Chapter 1

~Author’s Note: This is set six months after Slip of Mind, which was set directly after Dead Things. So, in this fic, the last half of season 6 never happened.

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Music pulsed in ribbons around Buffy. She sat alone at her usual table at the Bronze, feigning indifference as she watched her friends dance and laugh together, a few feet away from her only in the literal sense. Pulsing lights flashed over the dancers, peppering them with a yellow hue that highlighted every flaw of their faces. They danced on, imperfections unnoticed. The beat of the music slowed into a new song. Watching as groups of friends broke into couples, Buffy laid her head on the cool surface of the table. She felt rather than heard the song the band was playing.

She shut her eyes, letting the words wash over her skin and into her bones. This was for her, she knew, the gift of empathy, given by fate or chance… or Santa Claus for all she cared. The empathy was all that mattered. Someone out there recognized the way she felt inside, and cared enough to give her words and melody to match the emotions. Idiot, she cursed herself, pressing her face against the inside of her arm until stars flashed behind her eyelids. Like there’s some magical, psychic God of DJ’s. You’re thinking crazy-person thoughts because you’re lonely. Just get up and dance. Get up!

Groaning, she reluctantly accepted her situation. Tonight would not be the night for coming out of her depression. Just as the night before had not been the night. And the week before. And any time over the past six months. I hate you for this Spike, she thought, breathing in the smell of the tabletop. Old beer… dirty fingers… and- oh eww- dried chewing gum. You’re pathetic, Slayer. Forcing herself to sit up, she blinked as the bright lights of the dance floor stung her eyes. Pathetic.

"Hey Buffster," Xander said, sliding onto the chair beside her. She watched with sad eyes as he looked her over and saw only her brightly colored outfit and lively styled hair, not her pale skin and slumped shoulders. As usual. "How’s life in the sidelines? You’ve been here all night. The dance floor does become lonely for some Buffy lovin’, you know. I’ll give it another go if you’ll join me?"

Flashing him a quick smile, she reached for her drink. "No, I’m good here," she said, swishing around the melted ice with the straw. "I... uhm… I’m kinda tired. You know, late nights spent flipping vampires and slaying burgers."

Raising an eyebrow, he said, "Or something a little less reversed."

"You know what I meant." She shuddered, trying for playful. "My nightmares can’t decide which is more frightening, Doublemeat or demons. The worst thing is that I have to agree with them."

"You’ve been pulling the long hours at patrolling, Willow says. Must be tough, getting used to twice the killage every night."

"Huh?"

"You know, without your ‘Vampire the Vampire Slayer’ guy." At her blank look, he said, "Spike. You know, that annoyingly tanless guy who chased you all over town, begging for a little action? Jeez… a vampire leaves town for six months with no word, and his Slayer forgets all about him

"Xander," Buffy said, glaring at him. "Not now. Not tonight."

Picking up her cup, Xander stood. "Sorry, Buff. My bad. Chalk it up to pre-wedding jitters. Between Anya’s freaky demon friends thinking to proper way to RSVP is to leave a pile of tube worms on our doorstep and my family calling at least twice a day to make sure we’re going to remember to stock the wet bar… let’s just say, I’m not the most thoughtful of friends right now." He patted her arm in a way that would have been comforting had he not been eyeing something over her shoulder. "Looks like Anya’s ran into another ex-coworker. Off to go play the normal, human fiancée now."

"Bye," Buffy said weakly to Xander’s back as he rushed away. "I’m fine. Sure, don’t worry about me. Recently dead, recently dumped… but I’m just peachy, really."

"Buffy?" Tara asked, walking up behind her. "Are you talking to yourself?"

With a wry smile, Buffy pushed the chair next to hers out with her foot. "No, I’m talking to Xander. Only, he’s not here. But you are, so sit. Please."

Tara sat, resting her elbows on the table. "You look tired, honey," she said. "Rough night?"

"Night-s. Plural. And you?" She touched the sleeve of Tara’s gauzy, white dress. "This is new. And pretty. You and Will…"

"Will what?" Willow asked, appearing suddenly from the throng of dancers. She slipped her arms around Tara’s shoulders from the back. "Will as in me?"

"Will as in, Willow and I are doing good," Tara said, leaning into her girlfriend. She stretched her face up and kissed Willow’s chin. "Better than good."

"You’re better than good," Willow said in a low, private tone. She brushed her lips over Tara’s forehead, her eyes shining with bliss. "The very good-est."

"That’s… great." Buffy lowered her head back onto the table, facing away from her friends. Great. Fabulous. Everyone’s got their someone. Everyone but me. I don’t even have my ‘anyone’. Or myself, for that matter. Aren’t we all just… great..

God, it hurts.

Buffy jumped up from the table suddenly, sending her chair skittering back behind her. "This music is really sucking," she said, her voice coming out much less casual than she’d hoped it would. "Time for me to go patrolling."

She turned on her heel and rushed outside. Reaching the alley, she leaned against the wall and took several deep, calming breaths. This is stupid, she yelled at her self inside. He’s been gone longer than he was your lover. Even when he was here, you hated him half the time. Get over this depresso-crap already!

"Buffy?"

She felt a soft hand on her shoulder, so tender and concerned that Buffy nearly broke inside. "Tara."

Slipping her arm around Buffy’s shoulders, Tara tugged her gently away from the wall. "Come on," she said, "I’ll walk home with you. Skip patrolling tonight, okay?"

Buffy leaned against Tara, chuckling bitterly. "Lucky for the monsters," she said, choking back her emotions and feigning a bright smile. "Yeah, that’s a good idea. I could use a night off. Work was even more disgusting today than usual, and there’s all that stuff going on with trying to get Dawn back from my dad, and…"

"You’ll find him," Tara said, her eyes troubled. She hugged Buffy. "He’s okay, wherever he is. Spike’s a survivor. And you’ll find him."

Resting her head on Tara’s shoulder, Buffy sighed heavily. "I don’t want to find him," she muttered. Liar. I’m a liar now. "He’s not worth the effort. Not after the way he just left. Even if I did find him, what then? There’s nothing I could say to him to… I don’t know. There’s nothing either of us could say to make right what’s wrong between us."

"Buffy…" she trailed off, not knowing what to say. "If you could just go to him, just find out why he left, maybe then…"

Biting her lip, Buffy pulled away from Tara and shook her head vehemently. "I don’t want to see him. Not ever, ever again." Liar. "Come on. More walking, less talking about Spike."

Unable to answer Buffy, Tara simply followed her out of the alley, red-faced with the shame of her guilty conscience.

*********
 

Buffy said goodbye to Tara on the front porch and entered her house alone. Walking into the living room, she stood still, staring down at the carpet. The darkness and total silence pressed in against her, making her skin crawl with claustrophobia. This isn’t how it’s suppose to be, she thought, sinking onto the couch and slowly untying her shoelaces. This isn’t my life.

Across the room, the light on the answering machine blinked rapidly. She watched the red flashes, like sparks in the shadows, but made no move to see who had phoned. She already knew. Giles called her twice a week, always on Monday and Thursday nights, and always with the same lack-of-news: Spike could not be found. Coming from Giles, no news was good news. All his information came directly from the Council of Watchers.

Stupid vampire, she thought, walking upstairs. He should’ve known the Council wouldn’t just let William the Bloody disappear, chipped or not. They’d sicced their vampire hunters on Spike’s trail the moment they learned he’d left Sunnydale. The moment she’d told them he’d left, she corrected herself, cringing inwardly as she always did when she remembered her mistakes. You think I’d have learned that one already: trusting the Council always equals very bad things.

Passing the closed door to Dawn’s bedroom, Buffy paused. She placed her palm against the wood, wishing her sister was inside doing her homework instead of doing god-knows-what in Los Angeles with their father. Stupid social services. Yet another mistake she’d made in the weeks following Spike’s disappearance, but not one she could blame him for. No, this one was a casualty of Slayerhood. Coming home at five o’clock in the morning with the still-bleeding head of a Svelatine demon under her arm, she’d found Dawn’s replacement caseworker on her porch. Amazingly enough, the easiest thing to explain had been the severed head. Making up an reason why Dawn had been alone in the house all night was beyond her abilities. She’d never been a very good liar.

