and got ready to begin again.

Oh God, Spike, please come.

Please.

~*~

 

20:

They were stopped at the door of the Randall Building by a cop who looked considerably more fit than the one who’d tried to give Anya a ticket—and considerably more worried at the sight of eight angry-looking people facing him down. Still, the man tried to do his duty. “I need a photo ID from each of you,” he told Spike, who headed the group.

“Right,” Spike said, before pulling his gun out of his duster and laying it against the man’s throat. “Now,” he said in a slow, deadly voice, “Open the door for us like a good lad.” Wordlessly, the man obeyed. Spike crooked a finger behind him. “Whelp.”

Xander took a club and hit the man. He slumped to the ground, unconscious.

Spike turned to the rest of them. “Remember, we’ve got no idea where Buffy is, but she’s our goal,” he told them. “Someone dies, leave ‘em. We’ve gotta get her outta there. Got it?” They all nodded. “Good.” He paused, hesitating, before saying, “Thanks.”

“We all love her,” Xander told him. “We can’t leave her with Rayne.”

Cordelia nodded. “She has good taste in shoes.”

Red walked up to him. Her face was set in what people called her ‘resolve face’. “Let’s go, guys,” she called, and walked through the doorway.

Spike closed his eyes briefly. Here we go. The bloody Band of Buggered. Hell, we could die in there.

But if they didn’t recover Buffy, he didn’t care.

They were set upon as soon as they walked in the door. Police officers swarmed around them—Spike didn’t waste time counting, but it looked like there were at least a dozen. Fortunately, they were lightly armed, and his team had heavy gear with them.

They let loose shooting, aiming mainly at kneecaps and arms. Screams filled the air; bullets ricocheted off walls. Luckily for them, all of the bullets that found their mark landed in members of the LAPD.

The shootout, if one could call it that, only lasted a few minutes, but to Spike it felt like an eternity. Every minute that the bullets flew around was another minute Buffy was left with Rayne.

When all the cops were more or less incapacitated, they all looked around. Aside from their welcoming committee, the large room was deserted. Bloody hell, maybe we shouldn’t’ve knocked all Rayne’s men out, Spike thought, looking around frantically for some sign of where they’d taken Buffy.

It was Anya who found it. She walked over to a slightly uneven patch of wooden panel and pushed the button on it. As the others watched, astounded, an elevator opened in front of them.

“How’d you figure that out, Ayn?” Xander asked, looking considerably impressed with his girlfriend’s skills.

“Haven’t you people ever watched Alias?” she answered. “Now come on, time’s a-wasting!”

They all piled into the elevator, Spike last. Right before he went in, he stooped and picked up the nearest cop’s gun. Couldn’t hurt to have more ammunition, he mused.

He was about to straighten when something on the ground caught his eye. He stiffened and picked up the object in between two fingers. It was exactly one strand of blonde hair.

Buffy, he thought, and the agony washed over him again. He could remember her hair so well—shining in the sun, bouncing in the club, tossing over his pillow that long night before...

“Spike?” Cordy called. “Are you coming or what?”

He looked up and into the eerily pristine elevator. All of a sudden, utter rage took over him. The grief and the guilt were still there, but now there was another emotion: pure fury.

“Yeah. Let’s go.” He stood up, face grim. Right before he walked into the elevator he kissed that single strand of hair and let it drop.

He’d save his girl if he died trying that very night.

*

They’d paused for a moment, probably to discuss what they were going to do next.

Buffy’s legs were lacerated and scored with deep cuts. If they scarred, she was going to be so pissed off.

She knew it was ridiculous to stay stubborn and refuse to talk, just as she knew that all her thoughts about being pissed off were just bravado, but she had to keep it up. Someone was coming to rescue her. She was sure of it.

Common sense pointed out, as it had many times in the past—minutes? hours? there was no way to tell—that her rescue was far from a sure thing. From what she last knew, Spike hated her. They all did.

And yet, somehow, she couldn’t make herself believe it. Going with Riley had been uber-stupid, she could see that now. She’d had no evidence to believe that he was on the ‘good guy’s’ side, and all the reason in the world to believe that he wasn’t. Of course, she’d been half out of her mind with grief at the time—but that brought her to another possible mistake she’d made.

