"Do you hear that?" Buffy asked.

"What?"

"It's raining."

Spike leaned back in the bed, flipping through various television stations. "Yeah," was all he said.

Two days had passed in mostly silence, as Buffy continued to scribble away with her pen and paper, and Spike tried his best to ignore her. His mind often strayed to the memory of seeing her nude in the shower, but the moment that happened, he would quickly turn on the TV or thumb through a magazine--anything to take his mind off that.

Buffy sat next to him on the bed, writing furiously. She stuck the tip of her tongue out in concentration, all the while keeping a decent distance between them. She didn't like being too close to him--also, she didn't want him to try and sneak a peep at what she was writing.

"What are you writing?"

She instinctively hid her papers from wandering eyes. "None of your business."

Spike was curious, but he didn't press the matter. "Alright."

An hour went by. It was probably around nine o'clock. Spike was still watching TV, but Buffy had already tucked her writings under her pillow. He guessed she was going for subtle, but he was well-aware of her hiding place. But he never looked.

Buffy suddenly laughed out loud.

"Somethin' funny, love?"

"You're watching the Simpons," she stated. "I saw that episode."

"How do you know what I'm watching?"

"Um. I may be blind, but I'm not deaf."

"Right."

"Yeah," she said. "I laughed when I saw it with Riley, too. He..." Her voice trailed off.

"He what?"

"Nothing. Goodnight." She rolled over, facing away from him, and closed her eyes.

Spike sighed. "G'night." But he didn't go to sleep. He just stared blankly at the television set, his mind elsewhere. "Buffy?"

A moment and then, "What?"

"Uh, I know this is gonna sound stupid or whatnot, but..."

"Yeah?"

He paused. "Nothing."

Buffy turned over so she was now lying on her back. "What?"

A minute passed. Then another. It felt as if millenniums had gone by before he spoke. "I'm sorry."

She had to admit, she wasn't expecting to hear that. She said nothing.

Spike cleared his throat. "I know you probably don't deserve this. And it's nothin' personal, mind you. I just--"

"Guilty conscience?"

"No," he replied, a little too quickly. "The point is, I don't know you. I don't know what you did to piss this wanker off, and part of me doesn't want to know. But... for some reason, I don't think you deserve this."

"You could always let me go."

"No, I can't."

"Can't or won't?"

"Both."

She swallowed. "Then I'm sorry, too."

He nodded. "Yeah."

Buffy's eyes watered a bit. Was he really going to go through with it? Were these really her last moments on earth? Sometimes she thought so. Sometimes she didn't. Spike was a complete mystery to her--and to be honest, she had no idea what he was capable of.

Maybe if I got to know him? Yeah, but that would involve actual conversations. And a certain level of intimacy. Maybe I can persuade him to let me go? Her mind went through all the things that men enjoyed: sex, sports, sex, cars, sex, beer...

Beer! She could get him really drunk and then maybe he'll reveal some vital information that would be necessary for a successful escape attempt!

No. Nothing good came from alcohol.

Cars? Uh, moving along...

Sports? Yeah, she could bore him to death with her lack of knowledge on the subject and then maybe he'll get so annoyed with her, he'll let her go. That, or kill her.

Sex. Buffy blushed at the thought. For one, she had very little experience. And two, he hated women, anyway. But that didn't stop him from sneaking a peep at you in the shower...

He probably just opened the wrong door!

Right. And who's the blind one in this situation?

She sighed. No, sex wouldn't work. Besides, what would that accomplish, anyway?

He could fall in love with you.

Buffy almost gasped out loud at this concept. It was crazy, insane, stupid, and... could it work? He was obviously softening somewhat towards her. He apologized, right? That's progress. That's... something.

But love was something else entirely. It took more than a couple of weeks to fall in love with somebody. Didn't it? But if it worked, then she could go free... there's no way he would kill her if he loved her...

Or at least developed some sort of feelings for her.

So it was settled. Buffy would do everything in her power to make Spike Tyler fall head over heals for her. Even if that did mean having to let her guard down a little. It would be worth it. And in no time at all, she would sleeping in her own bed, in her own home, and this would all just be one, very bad memory.

"Are you sleepin'?"

Buffy almost jumped at the sound of his voice. "No. Why?"

"Just wondering. Can't sleep."

"Do I care?" Oops! "I-I mean... is there anything I can do to help?" Real smooth, Buffy...

Spike frowned and turned off the television. Buffy was lying on her back again. "Uh, not to my knowledge."

"Oh," she said. "I'm good at shoulder massages. Do you want one? I hear they're... relaxing." What?! Hello! Jumping the gun much??

He looked at her curiously. Something was up. "Did you just offer to give me a massage?"

She gulped. "Um, yes?"

"Did you happen to... find drugs of any sort lyin' around the room?"

"What? No! I don't do drugs."

"And you do remember that I plan on killin' you in a few weeks..." he stated, as if trying to get the facts straight.

Another gulp. "Yuh-huh."

A beat. And then he shrugged his shoulders. "Alright then."

"What?"

"If you're offering..."

"No! I-I take it back."

Spike was seriously confused. "Now you take it back?"

"Yes," she nodded. I can't do this! I can't pretend to be nice...

Spike studied her and noticed that her cheeks had turned a lovely shade of pink. In all of his life, he had never seen a girl blush before. It was almost... well, it was kind of endearing. "So no massage then?"

She shook her head.

"Right. So we'll blame that on a sudden spurt of insanity?"

Insert vigorous nod here.

Spike sighed. "Fine."

Buffy, still terribly embarrassed for making an idiot of herself, took a deep breath and sunk deeper into her pillow. A few minutes later, Spike turned off the lamp and the room went dark.

Way to go, Buffster. Now, not only does he still hate you, but he also thinks your a freakin' headcase. She decided that she needed a new plan of attack. She'd prefer to take things slowly, but time was of serious importance in this case. Maybe she should just have sex with him right now and get it over with? There's always a connection after sex, right? That's what Riley used to say, anyway...

But, god! If she was too embarrassed to give him a shoulder massage, how could she convincingly pull off a seduction?! She knew that she couldn't. She didn't have it in her to be sexually forward. Especially with some killery guy she barely knew.

Okay, so then what? She could always just go with a friendly gesture to start things off. Like a hug, or pat on the back, or...

Oh! The leg touch! She had done that right when they first met. If he didn't pull away then, why would he now? It was just a simple gesture, afterall. And if he wasn't fond of her advances he could always push her away. Then she'd come up with a new technique.

Right. Okay. I can do this. With her heart beating rapidly against her chest, she reached over placed her hand gently on his thigh.

Spike sucked in a breath. "Um... B-Buffy?"

Act coy! "Hm?" she asked coyly, running her hand tentatively up and down his jean-clad leg. He didn't seem to be pulling away. That's good. Yay me!

Wait. Was that a... moan?

Spike froze as her hand began to move. "What are you... ohh..." Push her away, damnit!

"What did you say?" she wondered, her voice containing just the right amount of sweetness. Suddenly, she felt his leg begin to rise beneath his jeans. She frowned. Since when did legs--oohhh... oh, my god!

Buffy pulled her hand away so fast, she accidentally smacked herself in the face. I just touched his naughty parts! her brain provided.

Spike growled--either because of the fact that she stopped, or because he didn't push her away in the first place--he didn't know. "What the fuck was that?" he demanded, sitting up in bed.

Buffy hid her face in her hands, too ashamed to speak. What the hell did I just do? Oh, god. Oh, my GOD!

"Buffy!"

"I-I don't know!" she finally answered, humiliated out of her mind. "I was just... trying to be nice. I-I didn't mean to..."

"To put your hand on my dick?!"

"I was just trying to touch your leg!" she insisted.

"Why the bloody hell would you want to touch my leg?"

"Because! I..." Shit. How was she supposed to answer that?

He waited for her response. "Well?"

"I-I thought that if I was nice to you, you'd let me go," she admitted.

Spike grit his teeth together. "Is that right..." he bit out.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do that."

He took a deep breath, trying to keep reign on... well, whatever it was he was feeling. "I'm takin' a shower."

Buffy frowned. "You took one this morning."

"Trust me. I need another."

She felt the bed shift, and it was soon followed by the slam of the bathroom door. Buffy pulled the covers up over her head, wondering why she had to be so stupid. She couldn't do anything right! Her face flamed at the thought of... touching him like that. Not only that, but his reaction to her. Hated women, huh?

She sighed. This was pointless. It all was. There was obviously no way he was going to let her go, especially now. She should just resign herself to the fact that she was going to be dead in a couple of weeks.

Buffy took a deep, quivering breath. When she finally heard the water turn off, she closed her eyes and feigned sleep.

When Spike returned, the only sound in the room was the rain lightly tapping at the window and Buffy's steady breathing.