Giving Dawn’s door a final caress, she moved into her own bedroom. She slowly stripped off her clothing, welcoming the feel of the cool air as it tickled over her exposed skin. After shutting off the light, she slid between her bed sheets and tried to sleep. Stupid Slayer. Don’t think about him. Think about being Anya’s bridesmaid next week. Think about Dawn coming to visit for the wedding. Think about… god, think about killing demons, about Doublemeat Medleys, about Principal Snyder! But do not, DO NOT think about that idiot vampire.

She dreamed of her hands. Bleeding and muddy from digging out of her coffin, they hung limply from her wrists, supported in the grasp of other hands. These other hands held hers gently, their fingers trembling. White hands attached to strong, pale wrists, belonging to an amazed, traumatized Spike. "One hundred and forty-seven days yesterday, one hundred and forty-eight today. Except today doesn’t count, does it?" His words spiraled through Buffy’s dreams, echoing off the walls of her mind, all night long. "Every night, I save you."

Rolling over in her sleep, she buried her face in her pillow. I don’t miss him. And I will not look for him. I won’t. Even in her dreams, she knew herself to be a liar. Every night, I save you.

******************

Spike scrambled up a pile of rocks and into the shady canopy of evergreen trees, stooping carefully to avoid low grown branches as he ran. Behind him, the sun rose slowly over the gray waters of the Pacific Ocean. The forest was dark with shadows, but not dark enough to keep him safe. Ducking into his cave, he limped inside its sheltered darkness, minding to low ceiling. He lit the small campfire first, then covered his shoulders with a large piece of black bear fur that had once been someone’s rug.

"Cutting it bloody close, mate," he said, noticing without worry that he was talking to himself again. Who else would you talk to, all alone in this sodding cave for months on end. He kicked his mass of blankets into a pile in front of the fire and plopped down on top of the make-shift bed. As he pulled off his black tee shirt, a tingle ran over his skin. The sensation wasn’t painful, but it was definitely uncomfortable. Sun tingle, Dru had called it. The first step of catching on fire. "Too bloody close. Not even worth it, either. No sign of that wanker Otis."

Stretching out on his back, he tilted his head towards the fire and stared into the flames. A cloud of smoke rose from its center, a side effect of the damp wood he’d used beneath the tinder. The smoke didn’t bother him- it wasn’t as if he needed to breath, and he’d planned on closing his eyes anyways. With a final poke at the firewood, he rolled onto his side. Sleep took him hard most mornings, thanks to his long days spent searching the forest and beaches. He’d created his schedule out of necessity, and was grateful for the simplicity of it. Hunting hard all night made him sleep deeply all day, with very little time to think or dwell or dream. Or to regret. Or to miss her, he thought, rubbing his face with muffled groan. No, there’s always time to miss her.

Settling his cheek against the thick softness of the fur, Spike let his mind drift, back to Sunnydale and the people he’d left behind. He pictured Willow on the last night he’d seen her, with her stern-lipped glare, making him promise to keep her up to date about where he was, telling him what she thought of him with two sentences. "I won’t tell Buffy where you are. She… she deserves to put you behind her." And he’d shook on it, told her he agreed. Done the right thing, for once in his miserable life. No, twice, at least, he thought, remembering the times he’d come to Dawn’s aid. Don’t think about the Nibblet, he snapped at himself silently, hugging his arms around his chest. Thinking about Dawn takes you right down the line to thinking about… and you’re not thinking about her tonight, you git! Just go one night…

Rebelliously, his mind summoned the image of Buffy, of her hair whirling around her face as she danced her way back to heaven. His throat constricted as he remembered the feel of her hair that night, slippery and warm under his cold fingers. And the look in her eyes when she’d come after him, in the alley outside the Bronze. She’d kissed him, and suddenly all he could see of his world was her face.

Snorting with self-derision, he flopped over onto his stomach. Well, your world’s gotten a sight smaller since then, hasn’t it. He clenched his fingers open and closed, trying to focus on something outside of his memories. Open your hand, close your hand. Right, then. Nothing more boring than this; you’ll be asleep in no time. Open… close. Open… close. Buffy’s hands on his arms, clenching his skin in bliss as they moved rhythmically against each other. Her small, gold hands, opening and closing on the paleness of his skin.

Sitting up with a sigh, Spike leaned his head against the damp wall of the cave. "Brooding poofter," he muttered, his eyes hooded and unnerved. Slumping over, he pulled the blankets over his head in a quick, frustrated move. How small can you make your world, Spike? How small before there’s no room to miss her? To love her? How bloody small?

*********

Buffy rolled slowly out of bed, her muscles aching from tossing and turning all night. The brightness of the sunlight that poured through her window told her the day was at least half over. Pulling on a pair of well worn jeans and a sweatshirt, she hurried downstairs. Doublemeat fun awaits, she thought, flipping on the kitchen light switch and pouring herself a glass of milk. After housework and bill paying and a run to the bank. All the grown up stuff that grown ups do. ‘Cause I’m a grown up. Really. She took a sip of the milk and, with a grimace, spat it back into the cup. It’s sour. Again.

She walked into the living room and surveyed the mess. Xander’s greasy pizza box sat on the coffee table, beside a pile of dirty plates and several half-full cups of soda. Rolling her eyes, she picked up Anya’s dirty socks and threw them towards the stairs, followed by Willow’s shoes. Hey, hey, the gang’s all here. Except when it’s time to clean up the mess.

Procrastination seemed like a plan at the moment. She raised her arms above her head and stretched the sore muscles of her back. Her training had become a distant priority after she’d taken the job at the Doublemeat Palace, and she was paying for it. I need more exercise. It’s been months since I moved my body more than I had to. Not since… okay brain, we are *so* not going there. It’s a new day. Shining sun, singing birds, and all that. No thinking about Spi… about you-know-who.

She noticed the blinking light on the answering machine and froze above it. Okay, you can think about him for the three second it’ll take Giles to tell you there’s no news. That’s all though! Pushing the button with a quick stab, she backed away, as though the machine was alive and hungry.

"Buffy, hello," said Giles’ recorded voice. "I’ve news. Yes, you heard that right. The Council… they’ve found Spike. Call me straight away, please."

Jerking as though slapped, Buffy sank onto the couch. She stared at the phone from across the room, vacillating. She could pretend she’d never gotten the message. It would serve that bastard right, for her to leave him to the Council’s killers. He didn’t deserve her help, not after what he’d done. Her eyes snapped shut, then opened slowly. No matter how reluctant she felt, Buffy knew she’d couldn’t leave him to be dusted by the Council. Not when she’d led them to him in the first place. Not without seeing him, at least once more. Standing before she could change her mind, she picked up the phone and punched in Giles’ number.

"What’s the news?" she asked when he answered, her words brusque and unemotional.

"You might’ve called sooner, you know," Giles muttered. "I waited all day. It’s nearly noon in Sunnydale. What kept you?"

"Nothing. Sleep, that’s all. It’s been a rough few… a rough time." She sat down on the floor, lifting the phone into her lap. "What’s the news?"

"As I said, they’ve found him. They… well, picked up his trail in Portland, Oregon."

"Picked up his trail? What, did they send in bloodhounds to sniff him out? I can’t quite see Travers going that far for one, chip-headed vamp."

A pregnant pause fell. Buffy slowly rose to her feet, her hand on the receiver growing damp with sweat. "Giles? You’re not talking. What is it? Did something happen?"

"They picked up Spike’s trail by way of information on a rash of murders. Human murders. Nearly a dozen, all over a two month period, beginning five months ago. And, I’m afraid, all attributed to a single source: William the Bloody."

"But… no. His chip!" She ran hands through her hair, trying to understand. "His chip… is gone. He got it out. God, I should have known. Spike leaves town after having his chip messed with, and it never even occurrs to me that just maybe it doesn’t work anymore? How stupid is that?"

