Chapter 7:

Angel sat listlessly in his armchair, watching Dru flutter around him in graceful yet childish circles as she danced with her ever-present faeries. To the uninitiated he looked pensive, perhaps even to be an indulgent lover of his odd girlfriend’s behaviour. To those who knew him, however, it was unmistakable that Angel was brooding.

The longer he watched, the deeper his brow furrowed. And his respect for Spike grew.

How the hell did the bleached moron put up with this kind of thing day in and day out?

He hadn’t moved for the past hour, completely baffled and unable to reach any kind of conclusive thought about what the hell he was doing.

For the first time since it happened, Angel wondered why he had so easily agreed to take over from Spike in the care of Drusilla. It was without doubt the very first thing Angel had ever done that Spike had requested, having preferred in the past to completely ignore or humiliate the baby of the family.

Yet, his first meeting with him in decades and Angel had jumped to Spike’s bidding, shackling himself down with a totally dependent and weakened vampiress when he was meant to be helping Buffy. Not to mention he was in love with her. Madly, soulfully in love with her. And instead of telling Spike to pull his head out of his ass, Angel meekly went along with the request and was now a hundred percent encumbered with raving, lunatic Drusilla.

He immediately hung his head in guilt.

And that got to the crux of the matter.

Guilt.

That little niggle in the back of his mind that he was responsible for Dru’s madness, for her even being a vampire. And God, if he’d never made her then there would have been no William. For that alone Angel thought he should atone. What an unseemly set of events that had been.

So, yeah. Spike got him when he was full of remorse. Which he probably would not have gotten around to if the youngest pair of the family quartet hadn’t rolled into town.

Angel watched as the strength seemed to suddenly evaporate from the brutal beauty and she collapsed to the floor, giggling girlishly as she tucked her doll under her arm. She chattered on, completely oblivious for the time being that she had such a captive audience. At least, he thought she’d been oblivious until he caught the almost calculated smile she directed at him before once again ducking back to her doll.

“Miss Edith, Daddy is all aflutter. He doesn’t know how to be a daddy anymore. We’ll have to be his special girls and remind him how it’s done.” Her voice was captivating like that of a tiny girl, skittish and excited. It completely mesmerised him and drew him to remember past evil expectations.

Infused with a hidden burst of strength, Dru was back on her feet and swaying to a silent beat, her hips moving from side to side in a sensual, hypnotic figure eight.

“Come to me, Daddy,” she whispered in a harsh voice and he was powerless to do anything but jump to his feet and take her in his arms. They danced, rocking with pelvises locked together, Dru moving from side to side, and up and down. Only when she let her eyes glance to the side did he fall free from her spell, pushing her gently but firmly away.

“I can’t do that with you, Dru. I’m in love with Buffy now.” Angel lowered his head, a little ashamed that it had taken until his dancing partner had looked away before he remembered about Buffy. But Buffy was his life now; she was the source of his redemption. And that brought back the guilt. Helping Dru could hopefully help salve some of it—and count towards his record of redemptive acts. Angel was sure it all counted.

“The little sunburst will save all the boys…but not for long. My Spike thinks he has a plan but it will all come to nothing. He can’t save her.” She slinked over to a suddenly worried Angel. Her mouth was within two inches of his as she smiled evilly and with purpose. “I won’t let him.”

Angel caught her as she seemed to wilt and fall before him.

“I’m feeling a little weak, Daddy. Please make me all better. Spike knows how. You must ask him for help.”

“What is Spike’s plan, Dru?” Angel asked her urgently, rather stunned that the raven-haired beauty had managed to actually relay something intelligible.

“Nuh ah, can’t tell all our secrets,” she answered him, her lids falling heavy as he carried her over to his only bed. “The glass slipper doesn’t fit the golden princess,” she trailed off as her eyelids drooped and she passed into slumber.

Angel stood back, more than a little miffed at the crazy double talk that Dru indulged in and felt a twinge of contrition for blaming her for something he’d caused. Angel felt momentarily disorientated, finding nothing on his quick perusal of the room that could seize his attention away from the sleeping vampire on his bed. Which in itself was a problem, because it left him with nowhere to sleep.

Rubbing his jaw and deciding it was a dilemma best pondered over in the cool breeze of night, he retrieved a set of chains he’d kept well hidden from view under his bed. He minimised the clanking of the metal as much as he possibly could, and latched them around Drusilla’s wrists. The manacles were locked and he twisted the chain into the prepared bolts in the wall at the head of the bed, hidden by his pillows.
When it was done he stepped back, looking at the now restrained childe in his bed and heaved a great sigh of penitence. For the moment there was little he could do, he had to get out for some air and think this situation through.

And he had to see Buffy.

With Dru chained up, weak and asleep, Sunnydale had every reason to breathe easy. With a final look at his latest charge, he grabbed his coat, ran his hands over his head to check that his hair seemed still cemented in his preferred style, and left his apartment.

His feet were determined in their path and he paced a quick journey to Buffy’s house, mindful of the closing in of dawn. It seemed like years since he had last really seen her, barring the awkward confrontation the few hours before. He’d seen how hurt she had been when he had defended Dru, but he was sure that all she needed was an explanation. It can’t have been easy for her to see him with another woman, see him now in a caring role toward his own childe.

No, explanation would be all it took. Buffy loved and trusted him, and he could list all day the ways that he was a lucky vampire, Buffy always at the beginning of it.

Angel ambled on, feeling secure in his mission and purpose, knowing that the heart of Buffy was both a premature reward and his redemptive guide. But he remained on edge, casting the blame for his uncertain position on his white-haired childe and his unpredictable surrender of duty.

Angel couldn’t help but wonder again why he was so quick to take up Spike’s slack. Though Dru had been twittering about creating her perfect knight way back in the day, Angelus and Darla had allowed her free reign to investigate and claim the life of one William the Bloody to free up a little more of their playtime. To them, Spike had meant little more than a family nurse. That he had adapted to that role as well as wreaking havoc in English society, was still a burr that rubbed Angel raw.

His grandchilde was an irritant, but he’d gloried many times over the past century. Earned his stripes in the vampiric community, so to speak. He held power, and despite now being the head of the clanwith the passing of both Darla and the Master himself Angel indulged in a small amount of healthy fear toward Spike and his achievements. Admittedly, they were few, with Spike’s handicap being the care of his often less-than-lucid dark princess. But what accolades he had received were renowned through demon communities. He’d taken out two Slayers, numerous fights against stronger demons, and escaped harsh and dangerous situations with human mobs.

Like the one that had rendered Drusilla too weak to care for herself.

But it didn’t explain his sudden break off from all that had tethered him to his demon existence. Drusilla was his link, his reason for being, and this rebuttal of Spike’s duties over a century in establishment should have been enough to cause Angel to seek vengeance. Seek a renewal of the vow of care.

But just one night in Dru’s company and he was left to wonder how Spike had remained sane for all of these years. He could understand the younger vamps need to seek other links to the world. Just one night and already he was off searching for the recuperative power of being in Buffy’s arms.

His soul made him magnanimous.

He had no knowledge of the situation between the slayer and vampire, but they seemed to be patrolling together and that left Angel to wonder what had been so momentous in the younger vampire’s life that he was now rendered a white hat.

It seemed that within the erratic blink of an eye everything as he knew it was altered. His murderous offspring had come to him, taking over and changing his current existence quite spectacularly. Spike was apparently on his own redemptive path, forging ahead without a soul to guide his way. That in itself forced Angel to be on his guard. To be ever prevalent with the surveillance of whatever Spike’s grand plan was. Whatever it consisted of, Buffy was obviously the focus. This white hat gig had to be a front for something bigger.

And that was what worried him most. Buffy was in the centre of Spike’s game and was completely unsuspecting from what he had witnessed tonight. The Slayer, whose job it was to be wary and suspicious, trusted him.

The thought made Angel pause in his stride and shake his head in almost admiration. If it had been anyone but his Buffy, he would have commended Spike on such a convincing act. Instead, the blonde vamp’s proximity to his girl made Angel’s fangs descend.

When he became aware of the direction his frustrated concern had taken, Angel covered his face and waited until the ridges were finally repressed. He felt so ashamed. Like when he had lost control while kissing Buffy for the first time. He acted like a weak fledgling, easily losing control over his demon impulses. And it wasn’t right. He had a soul, yet he was less in control of himself now than when he was first sired.

It made him angry. Here he was, the reigning…well, not master really…but he had superiority over Spike, yet he was out of the loop. He was the elder of their family, and yet the childe was telling him what to do, installing responsibility under his roof like he had been raised to offer instruction. They had changed roles. And that pissed Angel off.

