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Chapter Text

I will know your blood, Slayer. I will make your neck my chalice ... and drink deep.

The useless incision at the back of Spike's head is throbbing. Burning away, radiating down from his scalp to his shoulder blades. All those sharp little cuts, that disgusting digging feeling of the doc in his brain, Harmony's endless mind numbing chatter, on and on and on ceaselessly, and for what.

FOR WHAT!? Nothing!

Still had that sparkly little piece of plastic setting his frontal lobe on fire, like grabbing hold of a live wire and not being able to pull away. Shockwaves enough to turn his mind inside out. Enough to fry his eyes right out of his sockets.

God and I'd welcome it, if it meant I never had to see that bitch again! Rip them right out of my head with my own fucking fingers if I thought for one second she wouldn't be able to get at me anymore! Wouldn't be pounding her way in, clawing her way through me every day, every night.

I had her for a moment. All of one bleeding second. Had my damn fangs up against her neck!

Spike's racing through the graveyard, fury pulling him apart at the seems.

"Buffy, Buffy, Buffy! Everywhere I turn, she's there! That nasty little face, that ... bouncing shampoo-commercial hair, that whole sodding holier-than-thou attitude!"

He's mumbling angrily to himself, and only when Harmony inevitably pipes up behind him does he realise he wasn't mumbling, he was shouting.

"Well, aren't we kinda unholy, by default-"

"She follows me, you know, tracks me down. I'm her pet PROJECT! Drive Spike round the BEND! MAKES EVERYDAY A FRESH BOUT OF TORTURE!"

His boot catches on a gravestone and in a flash its in his hands. He hurls it, nearly braining Harmony with it as it shatters with a ear splitting smash.

The sight of it, falling and then bursting into pieces... It's so like himself that he nearly chokes on it.

Fell on top her and bloody well nearly got dashed to pieces. Losing my head. Losing my damn mind. Breaking apart like crumbling stone against her. She's burning me up until all is left is her. Just her in a dead shell...

God, how hot her blood had felt under his hands, up against his teeth for just a breath. Just the blink of an eye. He wanted to sink into her, burn inside of her, feeling her squirm beneath him as her heat cloaked him, pulled him in further. Wanted to feel the scream in her throat vibrate against his teeth...

...Are we still talking about feeding?

No. It's not just feeding. It's so much more... It's magic.

-Oh GOD! Magic! Her pet witch's sodding spell!

Nothing has been right in this head since that day. BLOODY NOTHING! THAT'S THE THING ABOUT MAGIC! THERE'S ALWAYS CONSEQUENCES!

"Spike!-" Harmony screams, pulling him back into himself in a choking instant, but Spike rounds on her, eyes burning past anger into near insanity.

"You don't understand. I can't get rid of her. She's everywhere. She's haunting me, Harmony!"

Why don't you just leave?

The voice in his head doesn't feel like his own and he blinks, bleary eyed in the flush of his madness.

Why don't I? Why am I still here? I could go anywhere, why do I stay here, stuck in this literal honest to God HELLHOLE. Trapped like a rat in a barrel, as she peers down at me with those eyes that are so full of innocence until you get close and realise she's got you exactly where she wants you, and it's TOO BLOODY LATE-

-Why can't you kill 'er?

Dru's eyes bore into him, her usually wandering gaze suddenly a spotlight on him. He flounders.

"You're the one who keeps bringing her up! I haven't said a word about the bloody Slayer since we left California. She's on the other side of the planet, Dru!"

"But you're lying!"

-God help me I am. Haven't said a word about her, but my mute lips betray me anyway. Unlike me, to be so silent on a subject as sour as letting a Slayer slip from my grasp. I know I should be parading around, tearing tiny little things to pieces to make myself feel better.

And she's watching me. All the time Dru's watching me, waiting for me to start spilling the blood that I should've spilled back there, and I can't. I just sulk and wallow like a pitiful child. Taking it out on her...

"I can still see her floating all around you, laughing. Why? Why won't you push her away?"

"But I did, pet. I did it for you." He lies. The thought of Buffy is burning in his mind and he knows Dru can see her too. Her dreadful clairvoyance could bite right to the core of him when there was something he tried to keep back from her. Some small inch of himself that he wanted to hide and she'd pick and pick and pick at it like a little girl with a scab until it was bleeding freely into her hands.

He bites back a gasp as he feels her fingers slipping over his thoughts, sharp nails clawing at him from the inside.

"You keep punishing me. Carrying on with creatures like this-" He gestures to the slime covered demon standing a few feet away. He can't stand to look at it too long, the thought of all that mucus, pooling around his dark angel. Slipping over her. Inside her... disgusting.

"I have to find my pleasures, Spike. You taste like ashes. You're all covered with her. I look at you... all I see is the Slayer."

And so he came back. Intending to rip Buffy to pieces. Rip her into tiny little scraps of skin and bone and blood, under his fingernails and in his hair. Rip her to bits until all was left was bleeding ounces of flesh that he could take back and lie at Dru's feet, gore covered and full again.

..Is that what you want?

He takes a deep breath in, pushing the voice away hard. Doc must've cut a wrong nerve somewhere, that's all. That's all...

That's not what you want.

Left over's from that damn wicca's spell.

...That's all. That's all.

He breaths out again, bringing himself back into balance against an onslaught of bitter memories.

"This ... has got to end."

Chapter Text

Loving you is the scariest thing I've ever done, Buffy.

...I don't know why.

Dr Overheiser smooths a bandage over Riley's chest, breathing out with relief.

"All patched up." He smiles. He clears away the bloody scalpels and leaves Buffy and Riley to each other, feeling a wash of calm to be out of Buffy's unblinking gaze.

Buffy's fingers trail over the edge of his bandage.

"How's it goin' in there?" She smiles, going for sweet concern. But the smile takes an extra effort to pull together.

Riley nods back, sitting up stiffly.

"Good. Back to normal."

There are dark circles around his eyes. She can practically taste the tension between them now, pressing between them like a sickly ball of anger. She swallows it down and leans her head on his chest, listening to his heart beating underneath the bandage.

She sighs, momentary relief easing the tension.

"Yep."

He strokes her hair and she leans back away from his chest, taking his bruised and still bloody hand in hers, pulling his hand to her heart.

"And see... I'm still touchable."

Her eyes gloss a little from unshed tears. His fingers brush her skin and a part of her wants to thrust the hand back. Scream at him, rail against him as she wanted to in the caves.

Am I really going to be bitter about that now? After everything? He nearly died and I still want to-

To what? Cry? Scream? What's the point!? He thinks I'm some super woman, out of his reach? Punishes me for something that wasn't my choice-

She bites her cheeks, trying to still the selfish stream of anger inside her head.

Riley squeezes her hand, mistaking her inner turmoil for concern.

"Give me a week or so to heal, and I'll take full advantage of that fact."

She blinks back up at him, and nods with exhaustion.

I need to not be here. If i'm here for one single second longer I'm going to break apart.

One more second and I'm going to scream.

"Are you gonna be okay? 'Cause I should really go check on my mom."

Riley looks up at her, a momentary look of stunned hurt flickers across his face.

"Yeah. Yeah, go ahead. I'll be fine."

Buffy smiles back at him, pulling her hand out of his.

"I'll talk to you later."

She lies a kiss on his lips but pulls away before he can properly kiss her back, and slips out of the room without a glance back.

"I'm more powerful than I've ever been, Buffy. Most people would kill to feel this way!"

"Yeah. And this feeling. Is going. To kill you! Riley, your body was not built for this kind of strength-"

"I can handle it. This is my deal, Buffy, just... back off."

Buffy walks out of the hospital. She's forgot her jacket but she's so wrapped up in her own head that she can't even feel the night air's chill.

-Something wrong with me. That's what it always comes back to. Every time! Something wrong with BUFFY! Too weak for Angel. Too mortal. Too naive for Parker. And now too strong for Riley. It's never enough. Whatever's inside me it's never ever enough! I think I've found someone I can trust and surprise surprise it falls apart because of me. Because I'm not what they want-

Her feet pound the pavement and she fingers the stake in her back pocket, pulling it out and gripping it hard in her fist. Feeling the grain near splintering underneath her clenched fingers, rubbing a thumb over the wood as their fight plays on in her head.

"I go back... let the government get whimsical with my innards again..." Riley stands panting against the cave walls, beads of sweat rolling off him. "They could do anything that-... best-case scenario, they turn me into Joe Normal, just...Just another guy."

His face is a cast of misery.

"And that's not enough for you?" Buffy asks, trying desperately to scrabble at the sense underneath his words.

"It's not enough for you."

She bites down her shock.

"Why would you say that?"

"Come on. Your last boyfriend wasn't exactly a civilian."

-God that stung. That really really stung. No one's ever going to let me live that down. Falling in love that hard... any normal girl would have her friends to wallow about it with. Not me. Not Slayer Buffy. I get it rubbed in my face daily, like it was the biggest mistake I ever made.-

Like it was my fault.-

"So that's what this is about? You're going to die, all over some mucho pissing contest."

Riley shakes his head, like she's some guileless idiot. Some naive little kid.

-Why do I always manage to dig out jerks who think they're misogynistic bullshit is the height of intelligence!?-

"It's not about him." Riley continues, "it's about us. You're getting stronger every day, more powerful. I can't touch you. Every day, you're just ... a little further out of my reach."

-Stronger every day?! I'm not getting stronger at all! I've been this way for YEARS. I've had this curse around me FOR. YEARS. I just stopped HIDING IT! I THOUGHT I COULD TRUST YOU ENOUGH NOT TO HIDE ANYMORE! I THOUGHT THAT WAS THE POINT!-

Tears fill Buffy's eyes as she dwells on his words. She angrily wipes the tears away. She's walked out passed the hospital now, through downtown, sucking cold night air down into her lungs as the horrendous evening spins round and round in her head.

"You wanna touch me?! I'm right here. I'm not the one running away!"

"Not yet."

-Oh I'm pretty sure I've been here before. Act like you're leaving because I was always going to leave you first, right? You're just getting the inevitable out the way!? God that gets SO. FUCKING. OLD-

"So you have this all figured out? I'm bailing because you're not in the super club."

"It's human nature."

"Don't Psych 101 me. Not now. Not after everything that... Nobody has ever known me the way you do. Nobody. I've opened up to you in ways that I've never opened up to... God, you're just sitting back there thinking that none of this means anything to me!"

"I never said that-"

"-Because it obviously doesn't mean anything to you. Do you really think so little of me-"

"-Buffy-"

"NO! No! Do you think that I spent the last year with you because you had super powers? If that's what I wanted, then I'd be dating Spike."

A harsh hollow laugh chokes her, tears biting at her cheeks that she can't wipe them away fast enough.

I'd be dating Spike. How fucking ridiculous would that be. To find someone that could take the super strength and not point at it as my biggest flaw. That could understand my Slayer-ness as well as I do. God, BETTER even.

I saw him with Dru. Hundred's of years he spent at the nutcase's side. Looking after her. Taking care of her. Helping heal when she needed it. Saving her when she needed it. Being her equal when she needed it. Fucking ride or die when she needed it!

LOYAL. Unbelievably loyal! Why is that so RARE! WHY DON'T I GET LOYAL!? Why don't I get EQUAL?! I MEAN HOW HARD IS THAT?!

I just get idiots who leave, and say they're leaving for my own good, that really it's what I wanted all along, but they're only doing it for themselves! EVERY FUCKING TIME.