Pitter. Patter. Pitter. Patter.

It was still raining. Spike attempted to fluff the pillow beneath his head to make himself more comfortable on the hard floor, but it didn't help. The incessant rainfall was far from soothing and the rough carpet was far from accommodating. The thought of climbing back into the bed that he had rightfully called crossed his mind once or twice, but he didn't move. He just closed his eyes once more, willing sleep to overtake him.

But it didn't.

Sodding hell, he inwardly cursed, turning onto his back with a sigh and staring up at the blackened ceiling.

Spike decided that he was afraid to get back into bed. He wasn't afraid that Buffy would try to--do that--again... no, he was afraid because he liked it. Girls had come on to him before, sure, but his reaction had never been so strong. Hell, he jumped in the shower to wank off only seconds after she touched him. It was almost embarrassing.

He closed his eyes again. Sleep had to come eventually, right? Maybe if he kept trying, he--

He paused suddenly at the soft sounds coming from the bed above him. He strained his ears to hear, and sure enough... Buffy was crying. Crying?

Buffy buried herself as deep as she could into the soft pillows and blankets. She didn't want to wake him with her tears. Who knew what he'd do. He sounded so... angry, before. And she really hadn't meant to touch him like that. God, it was humiliating.

"Are you crying, pet?"

Her watery eyes shot open. Crap! I woke him up! She sniffled a bit and then answered, "No."

"Not what it sounds like to me."

"I have allergies," she said.

He almost believed her. Almost. "It's because of earlier, isn't it." It was a fact, not a question.

She didn't answer.

Spike sighed. "Didn't mean to lose my temper. I was just... startled," he explained.

"You probably think I'm some big ho now," she replied, wiping at her stained cheeks. Then she added for good measure, "Not that I care what you think of me..."

"I don't think you're a ho. And that says a lot, comin' from me."

"I probably am. I would've had sex with you, you know. If it meant my safety. Does that make me a prostitute?"

"Uh, no. That would involve sex for money. And that doesn't make you a ho either. Just smart," he shrugged.

Buffy frowned. "Ego much? I doubt you're that cute."

"You'd be surprised."

"I'm sure," she scoffed, although quite curious...

A small smile quirked at the corner of his lips. "If you ever get your eye sight back, you'd shag me in a minute."

Oh, my God! Is he flirting with me? "Shag you? Pfft. Yeah. Like I even know what that means..."

"Don't get out much, do you?"

"I'm blind. What do you think?"

He paused. "I think you're smarter than you look. But not as worldly."

"Excuse me? You don't know me. You have no idea what I've been through."

"White flag here, love. I'm just bein' honest," he told her.

Buffy swallowed, still hiding under the covers. A few moments passed and she felt the bed shift again.

Spike sat on the bed and studied her through the layer of darkness. Then he sighed and lay down. "So, enlighten me," he said.

"What? No. It's none of your business."

"So? Strangers are easier to talk to, yeah?"

"Not crazy ones."

"Lucky for you, I'm not crazy."

"I'll believe it when I see it."

"Not fair comin' from a blind girl."

"Oh well."

He leaned back into his pillow. "Why are you so bloody difficult?"

"I have a right to be. I'm stuck in a room with a weird, British guy."

"Beg your pardon? Since when does me bein' British have anything to do with it?"

"Because! You... you say all these creepy things I don't understand. Like "shag" and "sod". Isn't that dirt or something?"

"It means... oh, bullocks! I'm not explainin' my dialect to you."

"See? There you go again!" she stated.

"What?"

"You said "bolix"."

"Bolix? Did not."

"Did too."

"Did--" He stopped and sighed. "You still never answered my question."

"Sorry, but I'm not showing you my dark side."

He curled his tongue behind his teeth. "I'll show you mine, if you show me yours."

Buffy gulped. Okay, if he wasn't flirting then, he was definitely flirting now. And why should she take the bait? She should just close her eyes, go to sleep, and... "Fine." I suck.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. You go first."

"No bloody way!"

"Then I'm not talking."

He grumbled. "Alright then. What do you want to know?"

"Who's Drusilla?"

"My ex."

"Okay, but what--"

"Ah, ah, ah," he scolded. "My turn."

She huffed and rolled onto her back.

"Who's Riley?" he wondered.

"My ex."

He was about to speak, but Buffy cut him off. "Why did you break up?"

"Various reasons. How did you go blind?"

"Car accident."

Spike couldn't help but let a smile slip. "Is this little game goin' to consist of more than two-worded answers?" he asked.

"Not likely."

Another smile. "Suit yourself."

"Fine then."

Silence.

Buffy shifted uncomfortably on the bed. "What were the various reasons?"

Spike closed his eyes, as cruel memories invaded his mind... "You cheat on me once and you're sorry. You cheat on me twice and you're sorry. Now you get me fired from a job I happen to love, and you're sorry..." He swallowed back the newly forming lump in the back of his throat, suddenly realizing that this was a bad idea.

"Spike?" she asked, after almost two minutes went by in silence.

He opened his eyes again. "I can't."

"I thought we were past the two-worded answers stage."

"No." He shook his head, the pain too real. "You don't understand. I-I can't talk to you like this."

"Like what?"

"You bloody know like what!" he shouted.

Buffy flinched, wondering what she said to piss him off this time. Did this guy have that multiple personality disorder thing? How can someone go from quirky, flirty guy to massive prick in a matter of minutes? "God, what is your deal? And why were you even being nice to me in the first place?" She thought for a moment. "Maybe you don't hate women. Maybe you're just saying that so I'll think you hate women. Then one day you'll catch me off guard and rape me or something. Maybe--"

She cut off abruptly as Spike's hand reached out and captured her wrist. She sucked in a breath when he pressed her palm against his naked chest. Buffy tried to pull away, but he kept her hand firmly in place, grazing it along the marred flesh. "What are you--" Then she felt them. She bit her lip. "Scars," she murmured.

He ground his teeth together, his eyes closed. "My mother did that to me," he said. "So believe it when I say I hate women." He let go of her hand.

But Buffy didn't pull away. Still chewing absently on her bottom lip, she moved her hand upwards, her fingers leaving a feather light caress against his skin.

Spike's breathing quickened, wondering what she was trying to do. He caught her hand. "Stop that," he whispered.

"No."

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Trying to see you."

He frowned, but let go of her hand. It continued its journey north, stopping at his chin. She was about to reach out to feel his face, but he jerked away, shooting out of bed at lightening speed. "No."

"What?" she wondered.

"Don't touch me."

She blushed. "I just wanted to know what you looked like."

"I don't want you to know."

"Why not?"

"Because! It's too..." His voice trailed off.

"Intimate?" she provided.

Spike didn't answer.

"Thought so."

"What do you know?" he demanded. "What the hell do you know about intimacy? You're so fucking naive."

Buffy's eyes widened and she sat up in bed. "How dare you," she spat. But she quickly quelled her anger and said with the most amount of certainty she could muster, "You have a thing for me."

He gaped at her. "What did you just say?"

She held her head high. "You do. You like what I stand for. You like what I am. Uncorrupted. Innocent. Naive."

"You have got to be joking..."

"You like that I'm not like them," she concluded.

Spike's eyes flashed. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes, you do." To be honest, Buffy had no idea what made her say that. But it seemed to strike a nerve, so she went with it...

He began to pace the room. "Fine," he relented. "I'll be straightforward with you. You're not what I expected."

Buffy listened to him, curiously.

"But that doesn't mean I have a thing for you. I don't go soft every time a pretty bird walks into my life."

I'm pretty? she wondered, absently. She had a very dim recollection of her physical attributes. Three years really puts a damper on the memory. And no one ever brought up the way she looked, so she never really thought of herself as anything to be desired.

"Are you even listenin' to me?"

Buffy blinked. "What was that?"

He rolled his eyes. "Forget it."

"No. I-I spaced. No one's ever said I was pretty before, so my mind sort of..." She sighed. "Go on."

Spike regarded her carefully. No one ever told her she was pretty? How was that possible? "Uh, no. It's not important."

"No, really. I'm listening now. I'm All Ears Buffy."

The corner of his mouth twitched, as if a smile was beginning to surface. He shook his head. "It's late," he finally told her.

Buffy resigned herself to the fact that this conversation was officially over. "Yeah," she agreed.

"I'll, uh, see you in the morning."

"Right." She swallowed. "Goodnight." Buffy was surprised when Spike climbed into bed next to her. She didn't say anything.

He turned over so he was facing away from her and closed his eyes. "Goodnight."

"So, I got you these clothes," Spike began, rummaging through the large, plastic bag.

Buffy sat on the edge of the bed, hands folded in her lap. "What do they look like?" she wondered.

"Uh..." He pulled out a sweater. "This one's sort of a pink-ish color. Maybe peach. Has some colorful bears on the front."