Buffy’s window appeared like an escape from insanity, and he jumped the tree, watching her slumber peacefully for a moment before he entered into her room. He stood uncertain, wanting desperately to wake her up and talk about all the things that must be so confusing to her, but feeling a little hesitant about getting it all out in the open.

But it was urgent that he warned her about Spike, that he make sure she wasn’t taken in by whatever face the other vampire was wearing through this little scheme. He still couldn’t work out what was going on. It was not like Spike to be this patient about setting up his plan and executing it. The end always was a mile from expectation. So rather than reassure Angel, the patience displayed by Spike set his fangs on edge. It was so out of the expected for Spike that it threw Angel for several long and windy loops.

“I’m not asleep, you know.”

Angel’s head jerked up at the slightly husky voice, his eyes having fallen to the floor as he thought about hidden motivations and agendas.

“I hope I didn’t wake you,” he asked her hopefully, his voice syrupy with dripping sensuality.

Buffy opened startled eyes. She’d thought…

“Oh, a…hi, Angel. Nope, no waking. No sleep. I’m all awake girl. What can I do for you?”

At Angel’s raised brow and flirty smirk, Buffy felt her womb shrink. Here was her supposed boyfriend and she was feeling like she was cheating. On Spike. The unsouled version of her boyfriend. Except cuter…and with a nicer…hmmm…lot’s of nicer…

“Angel?”

He hadn’t moved, watching her with a confusion born from her miasma of scents. She wavered between happiness, fear, and he was sure there was just a touch of irritation in her voice just now. But one scent was missing, telling in its lack. He couldn’t smell her desire to see him and—without the flavour of sex—he had associated it long with her pleasure to just have him in her sight. It was comfort and belonging.

It kept him grounded and hopeful that one day he may be redeemed. That he may one day regain life.

And so he clung to Buffy.

No way was he going to let Spike take away the best thing that ever happened to him.

“Angel?”

Yep, definitely with irritation that time, but it was enough to knock him out of his funk and he turned to bestow upon her a tentative smile.

“I wanted to explain to you about Dru.” He waded slowly into the murky waters of their relationship and stopped dead at her flippant rejoinder.

“Oh, s’okay,” she told him tiredly as she burrowed back down into her cavern of warmth. “Spike explained to me that you were looking out for her now.”

“Spike told you?” Angel gave her his kicked puppy look, completely unintentional of artifice.

Which just made the manipulation worse.

Thinking of Angel like that made her feel a tinge of fear; things had changed so rapidly. She had been so in love with Angel mere days ago, and the only reason she could think of to explain her attraction to Spike now was the lack of smoochies with Angel. She had to take a chance, prove to herself that this thing with Angel was not as strong as she’d thought, or prove that it was and so get it back on the right track.

Making a decision, Buffy flung back her bedcovers and got to her feet, making a slow, almost seductively predatory walk to Angel before linking her arms behind his neck.

“Yep. No big. You’re her sire and she needs you right now.” Buffy began nibbling on his neck.

Angel wiggled, not wanting to let things get too hot but finding it unbearable to keep having to stop her. He pushed her away gently.

“What reason did Spike give you for wanting me to take over with Dru? Because he didn’t give me any.”

“He said he needed time to get himself together. That he wanted his own life and doesn’t love her anymore.” Buffy watched Angel’s usually inexpressive face and waited for the slight muscle around his eye to move.

Angel gasped in an unmanly fashion.

And Buffy suppressed her shock as all the muscles moved.

“Now I know for sure he’s planning something. Spike does not fall out of love with Dru.”

And that was so not what she had been wanting to hear.

“I think we should stop talking about Spike. Angel, why don’t you stay for awhile?” Buffy grinned and allowed her hand to settle against the silk button-up shirt he wore, letting her fingers roll over the slinky fabric. Just as her palm heated the skin at his waist he grabbed her hand, his hold stilling her movement before pulling her away.

“I think we should talk, Buffy.”

“Fine,” she said, stepping back exasperated. Then a wicked idea caught hold of her and she decided to push her lack of decision in his face. Standing right in front of him and giving no warning, she whipped her pyjama top over her head and walked over to find a replacement. Her bare back an invitation she only half hoped he would accept.

“We could go for a walk. Don’t want to wake up mom.”

Quickly stripping fully and getting dressed again, Buffy spun round and almost giggled at Angel’s sucker-punched expression.

Gotcha, she thought as she led the way out of her bedroom window. If he could resist her now, she was a monkey’s uncle. Damn Xander and his weirdo sayings!

They walked side by side for a while before Angel attempted to speak, and when he finally did his voice lifted in an embarrassing squeak.

“Ah, so…you’re not mad then?” He couldn’t remember what it was he wanted to talk to her about.

“Why would I be mad, silly? It’s just like if you were looking after your sick mom, right?”

Angel shook his head, grasping at the sick mother reference until a picture of raven-haired frailty crossed his mind. Numerous sensations were hitting him at once, a sick childe he now was responsible for pounding him relentlessly with guilt. Concern for whether Spike planned anything murderous or not, and BuffyGod, naked Buffy. He was still reeling from that sight, and he’d mostly had his eyes closed once he saw what she was doing.

But still, the gentle yet soft slope of her breast was tantalising beyond his dreams and it was all he could do to keep himself restrained. Buffy was not the kind of girl you took in a moment of animal passion. Not for her first time. That would take patience and care, and more love than he knew what to do with.

Buffy was his goddess, his golden light to a better place and he intended to cherish her till she gave up breath.

He was lost in his thoughts until Buffy stopped in front of him, taking a seat on the slightly damp grass, and signalling that they had reached the place she wanted to go. He looked around him, not really wanting to follow her example and sit. So, he wandered around her for a bit and kept an eye out for predators. When he turned around again she had stood back up and was confronting him, hands firmly on hips.

The image made Angel’s eyes glaze over.

“So, when do we get to the ‘making out’ part of this little tryst?” Buffy asked as she slinked up against him, her hesitant but hopeful grin telling stories.

Angel’s eyes bugged.

“Buffy, I thought we should discuss what happened earlier tonight. With Spike and Dru?”

“I know what happened, Angel. I was trying to ignore it.”

Angel startled to hear the hard edge that had entered her voice and took a small step back.

“Buffy, I don’t think you underst…”

“Oh, I understand perfectly,” she huffed in his face, taking a step forward and bridging his intended gap. “I understand that you took to looking after the batty vampiress you sired, and I understand that you didn’t bother to tell me about it. I understand that you disappeared from helping me with patrol and I understand that you don’t trust whatever Spike is up to. Just for the record, I do. And Giles is letting him stay until he finds somewhere else.”

“Buffy, that is really not a good i…”

“I don’t believe he is the vampire you were warning us about, Angel. He must have changed. I don’t know why, but if he wants to do good and help me out, I sure as hell am not going to tell him to take a hike.”

“Well, he might have cha…”

“But that does not explain the thing that I don’t understand, namely why you have such a problem with the kissage lately?”

After his attempts to butt in with explanations and statements, this last had his lips tightly clamped.

“Er, Buffy, I haven’t been…I mean, I don’t …no, it isn’t that I…”

“I thought you had feelings for me, Angel.”

“I do,” exploded from his mouth and he sighed in relief at her gentle smile. “I love you, Buffy.”

Her smile froze as her eyes widened in frantic alarm.

“Love? You love me? But, that…I don’t want you to,” she spluttered in a moment of panic, flinching at his kicked puppy look. It didn’t alter or become more devastated despite her impulsive outburst and the hurtful denial.

But it was the truth, and something heavy shifted inside and Buffy relaxed in her decision.

“But, why? What’s happened? Is it because Dru is living with me now?”

“She’s living with you? No,” Buffy held her hand up, preventing explanations. “Of course she’s living with you. No…nothing happened exactly,” she stumbled, her heartbeat racing as she couldn’t help but recall the feel of Spike against her, taste him on her tongue. She could feel herself flush and quickly turned heel and strode away, hoping to cool the heat in her face.

Though shocked by her announcement, Angel decided to ignore it, thinking that maybe Buffy was just reacting to the lack of attention. Instead he caught her pace and pulled her in for a hug.

“I’m sorry I have been neglecting you,” he whispered into her hair, completely oblivious to the fact that her body had become as stiff as the bodies buried in the yard.

“I promise I’ll make it up to you…” he spun her in his arms and started kissing her, cool slobbery lips making her feel suddenly, well, nothing. Absolutely, completely nothing. Zilcho on the happy feelings. Buffy allowed her lips to remain, opening her eyes and seeing the intense look of concentration on Angel’s shuttered face as he attempted to woo her back to his side.

And she knew.

Soul or no, she didn’t feel the way about Angel that she thought she probably should have. Spike was a risk; she couldn’t be sure that he wasn’t trying to trick her and later drain away her life.