Soft wet grass squelches under her boots and she realizes she's stormed all the way passed her house and down into the cemetery.

The stake in her hand has started to chaff her skin, and she's itching to drive it into something. Anything.

God what I wouldn't do for some release from this. All of this.

She stops, freezing. Out of the dark Spike's crypt has materialized in front of her tear blurred eyes. And a fresh wave of fury hits her.

Chapter Text

Buffy... I swear I was just thinking of you.

"Should have known it's you. Been nearly six hours."

Spike sneers, rising from his armchair to face her as she stands silhouetted in the crypt's doorway. The bandage at the back of his head is gone, the long incision from the doctors scalpel already healed over. Nothing left but a mild burning line covered by his blond needles.

Buffy glowers from the crypts doorway.

"Well, it would've been less if I wasn't busy cleaning up your mess."

"My mess?" A dark rage fills Spike's eyes. "I just borrowed the doc. The mess is yours, Slayer. Yours and the boy's."

Buffy let's out an exasperated laugh.

God I need a fight so bad.

"I'm done." She pulls the stake out of her back pocket again, fingering the grain. She steps down further into the gloom of the crypt. "Spike, you're a killer. And I shoulda done this years ago."

She expects a cower. Some small chink to form in the armour of his bravado. But instead he takes a step closer to her. There's rage in his eyes and for a moment she falters.

Killed two Slayers. A full blown Victorian serial killer and I'm standing here with nothing but my stake and a halter top. Not even something with a collar. Not even wearing my cross.

Chip or no chip this... might've been a misstep.

"You know what? Do it. Bloody just do it." He all but whispers.

Buffy blinks, feeling her train of thought slip out from under her, like bad shoes skidding on ice. The same lurching feeling of trying to make sense of a world suddenly horizontal.

"...What?"

"End. My. Torment." He growls, the fury in his eyes has turn cold. Writhing hatred bubbling underneath the cool blue of his eyes. "Seeing you, every day, everywhere I go, every time I turn around. Take me out of a world that has you in it!"

He rips the open shirt off his shoulder, throwing it to the floor. "Just kill me!"

They stand panting at each other, feeling the heat of their anger searing the air between them.

Spike clenches his arms at his side, making his chest flex and Buffy's stomach knots itself. Shaking herself out of her shocked staring she takes a sudden step towards him, stake raised. He flinches a little, smirking a smile that feels far from real as the stake stops between them. The both of them are near shivering with anger, drowning in it.

Oh God I want to rip her apart with my teeth. Bite her to death. Feel her skin under my fingernails as I claw her to pieces.

He feels his throat contracting painfully at the thought of the taste of her.

All that gold skin. I bet she tastes so sweet. Dark but honeyed like molasses. I bet I'd burn my tongue if I set it against that neck. Bet I'd singe my bloody fingers if I ran them over her arms...

I bet I could make her scream.

Oh God I bet I could make her scream my name-

Something snaps hard in his head and his hands crush Buffy's biceps in a biting grip as his mouth crashes down on hers.

What am I doing?

His teeth bite at her lips as his fingernails dig harder into her skin.

Stop... Shit how do I stop!?

For a feral moment his self preservation tries to assert itself, tugging him back from the danger of the stake still in her hand, but just as he aligns his thoughts enough to try to pull back she breaks underneath his lips, kissing him back and his hold lurches to a holt. A soft moan escapes her lips as her hands grip his bare hips and he all but loses himself under the sudden burning heat of her fingers.

I knew I'd burn...

As his lips lock over hers, Buffy's unyielding rage-filled mind finally stalls.

Riley tumbles out of her head like a die from an opened palm, and with it the anger of the last day and a half. A moment of uninterrupted silence empties her mind, blissfully cool, like the mouth that's biting at hers now. Like the hands pining her in place.

She reaches out and finds the skin of his hips under her hands, and moans into his mouth as his teeth bite her, hard lips pushing her lips further open.

The sound of her stake hitting the floor suddenly snaps her back into herself painfully with a horrifying lurch-

WAIT-

Spike lips!

She wrenches herself out of his grasp, gasping, hand covering her bruised lips.

What the hell am I doing?

WHAT THE HELL WERE WE DOING?

In a bursting flood every moment of insecurity rushes back into her brain like a river exploding from a dam.

The hurt in Riley's eyes. Accusing her. Forcing the guilt of his decision down on her like it was her fault. Like she asked for all of this. Like she expected him to resign himself to near fatal torture to be with her. That without it he wasn't worthy.

Well... He's not though, is he? Not really.

If I thought a single honest thought for the first time in my whole Slayer existence it'd be that I can't bear his clinging misery coating me with this disgusting film of self doubt for another second longer. That I deserve someone as strong as I am.

That I shouldn't have to pull every punch just to protect his tiny porcelain thin ego.

She can feel welts swelling at the back of her biceps where Spike's grip has dug hard into her muscles. Bruises on the inside of her arms from his thumbs. On her lips from his.

God that's what I want.

I don't want have to treat Riley like a china doll anymore.

I don't him to touch me like I'm fragile either. Soft hands making my skin crawl, as if I couldn't kick him bodily through a fucking a wall. No, in his mind I'm just a helpless co-ed that needs to be treated as such.

...That needs to act as such.

Spike's gasping in front of her. His lips have darkened from their normal pallor to a darker pink from the onslaught of their kiss. He looks as terrified by it all as she does, gulping down lungfuls of air trying to right himself. The way he looks at her, at her mouth, like it's a saving grace.

Like she's a thawing fire in a freezing wasteland.

No one looks at me like that. No one ever looked at me like that.

Not even Angel looked at me like that. It was just unending concern.

Or was it just pity?

A burning ache makes tears threaten to fall. The thought of Angels' pitying glance as he walked away from her. Pretending like all this hurt and agony and indifference was all for her. For her own good. Like one day she'd turn around thank him for it!

God this is so unfair. All of it. It's just cruel, and hard, and UNFAIR.

When has my life EVER BEEN ANYTHING BUT CRUEL, AND HARD, AND UNFAIR.

She reaches her hands up to cup Spike's head and feels him shiver against her as her kiss bruises his mouth hard. His lips force hers open wider, steel-like arms threading around her back, hard fingers clawing at her spine through her top as his biting kiss moves down over her cheek. Down to her neck.

She pulls back a little, wanting to feel him crush her back against his chest and he obliges unthinkingly, making her gasp hard as his fingers dig into her waist.

"Spike... I want you."

"Buffy, I love you...God, I love you so much."

Chapter Text

Buffy, I love you...God, I love you so much.

Oh my GOD what am I doing?!

Buffy wrenches out of his grasp with a furious growl.

"Oh God no. No."

Spike hasn't caught up to the situation yet, his hands are reaching for her, grabbing her by the hips and pulling her back again but she shoves back hard.

"STOP! What the hell do you think you'd doing?"

"I... I-" he's blinking hard trying to right himself as he leans against the pillar in the centre of the crypt. He shakes his head, trying to dislodge her from his system. The taste of her is in his mouth. Her scent on his skin. He opens his eyes again and sees she's heading for the door.

"Buffy- wait. Stop!" He grabs her by the arm spinning her back round to face him. His face stings in a sudden slap that echos in the crypt.

"Let GO of me."

She tries to yank her arm out of his grip but he holds on, catching her other hand as it hurtles for his face again, fist clenched. He drags her in closer, feeling her shaking with anger.

Crossed a line. Oh God, I've crossed the line. They always say hate and love are just two sides of the same coin and I've gone too far the other way and now I can't get back to the other side.

I'm not the only one in this. She can scratch and kick and bite all she wants but she kissed me back.

She said she wanted me first.

He's so wrapped up in his own thoughts, staring at her lips that are practically red in the crypts gloom, feeling himself growing harder, that he's missing her words entirely. The heat from her body pressed against his is flooding him with warmth all the way down. All the way up. Filling his head with a hot red fog.

He's still got her by one wrist but the other hand lets goes of her bicep and snakes around her arm and back together, crushing them closer. The breath in her lungs is flowing over his chest with each gasping breath.

His lips touch hers for just a second before she pulls back out of reach.

"Spike! Snap out of it!"

"Come on. Finish what you started, Slayer-"

She jerks her wrist free out of his grip and pushes him so hard in the chest he cracks his head against the pillar. A searing jolt of lightning crackles across his scalp from the healed over incision at the back of his head.

Buffy takes a deep shivering breath, bending to retrieve the stake from the floor.

"You're disgusting."

"You wanted it too!"

"That's not true."

"It is! And you know it is! You can't deny it! You can't deny that!"

"It was nothing. And I'm leaving."

She turns, walking for the door.

"The HELL you are." He blocks her path, "Buffy, Stop! We need to talk about this."

"There's nothing to talk about. It was an accident."

He snorts. "You in the habit of accidentally sticking your tongue down another man's throat? Poor Finn. Really feel for the bloke."

Her fist connects with his nose this time, whipping his head back. The pain from his face connects with the pain from the back of his head and he growls from the agony of it all.

"Get out of my way."

"No." He's blocking the doorway, and the cool night air blows in across the skin of his back.

Want to burn again. She's made the cold feel so hollow now...

"Get OUT OF MY WAY, Spike."

"Kiss me like that again first."

"NO!"

"You feel it too. I know you feel it too. No one kisses like that without meaning it."

She moves to pass him and he catches her by the waist, slamming her into him. She struggles but as his lips graze a soft spot at the base of her throat she lets out an involuntary gasp. In an instant his lips are back on hers, tongue tangling around hers as his hand slides further around her waist.

Buffy's head swims.

"Spike-"

There's no room to breathe. No room to think, as his fingers claw at her, scratching down her arms as his kiss turns more wild. Hungry. Full of teeth and tongue and burning need. For a heart-stopping head-spinning moment she can feel her legs buckle and he grabs her hard round the back of her waist yanking her up into him, crushing her against the door frame.

Her tongue wraps around his and she claws at him back.

Nothing like Riley.

Nothing like Angel.

Not soft. Not gentle. Not safe. It's all mess and anger and need underneath. God it hurts how much I want that...

His hand grips the back of her top and she hears a slight rip as the fabric gives underneath his clawing fingers.

"Uuh, Buffy-"

Her name in his mouth brings her hurtling back to reality.

"No Spike, stop it!"

She pulls back, shoving him aside. There are hard little pink crescent moons up his arms from her fingernails and she feels a wave of nausea sweep over her. She can feel welts rising up her own arms from the scratches he's left there.

Oh my God I've messed everything up. I've ruined everything. Riley already thinks I've got a vampire complex, if he finds out about this... Ugh I was just angry.

Her throat chokes around the tears she's not letting fall.

Just a mistake. It meant nothing. Just a mistake.

She tries to pass him.

"Buffy- I-"

"Don't."

"Buffy-"

"No. Just..." she steps around him, avoiding his outstretch fingers. "Just don't."

The graveyard his cool, damp mist swirling across her skin, but she doesn't feel it. She feels like she's been set on fire. Every bit he touched feels scorched and raw.

She rubs at her arms, trying to dispel the scratches over her skin but they only redden more from the friction.

They'll go. They'll be gone by tomorrow and we'll go back to hating the sight of one another and the world will make sense again.

She sighs, running her fingers through her hair. Pulling at it as she tries to pull her mind back together.

God when did the world ever make sense though. That's some heavy wishful thinking.

And mom will be fine and Riley won't be such a chauvinistic bonehead with a my-girlfriend-can-beat-me-through-a-wall complex and hey since we're imagining completely unlikely scenarios I'll ace all my finals and have a normal life for a whole week and a half, why not.