She raised an eyebrow. "Colorful bears?"

"Yeah, so?" He looked at the tag. "They're Care Bears. Heard of 'em?"

"Care Bears?!" she asked incredulously. "I'm almost twenty years old!"

Spike frowned. "Okay?"

"I watched that show when I was five!"

"Never heard of it," he shrugged. "'Sides, it's fetching enough."

"Yeah, I'm sure it's adorable," she rolled her eyes.

"Hey, now. I did you a favor. You could at least be grateful."

She sighed. "As long as it's not Barney..."

He pulled out another shirt. "Well, this one has a purple dinosaur fellow on it..."

"Spike!"

"Kidding," he smirked.

Buffy huffed and crossed her arms over her chest. "Really not humorous."

"I thought it was funny."

"Yeah, you would."

"Here," he said, handing her the Care Bears sweater. "Put it on. No one will see it, anyway."

She took it and stood up. "Thanks to being held hostage in a crappy hotel room."

Spike watched as she entered into the bathroom to change. "Thanks to that," he said softly.

Buffy closed the door behind her and stepped out of the pajamas Spike had gotten her. She reached for the embarrassing sweater and slipped it over her head in a flash. Hmm, comfy... she thought to herself. She then pulled her blonde hair out of the collar and combed it with her fingers. Sighing inwardly, she tugged on the shirt, trying to pull it down farther. It was long enough to cover up her private areas, but she still felt kind of naked. She sighed and decided to worry about pants until after she brushed her teeth.

Only as she stepped forward, she tripped over something and went down fast. "Oof!" She quickly held her hands out, so her nose didn't shatter on the hard tile. Holding back a howl of pain, she lay there for a moment trying to collect herself. Her ankle throbbed mercilessly.

Buffy felt around the cold floor to see what had tripped her. She felt a piece of upturned tile, and assumed that was the sinister object. "Ugh," she complained, pulling herself up. She rubbed her sore ankle, trying to ease the dull ache.

"You alright?" Spike appeared in the doorway.

"I fell," she muttered, embarrassed. "I, um, think I sprained my ankle.

So, what do I do now? he wondered. Help her?

"Can you... ?" She blushed and tried to prop herself up on her own. "Nevermind. I got it."

She felt Spike's hands before she even heard him move. His touch was surprisingly gentle, in contrast to his usual roughness. He picked her up off the floor and stood her straight.

But not before a flash of pink caught his eye. Pink panties. He groaned.

Buffy didn't notice. She wobbled on her left foot, trying not to put pressure on her right, and inadvertently leaned her body weight against him. "Thanks," she said.

Spike simply nodded and helped her to the bed. She quickly crawled in, unnerved by his carefulness.

"You trip or somethin'?" he wondered.

"Yes. I'm not sure on what though. I think it was a piece of broken tile or something."

"Wouldn't be surprised. This place isn't exactly elegant."

"I'll take your word for it."

He looked at her, head slightly cocked to one side. "The shirt looks good on you."

Buffy's eyes widened a bit. Was that... a compliment? From Spike? She gulped. "Oh. Um, thanks."

He shook his head, as if he were trying to erase what he just said. Then he changed the subject. "Uh, lemme get you some ice for that ankle. I'll be right back."

She listened as he left the room.

As soon as the door shut behind him, Spike leaned against it, looking up at the ceiling with a frustrated sigh. He could feel his jeans becoming more restrictive by the second. God! What the fuck is wrong with me? No woman had affected him like this before. Not even Dru. He closed his eyes once, twice, and then went in search of the ice machine. Five minutes later, he was back in the room.

"Here," he told her, approaching the bed.

She frowned. "Why are you being nice to me?"

Spike's brow furrowed. "I don't bloody know..." He tossed the ice pack at her and disappeared into the bathroom.

Buffy flinched at the familiar slam of the door.

"Bloody... fucking... damnit!" He knew she could hear him, but he didn't care. He just stripped off his clothes and turned the shower on full blast. Within seconds, water was pelting his face as his hand stroked his hard cock. Don't think of her... think of Cameron Diaz. It didn't work. Buffy's slick, slender body, all soaped up in a sweet-smelling lather invaded his mind, making it impossible for him to concentrate on his usual wank-off material. What was it about her? What made him so hot?

She was beautiful. Feisty, yet quirky. Stubborn, yet soft.

His mind trailed off to one of her earlier assessments. "... You like what I stand for. You like what I am. Uncorrupted. Innocent. Naive... You like that I'm not like them."

Yeah, that was it. Because deep down, he knew it was true. No matter how much he tried to deny it, Buffy wasn't like them.

Spike swallowed, leaning back against the cool, tile wall. His hand continued to pump his shaft, while his mind conjured up various images of the blind girl in the adjacent room. He pictured her doing things that she's probably never even heard of. He pictured himself fucking her as she came around his cock, gripping him like a vice, and convulsing beneath him. Because that's all it was about. Attraction. He wouldn't think of things like her smile, or the way she said his name.

He began to pant, his eyes closed and his mouth slightly open. He stroked himself faster, remembering how her hand felt, rubbing him through his pants. Seeing her in the shower. Her pink panties.

"You have a thing for me."

Her words echoed in his mind as he came, the ropey liquid shooting into the air and hitting the tub, eventually vanishing down the drain. He swallowed hard and slid down the wall, until he was resting at the bottom of the bathtub. Only when the water turned cold and finally numbed the threatening warmth that invaded him, did he turn the faucet off and step out.

When he entered the room, Buffy was curled up in bed. They had only woken up a few hours ago, but he shrugged anyway and climbed in with her to take a nap. But before his eyes closed, Buffy's voice broke the silence.

"We were drunk," she began.

Spike sat up and frowned, about to say something. She cut him off.

"We shouldn't have been," she continued. "I mean, we shouldn't have gotten into the car, anyway. Riley insisted that he knew what he was doing and I was just gullible and drunk enough to believe him."

He listened intently to her tale, wondering why she was suddenly opening up to him.

Buffy had a glazed look in her eyes as she spoke. "I don't remember much before we hit. I think I told him to slow down once or twice. It's kind of a blur. But... I do remember the sounds, the screams, the blood. We were both propelled through the windshield and I lost consciousness almost immediately. It's like I could feel my skull cracking, as my head hit the ground. Riley landed only a few inches away from me." She paused for a moment before she added, "The last thing I ever saw was my boyfriend with a shard of glass sticking out of his eye."

Spike just stared at her, unsure of what to say. "Buffy, I--"

"We hit a tree," she said.

He just nodded, wondering why she felt that was important.

"I was so scared. I almost died that night. Riley did die. And sometimes...." She closed her eyes. "Sometimes I just wish I died with him."

"Buffy, no. You..." Why am I trying to comfort her? Laugh at her pain! Laugh, damnit! "You didn't deserve to die."

"Didn't I?"

"Of course not."

She opened her eyes again and they were coated with fresh tears. "Someone seems to think so."

"Then they obviously don't know you."

"And you do?"

"I know enough. And I know fear, Buffy. I've tasted it just like you."

"Then why are you causing me more of it?"

Spike opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out. What could he possibly say to that?

"Do you want to know what I think of you, Spike?"

"If they're synonyms to "sadistic monster", I think I'll pass. But thanks," he rolled his eyes.

"I think you're just as lost as I am."

He glanced at her. "Not really a revelation, love. I'm fucked up. I know this."

Buffy sighed. "Me too."

"That works out nicely then."

She arched a brow but didn't say anything. What's that supposed to mean? Deciding not to dwell on it, she turned over, her bare leg accidentally brushing up against his own bare leg. She gasped. Is he naked under there? "You're wearing clothes, right?" she asked, awkwardly.

Spike grinned. "No."

"That's great. That's really... comforting."

"No need to get all skittish. I won't try anything."

"Even more comforting." She pulled at her shirt again, remembering that she forgot to put on pants.

"Not unless you ask me to, of course."

"Ugh. That's a laugh."

Buffy turned over quickly, the small smile that graced her lips, unbeknownst to him.

"Any leads?" Joyce approached the officer warily, wringing her hands together.

"I'm sorry," he admitted. "If your daughter was indeed taken against her will, the kidnapper is doing an impeccable job at covering his tracks."

Hank gritted his teeth together. "This is insane! You're not trying hard enough."

"We're doing the best we can, sir."

"Well, do better!"

Joyce placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

The officer continued, "We're currently interrogating all of your employees, Mr. Summers. Since you've made it clear that Buffy doesn't have any enemies, the list of suspects is only so broad. And since you are, in fact, a very wealthy business man, work-related suspects are always at the top."

They nodded solemnly.

"We're also bringing an Angel O'Neil in for an interview later. I take it he knows your daughter?"

Joyce audibly gasped. "Angel? He's a good friend of Buffy's... and ours. There's no way he could be behind this."