"The Council had sent a hit team out to Oregon. They’ll arrive in Portland late this evening. After looking over a good deal of the Council’s information, I’ve come to doubt that Spike is still in the city. On the night of the last victim’s murder, a man named…" Buffy heard the sounds of papers rustling. "A man named Raymond Otis disappeared from the apartment across the hall. The police believe he was in the victim’s apartment at the time of the murder, though he was uninvolved. I’ve managed to track the man across the state to the coast, where he was seen briefly in a camping supply store, and again at a gas station. Those sightings were nearly three months ago."

"So you think Spike’s following this guy Otis? Why would he do that? It’s not like Portland’s short on people. He should’ve been fine there. What’s so special about this one guy?"

"I’m not completely sure." Giles sighed heavily. "The victims don’t fit any particular pattern that one would immediately notice. But there was something… an odd detail the Council overlooked. The victims, for the most part, are unrelated. However, in the minutes before their deaths, each victim came into contact with the victim who would be killed after them. One by one, this was true for them all."

"But they didn’t know each other? They were just people in the wrong place at the wrong time?"

"Yes, as far as I can tell. They didn’t need to have close contact- victims A and B were at the same mall at the same time shortly before victim A was killed. Victim B was last seen at a grocery store, the same store where victim C cleaned floors. And so on."

"That makes… the kind of sense that doesn’t…" Buffy said slowly, trying to process what her Watcher was saying. "You think Otis was suppose to be the next victim because he was around when the last one died? And Spike’s followed him, trying to kill him? That makes no sense. This is Spike, Giles. He’s not exactly a picky eater."

"I’m not sure. I could be wrong. But I’ve a feeling that if you were to go to the Oregon coast today, you’d find Spike. You could get your answers. And…" he coughed once, almost delicately. "And you should be the one to slay him."

Closing her eyes and breathing deeply, Buffy fought down the wrenching ache that rose within her. Oh god, oh god, she thought, rubbing her fists into her eyes. Pull yourself together. You have to do this. You have to. But how can you? How can you look into his eyes, look at his hands that have touched every part of your skin, and shove a stake through his heart? "Giles?"

"Buffy. If you cannot bring yourself to… to do this, no one will fault you for it. You and Spike… you were intimate. However, intimacy has never prevented you from doing your duty in the past, no matter how conflicted you felt about what you had to do. If you allow the Council to do your work for you, you’ll always regret not being there."

Buffy walked slowly over to the couch and sank onto it, leaning her forehead against the heel of her hand. If I was the vampire and he was the Slayer, I’d want him to be the one holding the stake when I died. Not some stupid Council guy. Especially not some stupid Council guy who my lover had sent after me. I have to do this. I have to. Squeezing the receiver, she felt a chilling calm wash over her. "You’re right, Giles. No one should stake Spike but me. I… I’ll need a plane ticket. Um… and directions to wherever it is you think this Otis guy went. A place to stay, too."

"Already arranged," Giles said, smoothly covering the pride in his voice. "Head out to the airport straightaway. You’ll find your ticket at the counter- ahm, the airline is Northwest- as well as a fax with directions to the hotel. I’ve reserved a room under your name, prepaid for a two-week stay, though I highly doubt it will take you that long to find him."

"You faxed?" She opened her weapons trunk and pulled out a thick burlap bag. Wrinkling her brow, she looked over her options. Cross bow? No, too heavy. Axe? No way. "I can’t see you faxing, Giles. Sorry. You’re more of a pen and paper kind of guy. Those pens that are really feathers, you know?" Throwing knives? Probably unnecessary.

"Ah," she whispered, grabbing Mr. Pointy. She wouldn’t need anything else to finish the job. <The job. How very easy that sounds. Just a job, like at the Doublemeat. Flip some burgers, scrape some grease, kill your lover. C’mon Buffy, you’ve done this before. Send Angel to hell… turn Spike into dust… at least this time you don’t have an apocalypse riding on your shoulders if you screw up. Biting her lip bitterly, she tossed the stake into her bag and closed it.

"I’ve never used a quill, and yes, I did send the fax. It’s remarkable, what people can bring themselves to do in a crisis. Go against their very nature, if they must."

"We both know you’re not talking about faxing." Buffy flung the sack onto her shoulder and laced up her shoes. "Slaying vampires is my nature. And I’ve got to go now, to do that," she said, hanging up the phone and running up the stairs to her room. If I wait even a second, I’ll lose my nerve.

After jamming clothes and toiletries into a backpack, Buffy scribbled a note for Willow. What could she possibly say to explain where she was going? Settling for a simple ‘be back soon’, she rushed back down the stairs. With a final glance at the mess in the living room, she hurried out the door. Her feet slapped against the pavement as she ran down the sidewalk towards the airport. Remarkable, what people can bring themselves to do in a crisis. Her hair fell out of its loose ponytail into her eyes. Pushing it out of her face with both hands, she thought of Mr. Pointy. She tried to imagine introducing him to Spike. Tried, and failed. Spike’s hands cradling hers… his eyes, gently probing into hers… ‘every night, I save you’. Swallowing over the lump in her throat, she pushed herself to run faster. Giles, you better be right.

Chapter 2

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Buffy yanked the door open and hurried inside, the rain and wind whipping at her back. Slamming the door shut behind her, she leaned against it and surveyed her motel room. Florescent orange and green upholstery clashed with pink and lavender painted walls. With a sigh, she flopped herself down on the psychedelic bedspread, leaving her bags on the floor. Allowing herself a minute to adjust, she closed her eyes and cursed airport construction, stinky bus rides, and most of all, Spike. If only I could stay in here forever. Let Spike stay wherever he is. Pretend I don’t know he’s feeding again. If only. If he hadn’t left in the first place, she’d have been able to deal with his state of chiplessness back in Sunnydale. Nowhere in the job description did it say ‘Slayer must be ready to travel’. Especially not to tiny towns on the edge of the wilderness without so much as a real grocery store.

A knock on the door brought her to her feet. She opened it cautiously, but smiled when she saw the little girl who stood on the warped wood of the step. Solemn-faced and shy, the child handed Buffy a slip of paper, then turned with a giggle and ran away.

"Nice to meet you, too," Buffy murmured, moving back inside while unfolding the note. Scanning it quickly, she crumpled it in her fist with a smirk. "So the Council’s killers know I’m here. And for some reason, they want me to know that they know. Talk about overconfident. Ohh, I’m scared now." She snorted, tossing the note over her shoulder. "Yeah, right."

After showering and filling her stomach with an apple she’d picked up on the airplane, Buffy slowly unpacked her bags. She folded the wet towels she’d used and hung them up to dry. Procrastinate much? Get moving, Summers. Spike’ll be much easier to find before the sun sets. Ignoring herself, she wrinkled her nose and pulled off the ugly bedspread, remaking the bed with several thin blankets she’d found in the closet. More florescent orange. Lucky me. It’ll be like sleeping in an enormous carrot. As she finished fluffing the pillows, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror across the room and stopped suddenly, amazed.

She walked over to the mirror and touched her reflection with a shaky finger. So this is what trauma looks like. Glassy eyes stared back at her, echoing numbness and pain. Her chin quivered beneath lips made pale by the cold dampness of the room. Picking up her hairbrush, she ran it though her hair and pinched her cheeks, trying to bring some color to her reflection. If Spike sees me looking like this, he’ll die of fear and save me the trouble of staking him.

Pausing the brush in mid-stroke, Buffy glared at herself in the mirror. Who cares what Spike thinks of how I look? I’m here to kill him, not… anything else. Nothing else matters. I can’t forget who… no, what he is. Or what he’s done. What he could be doing this very second.. She pulled her hair into a severe knot at the nape of her neck and turned around to put on her coat. Mr. Pointy fit perfectly in its largest pocket, ready to be used whenever she needed it. He’s a killer. A soulless, evil fiend. He’s not… he’s not William. Every part of William I see in him is an illusion. He’s a demon. He’s already dead. I just have to put him back in his grave.

She walked out the door, her hand resting on Mr. Pointy’s pocket for reassurance. Some pep talk. Can’t convince myself when I know it’s a lie. There are only two truths in this whole deal: I love Spike, and I have to kill Spike. So, I’ll get on with it. Deal with it. I’ll forget… I’ll forget everything. I will..

The door slammed shut behind her. She marched out of the hotel parking lot, towards the campground, cursing under her breath that she’d procrastinated the day away. The moon rose slowly through the sky above her, casting its light over her path. Closing her eyes to it, she pretended with all her heart that it didn’t remind her of him.