But whatever the reason, he made her blood fizzle and sing in her veins, made her want to do things that Cleo had been instructing her how to for years but was too grossed out to ever want to try. He made her want to lie and just watch, become lost in the depth of his emotion, the ocean of his eyes, the windows of his soul. She wanted to be naked and glorious with him, kiss him until she fell from the lack of air. She wanted to get to know him.

She wanted him.

Not Angel.

And the revelation was shocking. Though not wholly unexpected after her earlier activities.

She wanted Spike to be her first, not Angel. That ship had sailed.

But Angel hadn’t moved, his lips smooched over hers with a remarkable lack of talent that Buffy hadn’t picked up on until now. Having now the experience of Spike lips. Hmmm, lips of Spike…

Thoughts of the peroxided yumminess gave her lips an animation she hadn’t planned on and she dived into the kiss, making it heated and lusty and passionate. Her hands gripped Angel’s shoulders with a power she wasn’t used to using with loved ones, and she held him against her hard. Her mouth opened, and she allowed her tongue to probe, hopeful for a green light to go the next step.

But that was where Angel reached his limit. Not wanting to get out of control in a graveyard he pushed her away and was raggedly not gasping for breath, because he was a vampire and didn’t need it. So, the only sign of his close encounter with control loss was his distance.

Buffy saw brown hair and took another step back.

“Um, Angel? I really don’t think this will work. I think we need to break up.”

Buffy felt a little sad—of course she did. Angel was her first crush, the guy she thought would be The One. And now she was sure he wasn’t and all it took was a very confusing but liberating moment with a soulless demon that made her shiver just from his looking at her.

Caught up in her thoughts of more of those possibly liberating moments, Buffy almost missed the pout. Almost apparently wasn’t good enough, and she felt icky for having seen it.

“Angel, I really am sorry, but I just don’t think I should get too involved right now.” She tried for her innocent yet flirty look and breathed in relief when he seemed to buy it.

His hands were stuffed into his pockets, and he watched the grass with an intensity that made Buffy suspect that it was evil.

“Sure, Buffy. You’re probably right. It would be good to take a break, and this is a good time while I work out the best way to help Dru. Just,” and he surrendered his fixed attention on the grass to search out the matching colour of her eyes. “Be careful of Spike, okay. I don’t know what he is playing at, but he’s dangerous. You shouldn’t forget that. And I’m kind of disturbed that he has full access to Giles’s house. I just hope you all know what you’re doing. He doesn’t have a soul so he’s evil. Demons can’t change just like that.”

And before she could blink or offer alternative argument, he was gone.

And she was a free agent again.

The smile was spread wide and free over her face as she made it back home to settle in for a crazy night of hot dreams.

Buffy couldn’t wait for tomorrow and just quietly wished that all break-ups could be so easy.

A/N...thank you everyone for being so supportive of this story. Your enthusiasm makes me all giggly!

Chapter 8:

“You’re bloody kidding me, right?”

Giles hid a small grin as he ducked his head and turned away, leaving Willow to look between the two men—correction: man and vampire—licking her lips in cold nervousness.

“It’s not like you have to do anything,” she squeaked. “You could just lie down on the table, and let me do all the…” She turned slightly green, “work?”

Spike could detect the slight shake about her body and his brows shot up in alarm.

“What are you so bleeding fidgety about?” he barked at the redhead, starting to feel pretty sick about the whole thing. “It’s not like you’re having your insides ripped open.”

“Well, neither are you,” she told him with a second’s bravery, crossing her arms over her chest with a huff. But then they loosened and dropped to her sides, her heart rate picking up and speeding along with anxiety. “Not exactly,” she qualified with her nervous cutesy Willow smile.

Spike pinned her with his hard glare.

“What exactly would you call being cut open and having your insides set aside to find a good pokey, hidey place for the little ring? A bloody skin graft?”

“Hey,” Willow challenged and Spike admired her for finally retrieving her backbone. “I’m here to help you, you…big…evil…vampire, so enough with the scary eye glaring and the…you know…British swearing.”

Spike tipped his head to the side and contemplated her. He knew she was capable and truthfully he got a bit of a kick out of riling the witch up but he still wasn’t eager to repeat the experience of Scoobies slitting his skin and poking and prodding.

“Just mind I’m not a bleeding experiment, alright?” And he abruptly turned his back on them and tugged his tight black t-shirt over his head.

“How do you want me?” he asked in a bored tone, turning swiftly back to visibly catch the answer. He was confronted instead with wide eyes and enlarged pupils, and a redhead gasping for breath.

“No wanting. Nope, definitely no wanting of the me variety. You, Giles? You want him?” Willow, suddenly realising what she had implied by the Watcher’s thunderous countenance, backtracked in a panic, gave a little eep, and raced for the bathroom. Both men smiled in agreeable humour when they heard the distinct click of the door lock.

Within minutes she was back, her face slightly dampish and cooled, and her eyes frosty and businesslike.

“On the table, vampire.”

She couldn’t look at him as he gave a little jump and landed with his back flat to the hard surface.

“Is this enough?” he asked her, enjoying his view of her returning flush. “Or should I take off the daks as well?” He winked at her and she took a giant step backwards.

“Daks?” she whispered in confusion.

“You know,” he leered. “The jeans. Might need an alternative place to shove the Gem…”

He took comfort in her jump.

“N-no.” She took a hesitant step closer to the table and took a quick look at him from under her lashes. “I, er, think I can find a spot.” She swung around to confront Giles with a questionable lack of composure. “And I’m doing this instead of you again, because why?”

Flustered, Giles grabbed his glasses and began the familiar rub. “I thought it would be a… good experience for you. Besides, you are much better at science than I could ever be.”

She gave a short nod showing she understood his logic but not his madness, and instead she started to sweep lengths of her hair behind her ear while swiping at her heating forehead. Her anxiety about the situation was changing her normal colour to red, almost the shade to match her hair.

It was fun to tease her, but the rising hysteria evidenced by her thundering heartbeat was enough to put Spike off the whole idea. Enough to make him want to bury the ring and forget he ever knew of its existence. He didn’t want someone so lacking in confidence cutting into his body, even if it did make him invincible.

“Jus’ because vamps heal faster, and don’t die if you muck up the surgery, doesn’t mean you can use me as a bleeding experiment.”

Spike intercepted the nervous look that passed between the redhead and the Watcher, and felt his jaw clench in spasm. A subtle nod from Willow, and she was turned toward him again, a wicked looking genuine scalpel cosseted in her palm.

“Oi,” Spike stopped her headlong dive into cutting his guts open. “Where exactly are you plannin’ on puttin’ this ring?”

Willow’s look of confusion added to his rising reservations.

“Bleeding hell, girl! Tell me you’ve at least thought of where you were going to put it? Given the thought a little bit of consideration?”

Her short negative shake of the head was priceless. Spike began to chuckle as he leaned back on his elbows.

“Well, this is bloody charming, this is! Were you at least plannin’ to drop it in deep enough so’s it doesn’t muck up the smooth line of my abs?”

“Oh,” she exclaimed as if the concern had only just occurred to her. “S-Sure, Spike. Absolutely. R-real deep!”

Spike began to sit up to slide from the table when her visible exclamation mark hit the air. “I’ve got it! I can cut the small intestine, thread the ring through it, and then tie it back up in a bow.”

The fear that struck Spike as her words lay flat in front of him forced his feet into action and he gingerly slipped off the table and took a few big steps backwards. He spied the ring on the edge of the table and jumped for it, clasping it tightly in his hand and bolted for the bathroom, repeating Willow’s earlier action by shutting the locking mechanism.

Dropping the toilet lid, Spike took a seat. He slipped the ring over his finger and studied it, cringing at its ugliness. By compulsion his eyes drifted to the door and when he could hear the murmuring of voices, he used his enhanced senses to pick out the topic of conversation. Him. No surprises there.

The witch was frantically arguing that she wasn’t qualified for such an undertaking as exploring inside demon guts, and Giles was attempting to sway her with arguments twice as valid.

And Spike sat hiding in the bathroom completely stunned that these humans—ones who had alternated between rejecting him and begrudging his help and knowledge; ones who had been outraged at his developing love and devotion to their Slayer, and then later just cruel in regards to how he felt about them bringing her back—were trusting him. Helping him.

This lot didn’t seem to be as hung up on his lack of soul like their future selves were. He should have known the lack of trust would date all the way back to brood brow. The Watcher had actually taught these kids that demons were stereotypical, ultimately evil and not worthy of the ground they walked upon. And yeah, to the larger extent they would be right.