Spike had been cold and mean and basically a big jerk after Drusilla had attacked her. But...what if he’d had a reason to be like that? Somehow, now that she was lying in a torture chamber probably about to be killed, she could see things lots clearer than she’d been able to in the kitchen. She could remember seeing that look in his eyes, that grieving, regretful look, but at the time she’d paid it no mind. Now she thought long and hard on it.

What were the chances that everyone, from Spike to Cordy to Anya, would hate her? And Willow? Next to Spike, Willow was the person she loved most in the world. Buffy knew with more surety than she’d ever known anything before that Willow would not turn against her.

She should have known that about Spike, too, but for some reason she hadn’t. Why? Was it lingering doubt on her part, deep-set insecurity? Or was she just an idiot?

Her thoughts were interrupted when her tormentors again turned toward her. Her stomach sank; they all wore huge grins. That meant that she’d be back in a world of pain in a very few minutes.

Crap.

“Well, Ms. Summers,” Rayne said with an enormous smile, “We’ve decided that we’ve been a bit too easy on you. So, here’s what we’re going to do.”

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Angel walk over to the wall and pull of a very, very sharp-looking metal tool. She gulped.

Loudly.

“Now, Buffy,” Riley said, smiling as Angel approached, “Be a good girl and tell us what we want to know, okay?”

She stayed silent. Out-and-out defiance would mean that Rayne gave Angel permission to go full-on with the poking, which she really didn’t want, and saying something...that would be betrayal. Of what or whom she wasn’t really sure at this moment, but she was reasonably certain that if she started talking now, she’d be betraying...something.

What she didn’t realize was that her silence would be read as defiance. Smiling broadly, Angel stepped forward and pointed the poker at a cut in her leg. Buffy braced herself for what surely would be the worst pain she’d had to endure so far.

Just before the poker touched the cut, a ding sounded somewhere in the wall. Everyone in the room froze, Buffy included.

Ding. Like an elevator ding. Oh God, please, let it be who I hope it is...

It was. One second Angel was poised to stick a poker in her leg, and the next a gunshot rang out, Angel’s hand was halfway across the room, blood was spurting everywhere, and somehow over the screaming Buffy heard Spike say, “I wouldn’t do that ‘f I was you, mate.”

For one beautiful, shining second, Spike was standing there in the elevator door, gun in hand, eyes locked with Buffy. But that second was shattered when Buffy saw his eyes: cold and shuttered. Furious. With whom, she couldn’t tell, but at that moment it didn’t matter. She was left as unsure of everything as she had been before he’d blown Angel’s hand off.

“Spike,” she began, intending to ask him what was up and to hell with everyone else in the room, but at that second, Riley jumped him.

After that, everything was chaos. The seven that had been in the elevator rushed out at the same time Harmony, Veruca, and Rayne all had their guns out. Buffy screamed as loud as she could, “Harmony’s got the keys!” The little bitch had dangled them in front of her face awhile earlier.

It should have been an easy fight, but somehow, it wasn’t. Angel had gotten out a gun and was shooting bullets every which way, and though Xander tried to stop him, he didn’t get over soon enough. Buffy screamed when one of them hit Dawn’s arm. Dawn went down immediately. Buffy saw her face right before the girl passed out—intense pain was written all over it.

Kennedy and Cordy were fighting with Veruca, who was holding them off with a seriously formidable-looking gun. Buffy had no doubt that the two of them would win—eventually. Willow was trying to help Spike with Riley, and Faith was kicking Rayne’s ass—for the moment.

“Buffy!” That was from Anya, who’d been bitch-slapping Harmony into next week. She was dangling the keys from her fingers. “Catch!” She threw the keys frantically. Out of the corner of her eye, Buffy saw Harmony take the chance to knock Anya out cold. She didn’t have time to dwell, though; she was too busy trying to catch the keys.

Of course she didn’t. There was no way she could have, chained up as she was. Fortunately, she managed to inch her way across the floor, smearing blood all over the place, and grab the keys with the tips of her fingers. She began to wrestle with unlocking herself, trying all the while to watch the fight.

There was clearly one objective for Rayne: keep the enemy away from Buffy. Fortunately that seemed to be her friends’—no, not friends’, rescuers’—plan, too. No one bothered her as she worked the key into the lock on her hands.

But as she watched, what she saw made her hardly believe her eyes.

Harmony was moving in on Kennedy and Cordy, and as Buffy watched she smacked Cordy across the face. Angel had somehow overpowered Xander, and though he was still streaming blood at an alarming rate, he was also fighting to pull the trigger of his gun again. Riley had disabled Willow. In fact, the only two people who weren’t losing were Spike and Faith, who was winning mostly because she had a long, dangerous-looking knife.