"So far it seems that he's had the closest contact with Buffy, outside of the family. We're not blaming him for anything, or even suggesting he had anything to do with her disappearance. But he could know something--Buffy could have confided something in him."

"Confided? What could she--"

"That's what we're trying to find out," he interceded. Then he added, "But the reason I came here today was to inform the two of you that you have an opportunity to make a public statement."

"You mean, like on the news?" Joyce wondered.

"Yes. Is this something you would consider?"

Hank immediately answered. "Absolutely. Anything to help this case. Anything to bring Buffy home to us."

"Good then. I'm Officer Brooks. I'll be in contact--remember to keep the tracking device on your phone at all times and let us know as soon as any new evidence surfaces."

"Of course. Thank you, Officer," Joyce smiled softly.

He gave a curt nod and left the house.

"It'll be alright," Hank told her, wrapping his arms around his wife's waist. "Buffy will be alright."

~~~

"No, I'm not alright!" Buffy yelled, unconsciously crossing her legs underneath the covers.

"Well, what's wrong then?" Spike wondered, curious as to why she was suddenly all fidgety.

The embarrassed blonde swallowed, unsure of how to tell him. "It's nothing. I-I just... I..."

"Out with it, love."

She sighed. "IthinkIhavemyperiod," came her jumbled response.

Spike frowned. "Come again?"

"My period," she told him, blushing profusely. "I-I think I have it."

"Umm..." He had no clue what to say to that. "You think?"

"W-Well, I'm pretty sure. I mean, I feel..." Buffy was positive this was the reddest her cheeks had ever gotten. "You know what I mean."

He let a half-grin surface. "Think I got it. But are you sure you're just not turned on by my sexy self?"

Her eyes widened at his meaning. "I'm definitely sure. In fact, I think this rates number one among all the things I've ever been sure about."

Spike rolled his eyes. "Well, what do you 'spect me to do about it?"

"I don't know. I mean, I'll need... well, I need..." She sighed. "I need tampons."

"Bloody hell."

"I can't help it!"

"Damn, buggering..." he continued to grumble. "Fine. I'll get your bleedin' thing-a-ma-bobbers."

"They're called tampons," she corrected him. "Or pads, if you must."

Spike got up and slipped his boots on.

Buffy added, "With wings!"

He growled and disappeared out the door.

~~~

"Better?"

Buffy emerged from the bathroom a half an hour later, carefully making her way back towards the bed. "Good as new."

"Good to hear."

She sat down Indian-style, still clad in her Care Bears sweater (but newly pants-wearing), and faced him. "I'm bored."

Spike sighed. "S'not like there's much to do around here, pet."

"Tell me your story."

"What?" he frowned.

"I told you mine, now it's your turn."

"I don't think so."

"Why not?" she whined. "You said there was nothing else to do."

"No, I said there's not much to do. But anything's better than that."

"What are you so scared of?"

He regarded her with a cold stare. "I'm not scared. Just not something I fancy discussin' is all."

"And like I actually wanted to tell you about what happened to me?"

"I didn't force you to. And speakin' of... what made you tell me, anyway?"

Buffy lowered her gaze. "I don't know. It seemed right, I guess."

Spike swallowed, trying to decide whether or not he wanted to share his past with her. "Alright then," he finally said. "What do you want to hear first? 'Bout how my mum shattered my dignity or how Drusilla shattered my soul?"

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say there was a poet in you." She blushed a bit off his silence and quickly answered, "It's up to you."

"Right," he nodded, still wondering where the poet comment came from. But he shrugged it off and began his tale. "I used to love my mother. She was kind and giving--always smiling and makin' me laugh. Hell, everyone loved her. She was... perfect."

Buffy listened intently as he spoke.

"But then everything changed," he continued. "My father left us when I was six and Mum started drinking a lot. Her personality--everything about her became different. She was always yellin' and cursin' up a storm. It wasn't long before she started takin' that anger out on me. I didn't understand, of course. Figured I was bad and deserved it. I mean, I reckon I did. Could never seem to do anything right. I got picked on a lot by the other kiddies, my grades were slipping, my room could never be clean enough. I guess my mum thought that I needed to be punished." He paused for a moment, trying not to let the memories overtake him. "So, she punished me. Her favorite was this whole match routine. She'd tie up my wrists and throw burning matches on my bare chest. That's where most of the scars came from. But there were other things, too... she'd withhold food from me, lock me in a closet for days, and just beat me 'til I was black and blue. I went to sleep on the basement floor every night, just prayin' that I wouldn't wake up the next morning."

Buffy's mouth was slightly open, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Spike, I..."

"Don't need your pity tears, Buffy," he said almost bitterly, holding back his own tears, himself. "I mean, the torture ended eventually. She ended up getting so drunk one night, she fell down the stairs and broke her neck."

"Still, that doesn't mean--"

"No," he agreed. "It wasn't over. Those memories haunt me to this day and I suspect they always will."

"Have you ever told anyone about this?"

He snorted under his breath. "Yeah, Drusilla. And look where that got me. Fired and alone."

"Fired?" she wondered, still in shock from his horrifying admission.

"Long story. I used to be a cop and that's where I met Dru. I think I loved her the minute I saw her--she was beautiful. All bewitching and dark goddess-like. I guess she liked me, too, because we started dating almost immediately," he told her. "I mean, I'd never really fancied any women since what happened with my mum and all, but there was just something about her. It's like we were made for each other. But the thing I didn't know was that Dru was a bit of a heroin addict. She ended up telling me that she was in recovery, but I wasn't that stupid. I eventually was able to tell that she was lying. And not only about that, but about other things, too. Such as sleeping with half the blokes that we worked with." He sighed. "Anyway, there was this random drug check at the station one day. They were scopin' the whole place out, after hearin' a rumor that one of the officers was using. So, Drusilla took the liberty of stashing the drugs away in my locker, to save her own ass. Needless to say, they found them and I was fired on the spot. That's the day she left me." He gritted his teeth together. "And pretty much the day that I gave up on women in general."

Buffy swallowed. "We're not all like that, you know. I mean... you haven't exactly had the best of experiences, but--"

Spike laughed bitterly. "Save it, blondie. I don't even know why I bloody told you. Or why you even care."

She could tell he was about to stand up, so she grabbed his arm. He faltered in her grasp and she whispered softly but poignantly, "You didn't deserve it."

The muscles in his jaw clenched and unclenched, tears stinging and biting at his eyes. He studied her, watching as the conflicted emotions played out across her face. "How would you know?"

"You were just a child, Spike. How can you think for one second that you deserved that kind of abuse?"

"I told you. I--"

"Right. You could never do anything right. Your grades weren't up to your mother's standards and your room wasn't sparkly clean. Is that it? Is that why you deserved to have your flesh burned off of your helpless body?"

He swallowed back the lump in his throat, wondering why she was saying this. Why she was pretending to care. "Buffy, please. Don't--"

She cut him off by reaching out and resting her hand upon his face.

Spike instinctively drew back. "What are you doing?"

Buffy ignored him and once again placed a gentle palm on his cheek. This time he didn't pull away, and instead stared at her with confusion and uncertainty.

They both said nothing, as her hand began to move, discovering him for the first time. His cheeks were sharp and angled, yet soft and smooth at the same time. She trailed a finger down his jawline and back up again, scooting closer to him in the process. Her hands traveled into his hair, feeling silky curls grace her fingertips.

"What color is it?" she asked, making her way back towards his face again.

"It's, uh... bleached," he replied, his voice low and breathy.

"And your eyes?"

"Blue."

She nodded. "I thought so."

As her fingers were about to come in contact with the most intimate part of his face, he caught her wrist slowly, his heartbeat steadily increasing. His purpose was to tell her to stop--to not go any further--but words were somehow lost to him.

Buffy understood the gesture, but his grip on her wrist was loosening considerably. So she took the opportunity to reach out and press two fingertips against his parted lips. She traced them lightly, swallowing hard, and feeling his hot breath on the pads of her fingers. Part of her was asking what the hell she was doing--what she was trying to accomplish. But she wanted to know what he looked like. And for her, this was the only way to capture a vague image of his physical features.

She was about to pull away from him, when his tongue suddenly poked through parted lips to taste the salty skin she was offering him. She gasped as her eyes widened a bit at the contact, and a sudden surge of moisture flowed between her legs.

Which was definitely not of the bleeding kind.

Although horrified at her own body's betrayal, she couldn't bring herself to do anything about it. She couldn't bring herself to move away from him.

Spike wasn't thinking. Because if he were, he would most likely stand up right now, take the gun, and shoot himself with it. This wasn't how things were supposed to be. He wasn't supposed to be sitting there, making love to Buffy's fingers with his tongue.

But he was. And she was letting him.