Good old Angelus had set the rules in concrete. His heinous existence and his crimes while without his soul added up to nothing but cause a discriminating belief to spring from the mind of the Watcher, and thus hammering in the first nail in the coffin that would represent Spike’s unlife. A hollow box; no air, no sunshine, no love. Frankly, no Buffy and no Dawn. How could she think he could live like that?

But it had all changed on the wisp of an ill-judged wish, and so far he wasn’t seeing the pitfalls. Which was highly suspect being that the equation consisted of the Hellmouth, vengeance wishes and he and Buffy.

He wasn’t waiting around for the big Kaboom, however. If everything was going to go arse over tit, then he wanted to make sure he’d gotten as much benefit out of the experience as possible, and try to make life a little better for Buffy in the process.

Which brought him back to the ring and his cowardly hiding in a locked bathroom, perched on the toilet lid while he waited for one of them to grow enough balls to cut him into colourful ribbons.

Fuck that! He wouldn’t put it past Red at all to simply splice his intestines, string the ring through and tie them together with a nice decorative flourish. And despite his handy not needing any of those vitals, it just wouldn’t do. They were still his guts, reasonably ordered in the correct cavities, and he didn’t want the witch to go mucking up anything she didn’t have extensive knowledge of. Vampire physiology being one topic seemingly lost on her.

Bugger it. There was nothing else for it. He’d chomped on whore’s necks, cleaned his teeth with the bones of babies…well, alright, slight exaggerations…but he’d lived in Harris’s basement for a week and that had to mean he could do anything, right? So, Spike gave the ring with the protruding green stone a resentful glare before placing it on his tongue. With a little flick he threw his head back and swallowed it whole, feeling the jagged edge of the jewel as it made his way down the narrow tubes to his stomach.

Spike groaned the entire trip. Only one thing could help this little experience be a tiny bit less repulsive.

Spike thrust open the door and practically ran to the kitchenette, retrieving the first pack of blood he could grab and heated it to the minimum temperature he could tolerate, vamped and allowed the smooth metallic liquid to ooze down his poor punished throat.

When at last he could feel no more internal movement, Spike hefted a relieved sigh and accepted that the ring was probably in his belly. Only then did he realise the possibility that not wearing it might render the magic of the ring ineffective. He could have thought to test the bloody thing before thrusting the bugger down his throat. What if it didn’t work?

There was only one way for him to tell without the risk of burning himself to a crisp and humiliating himself into the bargain. Striding back to the living room, he gingerly picked up the first crucifix he came across and watched as his hand flinched and gathered the strength to throw it away.

Nothing happened. No fizzling of his skin rejecting the Holy artifact. Spike felt weak with joy as emotion gathered to strangle his throat. The Gem worked as it sat comfortably and out of trouble in his belly. It wasn’t under threat, unless someone stabbed him and spilled his guts…or unless Glory continued along and probed it out of him. At least he would be more able to help Buffy with the crimped-haired bitch of a god with the less threat to his unlife and his immortality virtually guaranteed.


He felt an added coolness on his cheek and identified it as the subtle breeze rushing by his tears and he smiled wide at the two humans as they stood watching him hold the cross with building apprehension. But he missed it, being so caught in thrall of the possibilities and the differences this chance had made of his unlife.

Pumped up on gratitude—even though they hadn’t actually done anything—Spike flew at Willow, engulfing her in a hug just as her frightened scream touched her lips. Giles had blanched at the initial swoop, but as Spike swung Willow up high in the air and around like was probably last done to her as a child, he laughed with gentle humour and pleasure. Thoughts on the possible ramifications of lending support and encouragement to a vampire with no soul seemed heavily in the ‘forget about it’ pile.

Making a gradual decline from his high, Spike held the girl away from him and let her see the sparkling waters of his eyes.

“So,” started Giles, bringing Spike swiftly to the living room he was behaving like such a git in. “What do you plan to do as your first feat of daylight tolerance?”

Spike stopped abruptly, a look of exhilaration passing across his face.

“Saturday, right?”

Giles and Willow nodded, wondering what the significance of the day of the week was.

“Where would Buffy be, do you think?”

Willow smothered a grin and furrowed her brow, a small teasing light reflected in the hue of her eyes.

“It’s not lunch time yet. My guess would be she’s still happily in the land of nod.”

Spike watched her, incredulous. But a snort of dishonesty didn’t erupt from her mouth, and with his knowledge of the redhead and her inability to lie straight in bed—let alone in front of his all-seeing eye—he was inclined to believe Buffy was still snuggled up in her bed.

And an evil smirk of intent curled his lip.

“Right. ‘Bout time the Slayer was upright and useful, wouldn’t you think?”

Before either could reply, he’d swept out of the flat, his coat flapping like bat wings, or a superhero’s cape.

“Well, that was about the best vampire surgery I’ve ever done,” confided Willow with her quirky grin.

“Quite,” replied Giles, feeling rather chuffed with the achievement despite having lifted not even a finger. “It was rather the best demon operation I’ve ever observed, too.”

They shared a moment of happy certitude before the smiles faltered slowly.

“You don’t think we’ve made a massive mistake, do you?” Willow’s voice was suddenly small and she resembled the demeanor of a confused frightened teenager and Giles prayed to God they hadn’t.

He removed his glasses from his face and began his nervous polishing.

“I guess time will tell, and just hope we haven’t created a mon…well, a larger problem.”

Willow shivered and worried about Buffy and her no doubt in-transit visitor.

Had they just made a big mistake allowing Spike to become so powerful? Giving him free reign over night as well as day?

Willow hoped not because despite the whole threatening to rip your throat out thing, she kinda liked him. Even more than Angel. At least he knew how to have fun and didn’t brood so much.

With a silent prayer that things would be all right in Slayerland, Willow helped Giles clean up the operation instruments: sharp scalpel, darning needle and fishing line. Then she disappeared into the sunshine for some quality homework time.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

The sunlight couldn’t prevent his first venture to her window. Perched on a limb outside her bedroom he watched her writhe and twist her bedsheets into an adorable little tangle. Though her head was turned toward her other wall, Spike had the glorious vision of her hair. He was twisting himself into knots with longing to wrap his hands in that mane and tugging her head round so he could capture her mouth in a brutal hello kiss.

It never occurred that anyone could see him from the street, that he looked more stalkerish now than he had when he’d needed to stalk. But luckily he was hidden from view by branches and he was allowed to look on his woman in leisure.

She was exquisite, if young.

And the thought of having to wait for her to grow up a little was giving him a whopper of a headache.

As he watched her body shifted, allowing her cover sheet to drag a little lower and revealing a whole lot of thigh as her leg fell off the edge of the bed. Spike grinned as he mentally swept over the secrets of her body.

‘She’d be a mite cheesed off if she knew how well I know that body,’he thought, but couldn’t hold back on the smiling pleasure he felt. Thoughts of Buffy—his Buffy—led him down a bittersweet track. Her easy giving of her body but not her heart had his smile fading and he lowered his head.

He couldn’t help but become overwhelmed by the possibilities…the ‘what if’s’ about this crazy ride he had embarked upon. Not like there was any chance of a refund if he bollocksed the whole thing up. Anya would have definitely bestowed more wishes on the unsuspecting heartbroken, so the option of contacting her and going back to the world he had already lived was impossible. He had no choice but to make the best of it.

But what if Buffy had told him the truth? What if she had truly meant that she could never love him, never even like him enough to acknowledge to her friends that she spent time with him? The constant circle of those options near drove Spike insane and he wanted to squash something rather heavily.

The heart that didn’t beat, that to her didn’t feel love, clenched in agonising dread. To have to watch her again be made a fool of by Angel was unbearable to contemplate. If nothing else he had to prevent the emergence of Angelus, redirect her interest from the souled vamp. Sure, with every unliving cell within him Spike wished she would move on with him, allow him to prove to her how good he could be, how loving and devoted he would be.

But if the chance never accomplished, he would be content—well more likely satisfied yet devastated—if he could steer her away from unleashing the greatest git, Angelus. And save a whole bunch of Scooby innocence to boot. Poor little Red had never gotten over the horror of her dead goldfish. Angelus was a right cruel bastard, and that little feat took the cake.

The teacher would live.

Spike couldn’t help but wonder what the Watcher might have been like toward him in later years if he hadn’t lost the chance of love. Yeah, so if Buffy would never love him, never see him as anything but a hot stud to get her kicks, he could be content that he had saved an important life, insuring Rupert’s happiness, and kept Buffy from encountering one of the most heinous evil vampires in history.

Not that Spike was overly keen to see his sire post-soul.

The soul had changed him, added to his cruelty and single-minded obsession to make the world pay. Though Spike’s love for Dru had receded far back into memory—been usurped by the enormity of his feelings for Buffy—he still felt the cut of Angelus’s hatred for him. That the elder vamp had forced the issue with Dru—reclaiming her duties as his childe in the absence of his beloved Darla—had created a new level of strained relationship between the two male kin.