Buffy felt tears fill her eyes. They outnumbered the LAPD two to one. Surely...surely they couldn’t lose?

No. Not now, not when I was so close to being free. Come on, Buffy, unlock the Goddamn manacles! She was trying to bend her hand at a rather impossible angle in order to fit the key in the lock. It kept scratching the surface of the metal, never quite going into the hole—but Buffy kept trying. Once she got out of the things she probably wouldn’t even be able to walk, but she had to get free. She had to.

Spike, fortunately, was kicking Riley’s ass. Buffy watched with glee as he dealt three punches in quick succession to Riley’s face, ending with a blow that knocked the man halfway across the room. Standing up, Spike pulled out his gun, snarled something that Buffy couldn’t hear over all the noise, and pulled out his gun. He aimed carefully, shot three bullets—

And Riley fell to the ground, blood gushing from a bullet hole in his stomach, his arm, and his foot. Painful, incapacitating places. “OOOH GOOOOOOOOD!!!!!!”

And then, several things happened at once. Buffy smiled savagely upon seeing Riley writhe in agony—

The key slipped into the lock, and her hands were free—

She bent over and unlocked her feet, and when she stood up she shook the manacles off her feet—

Faith’s knife got knocked to the floor when Rayne bashed her wrist with a gun—

Rayne hit Faith’s temple with the gun, and she fell to the ground—

Buffy lunged toward the gun dangling uselessly from Angel’s fingers, legs half collapsing under her, knocked Angel out, and tried with shaking fingers to cock the gun—

Rayne pivoted on his heel, took aim, and shot at Spike—

The bullet missed, but the distraction it caused Spike was just great enough to give Rayne time to grab Faith’s knife and rush at Spike with it—

Rayne shoved Spike down and was about to plunge the knife into him—

Buffy finally succeeded in cocking the gun. She yanked it up and aimed it steadily at the only two men in the room still fighting—

Spike’s eyes locked with hers—

And then, the whole world froze.

Seriously. It was like in one of those movies, when for just a second, everything’s frozen, and some things suddenly become clear. Even Harmony and Veruca was stock still and staring at their boss.

If she put the gun down, Rayne would stab Spike. He probably wouldn’t kill him—Spike was much younger and a far better fighter. But Rayne would probably manage to injure him badly.

Part of Buffy was urging her to put the gun down and give Spike his just desserts. In fact, most of her was. She knew that in many ways, he deserved to get shot. No matter what the reason, he’d treated her like trash the night before.

But disdain or hatred was not what she saw in his eyes just then. No, what she saw took her breath away.

It was love and, perhaps more importantly, it was trust. The one thing she’d lacked before, and the one thing that every love is built around.

And that was when she realized why she’d run off and straight into Riley’s arms. She hadn’t trusted Spike enough to wonder if there was a reason for his behavior beyond the obvious. Spike had betrayed her, but she’d also betrayed herself.

Trust. It was what she’d always refused to do, the one thing she’d been warned against as a police officer. Now, looking into Spike eyes, she saw it. Trust. Love. Hand-in-hand, entwined so that it was impossible to tell one from the other. And in that moment, Buffy realized that she didn’t want to.

He was trusting her to save him from Rayne, and if she did, then she would have to trust him to not break her heart again. It was a trade-off.

Was she ready to risk it?

She loved him; she’d already figured that out. Now all she had to decide was if she was ready to take the ultimate leap and trust him with something even more important than her life...her heart.

Yes.

She blinked. Her whirlwind thoughts had taken only a second to sort themselves out. Spike was still staring at her like she held the fate of the world in her palm, and Rayne’s arm was still descending.

She’d done it a million times before, and now was no different. Almost automatically, she raised the gun, sighted, and shot.

Rayne fell to the ground, blood spewing everywhere, emanating from the small wound in the back of his brain.

He was dead in an instant.

Spike pushed the body off of him with contempt. “Bugger died too quick, ‘f you ask me.”

Buffy just stared at him. After all that had happened, and he could make jokes?

But when he came nearer, she could see that it wasn’t a joke. That fury she’d read in his eyes was still there, and though she knew it wasn’t directed at her, she still shivered. Spike could kill someone and not think twice about it, if he was sure the other person was fighting for the wrong side.