**************

Spike walked along the riverbank and knelt beside the sandy area of shallow water he used as a makeshift refrigerator. Pulling out a bottle of liquor, he swished it through the water to clean the sand off its base. He popped the top open and, throwing his head back, began to gulp down the fiery liquid. Staring upwards around the long bottle, he noticed idly that the moon was nearly full. Moonlight suited Spike. It illuminated his cheekbones to just the right degree of sharpness and shined off his hair in a way that made him seem younger, more punkish than vampish.

Heat from the liquor drew a blush to his cheeks. He touched his fingertip to his face experimentally, amused by the physical mysteries of being a vampire. Why his body would waste the small amount of blood he drank on a blush, he had no idea. Were it up to him, he’d put it to better use. That is, if I was still shagging the Slayer. Nowadays, I suppose a blush is as good a use as any.

He shivered from the cold air, too apathetic to put on his shirt. Too drunk to put on the shirt. Looking down at his chest, he ran his fingers over his protruding ribs as if strumming the strings of a guitar. The movement tickled. He giggled, triggering a loud belch. Yeah, drunk is right. Guess I shouldn’t have tipped back that whole first bottle for lunch. The dinner bottle alone would’ve been enough to do me in. Wish I had some blood. Any kind of blood. Rat, even. Guess I shoulda gone hunting instead of drinking…

Tripping over stones and sticks, he made his way back to his cave. "Don’t wanta go back in there," he said to himself, leaning with one hand bracing his body on the outer mouth of the cave. Tilting dangerously to one side, he shook his head violently. "S’dark in there. Damp, too, and it smells." He slide down the rocks towards the ground, where he curled up in a ball. Stick to thinking, mate, not talking, he told himself. Thoughts don’t slur when you’re drunk. They spin, yeah, and end in the middle or begin at the end, but they don’t smear together and make you sound all sloshed.

A noise came from the bushes beside him. He climbed unsteadily to his feet and peered into the dark branches. T’would serve me right, to finally have a chance at Otis and be too drunk to use it. He took a step closer to the brush, then another, his head cocked. Here, kitty kitty kitty. No one here but us. Come on out now, you stupid bugger. Creeping closer, Spike tightened his grasp on the neck of the empty liquor bottle.

"Spike," said a voice from behind him suddenly. Buffy’s voice.

Spike whipped around, brandishing the bottle in front of him. When he saw who it was, he froze, bottle extended. They stared at each other for a long moment, blue eyes on green, neither of them daring even to breathe. Finally, Spike broke free of her gaze. Exhaling, he turned back to the bush, but the noises had stopped. "Bloody hell," he said, his voice quiet and even as he turned back to face Buffy. "Bloody hell!" he yelled, rearing his arm back and breaking the bottle against the rocks at the mouth of his cave. "Do you have any clue how long I’ve waited for a chance like that? Otis was here, finally. And now he’s gone, thanks to you."

Flinching, Buffy took a step back. She fingered Mr. Pointy through the wool of her coat, watching him silently for a long moment as he stood with slumped shoulders over the shards of broken glass. He looked as bad as she’d ever seen him, worse even than he had after his run-in with the Initiative. Brown hair roots gave him a half-finished quality, and his skin was pale, even for vampire standards. He flicked his eyes up to meet hers. With a wince, she took in their sunken, bruised appearance. Clenching her fists to avoid touching him, she bit her lip. Her nails dug into the skin of her palms. She would not go to him. She would not- not- touch him. Though damaged beyond anything she’d imagined, his whole being still called to her. Something inside her twisted, recognizing the call. Gasping in pain as one of her nails broke through her skin, she mentally slapped herself. Monster. Think monster, like he was on Warren’s leash. Not lover. Certainly not *your* lover.

"You haven’t eaten for a while, have you?" she asked, trying to keep her voice emotionless. She made no move towards him. Her hand rubbed over Mr. Pointy’s pocket.

He laughed, a harsh, barking laugh chased by a rasping cough. Shaking his head at her, he fell into a hard sit. "Pull up some dirt, Slayer. Rest a while."

"You’re drunk."

"What on earth gave you that idea?" He leered up at her. "Finally decided to chase down ole Spikey, eh? How’d you find me?"

"The park ranger said he’d seen a vagrant up here." She circled him, drawing closer. Drunk. *That’s* what he’s been doing since he left? Drinking and… Looking over his shoulder, she noticed his campfire and pile of blankets. "You’ve been living in a cave?"

"Cave… crypt… not much of a difference, really. Both are damp and dark and full of little creepy crawlies that go bump in the night." Patting one pocket, then the other, he produced a single, bent cigarette and put it, unlit, between his lips. "Is that why you’ve come, pet? Need a little bump in the night action for yourself?" He smirked, pumping one hand in front of him suggestively.

Flushing, Buffy ground her teeth. "Like I’d come all the way out here for that. You sure have got a high opinion of yourself. Booze turns you into a real prince, Spike."

"That’s all you ever came to me for, back in SunnyHell. What, things’ve changed?"

"Things have changed. Yes. I’d say things have definitely changed." Stepping close to him, she said, "You’re don’t think that killing people again might change our arrangement a bit?" Her eyes flashed dangerously close to him. "Or, how about leaving town- leaving me- without saying a word?"

"I said words. Lots of them. You just didn’t get it. And as for the killing people part…"

She shut her eyes, backing away. "I don’t want to hear it. I can’t… I can’t stand to think about you doing that. Not after… oh god." Covering her mouth with one hand, she blinked back tears, furious with herself for showing weakness. One deep breath, another… she reached desperately for control. "Can’t you just deny it? Tell me I’m wrong? Tell me, Spike. Please."

He started to speak, then paused, studying her. "I’m sorry, love. You’re right, I’m drunk. Totally smashed, to tell the truth. Trading in blood for booze will do that to a vamp. There’s no butcher’s shop around here, in case you haven’t noticed, and the forest animals are a bit hard to catch. I haven’t had a nip of blood in over a week, and as you can see, the new diet’s not agreeing with me."

"Answer my question! I know your chip’s gone. I know… I know you’re in trouble. Lots of it, probably more than you realize. I need to know… did you kill those people in Portland? Are you here to kill Otis?" She looked down at him, searching his face with beseeching eyes. "Are you?"

Hesitating, he rubbed his hands over his hair, then held them up to her in a gesture of capitulation. "I don’t kill for pleasure. Or for food, either, and if you don’t believe that, you need glasses. Pretty much skin and bones here. You are right about the chip, it’s been switched off. And you’re right about Otis, too. I’m here to kill him."

"Then why haven’t you? It’s been… what? Two months? Three?"

"In life, Otis was one of those survivalist types. Always preparing for a nuclear winter and whatnot. Makes him a bit more difficult to hunt down than the average joe would be. At least for a city boy like myself."

"Huh? In life? Otis is alive. You just said you were here to kill him."

"Alive… well, yeah. In a manner of speaking. It’s sort of a long story, love. One I’d rather tell over a warm pint of blood, if you wouldn’t mind."

"I’m suppose to believe you’re harmless, after such a convincing argument?" Buffy reached her hands down towards his, but stopped just short of touching him. "I want your word that there’s an explanation for all this."

"You have it," he said simply, holding his hands steady in the air. "Anything else?"

She ran her eyes over his scrawny frame. "That you’ll come back off the mountain with me, to my hotel room. I’m sure we can come up with something for you to eat."

"Granted. And?"

Blinking hard, she touched her fingertips to his. "That you won’t make so much as a flinch towards me without my permission. For any reason."

"Any reason?" Brushing his index finger against the pulse at the base of her wrist, he smiled at her, a small, knowing smile. "Any reason at all then, pet?"

"Any reason at all," she said. She twisted her fingers away from his, unnerved by how simple it all was. Five minutes with him, and all she wanted was to forget the anger and hurt, forget the chip and the murdered people, and wrap him around her like a blanket. A boney, dirty, drunken blanket. "Let’s go. I don’t want to sit up here all night. It was a long flight up from California, and I’m beat. And," she said with a pointed sniff, "you reek."