While the beginning of their relationship had been fraught with William’s often misguided but bloody efforts to get his Sire’s approval, the latter half of twenty years had established a bond between them that the soul had destroyed forever. When the leash had been removed, the Angelus of old was replaced with a vindictive bastard that no longer cared who he had loved as his evil persona, instead forgoing every feeling to wreak havoc and pain on those who welcomed his soulful status.

So, Spike nipped it in the bud. If anything, he felt sure of his minimal influence over Buffy’s libido. He knew he could get her hot, was still reeling about her requested taste of him. To have his cock surrounded by her cool wet lips had been pure bliss. That she’d wanted him to be first in that way, near blew the top off his head. Or melted the gel in his hair.

Again his eyes turned to her lying peacefully on the bed, and when he encountered amused green eyes open and observing him outside her window, he nearly fell out of the tree in shock.

“Ah, good morning?” he struggled as he desperately tried to cover up his less than graceful slide down the branch.

Her eyes widened comically as his words sunk in and she saw the sunlight filtering round him and the leaves on the tree. Like an erratic bolt of lightening she streaked from the bed, her minimal sleeping attire blurring as she rushed to him, grabbed his shirt and slammed him into the invisible barrier keeping him out.

“Spike,” she shouted in horror, again slamming his face into the barrier so hard his teeth rattled. Again and again until he felt his consciousness compromised.

“Buffy,” he shouted, frantically trying to loosen her grip on his t-shirt before his face became vampire mush. “Invite me in, luv. Might be better on the looks.”

“Come in, Spike,” she rushed through her lips and all of a sudden they flew backwards and sprawled in an unseemly pile on the floor, Spike bruised and in pain but lying in his favourite spot. Directly on top with his hips nestled between her legs.

Though inside they still lay in sunlight, so with a quick twist and a tug Buffy had encased them within her comfy bedding, finally sighing heavily with the relief of protecting him from combustion.

There was silence in the dark, only one chest heaving with both fright and breath.

“You scared the crap out of me,” screeched the more feminine voice in the darkness, and Spike chuckled through painful lips.

“Might ‘ave picked up on that a tad, pet.”

The following silence did nothing but emphasise the bulge resting against her panties and Spike bit desperately down on the impulse to grind into her a little. When the cup of her hips lifted fractionally, that was the end of his endurance and he rubbed his crotch against her damp panties hard. His face fell to the crook of her neck and his human teeth latched on to her skin, muffling his cry of yearning.

He wanted to rip off her clothes, bath her with his tongue until she was utterly incoherent. He wanted her naked and writhing in fits of ecstasy while his tongue manipulated her into love. He needed so badly for her to believe his feeling for her, so the quick violent encounter was out this time round. No taking her up against walls in crumbling condemned buildings.

But he could give her a taste…and along the way quench his own thirst.

“Buffy,” he whispered into the air around her, his voice hopeful and tentative.

“Yes,” she whispered back, her voice hitched a little in thwarted desire.

“Remember the other day? When you…you know…” Spike was incredulous. Since when did he have trouble being crude, blatant with the sexual innuendo? Perhaps the fact that it had been Buffy’s first real sexual experience had allowed her innocence to rub off a little and he was slightly more sensitive to how she would see all this.

“When I…um…slayed the generic demon and we had to wash up in Giles’s bathroom?”

Spike choked on a cough of surprise.

“Ah, yeah.”

“What about it?” she asked, her voice heavy with hope.

“I was thinking you might like to feel what it was like for me to slay a generic demon. Less mess when I do it, though.” He wished she could see him wink but was sure she could hear the tease in his voice.

“A girl should always be ready to learn. Whenever you’re ready.” She accompanied her permission with a small slap to his bum and a wriggle of her fanny against his cock and he couldn’t help but growl into her neck. He felt the goosebumps raise on her skin and smiled in satisfaction. Oh yeah, Big Bad still had it.

He looped his finger around the panty strap around her hip and slowly tugged it down, seeking the gleam of her eyes in the blackness. As the elastic gently lowered—and finally the panties freeing her lower body—Spike breathed in deeply and growled in remembered delights. The fragrance of his Slayer would forever be the one thing he could summons memory of in his sleep.

The sweetness of her taste and texture, it brought tears to his eyes. Only just over a week ago she had told him that his love for her could only be real to him, because again, demons were incapable of true emotion. He thought he’d never be able to be with her again and that he was here now, with his nose nudging her curls, brought a lump to his throat and tears to his eyes.

It gave his tongue new purpose.

Her sighs and small nervous shifts of movement opened up his heart and he swallowed the urge to collapse on her belly and cry for her forgiveness, sob for her belief in him. He needed her so badly in his life that it hurt every part of him, even the hidden parts he had never allowed Dru to touch.

Only the thought of his story freaking Buffy out forced him into holding his tongue, so when the appendage instead began to slide over her reddened lips, the gush of her fluid mixed with his cool tears as he worshiped her.

Her fingers tangled in his hair as she pulled him hard against her pussy, back arching as his tongue delved into her depths and exploring so far untouched territory. Her slick walls were like the sweetest dessert, and he felt himself lose control. He lapped at her and stroked with his tongue, gliding over the wet springy flesh as he avoided the one place she was dying to have him taste.

His tongue flicked out without guidance and she gasped, arching her back and pushing her clit further into the sucking vacuum of his mouth. His fingers dived inside her hot passage and smoothed over her…running the moisture all over her as he licked and sucked his way into heaven.

He couldn’t get enough, his body undulating against the floor as he rubbed his cock against the friction of the carpet, getting closer to off as he uncovered her secrets and gave her knowledge. The tears in his eyes multiplied as she bumped her snatch against his lips, his teeth grazing against the stubborn nub. He felt empowered by her cries of anguish, her desperation to feel what she had given him driving all decorum and shyness from her mind as he sucked hard on her clit. He opened his whole mouth to her, sucking her in at a frantic pace, his tongue flickering between gentle soft glides and hard rough swipes.

Her body heaved with the pressure, he could feel the fire bursting from her skin and for a moment he thought he was burning—Gem of Amara be damned. But it was nothing but the flush of her skin, the heat of her desire and need for release. His mouth covered her hardened clit one final time and he bit her, not too hard but enough to tip her over the edge.

She screamed and cried so loudly he thought his eardrums would burst.

He licked her gently, his body shaking with gratitude and love for this girl as he wrapped his arms around her waist. He felt her shudders echo through him and he felt the tears that had appeared when he first breathed her in making tracks to his chin. As her quivering abated, he lifted his head and allowed his body to slide up hers. He controlled the violent urge to tear her top from her flesh so he could take one of her glorious nipples into his mouth, too afraid of sensory overload in both himself and her.

This was the moment he would have liked to hear the words, the feelings he felt swirling around inside him so hard bouncing against him in an effort to find release. He bit the words back, not wanting to spook her. But he could not surrender his right to her lips. They’d just shared something wondrous and her lips were his, at least for now.

If he could make it forever, he would dust a happy vamp.

Long quiet minutes passed them by as they gathered their strength, allowing it to come in small bursts along with the desire building from the kiss.

His lips owned hers and they showed the skill gained from knowing. As his teeth nipped into the plump flesh of her bottom lip, her hands wandered over his back. His tongue, heavily tasting of her juices, succumbed to her frenzy and the kiss became so much more than everything…so much more than them.

He defied her to feel it. It was right, it was real, and it was so very overwhelming.

And her small yet strong hands were undoing his belt buckle.

He felt his cock twitch at the promise, and he wanted her so badly, to feel her heat burn his length again was almost unbearable with need. But he couldn’t do it. Not yet. They needed to learn about each other, he needed to respect her age, and he needed to complete his transition into her world.

He reluctantly removed her fingers from his zip and buried his face in the crook of her neck.

“Buffy, as much as I would love to go there with you, I think it’s too soon.”

He prayed she wouldn’t test him on his sudden resolve.

“You are still evil, right?” He could hear the pout in her voice and he couldn’t help but smile at the innocence of this younger Buffy.

“Blatantly evil, luv. And when it’s time, you’ll know it.”

He snuggled up against her warmth, the sun beating down on their covered backs and finally Buffy connected the dots.

“Spike? How could you be sitting outside my window in the sun without turning into dust particles on the breeze? And hey? Can floating dusty vampire get into my house when they weren’t invited?”

Spike smiled into her creamy neck.

“Bit of a story there. You got some time?”

And he told her about his newfound sun tolerance while curled up under the girly protection of slayer bedding.

Spike knew he was in heaven.
 