His eyes were fixated on her flushed face, as he wrapped his lips around her two index fingers. She was staring ahead of her, eyes full of confusion and lust, and chest heaving with every breath she took.

Spike couldn't take it anymore and he whispered desperately, "I want to kiss you. Let me kiss you, Buffy..."

And that's when reality all come tumbling back.

"No," she said, finally pulling away from him. "No, we--we can't..." She paused for a moment to gather back her wits. "What the hell did you think you were doing?"

Spike reeled as if slapped, mentally kicking himself for being so stupid. "Me?" he countered, deciding to place the blame on her. "Where the hell do you get off touching me like that?"

"What? I was just..." She took a deep breath and scootched off the side of the bed until she was standing on shaking legs. "Don't touch me. Ever. Again."

He frowned, as fire danced in his eyes.

Buffy didn't wait for a response, and quickly took off towards the bathroom. Her only thought was to get far, far away from the man on the bed.

Spike watched her go--watched as the door slammed in his face--and stood up. With a frustrated growl, he kicked over her box of clothes as hard as he could. T-shirts and jeans flew every which way, as he ran his hands through his mussed hair.

"Fucking bitch," he seethed, tugging at the delicate strands. Without another thought in mind, he raced over to the adjacent desk and took the gun out of the drawer.

This had to end.

He weighed the weapon in his hand, studying it carefully. Sweat formed upon his brow, and he realized that his knees were shaking. What the hell was he about to do? Is this what he really wanted?

Of course it was. He was miserable--and most likely dead no matter what the outcome. All he had to do was pull the little trigger and all of this would be over with. No more feelings that he had no business feeling.

Gulping back the dry taste of fear in his mouth, he raised the gun and positioned it at his temple.

... and then the bathroom door clicked open. Spike instinctively dropped his arm, not wanting her to see.

Then he remembered that she couldn't. He could stand there all night with the pistol to his head, and she would never know. She could never stop him--not until it was too late.

He swallowed, the weapon wavering in his quaking hand. Her gaze was leveled with the floor, as if she didn't want to make eye contact with him, even though she couldn't. Her faced was still flushed and her arms were crossed defensively across her breasts.

Spike looked away and raised the gun to his head again. You can do this, mate. It's easy... it's--

"It's getting late," her voice broke into his thoughts. "I'll take the floor tonight."

He shut his eyes, trying to concentrate. "Yeah, alright."

Buffy sighed. "Not like you'd care if I slept on the hard, dirty floor with rats and bugs and--"

Click.

She stopped and her head shot up. She knew that sound. She knew that sound all too well.

When Spike cocked the pistol, he was hoping Buffy wouldn't hear. But she obviously did because her voice broke off and her eyes were now wide with fear. "I can't do this anymore," was all he said.

Buffy swallowed. "Spike, please. You don't want to do this. You... what happened back there was just... I mean..." She choked back a sob. "Please don't kill me."

"Bullet's not meant for you, love."

She frowned. "What?"

"You heard me. I'm doin' myself in. 'Bout bloody time, too."

"Are you crazy?"

"I'm holding a gun to my head. What the hell do you think?"

Buffy knew she should be thrilled with this new turn of events. If Spike was dead, she was free to go. This would all be over.

Then why was "stop him" the only thing running through her mind?

"I think you need to put the gun down and just chill out, okay?" she finally replied.

"Why do you care?"

"I don't know."

"Well, whatever. I've made my choice. 'Ta, pet."

"No!"

He closed his eyes, counted to ten. "Buffy, just shut up and let me do this. You hate me, remember?"

"I..." She stood frozen in her place, conflicted. She had no idea what to do. She did hate him to an extent--hated what he was putting through. Resented him for confusing her. But... did she really want him to die?

"Well?" he prompted.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Why do you think?" he demanded. "Even if I don't do it now, I'm sure to get it after all this is over with. So, what's the point? Why torture myself by sitting in this room with you, waiting for the inevitable?"

"I'm sorry my company is so painful that suicide is your only other option," she responded, dryly.

Spike shook his head. "You don't get it. I'm supposed to hate you. I'm supposed to hate everything you stand for. But now suddenly I want to fuck you. What the hell are you doing to me?"

"I'm just being me."

"And that's our problem exactly."

Buffy continued to stand there, because what else could she do?

"Look," he sighed. "I've never been anything, Buffy. I've never been happy and I've never been loved. Without that, what's the point in living?"

She finally took a cautious step towards the sound of his voice. "Life," she simply said.

"What?"

"Life," she repeated. "Life is why we live... and it's worth living. Which says a lot coming from a blind chick."

"But you had people to help get you through it all. I've never had anybody."

"Maybe because you don't let anybody in?"

He frowned, but lowered the gun anyway. "How would you know?"

Buffy sighed. "When you spend three years of your life unable to see, you put all that unused sensory into other things. Like reading people--getting to know them in different ways. It takes time, but I've learned to really see people. Not physically, but mentally. Emotionally."

"And what do you see right now?"

"Someone who just wants to be loved."

He tilted his head to the side, as if to study her in great depth. "Yeah, well. I could say the same for you."

She shrugged. "I wouldn't deny it."

Spike set the gun back in the drawer and closed it tightly. "Doesn't make us too different then, does it?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. But then again, I'm not the one with a gun to my head."

"Neither am I."

Buffy felt a sense of relief and accomplishment wash over her, but she didn't say anything. Just stood there and waited for him to make the next move.