She picks up the pace, pounding the pavement back to her house.

There's a heavy sickly feeling of adrenaline bolting through her blood stream, driving her to distraction. It pulls at her stomach like a knotted string dragging her thoughts back to the crypt.

Back to the strange peace where there was only need, and nails on skin, and teeth on lips. Nothing but blood storming through her head and a fiery ache.

I'm just not trying hard enough with Riley. All men get a little wigged out about the super strength and the chosen one destiny stuff. It's understandable... in a... completely sexist, ridiculously cliched military man kind of way.

Unbidden the feeling of Spike pressed around her flickers back into her mind. How he hadn't buckled under her strength, but groaned from it like it was heaven. Begging for more of it...

...Not all men then...

GOD snap OUT of it. He's not a man, he a monster. And unhinged anyway, he doesn't count. Willow would say he's an outlier, skewing the bias or something.

She steps into the house, leaning against the door taking a deep shuddering breath.

Upstairs Dawn's music carries down and Buffy collapses on the steps for a moment, not wanting to move further into the house. Her hands are shaking slightly, and she rests her head in her them, trying to pull herself together. Her lips feel sore and bruised, and she runs her fingers over them. They're still slightly swollen from the force of him.

"Buffy?"

Dawn's standing on the steps behind her. Buffy turns and Dawn takes a seat next to her on the steps.

"Everything alright?"

"Yeah Dawnie. Everything's fine."

"You found Riley? He's all good?"

"Yeah. Doctors got there just in time. He's going to be fine."

Dawn eyes her sister's face, not taken in by the false cheeriness in her voice.

"...That's good right? So why the scowl?"

"I'm not scowling."

"You were scowling."

"No I wasn't!"

"You were, you were doing that thing mom does where she looks like a concerned caveman."

"I WAS NOT-" Buffy stops before the anger bubbles out of her and misfires at Dawn. "It's just been a long day is all."

"...I know. I guess Riley could've probably picked a better time to go AWOL."

"It's not his fault. The initiative stuff made him all crazy. It's just... bad timing."

"Sure." Dawn scrunches her knees up into her chest, and Buffy folds a long lock of hair behind her back, smoothing it down. Dawn smiles at her.

"You want something to eat? There's leftover pizza in the kitchen."

"Nah. Think I'm just going to shower and hit the hay. I'm fully done with today."

Buffy gets to her feet, heading up the stairs.

"...Buffy?"

"Yeah?" she turns on the stairs.

"There's a hole in that top."

Buffy feels behind her, fingers finding a rip right at the back. She sighs, rolling her eyes.

"You meet a vampire on the way home?"

"...Yeah."

"Well... at least you won." Dawn smiles, bouncing up the stairs ahead of her.

...I don't feel like I've won.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

It would never be you.

Buffy twists herself up into knots. The room is too airless, the heat too stifling. Every time she tries to find a cool spot in the bed, to try and fall asleep her body over heats and she's left panting amongst sheets.

Cold as his hands were every small part of her skin that was touched by his is still burning.

It's just all tangled up. That's all.

I'm mad at Riley. I'm not allowed to be, after he nearly got himself killed but I am. I can't help that I am. And Spike is a manipulative asshole so it's just all got... tangled up in my head.

Plus I haven't been touched like that since... God, months.

There had been a night. Months ago, at the Lowell House, when it had almost felt like that. Like a burning fire that wouldn't go out. Endless and passionate and aching.

Didn't count though. Just a spooky sex curse. An incredibly... fulfilling spooky sex curse.

She hadn't needed to hold back then. It didn't seem to matter how strong she was, or how much she's clawed and screamed and bit, he hadn't backed off. Neither of them could back off. Nothing had quenched the need. Hadn't mattered how much they'd writhed around each other.

But it hadn't been like that after. After that night the passion had fallen off to an antiseptic wasteland. No more kisses that bruised. No more tongues entwining desperately as hands clawed and stroked and slipped further in and down-

Buffy's hand has found the edge of her underwear, fingers slipping underneath the fabric.

Want to feel that again. Feeling like you could tear each other apart. Hard kisses with teeth underneath. Biting and licking and caressing... starting at the neck.. moving down.

Spike-

NO! NO, not Spike.

Her hand stalls.

God what am I doing?

She sits up in the dark, furious. The room is suffocating.

I need to slay something. I need to shove something hard and wooden and pointy straight through someone's chest and I am not going to think about how that's probably some psychological symbolism thingy.

The graveyard is exasperatingly quiet. The most activity usually happens over on the south side, Spike's side, but Buffy's keeping well clear of it.

She twirls her stake through her fingers over and over.

Come ooooon come on come on.

A twig snaps behind her and she spins, facing a vampire that's lurching towards her over a gravestone.

Finally.

It's dressed like a reject from Mötley Crüe and as it lunges at her she smells a thick fug of decay. She bats him back with the back of her arm and catches him across the mouth. Yellow fangs drool some foul liquid onto its cosmetically torn shirt.

Ok, no one can say I have a vampire kink. That is repulsive.

A thick layer of dirt is caked to the back of its backcombed hair.

"Did you like, just crawl out of a grave? Did someone honestly and for real bury you like that?"

Buffy lands a hard kick across its face, spins back and lands a second across its chest, sending it flying backwards over a grave. It leaps back up with a fist rocketing towards her eye but she ducks underneath it, kicks it hard in the stomach and punches it hard across the cheek as it bounces back up.

"Because if they did you really should get some better friends. All that frizz, it's going to take you days to get the dirt out of that."

A spinning kick sends it hurtling back against the door of a crypt.

Alright. Enough playing around. That stench isn't worth working off the tension.

Buffy brings her stake down in a hard swing, aiming for its chest.

But it grabs her wrist. And instead of the punch she's expecting it to throw it follows through with the downward trajectory of her stake. Into her stomach.

For a second she's too awestruck to think of anything. Words are just something that happen to other people. She blinks, taking a gasp and suddenly the pain that had been hovering at the sidelines floods in in a hot red wave.

"Uh.." Oh. Oh God.

Mötley Crüe is leaning in, a sour stench washing over her as his mouth comes closer to her neck.

She tries to pull the stake out of her stomach but its hand is still gripping her wrist.

Other hand, use the other hand!

She punches it in the mouth and it sprawls into the grass. She heaves the stake out of her side, trying to relax so that the muscles don't clench down on the wood. The vampire's already back on its feet, snarling, stalking towards her as she's slipping down the stones of the crypt.

Something dark crashes into the vampire, knocking it away from her. She presses the sleeve of her sweater down over the wound, but the blood is weeping out through the fabric over her hands.

Oooh... not good.

A snarl gets her attention, fading as it is, and she sees Spike as he kicks Mötley Crüe hard in the abdomen, following it through with a hard backhand. As it struggles to right itself against a grave Spike sinks a stake into its chest and it bursts into dust.

"Sorry to cut in on your waltzing, Slayer. But I did see him first. You know you can't just wander about stealing my pr-"

Spike stops, suddenly noticing the metallic scent of blood that's filling the air. He turns, taking in the sight of Buffy slumped down on the grass.

"Oh... bloody hell."

"I'm... ugh," the blood has started to pool in her lap, running over her hands in a red sticky river, "I'm fine."

"Yeah. Seems it."

He bends down, moving an arm underneath her legs.

"Don't... uh... don't touch me."

"Shall I just leave you here to bleed out and die then? That'll really show me."

Buffy tries to frame a reply but things are starting to fade out of focus.

"Hey. HEY!" Spike taps her face as she slips to her side. "God's sake, come on, luv. If I was trying to take advantage I'd have my mouth clamped round your sodding stomach."

Buffy meets his gaze, and nods.

"Fine."

The scent of her blood is mingling with the scent of her skin and all of it is crashing over him in a dizzying mind numbing wave.

It's a miracle I can bloody see straight.

She's got her arm wrapped across his shoulders and as he lifts her up a little higher to stop her slipping down and she rests her head against his neck. A deep throbbing low note resonates in his gut like someone's pulled a cord tight around his insides.

Back at the crypt he lowers her down into the armchair, and settles on his knees in front of her.

"Alright, pet. Let's see what we're dealing with. Arms up."

Buffy blinks.

"What?"

"Your fluffy jumper is soaked, sweetheart. Pop it off so we can wrap you up."

"Um, no?"

"Slayer-"

"Super, super no."

"Alright, fine. What's your plan then? Besides slowly ruining the upholstery."

"Do you even have anything to wrap me up with?"

Spike rolls his eyes and reaches underneath the table next to the armchair dragging a battered box towards him.

"Had enough fights with you, luv. Got a whole box of goodies." He lifts the lid off the box revealing gauze, swabs and bandages. "Your move."

Buffy winces, biting her lip.

Oh my God. Riley's going to complete wig.

She takes a deep breathe through a sudden bolt of pain.

I'm just going to have to bite the bullet here. God, I screwed up big time...

"Don't tell Riley?"

"We are keeping a lot secrets, aren't we?" Spike says. "Arms up then."

Buffy nods, and releases her stomach, letting Spike gently shift the blood soaked sweater up and over her head and off her arms. She sinks back into the armchair in nothing but a lacy pink bra and streaks of blood.

Spike swallows hard, hoping she doesn't notice the sudden pause he takes. The cold of the crypt has made her nipples stiffen, pushing against the lace. He pulls his eyes away, focussing on the wound in her stomach.

"Doesn't look too bad. Missed all the vital organs."

Buffy groans, feeling like the pressure in her head is taking a dangerous dip underwater.

"You still with me, luv?"

"Nnnuh."

"Alright, well this might wake you up a bit. Sorry, this is gonna sting..."

He tips a deep slug of vodka into a swab of cotton wool and presses it as gently as he can over the hole in her stomach. Buffy sucks air in through her teeth, and Spike bats her hand away as she tries to take the swab out of his hands. He gently wipes the blood off her skin, until the swab gets clogged.

What a waste. Could do a much better job with my tongue. I'd get you purring again, kitten, trust me on that.

He drowns another ball of cotton, wiping away the blood down below the wound. Further down her stomach, trying hard to focus on the concrete under his knees rather than the soft skin underneath his fingers. Buffy moans, and the sound floods his head with every thought he'd been trying to keep at a distance.

Not quite how I pictured it in my mind. Although I am on my knees. And she is moaning... so there's that.

He claws his mind back away from images of other scenarios. Between her legs.

"Blood's starting to clot. Ready for the bandage?"

"Yeah." He takes her hands and helps her up into a sitting positing. She clenches his fingers as she swallows another groan.

"Worst bit's over, pet."

"Ugh. Don't call me that."

He smooths a square of gauze over her wound, and takes a bandage ball out of the box.

"Take a deep breath in." She does and he starts winding around her abdomen, savouring the moments his fingers graze her warm skin.

How'd things get so twisted around?

"...Thank you."

He blinks in shock, momentarily freezing in wrapping the bandage around her. Her voice is tired, on the edge of pain, but there's no disgust or contempt lurking underneath her words. For just a moment it sounded like she was speaking to a man, not a monster. To a friend.

He finishes the binding, and Buffy settles back into his chair, wincing. Spike dusts his knees off and disappears down the crypt's hole. Buffy sighs, gently probing the bandage. It hurts to sit up, and it hurts to lie down.