But when he saw her legs, his fury melted into what to Buffy was an even more terrifying look: complete and utter heartbreak. “Oh, God,” he whispered. He lurched back, clutching his head. “God help me.”

“Spike!” Buffy took a step forward, wavering and cursing the pain that cut through her like knives with every step she took. “Spike, look at me!”

He only shook his head, staring at the floor, at the dead police officers—at anything but her abused flesh. “’s my fault,” he muttered.

Okay, enough was enough. Buffy put a hand on his shoulder. “No, it wasn’t,” she told him, her voice firm but gentle. “And even if it was, we don’t have time for this. The LAPD don’t have their police chief anymore. Within hours, all of LA is gonna be chaos. We’ve gotta get out of here.”

Abruptly his head came up. “We?” he asked with quiet intensity.

She held his gaze steadily, willing the love she felt for him to show. “We.”

The smile that graced his face was, without a doubt, the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. “Luv—“ he began, clearly about to explain something.

“Spike? Can you help me get Dawn out to the car?”

Two blonde heads swiveled around. Cordelia was next to Dawn, struggling to get her upright; Harmony and Veruca lay prone on the floor, out cold. Buffy’s fear for her friend came rushing back when she saw that Dawn’s arm was still gushing blood.

Spike was frozen. “Oh, God,” he breathed. “Bit.” He glanced at Buffy, clearly torn.

Buffy just said, “Go. Cordy needs your help.”

He went. Slowly and reluctantly, and glancing back at her every two seconds, but eventually he was helping Cordelia get her into the elevator. As soon as the doors closed, Buffy slumped against the blood-spattered walls and, for the first time, allowed herself to consider the horrors around her.

Kennedy was coaxing Willow into awareness. Xander had apparently just woken up; he was fighting to wake Anya up, saying things like, “Come on, sweetie, you can do this, just wake up...”

Blood was all over the place, in pools and in strings, like some kid had gone insane with a can of red spray paint. Angel’s hand lat clear across the room from its owner, and judging by Angel’s pallor, he wasn’t going to last long. Riley had ceased twitching sometime—Buffy wasn’t sure—and she was relatively certain he was dead. All of her friends were cut up and weary-looking.

It was a nightmare.

A nightmare made worse by the fact that she still wasn’t sure what Spike would say. Oh, she knew what she wanted him to say, but what she wanted didn’t really have any bearing on reality. She knew she loved him more than she ever had previously, even last night when she’d given herself to him, but did he feel the same?

He had to. If he didn’t, all this horror was for nothing.

“Buffy?” A sharp intake of breath. “Buffy, what did they do to you?”

Buffy looked down at her deeply scored legs. Somehow, she found the courage to shrug. “They tortured me.”

Willow exhaled slowly, her eyes still on her best friend’s mutilated limbs. “Merciful Goddess,” she whispered.

“Yeah, pretty bad,” Buffy agreed. Bracing one hand against the wall, she struggled to stand up.

“Um, I can help you,” Willow suggested, clearly unsure of what to do in such a situation. What did you say to a friend when it was your fault they’d gone through almost unspeakable torment?

Buffy was about to shake her head, saying that she could walk on her own—though she knew she couldn’t—when a voice sounded nearby. “’ll get her, Red. Tell the others to get their arses down to the car.”

Willow nodded and made a beeline for Anya.

Spike knelt down so that they were level, face a heart-wrenching combination of fear, shame, and hope. Buffy looked at her hands after a moment. She couldn’t take what she saw in his eyes. “Dawn?”

“Bit’ll be fine,” Spike told her. “Worse for wear, yeah, but she got lucky—the bullet din’ hit any big veins or anything. Rest and food, whether she’s peckish or not, and she’ll be good as new.”

“That’s...nice,” Buffy said, wondering at the ridiculousness of their situation. She was standing in a virtual graveyard with a man she knew she loved but wasn’t sure loved her back, and she was making small talk.

“Spike—“ she began, but he cut her off.

“I had to do it. That ponce Riley had cameras in the house. I figured...I dunno. maybe ‘f I made you hate me, ‘f the LAPD thought you were gonna go back to ‘em, that you’d be safe.”

It was the explanation she’d been hoping for. Granted, it was a bit short on details, but for now, it was enough. “So all those things you said—“

He closed his eyes. “Were lies,” he said in a pleading tone. “All lies. Please, Buffy, just for—“

“I do.” She interrupted him before he could say forgive me. “If you’ll forgive me, that is.”