He did, and approached the refrigerator. "Drink?"

~~~

"I-I don't know," Buffy hesitated, sitting across from him on the bed. "I haven't had alcohol since..." She put her head down. "I promised I'd never have it again."

Spike shrugged. "It'll be fine. You're in a hotel room--"

"--with someone I don't particularly trust--"

"--and the worst that could happen is you get so drunk you pass out, and finally get a good night's sleep for once."

"That's insane kidnapper logic."

"It's the truth."

She sighed. "I don't know..."

"Here," he said, taking her glass and pouring a decent amount of bourbon into it. "Just have a swig or two."

"What is it?"

"Bourbon."

"But I hate bourbon."

Spike rolled his eyes and poured rum into another glass. "Then take the rum."

"Straight up?!" she asked incredulously.

"I've got Coke and ice. Will that help?"

"Maybe."

He went over to the fridge and made her drink. "Now will you take it?" he handed it to her.

She reached out and Spike placed it in her grasp. Then she closed her eyes and tipped her head back.

"That's a girl," he grinned, watching as she took a sip of the alcohol.

"Ack!" she sputtered. "It's sickening."

"It's good. You'll get used to it."

"Yeah, right..."

"You will. Just nurse it for a bit."

Buffy shrugged and did as instructed.

And after almost an hour went by, she was on her third drink.

"So, then!" she bellowed, slapping his knee with a chortle. "Angel was like, "Please! Just one date!" and I was like, "No!" and Angel was like, "But I love you!" She then made a very unfeminine snort. "He said he loved me! Isn't that the funniest?"

Spike chuckled, amused by her antics. "Hysterical."

"I know!" She sighed and then paused. "Am I drunk?"

"We're both a bit sloshed," he decided, gulping down his last sip.

"Cool!"

"Yeah. Want another?"

"Okay."

He poured more of the amber liquid into her glass and she immediately took a big swig. "Careful, now. Don't want you tossin' your cookies all over my bed."

"I haven't had any cookies! You didn't buy them, remember?"

He smiled a bit. "I remember." He then poured himself another glass, not nearly as drunk as he'd like to be.

Another half hour went by, and the two were still sitting on the bed, laughing over pointless babble.

"That's great!" Spike blasted, the liquor finally taking its toll on him. "His face must've been priceless!"

"Oh, my god, it sooo was!" she giggled. "I've never seen my dad so upshet."

"Upshet, eh? Don't think I know that word."

"That's because I made it up!"

They both laughed.

"So, you wanna call it a night, pet?" he asked, wobbling as he rose to get up.

Buffy sensed him leaving and quickly grabbed hold of... his ankle. "Where ya think you're going, buster?"

He was about to respond, when she suddenly crawled into his lap.

"I wanna have some fun!" she declared, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Fun? Let's save the fun for when we're not seein' double, alright?"

"Double the fun! Hehehe."

Spike groaned when she started to bounce up and down in his lap. "Stop that..."

"Bouncy, bouncy fun!" she continued.

"Bloody hell." His cock hardened at her actions. "Buffy..."

"Bouncy, bouncy, bouncy..."

He attempted weakly to push her off, but she held on tighter, bouncing faster on his erection. She was obviously unaware of what she was doing.

"Wheee! Ride, pony, ride!"

"You might..." Pant. "... wanna stop..." Grunt. "... doing that, love."

"But you're my pony," she frowned. "Don't you want me to ride you?"

That's it. She was on her back in a second.

"Hey!" she squeaked. "That was--"

Her words were cut off as Spike's hungry mouth descended upon hers. He moaned in delight when their lips first met, deepening the kiss almost instantly.

Buffy naturally opened her mouth to him, moaning herself when his tongue pushed inside to tangle with hers.

"God," he groaned, stroking her tongue with his and nibbling eagerly on her bottom lip. "You taste wonderful, baby."

"Mmm..." was all she could get out, as he plundered her mouth.

The kiss continued to intensify, as Spike's hands took on minds of their own. They wandered up her shirt and caressed the smooth skin of her stomach, enticing several incoherent sounds from her. They quickly found her breasts and she arched up into his touch, while he ran his thumbs over her hardened nipples.

"Oh, god," she breathed, grinding her aching center against the hard bulge in his jeans.

"Fuck.." The combination of the alcohol and her feverish kisses were making him dizzy. Common sense was lingering in the back of his mind, but somehow kept getting pushed aside by burning lust and too much rum. Eventually though, he pulled away from her swollen lips.

"Hey..." she tried to pull him back to her, but he resisted.

"What are we doing?" he asked, in between heavy pants.

"Making out."

This time she succeeded in bringing his mouth back to hers again. Their tongues reunited and common sense no longer existed.

But suddenly, there was a frantic knock at the door.

Spike shot up. "What do you bloody well want?"

"It's Vince," the man said, his voice quaking slightly. "You might wanna come down here."

He sighed. "And why is that?"

A gulp could practically be heard on the other side of the door before Vince replied, "There's a cop here to see you."

Spike froze.

Buffy continued to writhe up against him, uncaring (or possibly unaware) of the danger that loomed on the other side of that door.

"Gotta go, pet," he told her, his heart racing faster than ever. "Just stay here, and... don't move." Thank the bloody lord she's drunk, he thought to himself.

She pouted a bit, but eventually turned over and dug her face into the pillows.

Spike gulped and stood up, his vision still a bit blurred from the alcohol. How the hell was he going to get out of this one? And how could the cops have possibly found him?

With a backward glance at Buffy, who was lying still on the mattress, he headed towards the door on wobbly feet. When he opened it, Vince was standing on the other end sweating up a storm.

"H-He says he's checkin' every place in this here state. Wants to have a chat with all the customers about the Summers girl's disappearance."

"You'll cover for me, right?"

"What the fuck am I supposed to say? He's sure to check your room. And the little bitch is passed out on your bed as we speak."

"Just... think of somethin', alright?" he said, walking down the hall and down the steps. The officer was leaning against the counter, chewing on a piece of gum. When he noticed Spike emerge, he held out his hand and introduced himself.

"Officer Brooks," he greeted. "And you are?"

Spike swallowed. "Spike. Spike Tyler."

"Nice to meet you, Spike Tyler. I take it you've heard about the Buffy Summers case?"

"Uh, right... chit disappeared or some rot?"

"Kidnapped. Or so we're assuming. So, I hope you don't mind if I ask you a few questions. Maybe check your room..."

"Don't mind at all, Officer."

"Great. Did you ever have any sort of contact with Buffy Summers?" he interrogated.

"None at all."

"What about her family?"

"Never heard of them."

"And you haven't seen her at all since her disappearance?"

"Can't say as I have."

Officer Brooks nodded. "Mind if I... ?" He gestured up the stairs towards his hotel room.

Bloody fuckin' hell... "Go right ahead." Spike pretended to search his pockets for his room key. "But, uh... I think I might've left the key in my room."

Vince spoke up from behind the desk. "I can make you another."

Spike frowned, desperately hoping that Vince wouldn't sell him out. "Alright. Thanks, mate."

The heavyset man made the key and handed it to him. "Room 118..." he said, absently.

Spike sighed in relief and took it gratefully. He then led the officer up the small staircase and to the room in question. "Here we are," he said, opening up the door. "Take all the time you need."

Officer Brooks stepped inside, and surveyed the room. It was obviously occupied, considering the bedsheets were in disarray and some dirty clothes adorned the carpeted floor. He browsed through a few drawers and a fairly large closet, searched the bathroom, and even glanced under the bed. "How long have you been staying here?" he questioned the blonde in the doorway.

"Uh, 'bout three days," he answered.

"Can I ask why? This isn't exactly the swankiest place in town."

Spike racked his mind for a believable lie. "Got in a bit of a tiff with my girl. Thought it best to spend some time apart."

The cop seemed to buy this and nodded. "I understand." He then sighed and began to exit the room. "Well, Mr. Tyler, I think we're done here. I appreciate your cooperation--it's precautionary measures we take to make sure everyone and everything's been thoroughly checked."

"Not a problem, Officer. Glad to help. And, uh... I hope you find the girl."

He gave a tight smile and left the room.

Spike promptly let out the huge breath of air in his lungs and silently thanked whoever was listening.

~~~

"How long have you known Buffy Summers?"

Angel shifted in his seat and regarded the Sheriff. "A long time."

"Please be more specific, Mr. O'Neil."

He sighed. "Ten years, maybe?"

"And have you always been close?"

"Absolutely."

Sheriff Brinkman nodded, slowly. "It says here that you're father is friends with Hank Summers. Is this true?"

"Yes, sir. It's how I came to know Buffy," Angel replied.

"Were you and Buffy ever involved in a romantic sense?"

The broad-shouldered man frowned. "I, uh... no, not really. What does that have to do with anything?"

"We have to approach this from all angles, Mr. O'Neil. Many things can cause a person to lash out and do something extreme... such as money, rejection--"

Angel immediately stood up from his chair in anger. "How dare you insinuate I had something to do with this!" he seethed.

"Please calm down, Mr. O--"

"I would never hurt Buffy. Never!"

"And I was making no such accusations. So, please, calm down."

He breathed heavily through gritted teeth, but finally took his seat. "I was told that this was just a standard interrogation."

"It is," the Sheriff agreed. "I didn't mean to put you on the spot like that, but everyone is labeled a suspect until we can find some leads. And considering you've had the most contact with Ms. Summers, it's only natural to take these kinds of precautions."

"Well, you can rule me out. I love Buffy, and would never dream of harming her."

"You love her?"

Angel backpedaled a bit and answered, "As a friend."

Sheriff Brinkman scribbled down some notes. "Did Buffy ever confess any desires to run away? Or anything along those lines?"

"Not to me, no."

"Did she ever seem unhappy?"

"With what? Home, friends--"

"In general, Mr. O'Neil."

He shook his head. "Not really. Going blind sort of put a permanent damper on her mood, but I never noticed any drastic changes in her personality."

"And no odd behavior?"

"No."

The Sheriff sighed again, as he continued to write. "One more thing before I let you go. I was told that you ran off to find Buffy the moment you heard what happened. Where exactly did you go?"

"Around. Just to some places I hoped she might be."

"What made you think you would have more success in finding her than the police department?"

Angel shrugged. "Because I wanted it more."

"And you don't think we want to find Buffy as well?" he wondered, curiously.

"You're doing your job, sir. You're looking for Buffy because you have to. I'm looking for her because I care."

His eyes narrowed. "Interesting," he said, before dismissing Angel. "You're free to go. Thank you for your time, Mr. O'Neil. And be sure to let us know if you find anything."