"I do not," he protested, rising with unsteady legs. "Something does, but it’s not me. Okay, yeah, maybe I’m the booze stench. But you can’t blame me for the sweat. I don’t do sweat, thankfully."

Buffy stared at him. "It’s not me. I showered before I came up here. But it has to be a someone, not a something. Animals don’t smell like that."

"Then…" He cocked his head, listening to the forest sounds with a wary ear.

All of a sudden, a man jumped out from the bushes behind Spike and leapt onto his bare back. With a furious growl, Spike grappled for a handhold, but the man was too strong to be torn off. He snapped at Spike’s neck with his teeth. "Buffy!" Spike screamed, in pain and barely holding himself upright. "It’s Otis. Run, Buffy!"

Ignoring his order, Buffy flung herself into the fight, ripping Otis off of Spike’s back and tossing him to the ground. Without a pause, she moved in on him, kicking him in the ribs over and over. "Why are you so freaked? He’s not so tough."

"Buffy!" Spike grabbed her by the shoulders, holding her back. Fear laced his words as he clutched her to his chest, restraining her. "Don’t move, pet. Don’t say a bloody word. You can’t make him feel threatened, not even a little. Not after what you just did. Just sit tight, love. Let’s see what he’s going to do next."

Ignoring the fact that she was pressed against Spike’s naked torso, Buffy stilled herself and studied Otis. The man lay prone on the ground. He rolled over with slow movements. Buffy ducked her head slightly, trying to see his face, but his shaggy brown curls covered all but a hint of a sharp chin and a flash of his eyes. Yellow eyes. "You… you didn’t tell me he’s not human."

"Shh," Spike growled through still lips, his muscles rigid. He didn’t move his eyes off of the man in front of them. "He’s human enough. Trust me. Look."

Otis curled into a fetal position, hugging his knees to his chest. Sobs shook his curved back, but didn’t leave his lips. He rocked back and forth in the dirt, clenching handfuls of his tattered pants in his fists. His hair fell away from his mouth in a sudden movement, random strands sticking to the lines of saliva that drooled down Otis’ chin. Buffy could see his lips moving, mouthing the same word over and over: Mama. He never made a sound.

The eerie silence sent a chill down Buffy’s spine. Twisting in Spike’s arms, she said, "We have to help him. Look at him!"

"No. We have to go." He backed away, pulling Buffy with him. "We have to go now. Otis could still lose."

"Lose? Whatever it is, I think it’s already lost. Look at him!" She scrambled over the bed of rocks that littered the forest floor beside the cave. "What the hell is going on?"
 

"Not now. Later. Believe me, if he does lose and we’re still here…" Spike broke off, stumbling over a spot of loose gravel.

Buffy caught him by the arm and yanked him upright. She jerked her hand away from his arm as though it were on fire. Don’t touch him. It’ll just make it harder. Get him to the hotel, get the information, and get out of here before you completely lose your nerve. "Let’s get out of here. You’re telling me everything, just as soon as we’re safe."

"I gave you my word, didn’t I? What, do you want it in blood? There’s not much in me at the moment, but I might be able to squeeze up a few drops."

"Shut up. Move faster. I want off this mountain before anything even more weird can happen."

After clearing the rocks, Spike broke into a run, motioning for Buffy to follow him. She didn’t know why they were running. Leaving Otis to cry for his mother alone in the dirt seemed careless, even cowardly. But something about Spike’s reaction to the man left her cold inside. For a fully functional vampire to be that afraid of a scrawny human… or whatever he was… she shuddered and ran faster, directing Spike down the mountain towards the path to her hotel. Whatever was wrong with Raymond Otis, she knew it couldn’t be a good thing.

*****

"Watch your eyes," Buffy said, unlocking the door to her hotel room. "This place is sort of blinding."

"I’ll say." Spike walked inside, his posture casual for someone who had just fled in fear. Brushing past Buffy, he swept into the bathroom. He poked his head into the shower, then came back into the main room, still exploring. "Martha Stewart meets… whoever would like hot orange and green curtains. No one I’ve met, that’s for sure. And that’s saying something."

She jumped away from him as his bare arm brushed against her shoulder. "That the owner of this hotel has worse taste than every demon you’ve ever known? Yep, I’d have to agree." Why are we talking about the room? God, could this be any more awkward? Next thing you know, he’ll mention sports, or the weather.

Watching with annoyance as he began to open the drawers of the long bureau that held her clothes, Buffy said, "Hey. Did you lose something? ‘Cause I’m thinking it’s really not in there, whatever it is."

"What?" He pulled his head up, shaking it slightly. "No. No, I’m just… getting settled. It’s been a while since I’ve stayed anywhere that wasn’t a hole in the ground. I’m filthy. I’m going to take a shower."

"And you’re- what? Looking for some clothes to borrow? You’ve lost weight, sure, but somehow I doubt you’re my size." She pointed to the bathroom, carefully looking away from him. "Go take your shower. I’ll head over to the managers office and see what I can find for you to wear." She had to get out of there, even if only for a few minutes. It was too much, way too much, to have him so close to her after spending so many months both missing and cursing him. <Not exactly the reunion of champions. First he’s drunk, then we’re attacked. Not to mention the whole part where I’m here to kill him.>

She looked at him, really looked at him, and tried to stop herself from superimposing the image of her lover over the body of this… this… killer. The worst thing was, this Spike looked exactly like her Spike, just weak and sick. You’d think there’d be a difference. Cruelty in his eyes, or something. But he’s looking at me with… no, no. I can’t see that. There’s no love in him. He’s a monster. A monster. He can’t love me. And that can’t be pain I see on his face.

"Buffy?" He tugged once on her sleeve. "You in there?"

"Be quick. We have to talk. I need to know everything." Her voice came out cold and detached, which pleased her until she saw how it made him drop all the emotion from his face. <Don’t feel bad for him. Don’t feel hurt.>

He moved towards her, close enough that she could see the tiny scar on his collarbone. William’s scar, really. He’d gotten it as a child, long before he’d been turned. Standing toe to toe with her, his fingers twitched nervously at his sides. As if to still them, he reached up and brushed back a stray wisp of her hair. "I…" he broke off, his blank mask slipping. "I know you’re angry with me, pet. You’ve every right to be. What I did… there are reasons. Good reasons, and you should just… just know that I’m sorry. Sorry for…" With the tip of his index finger, he drew it in a curve below her eye. "Sorry for causing these circles, for starts."

Her breath catching, Buffy closed her eyes. This is not happening. You will not feel this way. He left to go kill people. That’s it and that’s all. End of story. Even if you aren’t going to stake him, you still can’t let him get to you, not after what he’s done. No room for feeling like this. Hurting like this… missing him… this wasn’t in the plan. "You didn’t cause anything on me. I’ve just been doing a lot of slayer stuff." Opening her eyes, she glared at him. "Slayer stuff. That’s all."

"I didn’t kill those people, Buffy. They died because of me, but I promise you, I didn’t kill them." His jaw tightening, he held her by the shoulders. "Believe me. At least for now, till I can tell you the whole deal."

"But you did leave me," she whispered, looking down. Her body trembled once, violently. "You just… left. How could you do it, Spike? All those times you told me that you were the only one who understood me, the only one for me, and just when I start to… to…"

"Started to what?" His burning eyes held her still. "Don’t fool yourself, pet. We both know what it was you saw in me. It wasn’t the same as what I saw in you, that’s for bloody certain."

The tension between them grew with frightening intensity. With a pang, she realized he didn’t know that she had cared him. There was no way she was going to tell him now, no matter how conflicted she felt. He didn’t deserve the words. She tilted her head back and stared up at him, meeting his glare with her own, but couldn’t stop herself from asking the question that had weighed on her mind for months. "Did you…" She cleared her throat, and with light bitterness in her words, finished the question. "Did you miss me at all?"

A powerful but guarded expression darkened his face. Releasing her shoulders with obvious effort, he said, "I missed you." Anger colored his words, but she could tell it wasn’t directed at her. "There’s a lot I have to tell you. Things you need to know. Those people in Portland…"

She recoiled, her moment of weakness broken. "No! I don’t want to hear it now. I can’t hear it, not yet. There’s too much else to worry about. Otis, a-and…" And the Council, she nearly said. And the stake in my pocket that’s wearing your name. "And your chip."