Chapter 9:

The night was a revealer of secrets. Buffy had never felt, since becoming Chosen, that anything could hide from her amongst the crisp curtain of darkness. It was when the monsters emerged that the reality of her life in peril became clear, and her path and destiny mingled with the hidden truth of day. Clarity was a spicy nightmare that lost its secretiveness as soon as the moon shadowed the earth and evil lost its cloak.

Buffy stretched toward her seventeenth birthday with a yearning that recognised that every birthday in her life was a major achievement. Since being called she could almost hear the ticking time bomb counting down to each concluding year. But it warned of the need to grasp hard what was offered, what was given. It was almost funny to her that it was in the dark as she wandered through graveyards that she felt freest to think about her birthday and what it might bring her.

Her most earnest wish was that it might bring her Spike.

A smile touched her lips as her eyes glazed over, blurring the ground in front of her as her feet still took steady and sure steps along her mission of demon eradication. The night was still, allowing her mind to expand her thoughts, to ponder over recent meetings with the blond vampire and wonder at her lack of fear, her lack of concern in his possible evil motives. It was hard to consider someone that made her feel so good—someone who liberated her body and heart so fully—could be setting her up for some kind of fall.

It was beyond hard.

The thought of Spike doublecrossing her, handing her over in some evil plot to meet her end, was enough to freeze her solid. Evil was as evil does, and Spike had quite believably shed his evil wear, donning a white hat with the best of them. He constantly rubbed shoulders with Giles, a Watcher with history and learning steeped in the contradictory yet blinkered teachings of the Council. He traded barbs that hung on the right side of insulting with Xander, and Willow…well, Willow seemed to be really okay with him. Didn’t hurt that Spike seemed to go out of his way for them all.

The absence of Angel in her life weighed on Buffy’s mind, however. The ease in which she had made a decision, had swapped her outer vampire wear, shrugging off large brooding soulful purpose for the touch of fire, the vision of angelicness in the devil’s clothes. Even if black and red really suited him.

She felt shallow. Thoughts of all she had achieved with Angel made Buffy stand still in sudden apprehension. She couldn’t possibly have tossed her soulful boyfriend aside merely because a better-looking, tastier version landed in her school corridor. Sure, kissing Spike stole her senses and made her burn in all the right places. But was it right for her to abandon Angel just as he had gained new responsibilities? Buffy hadn’t pushed the physical side of her connection with Angel until recently, and to dump him because he didn’t show a lack of control around her like Spike did? Well, shallow.

But that didn’t seem right, either. It was more than just a molten, burn-the-house-down moment when she was with Spike. Sure, her hormones let loose and created crazy dancing within her soul, but something of him called to her, leveled her so thoroughly that she could do nothing but submit to him on every level. It was deep, whatever this thing was between them. The fathomless emotion she sunk into every time he looked at her? Buffy might be unsure of her own feelings for the blonde vamp, but there was no confusion in regards to his, despite the lack of declaration. His actions shouted at her, drowned her in feelings of fire, of devotion, of newness and right.

And God did it set her alight.

Made her so excited and happy she couldn’t help but skip as she spun her stake.

Exhilarated her so much she was all enthusiastic for the killing of vamps. Making with the dustiness.

Another couple of steps and she was making with the frustration. No vamps. Buffy stopped and pouted, taking a longing look around the cemetery grounds, looking for one little sign of the walking undead. She couldn’t even locate some torn turf.

“Grrrr,” she chastised the ground as she rewarded the unfettered grass with an irritated stab with the toe of her shoe.

“What’d the poor innocent grass do to you, pet?”

Buffy spun on her heel with a large grin erupting on her lips.

“Spike!” she almost shrieked as she leaped into his arms, her legs clamping around his waist as her arms wrapped around his neck. They laughed together as he began to spin them in a circle, dizziness soon making them fall in a lump to the ground.

Predictably, the randy soulless vampire landed on top, neatly slotting his pelvis into the V of her legs. His hard protrusion was another thing that was not hidden in the dark, and a small frown replaced the delight that had speckled her lips and eyes.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, immediately noticing and hating the anxious expression that clouded her happiness. So used to her down moods, her internal struggle to live, Spike nearly bit his tongue to stop himself from panicking.

“It’s just, it’s…” she hesitated, unsure of whether to bring up her age considering all the experimentation she had been doing lately.

“Tell me, Buffy. What is it?”

Buffy startled at the look of fear that was blatantly taking over Spike’s previously carefree demeanor. Sometimes he seemed shadowed by something dark, and when Buffy picked up on it she felt like kicking herself. Hello, evil vampire lying wedged between her thighs. He’s supposed to be all dark and mysterious. But this was different. Like he was afraid of her. Afraid of the pain that she could cause, which made no sense.

“I was just thinking about my birthday,” she offered at last, and she quirked a brow at his tremendous sigh of relief. He buried a suddenly heavy head into the crook of her neck.

Buffy lay completely still, pricklingly aware of how close to her vein his mouth was. As if he could read her mind, his blunt human teeth sunk into the soft skin of her neck and she released a low, lustful moan. Absolutely contrary to her expected reaction, she felt the warm, overwhelming gush of fluids in her panties and she wiggled a little in embarrassment.

When his tongue began to trace the length of her throat the continuing flood made her tremble and flush scarlet with heat. Her less than seventeen reaction was to abruptly push him to the side, away from the tender and extremely sensitive column of her throat. She jumped up away from him, and with one quick look at the confusion swirling in his azure depths, she bolted.

Suddenly darkness was not her friend as she barely made it a few metres away from him before she was confronted by a small vamp gathering.

“Why is it that when I want to see you guys, you’re all with the absent, but when I don’t, your right in front of me? In big, evil packs? Guess I’ll just have to deal with you so I can be on my way.”

“Not so fast, Slayer,” said one unfortunate, stepping up to make his point but quickly finding his way impeded by a shapely carved stake protruding from his chest. And he was a large gust of dust in the fresh nightly breeze. Buffy coughed delicately as she turned to the remaining two.

Looks of understanding passed between them and they suddenly took off out of her way. Unfortunately for them, they ran in the direction from where Buffy had been making her escape. They barely heard the tread of her trainers as she kept up with them and thrust them into eternal darkness with her trusty stick of wood.

It was too late, though. Spike had merely needed to walk to catch back up to her, and he snagged her elbow and spun her back to face him. The whole motion had the tinge of darkness, of evil determination, and the sexiness of it made her shiver.

“What the bloody hell got you all spooked?”

His face was the picture of abandoned sex; his eyes all smoky with desire while his body displayed his condition rather prominently. He didn’t even blink when Buffy’s eyes couldn’t stray from the bulge in the front of his pants. The patented smirk spread and he tilted his head.

“So what were you wantin’ for your birthday, luv? Anythin’ I could perhaps get for you?”

Buffy gulped as images of what she wanted to unwrap flashed behind her eyes.

And then she heard high-pitched, maniacal laughter that set her teeth painfully on edge. Almost by the second, Spike’s head had swivelled to the direction of the sound and his feet had begun to carry him in that direction. Buffy followed wordlessly, and not without an ample supply of irritation.

When they found themselves at the park and watching the antics of Spike’s ex-love, Drusilla, Buffy found herself groaning with a seething hatred. It was tempered only slightly by the accompaniment of Angel. The dark-haired couple was not immediately aware of the appearance of the blondes, or at least they acted like they weren’t. But that they were standing once again at the swings, the fruit loop dancing between the chains and sweeping her hands out to touch on each revolution, was enough to shoot Buffy into a foul mood.

They’d interrupted. What exactly, she was still debating. Not a moment really, as she shamefully admitted she’d blasted that to smithereens the moment she had jumped to her feet and run like an inexperienced child. Which was a bit much for a girl who’d experienced the engorged wonder of having a vampire’s penis in her mouth.

No, they’d interrupted the make-up scene. And everyone knew that make-ups were so much hotter than the normal making-out.

The Buffy pout was pushing into existence as the feelings of deprivation strengthened and piled high with the irritation. By the time Buffy had accepted her level of annoyance, Spike had crowded her side and slid his arm around her waist. The sensual slide of his coat against her back calmed and soothed her to the point of uncaring. Almost immediately Buffy raised her relaxed gaze, only to clash with feral amber as they studied her comfortable connection with the peroxided vampire.

“Be careful what you wish for, Slayer. Birthday parties are fine for showers, but little presents are better with the background of thunder.”

Buffy stared at the crazed vampire and giggled. Even the warning squeeze around her middle couldn’t stop the reaction, and Buffy ignored his tactile advice.

“You so have to stop taking teatime with the Powers that Be. Vague it up, much? Thanks for the birthday cheer, though. I’ll be sure to not care.” She hid well her freak out that the weirdness of mentioning her birthday—still a few months distance from the night—had rolled from the evil red lips on a night when certain desires had already been thought about. She knew that vamps had enhanced hearing, but for Elvira the ho to hear from that distance defied even the Slayer’s belief.