The thought of telling Riley knots her stomach. She knows he'll be concerned. What good boyfriend wouldn't be? But underneath it will be, even subconsciously, just a hint of satisfaction. That his near death acquiring super power hike was unfounded . That she's not as strong, not as fast, not as clever as he thought she was. That she really does need a knight in shining armour, or at least a knight in kevlar. Maybe he won't say it but the thought will be lurking underneath. That if the roles were reversed he wouldn't be bleeding heavily from a major stab wound to the stomach.

And maybe it'll motivate him to be even more involved with her patrols. Take some petty revenge in the guise of over-protection because his weak, helpless girlfriend got hurt.

Spike clears his throat and Buffy realizes her eyes had closed and she was off in a deep angry internal rant at herself. He's holding a shirt towards her, black with a paisley pattern in velvet.

"...What?"

"You're shivering."

"My sweater-"

"Is drenched, to say nothing of the bloody great big stake-shaped hole in the front. Take the sodding shirt."

She bites her lip.

I've fallen down the rabbit hole for good now.

"Look, luv. You're more than welcome to sit there and freeze in nothing but your pretties and a bandage it makes no odds to me."

Buffy stiffens.

"Alright."

She lets Spike help her back up into a sitting position and pulls on the shirt, buttoning it up quickly. Spike drags the footstool to the pillar and props himself against it, fishing a cigarette out of the packet in his jeans.

"You want to talk about wh-"

"No."

They sit in uncomfortable silence, letting the minutes drag on into hours. Buffy's breathing slows and her head slips down on to the arm of the armchair. He watches her for a long while.

He doesn't realise he's fallen asleep until he stirs awake hours later to an empty crypt and weak sunshine glowing in the windows.

Chapter Text

"Well you did a really good job patching yourself up. Considering the near impalement of vital organs. Impressive, as always."

Buffy pulls back a wince. From the feeling of Riley's hand on her bandages and the lie she's agreeing to.

Oh boy... Although... not a lie lie. Just a... omission type lie.

Ugh I hate those.

"Yeah...well, you know. It's all part of the Slayer training."

She smooths her shirt back into place. The black paisley shirt is hidden deep at the back of her closet. It doesn't seem to matter that it's buried down underneath a pile of her own clothes, she keeps casting an eye to the heap.

Riley hands Buffy a cup of coffee as she leans back against the pillows of her bed.

"So what are we dealing with?"

"Oh... definitely vampire."

"How many?"

Here we go...

"Just one." Buffy fidgets, picking at the lid of the coffee cup.

"So what, he was some kind of super vampire?"

Shoulda saved that 'here we go'.

"No. He was the regular kind. He just beat me."

Riley takes a long uncomfortable pause, and Buffy fills it her end with a long slug of her coffee.

Ooooh I could really do with someone breaking this moment. There's very few times I wish Dawn was home to burst in and do some quality interrupting.

"That ever happen before?"

"I'm in the best physical shape of my life. If you're asking how it happened I'm as much in the dark as you."

"You were out patrolling alone?"

"Yes." Buffy replies, betraying a hint of warning. "As is my job."

"Maybe you should... be patrolling with a team? Like the other night when we were-"

"I don't need a team-"

"I'm just trying to help-"

"I don't need help!"

"Alright, ok, let's just calm down."

"I am calm."

Riley raises an eyebrow and Buffy takes a deep breath trying to come back from the edge of a near tantrum.

"Ok I'm not completely calm. I need to talk to Giles about last night, maybe work on some extra training, or- or research..."

"I can take patrol tonight-"

"Riley-"

"Just a sweep. Ok?"

I gotta give him something, Buffy thinks as her abdomen throbs sourly, making it difficult to sit. The hole has already started to close over but the accelerated healing is far from comfortable.

"Then do me a favour? Take the gang along with?"

She can see the resentment starting to bubble under the surface, but he purses his lips and gives her nod. A somewhat excessively military-ish nod.

"Here's another one. Early 18th Century Slayer."

Giles hands her dusty Watcher diary volume, and Buffy adds it to the ever heightening heap of ex-Slayer research.

"Good. Let's hope she'll be more helpful than this last one."

"Why? What does it say?" Giles picks up another one from the pile, flicking through it.

"Same as all the others. Slayer called... blah, blah... great protector... blah, blah... scary battles... blah, blah... oops! She's dead. Where are the details of the Slayer's last battle? You know, what made that fight special? Why did she lose?"

"You didn't lose last night, Buffy. You just-"

"Got really close. I slipped up, Giles. I've been training harder than ever and still I... And there's nothing in any of these books to help me understand why. I mean... look, I realize that every Slayer comes with an expiration mark on the package. But I want mine to be a long time from now. And there's just nothing!"

Giles blinks, fighting the urge to polish his glasses.

"Yes, well, the problem is after a final battle, it's difficult to get any... well, the Slayer's not... she's rather..."

"It's okay to use the D-word, Giles."

"...Dead. And hence not very forthcoming."

"Why didn't the Watchers keep fuller accounts of it? The journals just stop."

"Well, I suppose if they're anything like me, they just find the whole subject too... painful."

"Oh... I guess that makes sense... doesn't much help though. I need something. Some account of the last moments."

"Yes well, the last fight between a Slayer and her vanquisher is often just that. A last fight. Only the Slayer and her foe will ever know what truly happens in those final moments."

Last foe... Oh God. That's not what I wanted to hear. If I'm going to find this info there's only one undead nuisance mouth that can give it to me.

...Ugh. There's got to be a better way to phrase that.

"Oh geez..."

Giles looks up from the book on the counter.

"Everything alright?"

Absolutely not.

"Giles... Can you deliver a note? I've got to go back and see mom at the hospital in an hour..."

"Of course. Though I feel compelled to remind you I'm your Watcher, not USPS."

Spike taps the note slipped under his door, turning it between his fingers, taking a long swig of beer from the bottle in his hand as the TV drones on.

Bronze tonight at 9 - Buffy.

Drinks. With the Slayer.

Interesting. Strange.. but definitely interesting.

I'm not delusional or anywhere near drunk enough to think this is a date... Besides she got old Rupes to deliver it, note's got his excessively soapy smell all over it. So not exactly a love note. And if it's not a date it's probably some Slayer related demon bollocks.

Or she wants to talk and she'd rather have witnesses...

Hmm.

He starts to pick at the beer label, scratching long lines down with his thumb.

Demon's don't usually go by a schedule. Not something you can set a watch by.

So. Girl wants to talk, but doesn't want to be alone with me.

He smirks, taking another slug of beer, thumbing the handwriting on the note. Pretty, if a bit scribbled.

Well. I'm not playing ball. She wants to talk, she knows where to find me.

His gut twists a little, begging him to reconsider, and he drains the last of his beer. His treacherous mind joins up with his gut and throws up countless possible scenarios. Drinking at the Bronze together... maybe an arm around her in a dark corner as the liquor flows. Fingers slipping underneath shirts, touching skin. Edging closer to one another until she's sitting in his lap, letting his hands roam up those long shapely legs. Dip under the hem of her skirt...

His fingers spasm, thinking about the sweet wet warmth of touching her there. Live and twitching... clamping down on him as she pants in his ear.

Maybe they could find a quiet spot... Somewhere under the stairs perhaps where there's a little bit of privacy. In this extremely unlikely layout she'd still be wearing his shirt. Would let him unbutton it... slowly from the bottom to the top, looking up at him with those big doe eyes that she usually reserved for Riley.

Spike unzips his jeans, releasing some of the tension that's crushing against him. Languidly stroking his cock in one hand, slowly, letting the thoughts of her do most of the heavy lifting whilst continuing to turn Buffy's card between his fingers of the other.

Fuck's sake she's driving me mad...

Things would get a little hot and heavy, letting the Bronze melt away under the heat. Biting at those pretty pink lips, tasting her tongue in his mouth again, hear her moan in his throat. Her pulse under his fingertips. Tasting more of her. Biting her neck... her breasts... her breathing would start to hitch... properly so. Gasping from need, not from habit. Dru gasped, but he could tell she wasn't there with him. Wasn't thinking of him. Was probably not even thinking of sex, or what he was doing with her, just off somewhere else entirely. Somewhere off in the depths of her brain with Angelus, probably. God how that hurt.

Harmony would moan, but she moaned like a porn star. All breath and unsubstantial swooning. Fake. Too wrapped up in herself and her ridiculous performance to actually enjoy it. It made the whole thing feel passionless.

Didn't realise before how much of a difference there is between a dead girl gasping because she knows she's supposed to and a living breathing girl panting because you're making her.

Knowing you're the one causing that accelerated heartbeat. That ticking heat underneath the skin, climbing ever up. That's addictive. Painfully addictive. So easy to play up to when that little tell-tale heart spells out everything she wants in a deafening rhythm.

Spike's stroking has become more urgent, harder. Bordering on desperate. He's uncomfortably hard, and thoughts of Buffy choke him entirely.

S'all I need. I could get her out of my bloody head if I just had one night like that again. Get one little piece of her. Could go back to hating her, if I could just get her out of my system.

She was so easy to read. So open with what she wanted even when she had fury in her eyes he could hear her heart pounding away. Begging for it. That night in Giles' chair, they'd barely done more than kiss, a bit of petting that had left them both burning, but he could taste how much she wanted it. Wanted him. Each time he'd touched her she'd melted against him, dragging him down with her.

Want that again... Bloody HELL I want that again.

Sex twisted up in love. Deeper than just need. The way she'd move underneath him, look at him the way she did then. Like she adored him. Tugging at his heartstrings, knowing she had him wrapped around her little finger. And in return she'd be his. Belonging to him as much as he belonged to her.

The way she'd laughed, smiling up at every word he said. Making him glow on the inside.

Could I make her happy? I'd do anything to see her smile at me like that again. I'd do anything-

STOP. Don't think about that... it's not love, it's just lust. You can get her out of your system if it's just lust...

Thoughts of Buffy start to twist and writhe out of control. On her knees, stroking his cock with her tongue as he fingered those long blonde locks. Warm silk slipping through his fingers as she takes him deeper. Looking up at him with those fiery green eyes... Buffy pinned against the wall. Inside the Bronze or outside in the alley where she could scream from the feel of him between her legs. What those hot tight Slayer folds would feel like clamping down... How many scratches would she leave on his back? Would she bite him when she came?

Thoughts of Buffy's legs gripping him by the waist, dragging him further in as she screams, send Spike past the edge in a heaving heady moan. He catches his breath, feeling suddenly bitter and lonely.

But she's not mine. She's off shagging Captain Cardboard.

The thought of him on top of her, pawing at her pathetically, mechanically like some bumbling soldier on leave burns him hard.

Pull yourself together. You don't want her. He lies to himself. Things have just got... just got messed up in the head is all. Just a passing bout of lust.

It's not love.

It's not.

Chapter Text

Buffy sits alone at a table, purposely facing away from the door. But she can't stop herself glancing towards the bar every couple of minutes where a clock is hanging over the counter. The minute hand slips ever up. Inching closer to 9 o'clock.

This was a bad idea. This was a bad BAD idea, but it's the only idea I've got. I need something to focus on. Some reason I can point to for... for losing last night.

She's changed out of her clothes again, wanting to get rid of the hospital smell. A soft gold top that doesn't cling to her bandages, and jeans.

Joyce is still wired up and on a drip as they take blood samples and x-rays. All hustle and bustle, and no one saying what they're testing for and why. It's enough to drive anyone insane.

She'd left Dawn there, watching TV on the set hanging from the ceiling. Xander said he'd be picking her up about now-ish and would stay with her until she got back from research with Giles.