"My chip. Yeah. There’s that." He rocked back on his heels, staring at her expectantly.

She turned her face away from him. "Not now. Take your shower, and I’ll find you some clothes."

Without a word, Spike walked into the bathroom and shut the door. Moments later, Buffy heard the sound of the shower running. She slumped onto the bed. This is bad. Very, very bad. If I can’t pull myself together, this whole situation is going to blow up in my face… and maybe even take my face along with it. She touched the circles under her eyes with tentative fingers. "Slayer stuff. Otherwise known as Spike stuff."

Clothes. He needed something to wear. Having a naked Spike in her hotel room would be… bad. Leave that thought alone! Groaning, she stood and walked to the door. If I could just pretend he’s someone else, like I did with Angel. It was Angelus who killed Jenny, and Angel who I loved. I could live with it, that way. But Spike… it was always Spike I loved. And he’s only himself, no one else. I don’t think I can do this.

Opening the door, she was so preoccupied with her thoughts that it took her a minute to realize that there were people standing on the step. Three men, all tall, all thick through the shoulders. And all armed.

"Greetings, Miss Summers," said one of the men. He looked down his long nose at her, with a smile on the verge of becoming a sneer. "You did receive our note, correct?"

Her face went pale with fear. She slammed the door shut, hoping they hadn’t heard the noise from the shower. "You’re the Council’s goon squad. Yeah, I got your note. Sorry, guys, but I work alone."

"Apparently so. Is the vampire dead yet? I imagine that the inn keeper would rather you brought him outside to slay him. All that pesky dust to be scrubbed from the upholstery."

He knows Spike’s in my room. "Umm… darn. Sorry about that. Vamp dust is the stain that stays, I know. But hey, I’ll… umm… I’ll write him a check for the damages."

"Then you’ve already staked him?" Another of the men approached the doorway, his beady eyes sizing her up. "Who is that in the shower, if the vampire is dead? We know you two were alone inside that room, not two minutes ago."

"Oh, yeah. That’s Spike. He’s… it’s one of those ‘last request’ type deals. I mean, I couldn’t exactly give him a last meal, now could I?" Dammit, dammit, dammit! "But I can handle Spike. No biggie. You boys just go on now. Hey, I hear that there’s some great fishing in this town! Why not…" she trailed off, noticing the men’s faces hardening. Leaning against the door with a quiet sigh, she said, "Okay. What do you want from me?"

"Just let us do our job, Miss Summers. We’ll take the vampire with us, and you’ll never be troubled by him again."

"Troubled? He’s a vampire. There’s not a lot of trouble involved there." She lied to them with an ease that surprised her. "Stake plus vamp equals no problem at all."

Beady-Eyes held up a small tape recorder and pressed ‘play’. She heard her own words over the speaker followed by Spike’s. "But you did leave me…" Her voice on the machine sounded mournful.

Shaken, Buffy grabbed for the tape recorder, but Beady-Eyes tossed it into his pocket before she could reach him. "You were spying on me? Wow. I’m flattered. In a really pissed off kind of way."

"Given your history of fraternizing with the enemy, you can hardly be surprised that we would take special precautions." Long-Nose smiled at her, a smile that chilled her blood with its malice. "Now, be a good girl and run along. The vampire is property of the Council of Watchers from this moment on."

"Wait!" she said, not wanting to resort to violence. "First, you all know who I am, so you know that I can take you all down without breaking a nail. I’d back off, if I were you."

Identical stony expressions covered the men’s faces. They nodded their heads almost imperceptibly. Long-Nose bowed slightly, mocking her.

"Good. Now, what might have sounded to you- ahm- vampire experts like fraternizing was actually… umm… information gathering. Spike can tell us more than anyone else about the dead bodies in Portland and about the psycho guy running around these woods. Trying to figure out exactly what he does and doesn’t know sorta makes sense, doesn’t it?"

The men glanced at each other, silently communicating. Buffy held her breath. She couldn’t understand what they were telling each other- their faces didn’t seem to change- but Beady-Eyes and No Name Guy walked away without a glance back at her, so apparently the conversation had worked in her favor. Bluffing saves the day. Score one for the good guys.

"Miss Summers. Do be careful. William the Bloody has an admirable history when it comes to Slayers. We wouldn’t want anything to happen to you, not while the other girl is still unstable." Long-Nose picked up a pile of cloth from the ground by his feet and tossed it to her. "Clothes for the vampire. When you’re done with him, call for us. We’ll hear you." He smirked, happy to irk her. "When we come for him, we’ll want him able to walk, so please exercise some restraint in the course of your information gathering."

She watched as he left, clutching the clothing to her chest. Walking back into the hotel room, she locked the door carefully behind her and sat on the bed. There was no way for her to know where they’d hidden the bug that picked up her conversation. It could have been anywhere. Glaring back at the door, she waved her middle finger at the room. "Hear this, guys?" she whispered, flipping them off.

"Hear what?" Spike said, coming out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. The muscled of his abdomen stretched taut as he raised his arms over his head, rubbing at his wet hair with a second towel. The clinging water droplets brightened his skin, creating a sheen that drew her eyes to him. "You talking to yourself, pet? If so, no worries. I’ve learned that it’s not only for the mad."

"Umm… nothing. Yeah. Talking to myself. I was just… talking to myself." She handed him the clothes without rising from the bed. Without getting any closer to him. Without breathing. "Here. Put these on." Please. Please put them on now, before I can’t stop myself from remembering what all that smooth skin feels like pressed against mine. Please.

Taking them, Spike gave her a quizzical look. "You alright? You look upset. Was there a problem getting the clothes? Did the innkeeper say something to you?"

"The innkeeper? Oh, the innkeeper. Yeah. Uh, I mean, no. No, everything’s fine. Go get dressed. We have to talk." And the Worst Liar Ever award goes to….

"All right then," he said, raising an eyebrow. "I’ll be a minute." He tossed his towel to her. It smelled of his hair. She threw it across the room, studying him. Obviously he saw right through her deceit. He’d always known when she was lying, sometimes even before she did. Swallowing hard, she reminded herself that there was no way he could know what it was she hid.

"Fine," she said, dropping her gaze. At the sound of the bathroom door closing, she flopped down against the mattress, closing her eyes. Her body was tired, her brain, exhausted. The day had been so much more than long. Maybe just a little rest, just till Spike’s done dressing. She focused on one muscle at a time, from her toes up her legs, over her torso and to her face, using deep breathing to get them to relax. Something nagged at her, keeping her from calming down. Something the Council’s goons had said.

They want Spike alive, she realized, sitting straight up. They have plans for him. What the hell is going on here?

Chapter 3

Author’s note: This chapter is on the border of ratings R and NC-17.

**************

Buffy grasped Spike’s pocket knife in one hand and sliced into her wrist without hesitation. The blood dripped into the tin camping bowl, hitting the bottom with metallic sounding twangs. Watching as the drips progressed into a steady flow, Buffy’s lips quirked into a wry smile. If anyone had asked her what she’d do when she saw Spike again, opening a vein for him would have been the last thing on her list. But here she was all the same. She didn’t have to feed him- it wasn’t like being hungry for another few days would kill him- but she couldn’t stand the sickly paleness of his skin, the way he looked at her with hollow, sunken eyes. He looks like he’s dying. Which is weird, considering he’s already dead. On the bureau top, a radio blared obnoxious rock music, obscuring their conversation from prying ears.

Feeling lightheaded, Buffy wrapped a tight bandage over her wrist to close the cut. She could feel Spike’s eyes on her from across the room, and hear the hungry gurgles coming from his stomach. "Here," she said, walking over to where he lay sprawled at the end of the bed and handing him the bowl. "You’re welcome."

"Thanks," he said sitting up. Maintaining his human face, he gulped down the blood and licked his lips. "Best meal I’ve had in months. Years, even."

"Yeah, well, don’t get used to it. This kitchen is so definitely closed. Will that last you a while? There wasn’t much. I couldn’t do anymore without making myself weak."