Angel nodded and stood up. "I will," he replied, and then exited the Sheriff's office.

~~~

Buffy opened her eyes and was promptly hit in the head with a baseball bat. Or so it felt like.

"Oh, ow," she groaned. "Huge, massive ow..."

"Headache?"

She blinked a few times and turned to face the familiar voice. "The worst."

"Got some Tylenol," he offered. "Figured you might be needin' it."

"Really do."

Spike got up and fetched her the medicine. He returned a few moments later with two pills and a glass of water. "Here you are."

Buffy reached out her hands and he gave her the items. She quickly swallowed the pills. "Thanks," she replied.

He regarded her, wondering if she remembered what happened earlier in the day. It was already past midnight and Buffy had slept the entire time. Spike, on the other hand, couldn't sleep at all.

"How long was I out for?" she wondered.

"Ten hours, I'd say."

"Crap. See? I told you what alcohol did to me."

Spike sighed and grumbled, "You and me both."

"Did I do anything regret-worthy?"

"Uhh.. depends on what you classify as regret-worthy," he opted with.

"Well, did I dance on any tables naked?"

"No."

She sighed in relief.

"Unless you consider that desk over there a table..."

"What?!"

Spike grinned. "Kidding, love." Unfortunately.

"Jerk."

"That I am."

Silence then washed over the room and Spike decided to flip on the TV. Random television shows played out across the screen, none of which captured his interest. He was about to switch it of, when a "Special Report" caught his eye.

Buffy gasped when she heard her mother's desperate pleas echo in her ears.

"Buffy? If you're out there... it's Mom and Dad. And we just want you to come home, sweetheart. Please, come home to us. We love you and miss you so much. Whoever has our daughter... just let her go. We'll do anything--we'll pay anything. Just, please. Let her come home. We love you, Buffy. Always know that..."

The news broadcaster's voice cut in. "That was Joyce Summers, mother of Buffy Summers, who has been missing for almost a week now. The blind nineteen-year-old disappeared last Friday around ten o'clock. If anyone has any leads on--"

The television flickered off.

"Mommy..."

Spike had never heard a word said with more anguish and pain. It made his insides twist. "I'm sorry you had to hear that," he told her, his voice low and almost inaudible.

Buffy didn't answer him. Her throat was too constricted, her thoughts too jumbled. She knew that if she opened her mouth, a heartbreaking sob would pass through her lips. And she didn't want him to know just how hopeless she felt.

"Buffy?"

"I-I can't," she finally answered him. "I can't do this."

"Do what?"

"Be here! I miss my family, Spike. I miss my mom's hugs and my dad's jokes. I miss my warm bed and Mr. Gordo." She sighed, and hung her head. "Are you really going to kill me?"

Spike frowned and looked away from her. "I have to," he said.

"No, you don't have to. Do you want to?"

"I don't know anymore."

"Well, you better figure it out. Because I want to go home."

He swallowed and reached out a tentative hand to touch her arm. "Buffy..."

She immediately pulled back. "Don't touch me. I don't want you anywhere near me."

"Fine!" he growled, offended. He stood up and started pacing the floor. "You know, if you hate me so much, why did you stop me from killing myself?"

Buffy didn't know how to answer that, so she countered his question. "If you hate me so much, why did you ask to kiss me?"

"I haven't been with a woman in years. Now, suddenly, there's a beautiful girl stuck in a hotel room with me. You do the math."

"I'm not beautiful. And besides, you hate women."

Spike turned to face her, only hearing the first part of her response. "How can you say you're not beautiful? You're gorgeous, pet."

She blushed, strangely warmed by his words. "If you're just trying to get into my pants, you might as well stop while you're ahead."

"I'm not. I'm..." He sighed and sat down on the bed again. "I'm just bein' honest with you."

"So am I."

"You don't take compliments too well, do you?"

"Never had a lot of practice," she said, softly.

Spike was incredulous. "How is that possible?"

She shrugged, wondering why it even mattered.

"You're beautiful, alright? Accept it."

"Why are you telling me this? If it's not to get in my pants, then why?"

He stopped before he let his mouth run away with him again. Because it's true. Because somewhere deep down... I might actually care about you. "I don't bloody well know. I guess after that news report, my conscience decided to catch up with me."

She sighed. Figures. Not because it's true or because he actually CARES about me... no. Guilty conscience is all. "Yeah, well," she began. "I know a real good cure for that. It's called letting me go."

Spike scoffed. "Not likely, pet."

"Fine. Whatever. I'm going to sleep."

"You just woke up."

"I don't care. I'm tired."

He rolled his eyes and flipped off the lamp. "Suit yourself."

Buffy turned over, facing away from him, and closed her eyes.

~~~

"What the hell are you doing?" she demanded, opening her eyes with a start.

"Shh," he whispered. "Just relax."

Buffy's heart was pounding, as his fingers traced lazy designs across her bare stomach. She had no idea how long she had been sleeping, but she figured it was still late. "Spike, no..."

He ignored her and continued his ministrations.

"Spike, stop it."

"Don't try to fight this, baby. You know you want me."

"I don't..."

"Your body contradicts your words," he said. "It burns for me."

"I--"

His hand was suddenly up her shirt, palming her breast. "Don't talk. Just feel."

She gasped, and instinctively arched into his touch. This is wrong. God, this is so wrong... But somewhere, deep down inside, it felt right. It felt good. And Buffy let the words slip before she even had time to think about them: "Kiss me."

She felt him stop what he was doing, felt his warm breath suddenly on her face. And when his soft, full lips began to caress her own, Buffy knew that this is what she wanted.

Her own lips parted, welcoming him inside, and his tongue entered her immediately. She felt her shirt being pushed up again, his hands on her breasts. And when his mouth left hers, it was to wrap around her nipple, sending a million little lightening bolts through her body. She moaned, holding his head to her chest. "Yes..."

Spike's fingers then moved south, and slipped into her jeans.

Buffy stilled. "You can't... I-I have my period..."

"I don't care," was all he said, and continued the agonizing journey.

And as soon as his hand was fully inside, cupping her mound and rubbing her clit, Buffy realized she didn't care either.

"Oh, god," she moaned, moving her hips in time with his hand.

"I want to make you come," he told her, inserting a long finger inside and pumping gently. "Will you come for me, Buffy?"

"Yes, yes," she replied, mouth open in ecstasy. "Please..."

His movements quickened, and Buffy felt herself teetering on the brink. She felt herself falling--falling faster and faster into a deafening spiral of passion and confusion. And as soon as she was about to scream out his name in pleasure...

... she sat up in bed with start, sweat beading on her forehead.

It took a moment for her to catch her breath, and she raised a hand to her chest, as if to still her racing heartbeat. "Oh, my god," she breathed out, swallowing hard.

She quickly reached her hand over, trying to find the body next to her. She felt him, and he flinched a bit at her touch.

"Bugs Bunny..." he mumbled in his sleep. He then promptly rolled onto his stomach and buried his face in his pillow.

Buffy pulled her hand away and ran it through her damp hair. I had an erotic dream. I had an erotic dream about Spike. If there were ever a time I wanted him to kill me, it would be now. Oh, god.

Taking one last, quivering breath, she laid back down. And for her own sanity, kept her eyes open until the sun peeked in through faded curtains and Spike stirred awake beside her.

~~~

"I'm gonna head out to run some errands. You'll be alright here?"

Buffy just sat on the bed, obviously lost in her own little world.

"Buffy? Earth to Buffy." He approached her and gave her a gentle shove. "You awake in there?"

She finally shook her head, as if to clear her mind. "Um, yeah. Sorry. I guess I'm just kinda spacey this morning."

"S'alright. But yeah, I'm gonna pick up some more food and make a stop at the dry cleaners. Figure it's cheaper than buyin' us new clothes all the time."

"Sure. Sounds good."

Spike took a moment to study her. She looked worn and tired, and he definitely got the vibe that something was bothering her. "You sure you're okay?"

Buffy quickly nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine. Swell, even."

He sighed. "Alright then. I'll be back in a few hours."

"Okay. Bye."

With one last look in her direction, Spike turned around and left the room.

~~~

Bloody lines. Spike had already been waiting at the dry cleaners for almost a half an hour, and he still hadn't reached the counter yet. There was currently a middle-aged woman arguing with the manager about a coffee stain. Spike bounced impatiently on the heals of his feet and glanced at his watch for the hundredth time.

"This line is insane, huh?"

Spike glanced at the tall, dark-haired man behind him, not really in the mood for conversation. "Yeah."

"And considering you probably have patrols that need to be taken care of..."

He turned around then to face the man. "Beg your pardon?"

"Well, it's just that I recognize you. You're a cop, right? You gave me a ticket once," he laughed lightly.

Spike's brow furrowed. "Oh. Right, yeah. I'm a cop."

"Don't worry, though. I don't hold it against you."

"Uh, thanks."

"Yeah," he smiled, then said more to himself, "Buffy was freaking out. It was an interesting day."

Spike was about to nod and turn back around, when he realized who he said. His mouth went dry. "Buffy?"

"Yeah, she's my girlfriend. She's amazing."

"And you are?"

The man smiled and held out his hand. "Angel."

"Sir, can I help you? Sir? Sir!"

Spike jumped. "Oh, uh... here," he said and quickly handed the bag of clothes to the woman behind the counter. Then he turned his attention back to Angel. "Buffy... that name sounds familiar."

"Yeah." His features hardened. "She was kidnapped. It's all over the news."

"Right. I heard about it. What a shame," he swallowed, trying to keep his cool.

"She's okay though," Angel informed him.

"Really. How do you know?"

He looked him in the eyes. "I just know."

"Sir?"

They maintained eye contact for a moment, before Spike faced the woman at the desk again. She was holding out a gold piece of jewelry to him.

"This was attached to one of the items of clothing you brought in," she explained. "I thought you might want it back? It looks rather expensive."

Spike took the trinket and studied it for a moment.

Angel froze, as his eyes narrowed. Wait a second... He looked at the gold object in Spike's hand and recognized it immediately.

It was the pin he had given Buffy for her seventeenth birthday.

"It was nice meeting you, mate," Spike turned to the man behind him, slipping the gold pin into the pocket of his leather duster. He was in a hurry to get out of there.

Angel nodded, mutely.

"Right then. See you around."