He shot her a confused look. “Can’t imagine why I’d be doing that.”

“I just ran off. Didn’t even bother to wonder why you were acting so wiggy all of a sudden. I just...ran. I didn’t trust you enough, I guess.” She reached up and traced the scar on his brow before smiling into his eyes. “I do now.”

Spike shook his head. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said heatedly. “’m not sayin’ you weren’t a little carrot-top, but what I did was unforgivable.”

Buffy shrugged. “Well, I forgive you anyway. Deal with it.”

That brought a smile to his face, as she’d hoped it would. He slipped an arm under each of her shoulders. “D’you trust me enough to carry you?” he asked quietly.

She nodded. “Always.”

He scooped her up in his arms, careful not to touch any cuts, and carried her to the elevator.

As the doors closed, Buffy wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his, savoring the contact, ignoring the pain it caused her. Electricity shot through the both of them at the contact. “I love you,” she whispered.

Awe and gratitude shone out in his eyes. “And I love you,” he replied.

Later, she’d have nightmares about what she endured in that horrible room. Later, she’d get a full explanation from Spike about the night before. Later, they’d work out the details of their love.

But right now, all they wanted was some rest.

They whispered words of love to one another the whole way back to Sunnydale.

~*~

 

21:

Buffy stared at her legs and sighed. It had been two months since they’d killed Rayne. Her legs were virtually healed. She’d gotten a full explanation of that horrifying night from Spike, and though she still didn’t quite see the sense in it, she’d come to forgive him.

Her last nightmares had been weeks ago. Jenkins’ continued to help out runaways and prostitutes, but their extra-curriculars weren’t half as many as they had been before the LAPD—or Rayne, at least—had been brought down.

Rayne. She still shuttered when she thought of that scene in the white room. Spike told her that she sometimes woke in the middle of the night, screaming. It didn’t really surprise her, considering what she’d gone through at that man’s hands. She still thanked God every day that the man was dead.

Things had gotten much quieter since the new police chief was chosen, a man by the name of Wesley something-or-other. According to Gunn, Wesley had destroyed Rayne’s businesses and put the LAPD back on the straight and narrow. Buffy was relieved that they’d cleaned up, but she wasn’t about to go back. Both she and Willow had relocated to Sunnydale. Willow helped a man named Giles run a magic store in town, and she was looking into teaching. Buffy, Kennedy, and Willow now all occupied 1630 Revello Drive; Xander jokingly called it Chick Palace.

Dawn had been a bitch while recovering, but she was once again a cheerful waitress and one of Buffy’s best friends. It had been she who told Buffy some truly excellent news: both Veruca and Harmony were in jail, possibly for good.

In fact, everything was peachy keen. So why? did she feel so restless?

She flopped back down on Spike’s bed. Okay, dumb question; she knew why. She’d been spending more time at Spike’s house than she had at her own, and yet in two months their relationship still hadn’t progressed farther than the occasional kiss.

At first it had been about her legs, of course. She’d gone to the doctor and had them treated immediately to avoid scarring, but they were still incredibly painful for almost a month. After that, however, the pain faded quickly. She was perfectly capable of any and all physical activity.

And it wasn’t because he didn’t want her. She’d seen his obvious arousal almost every time she got close to him. He’d lick his lips, his eyes would get glazed, and then his jeans would look remarkably stretched in the front. It was a dead giveaway.

They both loved each other. They were the best of friends as well as almost-lovers.

So what in God’s name keeps him from jumping me when I lie on his bed like this???? It was a beyond frustrating question.

Maybe he had some kind of funky, archaic can’t-take-advantage-of-the-lady complex, so he didn’t try to seduce her because he was worried about her virtue, or her legs, or whatever. She didn’t think that really fit Spike, though. He wasn’t exactly chivalrous.

Or maybe he was just dense? Definite possibility, Buffy decided.

Either way, if he didn’t change his mind tonight, she was going to give up for good.

She’d decided a few days ago that if she waited for him to seduce her, she’d be on her deathbed before he made a move. So, accordingly, she’d gotten together with Anya and planned out a seduction.

Anya had cleared out the apartment. The whole place was dark except for the bedroom, which was lit by the soft glow of the lava lamp and a vanilla-scented candle next to the bedside. Soft music was playing, and the bed was decked out in black satin, as opposed to cotton, sheets.