But I'm not with Giles. I'm sitting in the Bronze waiting for a creature I loathe to come and reminisce about the most disgusting parts of his un-life. I guess in my line of work that would loosely count as research.

9 o'clock comes and goes.

Of course he wouldn't be on time. He loves to show up uninvited and get in the way and act like a general thorn in our side even during daylight hours but ask him to show up at a specific time and he's NOWHERE.

The minute hand starts sinking down, seemingly to speed up as she sits waiting, downing her drink and then another.

He's not coming. Maybe he didn't get the note Giles left him.

...Maybe he's out on the prowl. Shit what if he runs into Riley? He'll gloat about patching up a Slayer, of course he will, you can't stop that infuriating mouth once it's open!

She waits until 9:45, fidgeting and glancing behind her to the door every time she hears open.

That's it. I can't wait any longer.

She shrugs on her coat, wincing in pain as she inadvertently stretches her wound.

If he's going to play hard to get, then I'm going to play Kick the Spike.

Spike doses in his chair, letting the evening slip passed him. A small sound outside the crypt pricks up his ears. He smiles, hearing boots on the stone steps outside.

Buffy.

Despite the stake she took to her stomach she has no trouble kicking the door open, bursting in like a force of nature.

"You know, you could try knocking pet. Might save yourself some wear and tear on your boots."

She stands over him scowling, before kicking the footstool out from underneath his legs.

"Feeling petty, are we?"

"More like sick of having my time wasted."

"You wasted your own time, sweetheart."

"I told you to meet me-"

"Yeah and you will notice the distinct lack of me trailing behind you like a little leashed poodle. I might be chipped but I'm not your whipping boy, Slayer." A few of the candles in the crypt have sputtered out and he gets out of his chair to light more, dispelling some of the crypt's gloom. "What are you doing here, anyway? Shouldn't you be curled up in Soldier Boys arms? All safe and unfulfilled."

Her hand on his shoulder spins him and pins him hard against the pillar in the centre of the room.

"Ow, watch it-"

"I'm not playing games tonight Spike. You killed two slayers, yes?" The fire in her eyes has dimmed, hollow now, laid over the top of-

Fear. Ah. So this is what our little date was going to be about.

He runs a tongue over his lips.

"I did."

"You're going to show me how."

"Uh huh. And you'll what, glower me to death if I don't? You might be walking and talking tall, pet, but you're still not quite up to a good rough and tumble after last night are you? So what exactly would be in it for me?"

Buffy releases him with a push and digs in her coat pocket, pulling out a thick wad of dollar notes.

"Two slayers, one in China during the Boxer Rebellion, one in New York. Tell the story, you get the cash."

Spike doesn't take his eyes off her face, pursing his lips sourly.

Disappointing.

"What are you after here? A quick demo? That's not going to cut it pet. You can't map out and memorise something like that." He slumps back down in his chair, fishing around in a pocket for his crumpled packet of cigarettes, setting one to his lips and lighting it.

"Tell me anyway."

"Tell you anyway?" Spike rolls his eyes, blowing out a plume of smoke. "Fine. We fought, I won, the end. Pay up." He holds out his hand, snapping his fingers, briefly enjoying the scowl he's caused on her face.

She's gorgeous when she's angry- STOP it-

"Spike-" she shifts, about to snap, when she winces suddenly, clasping a hand over her side.

Spike crushes the cigarette under his heal as and comes to stand next to her, resting a hand over hers, but she flinches hard away from him, checking him with her shoulder.

"Don't."

"Buffy-"

"Just tell me what I want to know, you get your money and I'll go. Deal?"

"No not deal."

"I'm not haggling with you, Spike."

"Then I'm not talking, Slayer."

Buffy bites her lip, feeling a thick ugly throbbing in her side.

"Fine. What d'you want?"

Spike blinks, momentarily taken aback by the lack of fire in her voice.

What do I want... God, so much. All of you, Buffy, it's starting to eat me up.

But I can't ask you for that yet.

"Come and sit down."

She follows him over to the chair, sitting down as he settles on the footstool in front of her.

"So talk." She's rigid, refusing to relax back into the chair, balancing herself on the edge.

Ready to leave. Spike thinks.

He grimaces. Trying to line the words up for her, using the bare minimum to make her understand. He knows by the end of it she'll be looking at him like some disgusting thing she dug out of a gutter.

Just get it over with as quickly as possible...

"Started with Angel. Most of the trouble I got in usually started with something he did. Or said. He was trying to warn me off some fight or other. Told me if I didn't fall in line the Slayer would get me." He chuckles at that. "I'd never heard of a Slayer at that point, I'd not been dead long. After years of being a sweet soft London boy, years of getting kicked about and... well crushed under the heal... I'd been fighting a lot. Killing a lot. Sort of getting out a bit of vengeance as it were. Making a bit of a nuisance of myself-"

"Hard to imagine."

Spike grins.

"The Slayer was a bit of a boogey man. For Darla and for Angel. Told me all these stories of a chosen one, a sweet soft young girl plucked out by destiny. Sounded too good to be true, if I'm honest. After that, I was obsessed. I mean, to most vampires, the Slayer was the subject of cold sweat and frightened whispers. But I never hid."

"Just get to the point Spike. The fight. How'd you kill her?"

Spike stares at Buffy.

"Last night really rattled you, huh?"

"This isn't about me-"

"This is everything about you." Spike digs out another cigarette from the packet he's left on the arm of the chair. Lights it. "Overheard you saying Joyce is in the hospital? Everything all right at home?"

"Don't change the subject."

"I'm not." Spike tenses his jaw, taking another drag of his cigarette. "Alright, then. I tracked her down. It wasn't hard, she wasn't hiding. Seemed sort of reckless about it. Ended up in a Chinese temple. I made a wrong move and she sliced my face with her sword. She made a wrong move and I bit her neck."

"But how did you win?"

"You're not asking the right question Buffy. I didn't do anything different, didn't particularly want it more. It's not about how I won. It's about why she lost."

"Fine. Why then?"

"...She wanted to."

Buffy blinks, flinching away from him.

"That's what happened last night. Wasn't it?"

"No."

"Tell the truth. You lost last night because you wanted to lose."

Her slap stings his face.

He takes a breath, a drag of his cigarette.

"Tell me about your mom."

"Tell me about New York."

She glares and he sighs, desperately wanting to avoid talking about the second slayer. It's making him sick, the way her eyes are biting through him.

"I'd stalked her for a while. Nearly came to blows in a park. Fought her on the underground a few days later. Snapped her neck, the end."

"That's not the end."

"You don't really care what the blows landed were Buffy. That's not the point. There was no finishing move that made it special. She wanted it to be over. You could taste it around her. When death is your gift, it starts to seep in until you want it. You wanted it last night. It doesn't matter how much you deny it. Every Slayer has a death wish. The real question is what's feeding that death wish."

Buffy swallows, feeling trapped in the chair by him. By the hole in her side.

"So tell me, Slayer. What's feeding yours?"

"I don't have a death wish."

"Don't you? If you're honest with yourself, I think you'd say different. But I guess we both know denial is your favorite game to play, eh pet?"

The cigarette has burned down between his fingers, and he crushes it under his boot.

"It's no coincidence that the first hit you take from a low level cretinous vamp just recently crawled out of his grave is the same week your mom's sitting in hospital."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"I do. I had that same death wish once. Don't think Dru would've found me down that alleyway without it. You think, just for second, on the brink of losing someone, that it would be better if they lost you first. So you don't have to suffer through the grief. That split second is all it takes. That moment of thinking you'd rather be dead than be without them. And if you're lucky someone, someone like me, will come along and grant that wish. But it's harder on a Slayer, dealing out all this death every day. Watching everyone else cross over. It becomes a bit too tempting after a while."

He takes her hand and is mildly surprised when she doesn't flinch away.

"You keep wondering what it's like. Over on the other side. That's the secret of it, it's not the punches you throw, or the kicks you land." His hands trail up her arms, stroking her skin with his fingers. "Eventually some little bit of pain will worm its way under the door. Make you want to open it yourself. Your mom, your kid sister, your Scoobies. They're the reason you've lasted as long as you have. They tie you to the world. But they're the chink in your armour too, luv. Eventually you're going to want it."

Buffy restrains a shiver at those last words, feeling like there's something more to the point he's making.

You're going to want it.

Chapter Text

"Sooner or later you're going to want it."

Maybe I do. Maybe I do want it. That doesn't mean I can give in to it. Doesn't mean I get that luxury.

Buffy's thoughts have slipped far off a death wish. Lost underneath the feeling of Spike's fingers that are drawing small circles across the back of her hand. Hypnotizing, and cool.

Maybe I do want it...

Or at least parts of it. I don't want to be the only strong one anymore. He was right when he said I hold myself back with Riley, and I'm exhausted from it. I never get to be what I am. Had to hide it from Riley, and now that he knows the truth we're both pulling further apart. And Angel... I was just on a continuous precipice of losing the little inches he'd give me. Couldn't hold on to him, and so ended up standing on a brink for 3 years...

"Feeling tired, luv?"

Buffy blinks hard. Her eyes struggling against the weight of her eyelids.

When was the last time I got any sleep? Proper sleep.

For nights she'd woken up with fists clenched, jaw clamped shut. Sheets pooled around her legs.

Too much. It's all getting on top of me. Mom. Dawn. Riley. Trying to balance all these endless spinning plates. Trying not to get killed in the process of being there for Dawn with mom in the hospital and Riley all but trying to kill himself out of some ludicrous Slayer inferiority complex.

Too much.

She sighs.

"Don't call me love."

Buffy pulls her hand away from his gentle swirling fingers that are starting to make her ache, and fishes the wad of cash out of her jacket pocket, handing it out to Spike. He doesn't take it.

"I don't want your money."

"Then what do you want?"

"...I want a truce." She tries to pull her other hand out away from his but he catches her wrist. Gently, still soft. "I can't stop thinking about you-"

"Stop. You don't know what you're saying."

"You can't deny it. I know you feel something for me."

"It's called revulsion."

"You said you wanted me too, Buffy. You said it first."

"God, stop. You're a vampire, this whole conversation is insanity."

"Angel was a vampire."

He's moving closer, narrowing the distance between them.

"Angel was good."

"Only with a soul. I can be good without one. I swear Buffy."

"Right. You've changed because of that chip in your head. You think, what, that that suddenly makes a difference? That's not you deciding hey you know what murder equals bad, Spike, that's not change, it's just you on a leash."

"It's not just the chip! I've changed, Buffy. I can change. I know you see it too."

"I see nothing of the sort."

"The hell you don't. I'm not in this alone here. You see it, I know you do, why are you lying to yourself?"

...Why am I?

Am I supposed to just be adrift alone in this forever? Is that really the options I get? Being alone, or being with someone who hates a part of me that I can't control? Would it really be so bad if I let someone in who understood all of it, not just some of it? Would it really be the end of the world if I-

NO! No, bad dangerous, dead-getting thoughts.

"I'm going." She moves out of the chair, tucking her hands into the pockets of her coat..

"Oh come on, please, just stay. Just talk to me about this. We need to talk about this!"

"There's nothing to talk about Spike. There is no we." But her voice is cracking.

"...There was once."

Buffy's caught off guard, head spinning.

Yep. Ok. I've lost my mind. I'm not here, that vampire put me in some sort of coma and I've woken up in backwardsville.

"You're not honestly talking about Willow's spell?"