Buffy’s eyes switched to focus on Angel—her eyes sweeping by accident over his throat—gasping loudly when encountering the littering of fang marks spattering his neck in purple splotches.

“Oh My God. Angel, what has she done to you?” The words were not enough, and Buffy found her legs carrying her swiftly to the vampire she had discarded only days ago, and allowing her finger to gently scrape over the numerous healing pinpricks in his skin.

His flinch away from her touch halted halfway through the movement, and instead he pressed himself into the slack cup of her palm. All sound fell away from them as the two interlopers fell silent; shock a crack in confident armour.

“It’s nothing bad, Buffy. I thought Sire blood might help to cure Dru. Seems to be working so far. She’s much stronger than what she was a week ago.”

Buffy nodded her head without really processing what he said. Her hand still lay against the flesh of his throat, almost absent in its continued position, and her mind fell lost to thoughts of her other vampire. So consumed in thoughts of Spike, she remained ignorant of the soft growls vibrating in his chest, projected from a few metres behind her.

Not until the hysterical cackle from her least favourite vampire broke through her reverie did she finally notice that Spike had turned away from her absent display of affection and was striding across the park. Stepping away to follow him was a useless move as Angel caught her elbow.

“Forget Spike. I don’t know what his problem is, anyway. I’d have thought he would have asked after Dru, made sure she’d settled in okay.”

Buffy raised startled eyes, and couldn’t help the childish reaction of jealousy from tumbling past her lips.

“And has she settled in okay?” The spite felt all rumbly inside her, and Buffy was forced to consider the jumbled reality of her feelings. Without allowing him the chance to answer, Buffy held her hand as a halt in front of his face. “Don’t tell me. It isn’t my place to know. You need to be with Dru, Angel. And I need to go after Spike.”

Before he could grab her again, Buffy swiftly stepped away and began to jog in the direction that Spike had disappeared. No sound of his steps meant he was in stealthy vampire mode, and Buffy stopped with a frown. She pushed her senses out to try and sense vampire, but the three vamps ambling in a dorky, uncoordinated fashion toward her made the efforts redundant.

They stopped a few metres away from her, recognising the Slayer by the pointy stake clasped in her hand, and they turned in the direction of cowards and ran. Watching them disappear, Buffy felt a twinge of guilt for not chasing them down and dusting them. But as her eyes followed their progress to safety, she halted her slow pace at the gliding beauty of an enraged Master pounding on the three as they pleaded for their continuing unlives.

When their particles had drifted to the grass, Buffy’s smile froze on her face as she encountered the furious ridged mask. Spike pivoted on his heel and was striding away, fury pumping his thighs. He ignored Slayer calls for waiting; gliding along with larger strides until he reached the copse of trees that bordered the next cemetery.

A burst from her own legs had Buffy catching up and repeating Angel’s earlier move of a clutch at the elbow. The slicing anger of his movement had the smooth leather of his sleeve slipping through her fingers, though, and she was left frowning and hurt in the entryway.

As he disappeared in the dark, rejection bouncing off him and fading into the night, Buffy recalled her earlier assumption that the night held no secrets for her. This night was turning into a fizzer as far as clear sailing was going.

But maybe she was missing something. Maybe the severity of Spike’s defection told her more than their continual hormonal dance could. Buffy had admitted to herself earlier in the night that the vampire had an ease of feeling for her that she was able to recognise, if not be sure of reciprocation. Her reaction to Angel told her there was a residual love still lingering on the edge of her feeling for the larger vamp. But her hand had not felt his clammy coldness as it rested on flesh. She’d felt the hum of another’s, and felt like kicking herself at the silly act of daydreaming while showing major concern over something that wasn’t any of her business.

In truth, the bite marks hadn’t done more than caught her unawares. Had her imagination leap to areas brushed on earlier in the night, but which had had her running way in severe opposition. Spike’s mouth against her own throat launched her into a moment of tingling anticipation, and the comfort she gained from the desire to feel his teeth sink into her vein catapulted her into majorly wiggy territory.

Seeing the evidence of vampire marks on Angel’s throat brought back her own feelings on the topic, and she was horrified to admit that the image of sharp canines breaking her skin wasn’t as frightening as it should have been. Dying from it once—the lulling effect that robbed her of consciousness and had her drowning in a puddle— seemed to lend her a tougher shell against the consequences. Resting her palm against Angel’s bites meant nothing more to Buffy than an acknowledgement to herself that she was curious to experience the same.

But Spike couldn’t read her mind, and she had really mucked up her secret message. The darkness was his world, and just because it seemed to simplify things for Buffy, didn’t mean the same was happening for Spike. In fact, his disappearance beyond the foliage would suggest another story.

So involved in her self-castigation, Buffy didn’t hear the approach or take note of any tingly sensation heralding the arrival of a vamp at her feet. Sitting on the damp grass, her first clue was the heavy black boots that stomped up to a point in front of her crossed legs. Buffy couldn’t tear her eyes away from the scuff marks on the toe points, and instead of gaining strength from the knowledge that he’d come back, she felt tears sting at her eyes and a wobble settle over her lip.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered to the boots, courage deserting her in the face of this new relationship. The Slayer bent forward a little more, her hair curtaining around her face and hiding the extent of her misery.

“Got it sorted?”

Buffy’s confusion at the remark did what all his soft reassurances wouldn’t have been able to. It halted the clog in her throat and forced back the tears. It gave her courage to lift her face to seek understanding in his.

She’d gotten it sorted all right. She was a child. Gave up one guy to be petty when he’d shared an intimacy with another that he’d never even suggested to her. Then when she had recognised who she did want to experience something so intimate with, she’d mucked it up by touching the wrong vamp.

Spike’s face was ravaged with uncertainty. He looked like a puppy that had been kicked one too many times, his shoulders slumped and his usual cocky stance a mere shadow of his usual confidence. He avoided her eyes, not sure of what he would witness if he turned fully to her. In fact, his little sojourn into the patrol alone was enough to convince him how completely stupid he’d been to think he could change anything by going back.

It had never been Buffy.

All these years Spike had been convinced that it was the girl’s reaction to the great Lunkhead that had ruined all hope for Spike. Without a soul, he’d never have a chance. And even then he’d be pushing it. So, like he thought, it was never Buffy.

It was him.

Spike, William the Bloody Awful Poet who just never had what it took to get the girl.

In all of his progressive personalities and personas, he’d never moulded himself into being the kind of man that would be chosen. Well, not in the way he wanted to be chosen. His mother had pushed him continuously to find someone to help him flee the nest. As loving and indulgent as she might have been over his awful talent, she was eager to see him settle down and thus out from under her thumb. How many mothers were eager to see the back of their influence in their child’s life?

And then there was Dru, picking him off the street while in bitter tears, cornering him in a barn where no one could witness his wonky judgement to take what she was offering. It had seemed with her sweet, knowing words that she required him, and her beauty and mystique had sucked him in completely. Only after he’d risen did he get the memo. He’d been created to be a playmate. Not important, not a chosen mate, not someone to love. Just a playmate to keep the younger member of the family entertained.

And then Buffy. Well, what could he say about Buffy? The Slayer. He’d been so determined to extend his evil reputation by depriving Sunnydale of her protection. Only she’d come armed with her mother. The memory of Joyce clubbing him good and proper with an axe brought a nostalgic smile to his lips.

But Buffy was pure light, she had a destiny and no part of that indicated space for an ex-evil vamp with no soul. She’d made her choice years ago. Or now if he was being pedantic. Angel. Spike could get her hot, could lower her defenses and might be devoted to keeping her alive and healthy, but he would never succeed over Angel. His position in the family order predicted it. Angel’s desertion, leaving Spike the paternal victor of their ever decreasing group, being the youngest Master vampire in history did nothing to placate Dru, to secure his importance in the order. He remained the childe. Forever behind the eight ball in the collection of his due.

So, as long as Angel was there first, Spike would never have a chance with Buffy, and obviously coming this far back in the past did nothing other than give him angst free encounters with her. But the way she had caressed the Poof’s neck. Spike hadn’t been able to control his animosity, knowing that if he’d stayed he would have caused some kind of hurt. Better to keep the pain restricted to himself, because he knew intimately how much of it the blond Slayer was in for when she finally breached the lines with the amazingly pathetic ‘Daddy.’

So, he’d acted like a lovesick fool and escaped to another cemetery. But at least he’d come across a number of fledglings and had been able to expend a little of his frustration and surrender to killing.