He stepped around him and walked out, the look in Angel's eyes going unnoticed.

"Can I help you, sir?"

Angel paused for a moment and then faced the clerk. "No," he said, his smile returning. "But someone can."

~~~

Buffy's position on the bed hadn't changed when Spike walked into the room a half an hour later. She was sitting there, rocking back and forth in what looked to be frustration, her head in her hands. But when the door slammed shut, she jumped and faced the intrusion. "S-Spike?"

"It's me, love."

"Oh," she swallowed. "I thought it might have been--"

Spike sighed. "You thought it was that poofy nancy boy of yours comin' to whisk you away on his white stallion? Sorry to disappoint."

"Actually, I thought it was Vince. I'm glad it's you."

He frowned. That's not right... she shouldn't be glad it was him. The same kidnapper who threatened--and is still threatening--to kill her in just a few weeks. How does that make sense?

"And who are you talking about, by the way?" she wondered.

"What? Oh, right." He shook his head as to clear the thoughts away. "Met your boy-toy at the cleaners. He's charming, you know. Excluding the fact that he has more forehead than personality."

Her interest peeked. "Angel? You... saw him?"

"I did. Although I'm sad to say my IQ dropped a couple notches during our riveting conversation."

"Does he know? Does he know I'm here? What did he say?"

"Uh, yeah," he rolled his eyes. "I made it a point to introduce myself as your kidnapper. And that I currently have you locked away in a hotel room as we speak. Even gave him detailed directions to the place."

She ignored his sarcasm. "I'm serious. What happened?"

Spike shrugged in annoyance. "Nothing bloody happened. We said hello is all. I gave him a ticket once, so he recognized me. That's it."

"I see."

"But he did bring up an interesting fact you failed to fill me in on."

"Which would be... ?"

"That you two are dating."

Buffy gaped. "What? Angel and I are not dating. Why would I lie about that?"

"Why would he?"

"I don't know."

"Well, he seems to think so."

"Angel's always been sort of... possessive," she explained.

"Not to burst your bubble or anythin', but there's a big difference between possessive and delusional."

"It's not like that. He's just..." She sighed. "It's complicated."

"I've got time." He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall.

Buffy shifted on the bed. "I've known Angel since we were kids. My dad kinda has this theory that we're gonna get married and have 2.5 kids, you know? Angel's all for that plan, but I just don't see him like that. I mean, he's cool and all and we're pretty good friends--but, it's like whenever I'm with him, he acts like we're already together. Always touchy-feely and giving me compliments. I'm not surprised that he goes around telling people I'm his girlfriend."

"That's not exactly normal, Buffy. If you're not dating, he shouldn't be saying you are. You don't get the feelin' that he's a bit... obsessed with you?"

"Make it sound all creepy B-movie why don't ya," she grumbled.

"I'm serious," he said. "And I wouldn't be surprised if he's behind this somehow. You know... the standard, 'If I can't have her, no one can' thing."

"Angel's a good guy, Spike. He's not a killer."

"No, he's not. That's why I'm here."

Buffy grew silent, as a sense of dread washed over her. As much as she wanted to believe Angel would never do something like this, what Spike said made sense.

Spike noticed the fear in her eyes and knew that she was considering his words. "It's alright, love. You couldn't have known he was crazy," he shrugged, trying to cheer her up to some extent.

She suddenly remembered why she was so frustrated in the first place, as the dream came rushing back full-force. Her voice lowered, as she picked at the bed covers. "Yeah. That seems to be going around these days."

Spike raised a brow. "What do you mean, pet?"

"Nothing. I just... had a weird dream last night. No big."

"Tell me."

"No!"

"Uh, why not? Not like I'm goin' to tell anyone."

"Because."

He made his way over to her and sat down. She felt his presence and tensed.

"Tell me," he repeated, his tone more soothing.

"I can't. It's embarrassing."

"Was it about me?"

"No way!" she replied with too much enthusiasm.

Spike grinned, knowingly. "So, it was about me then. Interesting."

She blushed. "I never said that."

"Yes, you did."

"Well, what does it matter if it was? It was stupid and pointless and--"

"--and you seem to be mightily flustered by it."

"Flustered? No, no. Not flustered. Disgusted and revolted comes to mind."

"Why? What did I do to disgust you?"

"You..." Buffy stopped, her heart pounding. She wasn't really about to tell Spike her fantasy dream, was she? That would be insane. That would be suicide! "Nothing," she finished.

"You're a bloody tease, you are."

"No, I'm not. I'm just shy about certain stuff."

"What is there to be shy about?" he asked, his curiosity at an ultimate high. She couldn't have dreamt about him in that way, could she have? "Buffy, you're killin' me here."

"I don't want to talk about it, okay? You'll think I'm a slut or something."

Now there wasn't a doubt in his mind that she dreamt about him in that way. A proud smile surfaced and he scooted closer to her. "No, I won't. Cross my heart."

A small shiver ran down her spine when his knee brushed up against hers. She could feel how close he was--only inches away. His body heat was practically radiating into her. She gulped. "I-I don't know what I was thinking," she began. "But... I sorta had this dream about you last night. And it was... of the sexual kind." Her face flamed red and she put her head down.

Spike felt a stirring in his jeans. "Yeah?" His voice was low and raspy, almost tantalizing. "You don't say."

She put her hair behind her ear and laughed nervously. "You're right. I don't. Made it all up. Silly Buffy."

He grinned and leaned in closer still. "What did I do in the dream, love?"

Buffy almost gasped when his hot breath tickled her ear. "N-Nothing. You just... I-I mean, I..."

"Did you let me kiss you?"

A pause. Then a faint nod of the head.

"Touch you?"

Gulp. "Yes..."

"Where?"

"I... don't remember."

"Yes, you do."

"Spike, I--"

He boldly reached out his hand and cupped the juncture between her thighs. "Here?"

Buffy's eyes widened to saucers and her breathing became unsteady. Push him away! How can you let him touch you like that?! Instead her lips betrayed her and a breathy little "yes" passed through them.

"Did you like it?"

His hand began to move, ever so slowly. Buffy's eyes fluttered closed at his intimate invasion of her body and she finally nodded.

Spike groaned and pushed her down onto her back, his hand never leaving the heat between her legs. "Can I kiss you, Buffy?" he asked, his lips only centimeters from her own.

It took a moment for her to respond, but she shook her head weakly.

He tried not to let his disappointment show, and continued to move his hand, feeling her squirm beneath him. "But I can touch you?"

She didn't answer.

So Spike took that as a yes.

Buffy tried not to think about what she was letting him do to her. It was wrong, plain and simple. But it felt amazing. And that's all that mattered, right? And it's not like she was letting him kiss her, because then that would be crossing a line. Right?

Yeah, keep telling yourself that.

She moaned when she felt his erection replace his fingers and she brazenly rubbed herself against him, linking her ankles behind his legs. "That feels good," she whispered, trying to shake off the doubts that hovered in the back of her mind. The doubts that mostly consisted of, Oh god, I'm dry humping my kidnapper. I'm going to hell.

Spike's movements sped up, the hard bulge in his jeans hitting her in just the right place. It was torture resisting the urge to whip it out and bury himself in her heat forever. Instead he concentrated on making her feel good, even if it was all he could ever give her.

"Spike, I..."

"Shh. It's okay. Let it go," he encouraged, running a rough hand along her flushed cheekbone. "Let it go, baby."

Buffy arched up against him, as she felt something in her explode. The sensation washed over her body, from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, and she couldn't hold back the small cry that escaped her lips.

When the feeling subsided and she came back down, she collapsed onto the bed, breathing heavily.

Spike regarded her carefully, making note of the fact that he had never seen her so beautiful. "Are you okay?" He watched as she swallowed and nodded, her eyes wide with fulfilled lust and also... fear. Not stopping to think of the repercussions, he leaned down and gently pressed his lips against hers.

Buffy froze, unsure of what to do. She hadn't wanted him to kiss her. It was too much, too real. Too soon. But when her lips parted involuntarily and his tongue slipped inside to taste her, she found herself slipping away from reality once more and losing herself to rekindling desires. Losing herself to him. And it terrified her. "No," she finally whispered.

He paused and lifted his head. "Why not?"

"Because I can't."

"Yes, you can." He tried to kiss her again, but she turned her head to the side, before he could make contact. He sighed and rolled off of her. "What's wrong?" he asked.

Buffy didn't answer.

Spike glanced at her, desperate to know what she was thinking. But when he noticed the tiny teardrop that traveled down her cheek and deposited onto the pillow, he realized that he had made a mistake. Things weren't supposed to be like this. This wasn't the way the story went.

Idly running his hands over his face, he let out a deep breath. No, this wasn't the way the story was supposed to go. But somewhere down the line it changed, and he was just going to have to rewrite the ending.