He doesn't speak, just stands in front of her digging for empty words that won't come.

"That wasn't real." Buffy says before he has a chance to speak.

"Parts of it were! It wasn't a love spell, what we felt underneath was there at least a little! It wouldn't have worked otherwise!"

..."I loved him. We were betrothed."...

She tries to pull away but the ache in her chest is stopping her, wanting more of it.

"Buffy... Do you really think if she'd cast it differently Willow's spell would've had you curled up in Giles' lap like that? There was something there, and you can hate it and be angry about it but I know you felt it too..."

Buffy sucks in air, wincing at the memories of it.

It had hurt. She wouldn't tell Willow after how much it had hurt, having something like that. Losing something like that. Having a connection to someone that was deep and loving and in a strange sort of way safe. She'd felt safe. Not as if she was about to be cast aside. Finally feeling like she had nothing to hide. She hadn't felt like that since, or honestly ever, and it bit at her.

Riley had seemed like such a safe choice. But there aren't any safe choices if you have to hide half of yourself from the start. Even as the fragile romance had bloomed between them it had all felt too.. sterile. Too forced, trying to fit herself into an average girls average dream of what college love should be. There was no burn. And no fire underneath it.

Told myself that I was just missing the feeling of the spell. That it had made everything seem electric. Dazzling. That feeling of being part of a whole.

Wouldn't admit that what had made it seem that way was Spike. That part of me was really missing him.

"Buffy-"

...But that him doesn't exist.

"It wasn't love Spike. It was a spell, and that's it. You can't feel love without a soul."

"I damn well can! Angel can't feel love without a soul. Don't base all your assumptions of me on that wanker!"

"Spike, enough- please-"

"-I'm not asking for...for-" for you to say you love me... God, I'm in too deep to pull back now. What can I possibly say? What words would make her believe me, after everything we've done to each other? After everything I've done to her..."I'm just asking for something. Some crumb. Just.. just... " he flounders, trying to the pull the words from the knot of misery sitting in his stomach.

The desperation for her to understand is dwarfed by the fear that she will. That she'll see right passed the fumbling words in his head, to the agony burning there. To the love that's starting to poison his every waking moment. How can he finish the sentence without sounding even more pathetic? Even more hopeless. But then Buffy speaks, throwing him the lifeline he didn't realise was still dangling in front of him, by finishing the sentence for him.

"...Just a truce."

Spike's eyes flash up, but Buffy's head has dipped, held in her hands. Shielded by her hair.

She looks so broken.

I've been that broken before.

"Why is Joyce in the hospital?"

Buffy sniffs deeply, wiping tears away with the heal of her hand.

She shakes her head, feeling exhausted by the whole of it. How do you describe the worst parts of your life with just words?

"She passed out. Few days ago. Dawn was in the house and she called an ambulance."

Spike waits, not putting words into the air when she needs the space to speak.

"They thought it was low blood sugar. But she's not getting better on the drip. They keep... doing tests. She's got a CAT scan in the morning. They think... they..." tears choke the end of her sentence, and she doesn't bother to wipe them away.

Spike bites down the offer to be at the hospital. Not just for Buffy but for Joyce. The thought of her, helpless in a hospital bed... it's too close to the bone.

"Is there something I can do?"

She doesn't answer, wiping more tears out of her eyes as she leans against the lid of a coffin. He leans against it next to her.

"It'll be alright, luv." He moves her hair back out of the way of her face, stroking down a shoulder as she takes a heavy breath. "Joyce is a tough old bird. Whatever's messing with her has picked the wrong lady."

"I just feel so helpless."

"...I know."

She let's herself in at nearly midnight, and is immediately dazzled by the living room light flicking on.

Riley's sitting in an armchair. Waiting for her.

"Jesus, were you just sitting in the dark like some Bond villain?"

"Where were you?"

"Researching."

"With Giles? At the magic shop?"

"Yes." She lies, internally squirming at how easy the lies come.

"I called the Magic Box an hour ago. So try again, Buffy."

Crap.

"I walked home through the cemetery and did a quick sweep that's all."

"You were patrolling?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"...What?"

"What side? I didn't see you down there."

"I don't know... South I guess."

"Spike's side. Do you really think that's a good idea?"

"I can handle Spike."

"I bet."

Something in his tone catches her off guard. A lurking sneer buried under the words.

I'm imagining it. Just feeling jumpy from the whole evening.

"I'm going to bed, I'm exhausted."

"Fine." Riley sighs, expecting a little concern to come into her eyes but she's already trudging up the stairs, leaving him behind.

Chapter Text

Buffy stands in front of the bathroom mirror, smooths her hand down over her stomach carefully, and starts unwrapping the bandage.

Across the hall she can hear Riley breathing deeply in his sleep, curled on his side of her bed. She bites her cheek sourly.

He can hit the pillow and be out like a light. No tossing or turning. No worries.

...No cares.

He'd barely asked her how she was doing. Whether her stomach was healing alright. No question of how Joyce was doing. How research had gone last night. All though she suspected he knew she hadn't really been with Giles at all.

I suppose I can't really blame him if I'm not willing to share either. It's not that I don't want to, I just don't want to send him into hyper military-man mode. Deciding things for me, and taking away what I need to keep myself distracted. Busy.

I don't need to be taken care of, I just want someone to listen.

She finishes undoing the bandage and carefully peals back the gauze. The skin is pink and new and sensitive to touch underneath the dried blood on her skin.

Can't beat Slayer-ness for healing.

She sighs hard, wrapping the bandage back up into a ball, and throwing the gauze away into the trash.

At least external healing, anyway.

She turns the shower on and sets the water to scalding, standing underneath it until her skin feels like it's going to burn, letting the old blood on her skin rinse off under the steam. There are thin lines around her waist where the bandage hugged and she runs her fingers over them, feeling the ridges of them. Hard, like Spike's fingers. A little sore where it criss-crosses her new skin.

He'd let her cry. Hadn't given her advice, or platitudes of how there was nothing to worry about. When she could finally bear to she'd looked him in the face and seen tears shining in his eyes too. Like he knew exactly what she was going through and it hurt him to think of it..

Why is Riley so crap at that? Do you have to be alive for decades to figure out that the macho man routine doesn't solve everything?

She shuts the water off and shivers as the heat dissipates rapidly. She dries off and pulls her towel tight around her.

I need to give him more of a chance on this. Your Slayer girlfriend getting stabbed in the stomach while her mom is in hospital isn't exactly an everyday boyfriend problem, she thinks as she slips back to her room.

Riley's on the floor, grunting as he counts his push ups. He stops as she walks back in, smiling at her as he gets up off the floor.

"Morning."

"Hi." Buffy smiles back, but when she catches sight of her face in the mirror it looks more like a pained grimace.

Come on, try harder.

"What's the plan for today?" He says, pulling on a shirt, slipping into jeans.

"Just checking in on mom at the hospital."

"What's the latest? Any news?"

"Nothing yet, just tests."

"Well, I've got papers to grade and a class at midday, but I can do the papers in the waiting room."

"Oh uh... sure ok." She tries to sound relieved but the strain her voice is deafening and she can see it on his face.

Riley crosses his arms, pursing his lips.

"You don't want me there."

"Riley-"

"No I get it. Summer's family only."

"It's just tests-"

"I get it." He nods, pulling on shoes and pulling the laces extra hard. "I was going to do some research myself anyway."

Buffy stops toweling her hair, raising an eyebrow as she pulls on a skirt and a sweater.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, just a little recon. Nothing for you to worry about."

Buffy snorts. "He said worryingly."

Riley stands up, straightening his shirt, avoiding her eyes.

"Might have something on a potential nest downtown."

"We're not talking a rat nest though are we?"

"No, other vermin." He leans against the door, giving her a hard look that stings.

"Vampires?"

"I'll fill you in when you're back from the hospital."

Buffy shrugs on her denim jacket, pointedly ignoring his bitterness.

She swallows the words she was about to say. How he shouldn't patrol alone. How he should leave it all to her, that it's her job and not his...

I need to trust him. If I don't trust him he won't trust me.

And he probably shouldn't trust me right now... I'm being a bad girlfriend.

"Ok great. We can patrol together later."

He seems to soften slightly, unclenching the arms that are folded across his chest.

"You sure you're up to it? After the other night?"

Buffy nods, smiling harder than she feels.

"All better, no more stomach gape-age. Ready to cause gaping holes in others."

He shakes his head, "I don't think I'll ever get used to how fast you heal. Sort of wish we still had the Initiative's lab. Information on healing like that would be invaluable."

Buffy represses a shiver, squashing thoughts of herself hooked up to beeping machines, of needles slipping in under her skin as the room spins and men with clipboards and cold unfeeling expressions take notes. Thoughts of that tin-foil pit in the Initiative, rows of tables covered in handcuffs and leather straps. Endless rooms with nothing but white, easily washable walls.

That tunnel Maggie Walsh had sent her into with a dud gun and two demons, expecting her to be ripped to shreds... would they have dragged her body back afterwards? Taken it to pieces to see how it worked? See if her Slayer destiny changed anything on the inside?

Would they rebuild her? Fit her with a chip and set her off like a clockwork soldier.

The thought of the chip nestled inside Spike's brain suddenly wigs her out completely-

If it wasn't for Riley, if Maggie had found out about me first, where would she have drawn the line? Would she have fitted me with her own little remote control? Have a Slayer in her pocket whenever she needed one-

"Buffy?"

She snaps her head up, realizing Riley had been speaking.

"Huh?"

"I said shall I pick you and Dawn up from the hospital?"

"Oh uh, no that's ok, Xander will. I'll see you after."

"Alright. See you later..."

Spike lounges in his armchair, letting daytime TV wash over him in a constant droning yammer.

Jesus it's almost like having Harmony back.

He shuts the TV off, and his mind flares in the sudden silence. His skin feels too tight and his mouth tastes like an ashtray but he hasn't moved since he flopped down into the chair last night.

I should sleep. Fuck, I wish I could just sleep...

Can't sleep with all of Buffy fizzing around in my brain. Maybe I'll never sleep again.

Can still smell her everywhere.

His stomach growls angrily, twisting itself into a knot, and he rubs his gut to try to ease it.

The scent of her...

I want it so much. That scent. Want to swallow it whole, coat my guts with it. So much heat, and power, and darkness under a wave of sweetness and light. If I could just taste her again...

Can't get her out of me now, she's wormed her way in deep. Made me want her. I'm never going to get out of it now. Never.

Dru was right...

Mad bitch was always right...

His stomach contracts painfully and he winces.

Need to feed. Going to start shredding myself from the inside out if I don't drink something.

He hauls himself out of the chair, opening the fridge and pulling out a pack of blood. As he sets his teeth against the plastic, tearing into it, the door to his crypt is slammed open. The figure in the doorway is backlit by blinding Sunnydale light but even over the blood in his hand Spike can smell who it is without looking at the face. He tears a longer gash into the plastic of the bag and tips the contents into a glass.

"If you're hear to peddle your Girl Scout cookies, mate, you've gone a bit far down the wrong road."

Riley steps down into the gloom of the crypt.

"I'm not here for a social call, Spike."

"Oh, what a shame, here I was about to pull out the good china." Spike takes a long slow sip of blood, waiting for the inevitable throwing of weight around and barrage of back-off-my-girl cliches.

He's here about last night, must be. Or the night before... or... shit the glorious night before that. Guess it was thick of me thinking she'd keep that to herself.