He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and set the empty bowl on the floor. "You saw how I was living. That bitty amount of blood is more than I’ve eaten in the last week. I’ve gotten used to starving. Maybe my stomach’s shrunken or something. That’ll keep me for at least a few days."

"It better." She sat on the top of the bureau, facing Spike. "Time to talk now. And you better not lie to me." Brushing her hair behind her ears, she silenced the doubts that nagged at her. She’d made her decision. Or, more to the point, she’d stopped lying to herself. If he’d had a piles of dead bodies at his feet, then dusting him would’ve been an option. As it was… she just prayed he wouldn’t tell her something that would force her hand. Force her to fail. What good is a Slayer who can’t slay? Crossing her arms over her chest, she gave him a look of determination. "You’re in trouble, Spike. More than you know. Answer my questions, and I’ll help you. If you lie to me, I swear to god I’ll turn my back on you so fast you’ll have whiplash."

"Ask away, pet. I’ll give you the truth. More than you’ll like, probably." He leaned back on his elbows, calmly, either trusting her or unworried.

"Why would the Council of Watchers want to capture you alive? They showed up here while you were in the shower, looking to drag you away, not dust you. That’s not exactly in their mission statement. Vampires are pretty much a black and white thing to them- stake ‘em or give them a tan. No keeping them alive."

"Council, eh? Here in Sticksville just to bag little ole me? I’m flattered. Whatever they’re up to, they’ll fail. I know you, Buffy. You’ll stake me or not, but you won’t let those buggers at me." He jumped off of the bed and began to pace, knowing what her answer would be.

"No," she said, leaning back against the wall. Leaning away from him. "I wouldn’t let those guys take anyone. They’re psychos."

"So, then. Let’s worry about something else, shall we? I mean to keep my word. You wanted to know about Portland. And about Otis." Pacing had a rhythm to it. As long as he kept it up, he could talk to her without… without… what? Touching her? Kissing her? Crying? Bloody hell. If those were the choices, he’d pace till the floor fell through. Crying was completely out of the question, a no-brainer. As for touching her… she’d never allow him to. He knew it, and even with that knowledge it was an effort to keep his hands away from her skin.

"I’m waiting," she said, her body utterly still, her face composed. A glint of what looked to him like desperation flashed in her eyes. She lowered them, hiding her feelings.

Overcoming a slight misstep, he continued on. "Right. The thing is, it all started in LA, with Warren."

"Warren? I thought… Angel said he’d be… taken care of. The kind of care where there is none."

"Yeah, well, and he was. Only, before Angel could get to him, he’d taken off, disappeared into the big city.

"And he came after you."

"No, I was long gone by that time. Hopped a freighter ship running from Alaska to Mexico and back." He winced, running a hand through his hair. "He didn’t take not being able to find me very well. It took me a while to puzzle this all out, but… well, do you know what a Sanies demon is?"

"Slayer," she said, pointing to herself. "Not Watcher."

He rolled his eyes. "Some education they gave you at that high school of yours."

"It was on a Hellmouth. What do you expect? Get on with the explaining."

"Latin, pet. Sanies is a Latin word. It means ‘corrupted blood’. That’s exactly what this demon does. It jumps from host to host, living inside the blood. It corrupts the hosts till all that’s left inside of them is the demon, with a slight twinge of the human’s consciousness."

"Sounds pretty. What does this Sanies demon have to do with Warren?"

Spike stopped pacing abruptly and sat on the end of the bed. "Robot-boy was right pissed when you sent him packing out of town. He wanted to hurt you without having to get near enough to you that he’d get hurt himself. So, he did two things. One of them was to summon this demon and sic it on my tail. Sanies is a sort of ‘search and destroy’ bugger."

"So it sought you out in Portland, and came after you. You killed the human hosts?"
 

"No." He dropped his head for a minute, trying to decide how to explain. "A person can’t survive having the demon inside of them. Corrupted blood is sort of a permanent thing, you understand? When the host is dying, or when Sanies thinks the situation is too threatening, it jumps into a new host. Into whoever happens to be nearby. Killing the host won’t kill the demon. That would be too easy, right? But it’ll really piss it off. If it’s inside the host when he dies, it gets stuck there, in the corpse. Sanies found me a few times. I fought it, but as soon as I got the upperhand, it jumped into a new host. The old hosts died without the demon inside of them."

"That’s why we thought you were killing again," Buffy said slowly. "You didn’t kill those people, the demon did. But you were always there."

"Right. Anyways, after the demon jumped into Otis, I took off to the coast. I thought that if I could get the demon away from nosey neighbors and the like, I could kill it. With no new host to jump into, the demon would have to die."
 

"Wouldn’t it just jump into you?"

"No, it can’t." He met her eyes. "I’m a monster. Sanies can only jump into humans."

She wouldn’t look away, though she flushed. "I see." Coughing, she shifted on the bureau top. "Then the thing to do would be to get Otis alone and have you kill him."

"That’s what I’ve been trying to do. But it’s not that simple. Sanies lives in the blood of its host. The only way to kill it is to drain its blood. The demon can’t survive inside of me. As long as there’s no human around, it couldn’t jump and it would die."

"Sounds like a plan. Between the two of us, we should be able to capture Otis. Then I’ll take off and you can finish this."

Spike leaned forward towards Buffy, searching her face. He had to make her understand this. "Otis is still alive in there. That’s why I’m not dead now. That little sliver of humanity that you saw on the mountain has been big enough to keep the demon away from me. Each time it gets close, Otis fights it off and runs away. I guess he thinks I’m human and is trying to be all moral and ‘thou shall not kill’ like." He snorted and shook his head, bitterness washing over his expression. "Warren meant it to be like this, you see. He must have known that the person still lived alongside the demon. That was his plan. Get me to kill humans, and get you to come after me. If we fought, one of us would end up dead. Either way, you’d lose. If he can’t have you dead, he wants you broken-hearted and alone."

"You already told me that no one can survive having this demon inside of them. Otis might as well be dead. I wouldn’t stake you for protecting yourself, especially when it means you’re protecting every innocent person this demon thinks would make a nice, new home. You should have known that."

"That’s easy for you to say." Spike rose from the bed and stood in front of her. "And, that’s not what you thought when you came here. Unless that stake you were carrying when you found me was for building fences."

"I didn’t know. Warren was right. I thought you were feeding again. And if you were, I…" She studied her hands, avoiding his gaze. "This demon… it changes everything. I have to call Giles, tell him the plan’s changed. You didn’t leave to go all kill happy. You… you just left… me." Forcing a smile, she said, "And that’s okay. I mean… jeez, if I’d known all it would take to get you out of Sunnydale was a little mind control…"

"It was good for you, then? You were glad I was gone?"

His words shattered her mask. She rubbed her face with both hands, trying to stay in control. "They took Dawn away," she whispered finally, miserable. "She was so mad at me. If I’d only been more careful, it never would have happened. And you know? I think that even up till the moment that Dad came to pick her up, she was still half convinced you’d sweep in like some kind of hero and save the day."

"I’m sorry, pet. I didn’t know."

"And if you had? You’d… what? Come back and tell me to be more careful with my demon heads? You couldn’t have helped, not really. But it hurt me when you left. I got… careless. And Dawn paid the price."

"I had to leave. Warren made sure of that."

"You said Warren did two things to hurt me. The demon, that’s one. What else?"

"It hardly matters. He failed at his other plan."
 

"Which was…"
 

"The chip." Spike’s words sounded clipped, matter-of-fact. "He thought that you’d kill me on sight when you learned I’d got my bite back. Or that you’d leave me, and I’d kill you for it."

"That’s why you left? You thought I was going to dust you?" She laughed, a hollow laugh. "And all this time, I’ve thought it was me. But no, you left because you’re a spineless coward."

"That’s not why I left," Spike growled, inching closer. His knees brushed hers, but neither of them noticed. "You said that if the choice was between hurting me or letting me hurt you, you would choose hurting me."

"Uh-huh."