For a moment he’d found the need to wonder why. Why persist in something he was never going to get? Why put himself in the middle of the Scoobies when he could easily just gobble them all up. He knew that his love for Buffy wouldn’t let him even squander a second of his unlife contemplating to kill her, but the others…there was nothing leashing him anymore. He had no chip; he had no reason to stay here. He was pretty much invincible now with the gem, and if he was getting nothing in return, why should he stick around and put himself in the front line of being tortured time and again in the name of love?

It was the blond hair and wide green eyes turned on him with an expression of wariness and fear that brought him back around. That was why. He would stay to make sure she lived. He’d lived with a broken heart for the past three years, what was another how many of her lifetime? And be satisfied with being in the background of her life.

“I’m sorry.” She struggled with the huskiness of her voice, her eyes returning to the moist stage that convinced her of her emerging feelings for this vampire. He made her feel, in a way wholly different to anything she’d felt before.

Spike held back, but the glassiness in his eyes softened at her apology, and he hardly believed the possibility that she wanted him to know she felt remorse for earlier.

“Angel and I broke up.”

He couldn’t help the severe swing of his head as he tried to take that one in. In one breath she turned all his assumptions arse over tit. He felt the push of awe take him over at the opening she’d given him, but it still didn’t explain her moment of jealous protection.

“What does it feel like?”

Again her quiet question blew him out of the water.

“What does what feel like, Pet?”

The answer obviously caused her some anxiety as her hesitance stretched into the night accompanied with impatience. He’d finally given up on her wide eyes, her racing heartbeat and fluttering pulse when she opened her mouth and uttered the response guaranteed to strip his pretensions bare.

“Your bite?” Her nervousness gentled his heart and he tipped his head to the side in amazement.

“My bite, or the poof’s? Or just a bite in general?” He balanced on edge, waiting for the devastation that could be her answer, but it was postponed with banter he hadn’t been ready for,

“Have you been bitten by Angel, too?”

Her wide-eyed innocence was adorable, and it momentarily threw him from the revelation she was asking him to make. He wanted to hold back, wanted to conceal how close he’d actually been with his vampiric family, but it would be wrong, and that was what he was trying to reverse.

His automatic jump into the wrong option of everything.

He considered her closely, wondering if she was really ready to know the truth of vampire existence, of tradition and survival. He faltered at the wariness that lent her green eyes a black shadow, but garnered the strength he would need to acknowledge something he’d taken pains to forget since the day he’d encountered Angel in Sunnydale. Moments he was now finding it far from enjoyable to do over again. Sharing Harris’s basement while his folks screamed and threw things at each other above their heads was a pleasant memory in comparison.

But if he didn’t answer, it would be something held over them for Heaven only knew how long. Spike was a vampire, and Buffy the Slayer. She had to know the truth of life for those she killed. She had to know the truth about Spike. She had to be lowered to his reality, so when she made statements like breaking up with Angel, he’d know that she said them fully prepared for the consequences. He pulled her to her feet so he could look her in the eye.

“Yeah. I’ve been bitten by Angel. And I’ve bitten ‘im. We were a close family, Buffy. It’s what vampires do. Sharing blood with your Sire is a gift. Almost like Christmas.” He smiled at her, trying to reassure her that it wasn’t as evil or macabre as she probably thought.

“I get that,” she shocked him with. “It’s…almost like an honour to be chosen to be bitten. Even as food.”

Spike nearly fell to his knees, wonder at this younger, less emotionally scarred Buffy overwhelming his sense of order.

“Not a bloody honour for the fledge trying to take you out.”

Spike felt a little angry at this response, this negligence and acceptance of the bite. He was torn, the erotic possibilities of her desire to feel the sensual slide of fangs into her soft flesh opposing the almost frantic fear of her passing at the teeth of some strange vamp.

“But, it’s being chosen,” she countered and his mouth dropped open, absent a vital clue of where she was going with this topic.

“What are you gettin’ at, sweets?”

He hoped. Spike held himself still, waiting in almost agony for her to speak further. The image of biting was circling around his head now at breakneck pace and he felt a little dizzy at all the potential.

“When,” she paused and her gaze fell to study the grass with furious intent. “When you chose those Slayers, when you chose me?” And courage was gained with her desperate need for confirmation. “When you chose to kill us, don’t you see that we would consider it an honourable death? Not killed in a car accident, or disease, but by an opponent worthy of our calling.”

Spike was dumbstruck, not only by the image her words brought to mind, the memories that brought a hesitant smile to his lips, but the maturity of thought and acceptance of her fate.

“I s’pose it is. It was definitely an honour for me. To win against the girl born to take me out, though I didn’t taste them both, pet.”

She was nodding her agreement, and instead of the frown that he expected to accompany the subject matter, she completely leveled him with a seductive wink.

“It’s my birthday in a few months.”

Her change twisted his gut into an excruciating knot.

“Yeah. Not likely to forget,” he told her, anxious over the timing in relation to Dru’s deathday. In his past he’d been heavily immersed in reassembling The Judge. Thankfully, this time no one was in the position to carry that out.

“I was wondering…hoping…”

Spike fell into the promise she projected from her increased heat. It reached out and captured him, steadily reeling his coherence into a drooling ball of vampire lust. He wanted her so badly, and all this talk of biting was rendering him helpless with control. He found his body moving closer to hers, almost unwillingly, still confused over the show over Angel.

But he needed the contact with her. Needed to touch her and reassure himself that this was past Buffy, pre-Angelus and re-ensouled Angel’s desertion. Not the Buffy of his future—cold, almost dead inside, and rejecting everything to do with his love. Despite his earlier fears, with this Buffy there could be hope for him to cling to.

But the conversation had become stunted while he had buried himself in his rhythmic panting. He was teetering, so close to her now he could feel the burn of her body through two layers of clothing.

“Yes,” he breathed almost soundlessly, encouraging her to speak the words, to add to the element of fire that was raging within and around them right now.

Her eyes were focused on him, so close he could see the tiny flecks of gold immersed in the jade of her iris, and the grey line circling all the colour. So close, his unneeded breath expanding his diaphragm regularly enough to brush his chest against the tips of her nipples.

“I want you to bite me on my birthday.”

For one startling second Spike could feel the disintegration of his body. Saliva rushed his mouth and he could feel his fangs tickling at his gums, his demon struggling to emerge and take her up on her offer. He was desperate to do something, and as near to her as he was he felt impulse rule his limbs and he was crushing her against him, his cool breath gasping at her neck.

She trembled in his arms, excitement forcing her blood to rush against the thin covering of skin, almost reaching out for him to take, to taste.

Spike felt tears of gratitude burn at his lids and he hiccuped a single sob, his hands clutching desperately at her hair as he forced his demon back. Her birthday. She wanted it as a gift on her special day, to mark another milestone year with a new set of marks, ones given in love and affection rather than intent for death.

Then he was kissing her, his lips frantically bestowing wet, sloppy kisses on her neck and working toward her jaw. By the time he’d captured her lips he was gone, disappeared to a place where Buffy was his, claimed and mated so that Angel never had a hope of getting her back.

“I want to make love to you,” he mumbled against her lips, his mouth working hard to catch every surface of her plump softened flesh. Her eyes, temple, nose…he wanted it all.

“On my birthday,” was her answer and he almost whooped at her permission, the final step about to be handed to him on a golden platter.

He was indeed a lucky bloke.

Buffy struggled for breath as she quite happily submitted to being crushed against Spike’s body, knowing the trembling was reciprocated. She’d taken the step, admitted what she wanted and she was in a hurry for the first time in ages to get to a birthday. Even if a quarter of a year was still to be lived.

The images that bombarded her mind, of being completely naked and free to worship his body…she felt like growling. His blunt teeth snapping at her throat elicited moans of pure passion and she seriously considered bringing her celebrations forward.

To right now.

In the graveyard.

Long licks of his tongue had her knees weakening. As she felt herself lowering to the ground, it seemed to bring him back to himself and Spike held her away from him as he gasped in air, a relaxation technique to regain control.

“Right, we should get you home.”

Buffy felt disappointed, but still placed her smaller hand in his and allowed him to walk her home like a date.

They shared an innocent kiss at the tree under her window, and instead of words, she conveyed her girlish excitement for her birthday gift with a grin. Then she was gone, shimmying up the tree and disappearing inside her bedroom window.

And Spike walked back to Giles’s on a cloud that should be unavailable to the likes of him. But she’d offered it to him, not Angel. Her innocence, she would be his. His confidence was surging back and he just knew things would be different.

Bloody hell! She wanted him to bite her. His Buffy had never submitted to the thought of his fangs in her throat. This Buffy desired it. Thought it an honour for him to choose her. He felt like he was about to keel over from a heart attack, except for the absence obviously of a beating heart.

But his luck was definitely changing.
 

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