"The other night. Buffy-" Riley starts. Spike rolls his eyes.

There we go.

"Oh, she told you huh?" Spike doesn't catch Riley's change in expression, as he takes another sip of blood. "Don't overthink it, crewcut, it was just a patch up. That's all."

Riley freezes, confusion flooding his face.

"A patch up?"

"Yeah, the uh-" Spike gestures to his stomach. "Looked nasty, is all. Didn't see the point in her bleeding out over a pissing fledgeling fresh out his grave. And I didn't do it for money either if that's what your thinking! I jus-"

He suddenly realises Riley hasn't moved an inch, but a white raging fury has filled his eyes.

Oh... Fuck.

"Ah... she didn't tell you, then."

"Tell me what, exactly?"

Despite the look on Riley's face, and his own threadbare sense of preservation, Spike can't help but grin.

"Wouldn't worry yourself over it mate. Slayer can handle herself fine, just a little slip is all. I was happy to help." He looks Riley dead in the eyes, savouring the moment, "you know. In a hands on capacity."

"Right." Riley sneers, taking a couple of steps towards Spike, "cus you two are such good friends?"

"Something like that."

"That's funny. Why don't you tell me another Spike as you're so in the know? Seeing as you two are so close."

"Oh well now I wouldn't go that far. Last night I was just a shoulder to cry on, as it were. I'm sure it's just cus you were busy. Had a late club meeting or something, did you?" Spike runs a tongue over his teeth.

Riley's face turns white.

"Didn't tell you about that either, eh? Dear, oh dear."

Spike finishes his pint of blood, setting the glass on the table beside the chair, smirking.

"Shoulder to cry on about what?"

"Don't you know?"

Riley's teeth are clenched in a rictus of outrage, as he takes a final step towards Spike, towering over him.

"Know. What?"

"Oh well, I don't really think it's my place to say. Hate to be a gossip- HEY!"

Riley grabs him by the collar of his shirt and drags him to the door of the crypt, yanking it open before pinning Spike to the entrance.

"HEY-Whoa-WAIT-"

Riley dips him partway into the sunshine of the cemetery and Spike gasps at the sudden searing agony.

"Bloody- PULL ME BACK IN-" Riley pulls him close only to slam him back again, cracking his skull against the stonewall of the crypt, making white spots of light dance across his vision.

"You're lying. You don't know anything about Buffy, you never did. And I don't think she'd miss you particularly if you went up in flames, Spike. She's got me, and she doesn't need your poisonous filth."

There's a blinding pain up Spike's arm as he feels the sun scorch his skin into blisters. He tries to pull himself out of Riley's grip back into the shadows.

"Sure. She's got you. That's why you're there holding her hand right now while her mom get's her brain scanned, right?"

Riley blinks, hauling him back in suddenly.

"Brain scan?"

"She's getting checked out good and proper, no more aimless poking around." Spike catches his breath, clutching his hand as the blisters start to recede. "Last to know, huh? Must've slipped her mind."

Chapter Text

"Why do they call it a CAT scan?" Dawn has her feet up on the chair of the waiting room. Buffy flicks at the tab of a soda can, making a dull pinging sound, and fidgets in her seat.

"I dunno." The smell of the hospital feels like it's pawing at her, seeping into her clothes and her hair, and settling in her lungs like a poisonous fog that she'll never be able to breath all the way out. Sterile, and soapy and clinical, with something rotting underneath. Something decomposing, like a fungus. But maybe that's just her imagination. That sour bleachy smell lingers around her in a suffocating cloud, and she fidgets more, trying to win over some minor comfort from the stiff plastic cushioning of the waiting room chairs.

"D'you think it's because they tested it on cats?" Dawn continues, seemingly oblivious to the edge of hysteria Buffy is hanging over. "Or that the machine looks like a cat?"

"I think it probably stands for something..." Buffy runs her hand through her hair. It's hot, why is it so hot? Should hospitals be this hot? Isn't it bad for hospitals to be this hot, like a breeding ground for bacteria or something? And where is all the air suddenly?

"But what is a CAT scan? It's like an X-ray or something? But X-rays only show bones right? So it wouldn't be any good in... in brain scanning with an x-ray? Right? Because brains are all mushy and stuff, so an x-ray would only show you the skull? 'Cus Janice's dad broke his foot last winter and he had to get an x-ray and Janice said you could see all the bones but no muscles and so they didn't notice he'd also torn a ligament as well and that's why-"

"Dawn- I don't-" Buffy catches herself before she snaps. Dawn's unending questions and monologuing are wearing away at her last frail nerve like a maggot biting a hole into an apple, but the look in her eyes pulls her back from the edge. She looks so small and terrified, and a cascade of guilt hits Buffy in the stomach.

I can't take this.

I should've let Riley come, he could at least keep Dawn from spiralling down with me.

She takes a deep breath, and wraps an arm across Dawn's shoulder.

"I don't know."

Dawn settles into the crook of her arm, opening the tab of her own soda.

"...Do you think it hurts?" Her voice is pained, almost a whisper. Buffy strokes Dawns head as she leans further into her.

"I'm sure it doesn't-"

"Buffy!"

Her head jerks round to see Riley half walking half jogging into the waiting room.

"Riley?" She gets up out of the chair, letting Dawn resettle herself against the plastic cushioning.

"I...I thought-" Riley regroups himself, sweat is shining on his forehead from having rushed through the hospital in piercing Sunnydale heat, "I heard about the scan, I thought you could use-"

He gestures emptily, but Buffy embraces him hard, clinging to him like a life-raft.

"I could. I could definitely use."

She deflates a little, feeling a sudden desperate need to be held like a child, tears stinging her eyes uncomfortably as she pushes them away.

I want my mom. I want my mom so so bad because this sucks, this completely fucking sucks and I want to go home.

Riley wraps his arms around her back, settling his chin on the top of her head, and tries not to think about the fact that he's only here on Spike's word.

Joyce is settled on a hospital bed, wearing the gown they'd given her for the x-ray, when the doctors finally let Buffy back into her room.

"Hey sweetie." She let's herself be enveloped by Buffy and hugs her back hard.

"So.. the... the scan? Did they have results already? Or... or is it something they-"

"They've got the results." Joyce sighs, feeling a sudden wave of nausea pulse through her down from her head. "They say there's a shadow. I've got a shadow."

"A... a shadow?"

"They don't know what it is yet. But they have to do a biopsy tomorrow to find out what it is."

"Ok.." Buffy puts on a resolve face. "They've booked you in? It's all... all ready to get looked at?"

"I'm booked for the biopsy tomorrow morning. They said I'm lucky to have a slot so quickly, people can wait days, sometimes weeks."

"Good. That's good." Joyce squeezes her hand hard. Be brave. Got to be brave.

"They said it's too early to be concerned."

Buffy nods, hardening her face to stop the tears from starting to pool in her eyes.

"Then no concern. We are concern free. It's just a shadow."

"Just a shadow."

"...Do you want me to tell Dawn?"

"Just tell her they've got to do more tests, that's all it is. Just another test. It might not even be related, the shadow and the wooziness. They've just got to check everything out."

"Right. Ok." Buffy smiles down at Joyce, smoothing her hair back from her face, swallowing down the rising panic as best she can.

Visiting hours wind down, and Buffy starts to shepherd Dawn out of Joyce's room as her head starts to drop onto the pillow.

"I'll come back tomorrow?"

"We will!" Dawn interjects.

"You have school, young lady." Joyce gives Dawn a firm eyeball.

"But-"

Buffy squeezes Dawn's arm.

"I'll come get you after school ok? You don't need to spend the whole day eating vending machine food. Again."

Dawn rolls her eyes grumbling as she heaves her bag onto her shoulder. Buffy's smooths Joyce's hair and tucks her in underneath the hospital blanket.

"Get some rest."

"It's all I'm doing at the moment."

The hours and minutes tick by. Joyce dozes and wakes periodically, listening to the sound of the hospital around her. Patients shuffling in the hallway. Carts being wheeled past her room. Somewhere the low murmuring of doctors talking and once or twice running feet as nurses speed to some casualty or other down the hall.

The evening edges further into night, hours slipping passed at a crawl, and she finds she can't sleep. She turns on the TV suspended from the ceiling to listen to something other than the movements outside her room. More murmurs from doctors. More nurses clomping somewhere or other. The sound of the patient next door talking to himself in a low whispery stream of endless babbling. On and on until the monotony is broken- broken by heavy clad footsteps in the hall.

She turns the TV down low, pulling herself up to sit higher in the bed as the door opens. She blinks in the light from the hallway.

"What are you doing here?"

Spike lifts a hand out of his pocket, guiltily holding up two red squishy blood bags.

"Should you be taking those? People donated them you know."

"Probably not, no. Beats the pigs blood they sell in the butchers though." He hovers on the threshold, shuffling uncomfortable.
Joyce rolls her eyes and Spike, for a moment, catches his breath at how much her look of disdain-covering-amusement is identical to Buffy's.

That's where she gets it from.

"Can I come in?"

"Do you need to be invited in? In a hospital room even?"

"No I'm just..." He shrugs, leaning against the frame, "just wanted to see how you were doing."

"You know, visiting hours ended a long time ago."

Spike nods, shuffling in his coat, looking more like a worried little boy than a hundred year old serial killer.

"Want me to push off? I don't want to disturb your beauty sleep."

"No, it's fine. I can't sleep anyway."

Spike steps into her room, closing the door gently behind him. He takes a seat next to her bed, and Joyce turns the TV back up.

"What're we watching?" He asks as he bites into a blood bag, expertly not spilling a drop.

"Dawson's Creek re-run."

Spike shuffles down further into the chair, sucking on his blood bag like a juice box. Joyce watches him from the corner of her eye.

He's older than me, by a lot. And yet he looks so much like a little kid sometimes...

There are smudges of eyeliner around his eyes and she resists the urge to reach over and wipe them off with a thumb like a clucking mother hen.

"How was the scan?" He asks, not taking his eyes off the TV.

Joyce blinks.

"Buffy told you I had a scan?"

He meets her eyes, and the depth of concern inside those pale blue irises jolts her like an electric shock. She shuffles in the bed, sitting further up and pulling up her knees, resting her arms on them, and turning her head back to the TV.

"They say I've got a shadow. Somewhere. They showed it to me but I couldn't see it. I've got to have a biopsy tomorrow."

Spike nods, finishing the last of the blood in the bag and tossing it in the trashcan by the bed.

"How're you feeling?"

"Bored mainly."

He smirks, glancing to the door as he hears a nurse walking passed. He relaxes once the footsteps pass by Joyce's room.

"How's the Sl- how're Buffy and Dawn doing?"

"They're holding up. I think. I don't think they'd tell me otherwise though. Riley seems like he's helping Buffy a lot."

Spike snorts and Joyce takes her eyes off the TV again, raising an eyebrow.

"You don't like him."

"What's to like?"

"I thought you and the, what does she call it... Scoobies? That you were sort of a united front of sorts now?"

"Doesn't mean I have to like him. Overly sensitive types like that. Always have something to hide. More than one thing, usually."

"You don't trust him?"

"He's not really my cuppa tea, no." He turns his gaze back to Joyce, and is taken aback by what he sees in her face. Concern, sure, but certainly not shock. Something a little akin to agreement. "...Not yours either, I take it?"

Joyce purses her lips, resettling herself against the cushions of the bed.