Buffy was lying in the middle of it. She was wearing a red bra and thong, over which hung a sheer black robe. Black lace trimmed the translucent middle of the bra, framing her nipples. She’d showered, waxed, trimmed, and perfumed until she was ready to drop, and she was certain she’d never looked better.

Tonight, she was going to make him hers for good.

Just when she was starting to wonder if he was going to work all night, it was getting so late, she heard the key in the lock. Hurriedly, she draped herself in a languid pose across the bed.

She heard Spike put his coat down on the back of the couch before calling, “Buffy? Pet, you here?”

“I’m in the bedroom,” she called in as nonchalant a voice as she could manage with the huge lump in her throat. She wanted him to be taken by complete surprise when he walked into the room.

She heard his purposeful footsteps come into the bedroom. She fixed her eyes on the door. When he appeared, she smiled slowly. Seductively.

“Hey, baby,” she purred.

His eyes went wide and she could have sworn she saw his pants twitch. Her smile turned wicked. Oh, yeah. Tonight was the night.

*

Spike was ready to die on the spot.

He’d been telling himself for weeks now, every since she’d started walking normally actually, to wait just a little while longer. They weren’t sure that the LAPD was really reformed, and anyway, he didn’t want their relationship to be just about sex.

But it had been hard, in more than one way. Everything she did, from her smile to her nose wrinkle to that wonderful feisty look she got when arguing with him, turned him on. Five times a day he had to stop himself from reaching for her and taking her right then and there—wherever ‘there’ happened to be.

And now, in one fell swoop, she’d just bollocksed up the whole plan.

How in hell was he supposed to resist her when she looked good enough to eat? That black-and-red ensemble was gonna drive him mad soon, not to mention the way her smooth, tan skin looked against the sheets, or how her hair shone in the soft light. Sodding hell, his mind was already reminding him of the one time he had with her.

She smiled at him innocently. “Aren’t you going to come to bed, Spike?”

At that moment, Spike threw caution to the wind. God knew that if Buffy didn’t want it, she wouldn’t be lying there begging him to shag her brains out. And anyway, doin’ the gentlemanly thing and inquiring about her legs would’ve ruined the mood.

He smiled back his sexiest smile and was gratified to see her catch her breath. “Be right there, luv,” he said. “Just gotta get m’ clothes off.”

He very deliberately unlaced his boots as slowly as possible, sliding them off and tossing them to one side. He pulled his socks off with the same slow deliberateness, then his shirt, and finally, his pants.

His cock sprung free instantly, full and proud. Spike smiled predatorily when he saw Buffy staring at it. “Yeah, Goldilocks, you made me that hard,” he told her, pacing towards the bed “Saw you in that sexy number and can’t wait to get you out of it.” Now he crawled onto the bed, staying on all fours, moving in on her until she was scooted back against the headboard. He nudged her slightly and she slid down beneath him.

“Y’see, ‘ve got this theory,” he said, leaning closer so that his breath but not his lips brushed hers. “Goes back to your legs. ‘f they weren’t just fine, you wouldn’t be temping me like a little minx, now would you?”

Buffy whimpered and shook her head. Spike smiled. “I didn’t think so,” he said, and then he covered her lips with his.

Soft. She was so soft, like silk—silk that could set him on fire. Her mouth was the sweetest taste he’d ever experienced, something created from a mix of vanilla, cinnamon, and the tart, tangy taste that was pure Buffy.

He growled and began kissing down her neck. Her fingers already clutched his hair; now they began to roam down his back until they came to his buttocks. With a surprising show of strength, she hauled him towards her, pressing his erection into her soft belly.

He was burning up, and it was wonderful. That was the thought in his head as he groaned and ripped apart her robe to reveal her satin-covered breasts.

For a moment, which was all that he could bear, he paused to admire them. “Never seen anything so beautiful,” he whispered. He reached back and unclasped the bra, aided by a very eager Buffy. He tossed it aside and zeroed in on her breasts.

First he felt them, cupped them in her hands, re-accustomed himself to their weight and size. Then, agonizingly slowly, he leaned down and licked her nipple—just once. Delighting in the breathy sigh she gifted him, he began sucking her right nipple in earnest as he teased her left with his other hand. Buffy began writhing beneath him, grabbing his head, clenching his body in between her legs. Spike was driving her wild, and he gloried in the knowledge.

Once her nipples were hard and straining, he moved down, down, planting worshipful kisses on her stomach and thighs. He was about to kiss her now glistening pussy when she stopped him.