"Well, I didn’t want you to have to make that choice. I despise Warren, bloody bastard that he is. He took my chip and with it, any chance I ever had of being with you. But he was right about one thing. He told me that you’d hate me when you found out about the chip, and that you’d call things off between us. I knew that much before. I’m not a complete idiot. I could’ve handled that, somehow. Proved to you that it didn’t take the chip to keep me walking the straight and narrow and bloodless, gotten you back… it would’ve worked out fine. But maybe you wouldn’t have given me the chance to prove to you I’d changed. Maybe you would have just staked me right off the bat."

"I… I…" She stopped, and shook her head. "I want to say I wouldn’t have done that. I hope I wouldn’t have. But… I don’t know. I just don’t know."

"I spared you that choice, pet. I left. Period. End of story. But then Warren decided that it wasn’t enough, and set that demon after me. And now here you are, having to make the choice after all."

"I already made it, even before you told me about the demon. Otherwise I wouldn’t have told you about the Council."

"Right. You won’t kill me because I haven’t hurt anyone. And if I had, I’d be in someone’s dustbin right about now."

"But you’re not. You didn’t hunt. You didn’t kill."

"I’m past all that now." He cocked his head at her. "You believe me?"
 

"I do. And you know what?" Anger, sudden and hot, rose inside of her. "You shouldn’t have left. How dare you make that choice for me?"
 

"I was doing you a favor, love. Don’t think I don’t know why you came to me."

"Oh yeah? Enlighten me."

"You need a little monster in your man. That’s old news, but still true. What you don’t need is a man who’s all monster. You saw me, when Warren was messing with me. A beast, I was. Nothing else. No humanity to me."

"You were a victim, Spike. How you acted… that wasn’t you."

"But it was!" He threw his hands into the air. "It was me! All Warren did was turn on the demon in me. Like flipping a bloody switch, it was so easy. You remember the demon? The part of me that makes you ashamed every time you touch me, every time I make you scream?"

"I remember."

"I left town to make things simpler on you, that’s true. But I also left because I realized, finally, that all I’ll ever be to you is that monster on Warren’s leash. You’ll never truly be with me, and you’ll never love me. How could you?"

"I don’t know," she said in a suffocated whisper. "I don’t know how I can. I should hate you. You’re… you know what you are. And I tried to hate you. After you left, I tried even harder. Without you there… things were tough. Lonely. No one… no one saw me. Not like you did." She met his eyes, her mouth trembling. "I hated loving you, but I couldn’t stop. Nothing mattered, not logic, not how mad I was at you for leaving. I told myself a million times that I hated you, but it didn’t make a dent. I still just… just loved you."

He took both of her hands in his, raising them to his face and holding them there, a hairs width from his mouth. "You… love me." The tone of his voice matched the look on his face: incredulous with a trace of hopefulness.

Not trusting her voice, she nodded, letting her hair fall over her face. This is it, she thought, closing her eyes. This is the moment when everything changes. Opening her eyes, she gave him a shaky smile and said, "Surprise."

"I’ll say." He shook himself out of his trance and moved towards her, putting her hands on his shoulders. Pulling her towards him, he awkwardly wrapped his arms around her and hugged her to his chest. He cupped his hand under the back of her head, holding her so tightly she felt like she was melting into him.

We’ve done everything two people can do together, except this. This is our first hug. Her ear pressed against his silent chest. She caught herself straining to hear his absent heartbeat. After a small pause, she realized that she didn’t miss the sound. "Spike," she murmured, relaxing into him with a sigh. "Tell me?"

Burying his face in her hair, he squeezed her closer. "Buffy…" he breathed, running his hands over her back with desperate, sweeping motions. "I’ve told you before, pet, and you never believed me. Why is it different now?"
 

"You know why," she said, reaching up to cup his face between her hands. The length of her body rubbed against him, awakening him. "Everything’s different now, everything’s changed." Staring deeply into his eyes, she brushed her lips against his. "Tell me," she whispered against his mouth.

Shuddering, he rested his forehead against hers. Her eyes burned into him, anxious and intense. All of the pain of the past six months swirled between them, threatening to either bind them together or pull them apart forever. The choice was his, he knew. She’d given it to him with a generosity he’d never known she was capable of.

She whispered something so low, even Spike’s vampire ears couldn’t catch it. "What, pet?"

"Love," she said in a haunted tone. "Give. Forgive."

"I have," he said, running his fingers over her face, framing her features. "I do. Buffy, I love you. I love you so much."

She caught his mouth with hers before he could say anything more, drinking him in with the desperation of her kiss. Her hands dropped to the waist of his jeans, tugging at the button.

Grabbing her arms, he gave her a look of shock. "Speeding through things a bit fast, aren’t you?"

"Shh," she hissed, pointing to the door. The Councilmen were still listening, as far as she knew, and the last thing she wanted was for them hear just how much she enjoyed ‘fraternizing with the enemy’. "Fine, Spike, take another shower," she said loudly, pulling him into the bathroom and shutting the door behind them firmly.

Turning on the shower, he grinned at her. "Won’t those Wankers think you’re being awfully nice to the vampire? I mean, aren’t you suppose to be beating me up right about now?"

"I was suppose to be beating you up an hour ago." She pulled him close to her and began to undo the buttons of his shirt. "But I can think of better uses for your body than that."

"Buffy…" He covered her busy hands with his, stilling them. The yellow light of the bathroom made him appear jaundiced, but the seriousness with which he looked at her made her bite back her smile. "Not that I don’t want to, pet, it’s just… you’re sure?"

"I need you inside me, Spike." She kissed him, a long, low kiss. "I’ve been so alone. No more words."

"No more words it is, then," he said, flipping off the light switch. Pitch blackness enveloped the windowless room.

"Umm… what exactly is it you’re doing?" She grabbed his arms, off balance with the sudden change of light. "Some of us don’t have vampire vision."

"I won’t use it," he said, pulling her shirt over her head in a quick, upward motion. Removing his own clothes, he lifted her into his arms and stepped into the shower.

Her fingers tickled over his face, feeling the smoothness of his forehead. "Okay, then," she said, her voice disembodied in the darkness. She felt for the shower’s dial and turned the water from warm to hot, nearly scorching.

He jerked as the hot water hit his cold skin, then relaxed and drenched himself under the shower head. The heat soaked into his cold muscles, making them feel alive. "Trying to cook me, pet?"

"Just turning up the heat." Reaching out for him, she found his chest with her fingertips and caressed him with movements like whispers. In the dark, his skin felt foreign and familiar at the same time. She stroked him as though learning his body by Braille. His nipples puckered under her touch and she lingered there, playing with him.

He ran his hands over her shoulders, stifling a moan. He’d missed this so much- the heat of her, the scent, the feel of her skin against him. I was a bloody idiot to leave her, he thought, nuzzling his face into her hair. She’s the only clean thing this sodding world has ever given me. Reaching for the shampoo bottle, he fumbled in the dark to open it.

Buffy heard him grab the bottle, then smelled the familiar scent of her shampoo on his hands as he took her head between them and began to massage the soap into her hair. She leaned into him, their slick bodies sliding against each other as the shampoo washed over their shoulders. Sighing as he dug his fingers into the muscles at the base of her skull, she licked at his collarbone, lapping up water that tasted of him.

"Buffy," he growled at the feel of her tongue on his skin. He looked down, trying to see her eyes in the dark.

"Shh," she whispered, stretching up to kiss him. Her breasts moved over his chest, making him moan. "No more words, remember?"

"Right," he said, kissing her and pulling her back with him under the full force of the water.

Their kisses under the spray of water were wet and clean. Everything about this is clean, Buffy thought, digging her fingers into the taut muscles of his back and sucking at the water that ran between her lips and his. Not like before. She felt his hands on her hips, felt them drop to her thighs and tease her there, raising a wave of heat inside of her. Dropping her head back, she cried out as he found her. In the darkness, his fingers seemed to be everywhere, on her, inside of her. He held her upright with a strong hand on her lower back and brought his lips to her breasts, lapping the water from her skin. The coolness of his tongue contrasted with the heat from the water, drawing all of Buffy’s focus to his movements.

He entered her slowly, clutching her against him. Wrapping her legs around his waist, Buffy realized they ‘d unconsciously mimicked the position of their first time together. It’s different now, though. Better. Burying her face in his neck, she lost herself in the rhythm of their dance.

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