Or, her foot did. Clever toes wrapped themselves around the head of his cock. Gasping, barely able to breath thanks to the incredible sensations running through him, he glanced up at her.

God, her eyes were beautiful—and right now, triumphant. “Come here,” she whispered.

He slithered up her body until they were face-to-face. She cupped his cheek in one hand. “I love you,” she told him, looking deep into his eyes.

He nearly teared up. She could say it a thousand times a day and he’d never get tired of hearing it, never grow weary of hearing about her love for him. “And I love you,” he replied, planting a gentle kiss on her lips.

Or, it was supposed to be gentle. Buffy apparently had other ideas, since she fisted her hands in his hair and gave him the most passionate kiss he’d ever had. Tongues dueled with tongues, igniting fire in both of them. When she pulled away a few minutes later, they were gasping.

“Want...you...” she gasped. Before he could acquiesce, she pushed him onto his back and climbed up, straddling him.

He stared up at her worshipfully. Her panties were long since discarded; she was gloriously naked. Her beautiful hair hung down around her shoulders, and her eyes were stormy with passion. He didn’t think he’d ever seen anything so wonderful.

That was until she enveloped his cock with her mouth.

He gasped and bucked up, desperately trying not to grab her head and shag himself on her mouth.

It didn’t work. He could feel himself gathering towards climax, getting ready to spill his sperm—and he didn’t want that just yet.

Buffy seemed to almost read his thoughts, because as abruptly as she’d taken him into her mouth, she slid it out. Peppering kisses along its length, she moved to sit on his chest. He reached up and ran a hand through her hair. “My love,” he whispered, an unashamedly tender smile on his face.

*

A shiver ran through Buffy at his words. She leaned down and kissed him, agreeing, “Yours.”

His groan of satisfaction made her shiver again. This little seduction was working out better than her wildest dreams. She could feel him pressing against her ass, straining, damp from her kisses.

It was time. Reaching behind her, she gripped his cock firmly and led it to her entrance. As she slid him in, leaning back so as to take him fully, her eyes met with his.

When he was fully embedded, they both fought to keep eye contact. Buffy felt like hot pokers were running through her body in the most delicious of ways. She was trembling with desire and love, and the way Spike looked at her made her feel like a goddess.

She leaned back, placed her hands on his chest, and began to ride him, savoring the feeling of him filling her, stretching her to her very limit. God, she loved him so much. She increased the pace, feeling herself getting closer, closer, closer...

“Spike,” she moaned, giving in to temptation and closing her eyes. “Love you...oh God...so much...” she couldn’t force any more word out, so enthralled was she in the feelings he was giving her.

He didn’t even bother to speak, only gasped, gripped her hips, and encouraged her to ride him faster. She obeyed, grinding against him so that every time they came fully together, her clit hit his pelvis bone. She gritted her teeth, feeling the electricity shoot through her, knowing she was close to completion. Beneath her, Spike moaned—the sound drove her on more.

When they came, it was with shouts, and it was more intense than either of them had ever experienced before. Spike arched his back and clutched her to him, bending her down so he could crush her lips with his. She greedily returned the kiss as wave after wave soured through her, making her shake, causing her walls to flutter around him.

Oblivion was slowly blanketing her. She wrapped her arms around him, feeling him disengage and roll over to his side so that she was nestled in his arms. Wearily, Buffy smiled up at him. “I love you,” she whispered.

*

“Love you too, kitten,” Spike replied, half-shaking from the intense orgasm she’d just brought upon him. God, she was amazing. Never before had he run across someone with so much passion, so much fervor—never before had he met anyone who he wanted to spend the rest of forever with.

And he wanted her to know it.

“Can you stay awake for a minute longer?” he asked her.

She smiled at him wearily. “Maybe a couple. I’m all floppy, though.”

“Ditto, pet,” he said, but he forced himself to stand up and walk over to the dresser. He opened a drawer and pulled out something that had been in there for quite some time.

“Whatcha gettin’?” Buffy asked, propping her head up in an adorable manner as she watched him.

He didn’t answer her. He didn’t know if he could, really; sudden nervousness seemed to have closed up his throat.

“Spike? I—is something wrong?”

Wonderful, now she sounded apprehensive. He was such a spineless ponce. “Buffy, I—“ He paused to clear his throat. “I love you.”

“As you just told me,” she said slowly.

“Well, yeah,” Spike admitted. “See, the thing is, I love you more than anything ‘ve ever loved before. I love the way you laugh, how you can always crack a joke even in the worst times—how you can manage Faith when no one else can.” He walked closer to the bed, keeping the object clutched in his hand. “I love when we sit and talk, I love when you kiss me, and I love when we make love.” He sat down on the bed and took her hand. “D’you get what I’m trying to say?”

She shook her head.

He flipped open the box. Ignoring Buffy’s gasp, he looked deep into her eyes and said, “’m askin’ you to marry me. You’re the one I want to spend forever with.”

*

Buffy gasped, and to her horror, her eyes filled with tears. Why in the world was she crying? Okay, she’d had happy tears before, but to lose control now of all times was utterly ridiculous.

Spike was watching her apprehensively, and she realized she’d best answer before he thought she was disappointed, or something. Hurriedly, she wiped the tears off her face.

“You alright?” he asked, worry evident in his voice.

“Of c-course, I’m fine!” she exclaimed. “I just—oh my God, I wasn’t expecting this!”

“But it’s okay, right?” Spike asked. “I mean, ‘ll give you time to get used to the idea...”

She smiled at the look on his face—he was so cute when he was concerned. “Spike, of course I’ll marry you.” She laughed jubilantly. “I’d love to.”

Joy flooded his face. Both his eyes and his mouth were smiling brilliantly. He swept her into a hug, raining kissed down on her hair, clutching her tight. Buffy squeezed him back, her joy completely equal to his. She was going to marry Spike. Spike. The love of her life. She laughed in pure, utter wonder, and he did the same. He was relieved, ecstatic. His love was going to marry him. For now until forever, they’d be able to share a love that few ever experienced in their lifetimes. It was enough to make him want to burt into song.

When they were a bit more calm, Spike slipped the ring onto Buffy’s finger. She looked at it carefully. It was beautiful and simple, exactly the way she liked it. A small diamond occupied the center bordered by two sparkling rubies. The ring itself was made of intertwined strands of gold and silver. “It’s beautiful,” she said softly, smiling. “Thank you.”

He caught her chin and looked into her eyes. “You make me so happy.”

Somehow, that statement made her blush. She smiled at him. “You make me happy, too,” she told him, before leaning in and kissing him with all the passion and joy she felt inside.

As they kissed, they leaned back on the bed, till at last they were lying together, hands and lips locked. The ring sparkled on Buffy’s finger, sending off little red motes of light.

Red. It stood for so many things—blood, hatred, passion, war, and most of all, love. They’d experienced all of those, and sometimes it had almost destroyed them. Now, it was time to grab hold the last and keep it with them forever.

Their lips parted and they held each other close, savoring the nearness of one another, murmuring soft words of adoration. Eventually, they fell asleep, contentment and happiness in each of their hearts. Skin against skin, mind against mind—together in every way possible.

Somewhere, between the black and the white, the hate and the love, they’d made a place for themselves. Sometime along the way, they’d surrendered their hearts to one another. Neither would ever be able to point out when or how it happened, but they did know one thing:

Finally, after years of fighting, they’d found what they were looking for: a love that would never die, that would continue beyond anything else.

Finally, they’d found peace.

~*~

A/N: *stares at paper in utter shock* Oh wow. I’m done! Hope you liked the ending and the happy sex =) I did my best with that. I’m not the greatest at endings, but I figured it was high time to wrap things up. The Grey Areas was definitely much more stressful, and rewarding, than All Endure It (my first long fic), for multiple reasons. I absolutely loved writing this, even when things were pretty bad between Buffy and Spike, and I’ll be sad to let it go.

That being said: HUGE thanks to anyone who ever bothered to review. I know I’ve said it a million times before, but it’s true: reviews are what keep me posting, and you guys were wonderful with that. *hugs* One of the reasons this fic was tough was because I didn’t know exactly where I wanted it to go. You guys helped with that big-time. Thanks is a pale word and can’t possibly include how grateful I feel for being given props during the writing. Let me just say, you guys ROCK!!!!!!!!!!! =) Be on the lookout for my next long fic in a few days, I have no idea what it’ll be called or even what it’ll be about (I’ve got some ideas, maybe a high school fic?) but it’ll be coming soon. Please review and tell me what you thought of the last chapter! Again with the you guys are awesome, I love you all!!!! ~~Panta_Rei