There's something not quite right there. He's sweet and thoughtful and attentive sure... but sometimes clingy. I don't trust clingy. Clingy can turn into possessive far too often. Clingy men don't do well with strong women. It always seems like they have to take them down a peg or two to make themselves feel better. I hope Buffy has sense enough not to let that happen... I know she has strength, more than she needs, but emotionally she's so easily bruised.

And so easily manipulated...

"I like him fine."

"Uh huh." He says, cocking an eyebrow.

She's got hawk eyes when it comes to her kids. Bet she's picked up on something Buffy hasn't. Maybe even I haven't. She won't come out and say it though...

They sit in silence for a long time, companionably watching the TV together as the night draws on. After a while Joyce's breathing changes, from soft and steady to a low deep sighing sleep.

Spike gets up out of the chair, cracking his back and pulling at his neck to unknot a kink that's starting to work its way into his muscles. He shuts off the TV and pulls the blankets up a little higher around Joyce. She shifts deeper under the blanket, settling into a full doze as he makes his way to the door and closes it silently behind him.

Riley and Buffy walk hand in hand down towards the cemetery, having spoken minimal words to each other since leaving the hospital.

"So. How did your recon mission go?"

Riley glances over at her, brow furrowed.

"This morning?" Buffy prompts. "You said you were looking into a nest."

"Oh! Uh... yeah, nothing to it. Just rumours."

"Oh."

They trudge through the graves. Buffy twirls her stake absentmindedly in her hand.

"Thanks for coming to the hospital."

"You don't need to thank me Buffy. I wanted to be there anyway. I told you earlier I wanted to be there." His words are kind enough but there's a bitterness hiding underneath and Buffy stiffens at it.

"I didn't say I didn't want you there."

"You didn't exactly beg me to come." He mumbles, although purposely clearly enough for her to hear.

Buffy turns to face him, an incredulous look of shock on her face, pulling her hand out of his.

"So... what I'm supposed to beg you?"

"No of course not! That's not what I meant!"

"What did you mean?"

"I just meant that you don't exactly... make me feel welcome."

"Riley... You know what I'm going through, are you really trying to tell me that I'm not rolling out the welcome enough right now?"

"NO, it's not like that, it would just be better if maybe you didn't keep everything to yourself! I want to be there, I want to help but I mean for God's sake Buffy you're like a brick wall!"

"I'm trying to keep it together seeing as my mother is in the hospital and I'm taking care of a teenager who seems intent on pushing me over the edge at any given moment! So I'm so sorry I'm not pouring my heart out and kicking and screaming right now!"

"But I'm here for you to be able to do that Buffy! Just let me in, it's not healthy bottling it all up!"

"I"m NOT bottling up! I'm just trying to deal! I'm sorry that's not what you want but throwing a tantrum isn't going to fix anything!"

"I'm not asking for the full waterworks, just a little intimacy!"

"Riley." Buffy takes a long slow shaking breath, "I'm really walking a tightrope here. I'm being as open as I can, but if I open the flood gates right now I won't be able to cope. This isn't about me bottling up, I'm just trying to stay focussed so I don't fall apart!"

"Your mom's in the hospital, Buffy, it's ok to fall apart-"

"It's ok for you! I don't want to fall apart! That's not how I work! That's never been how I work! And FYI, Slayer's generally get rather dead after the falling apartness."

I don't need more things fuelling my 'deathwish' or however Spike put it. I'll cope with it all when I need to, why doesn't he get it?! Why is he pushing me to be some big blubbering mess? Wouldn't most guys want the stoic non-over-emotionalness? Why can't he grasp that I don't want to ball my eyes out right now!? I don't want to have to crumble to pieces, just to make him feel better! If I need to cry, I'll cry but not because he needs me to!

"You don't have to be the Slayer 24/7. You know for once, you could just be Buffy Summers, college student going through a rough time."

Buffy feels the blood in her veins turn to ice. Tears of anger flood her eyes and she bites them back down.

"I didn't get to chose what I am. But I'm not ashamed of it. And I'm certainly not going to hide it so that you get to feel better about yourself."

Riley shakes his head, chuckling sourly.

"I'm not asking you to hide it Buffy. I'm just asking to take some of the burden off you."

"No, what you're doing is trying to push me towards a breakdown so you can pick up the pieces and feel like you're the stronger one for a change. This has nothing to do with what's best for me."

"Buffy-"

"That's what this is really all about isn't it! You want to be the hero, and you can't stand it that I'm dealing with it by myself!"

"I wouldn't call hanging out in a crypt with Spike "dealing with it", actually." Riley lowers his tone, drowning her with a vicious glare. Buffy blinks, completely stunned.

"What the hell does that even mean?"

"Your stomach wound? I know it was him that helped patch you up Buffy."

"He gave me the bandages, so what?"

"SO it should've been ME!"

"Ok." Buffy laughs, taking a step away from him. "Sure. No problem. The next time I get stabbed I'll make sure to wait around for you instead. Hell, I'll crawl on my hands and knees to your apartment, or bleed out on principle, rather than let anyone else in the entire world help me."

"You lied to me."

"Yeah, no prizes for guessing why."

She storms off, yanking an arm out of his grasp as he tries to reach for her, and stomps her way off into the darkness.

"BUFFY!" Riley yells after her, but she's already gone.

Chapter Text

The crowd at the Bronze is subdued and sparse, as it's a school night and edging into the early hours of the morning. The college cliental has slowly dwindled, being replaced sporadically by demons and other lurkers. Spike sinks the last ball into the corner pocket at the pool table, downing the last swig of beer.

"Right, pay up." He clicks his fingers and a skinny demon barely keeping his human shape rolls his eyes.

"Come on, man. Double or nothing."

"Nothing. Pay. Up."

The demon sighs and fishes a wad of notes out of his back pocket, slapping it into Spike's hand.

He slips it into his back pocket, and as the demon slumps off sulking into the crowd Spike's view of the bar clears. Blonde hair, petit figure and a fuck off attitude radiating from her in waves.

Well, either that's her or I've had more to drink than I thought.

He edges closer to her and sees the look of pure misery writ across her face as she thumbs at the label of the beer in her hand. He sighs, shifting uncomfortably at the desperate tug that look on her face has hooked into his gut.

Getting it bad. Don't think I could shag her out of my system now even if I tried. Can't help myself though... even getting the brush off is better than nothing. She's like an itch I've got to scratch.

"It's late, luv. Shouldn't you be all snuggled up in bed with Dearest Disappointment?" He slides into the bar stool next to her, close enough to graze her arm with his, close enough to feel her warmth, and she rolls her eyes.

"And so my horrendous night is complete." She sighs, dragging her nail down over the beer bottle's label, pulling it to shreds.

"That bad, huh?"

Buffy winces, not looking up from the nearly full beer in her hand.

"I really don't want to talk about it."

"Fair enough. Would you rather drink about it?"

"I'm all set. Thanks." She waves the beer bottle in her hand, but sets it back down again untouched.

"Proper drink sweetheart, that's not going to cut it. Oi, mate? Two vodkas." He slides one of the crumpled dollar bills from his pocket as the bartender walks by.

"Ew. No." Buffy grimaces.

The bartender returns, plonking two shots down in front of them, and Spike slides one across to her.

"Come on. It's good for you."

"It's definitely not."

"You won't know you hate it 'til you try it."

"I hate everything right now." She fingers the shot glass.

Ugh why not? Nothing's going to make me feel worser. Might as well feel numb-er.

She downs the shot and pulls a face, scrunching her eyes as the alcohol disinfects the back of her throat.

"Yup. I hate it."

Spike downs his, and signals for two more.

"No!" Buffy pushes the shot glass away as it arrives and Spike smirks.

"Drink it up, luv, and if you're a good girl I'll even let you punch me in the face. That always makes you feel better."

Despite herself Buffy smiles.

"Yeah well... I'll hold you to that. Can we skip to that part?" She downs another shot, scowling at the fresh hit of it. Her throat feels raw from holding tears back all day and the vodka stings as it goes down. She sighs, leaning her head in her hand. "Everything sucks."

"I sort of remember that, yeah."

"Everything hurts and sucks and is awful."

Spike clenches his hand, feeling like he's going to be unable to stop himself as he reaches out and settles his fingers carefully across her arm that's resting on the counter of the bar. There's a moment, fleeting, where she tenses, and he expects her to pull away. Spit some venom at him, or throw a punch. But she doesn't. Instead there's an almost imperceptible unwinding of tension underneath her skin. Time slows. He hasn't taken a breath in minutes, not that he needs it, but the tightness in his chest is there just the same. As of breath being held. Softly so as not to startle her he rubs a thumb over the skin of her arm, swallowing hard at the warmth underneath his hand, crackling and electric like lightning. Drinking in the silk of her.

"You look a little spread thin."

"I feel it."

She softens further underneath his fingertips.

Don't ruin this. Say something but don't ruin this. Want to keep this moment forever... Need this. More than she does, I need this.

"I know it's hard... Your mom-"

"It's not just that."

He shuts his mouth, giving her the room to talk if she wants.

Buffy bites her lip, watching as his fingers stroke higher up towards her hand. Cool but soft. Sort of strangely relaxing if she doesn't think too hard about it. If she doesn't dwell on who the hand belongs to. Just to be touched gently. Feels a little like healing. Cooling her internally from the heat of anger still prowling around inside her. Calming her down to a place where she can talk about it. No longer seething. Just sad.

"...He hates me."

His fingers pause a little, before resuming the slow winding strokes across the back of her hand. Barely there at all. She knows she should pull back but she's too tired and too miserable to deny that she wants it now.

I'll let him. And it'll be alright. It'll be alright if I don't... if I don't touch him back then I haven't done anything wrong.

"Who?"

"Riley." There's a beat the length of a couple of breaths and she waits to see if he'll gloat. Sneer. Pull her worst insecurities out of the air like they're tattooed across her face and throw them back at her with a flourish. But when he does speak there's only softness underneath.

"What happened?"

She sighs, trying to pull the words together. Spikes hand has moved up over her own and unthinkingly she let's him slip between the gaps in her fingers. He lingers there, just hand over hand, stroking softly.

"He wants me to-" She shakes her head, starting over, letting out a bitter chuckle that's a little too close to tears. "He said I shouldn't be the Slayer all the time. That I should just... be me."

Spike nods.

"He only wants half of you. The sweet, innocent schoolgirl side of you. Not the dropkick a demon across the other side of the country side of you."

"Yes."

He smirks, but not unkindly.

"Well have you tried that? Just lop off the bits he doesn't like while he's around. Whatever it takes to protect his fragile sense of self-worth, pet."

Buffy can't help but chuckle at his sarcasm. She sniffs wetly, wiping the heal of her free hand under her eye before they start to flood.

I'm too tired for this. There's too much and I just... don't have room in myself anymore.

Spike's lips tighten a little, betraying the sourness rising in his throat. He signals at the bartender and another two shots of vodka arrive.

"I hate him, you know."

She pulls her arm back away from him, unlatching their fingers, as she picks up the shot and downs it quickly, pulling a face at the taste of it.

"Because of the chip in your head?"

Spike downs his own shot, grimaces but not from the taste of the vodka. The loss of her under his fingertips stings more than he'd care to admit.

"...That's part of it. I might not always play by the rules, but no one can say I don't give people a fair shot. Drugging someone. Cutting them open. That's not a fair fight. Blokes like that, that do that... they think the ends justifies the means. Slippery slope, thinking that way. You start finding more and more ends that need to be justified, as it were. And the means stop needing to be explained." He plays his fingers around the rim of the shot glass, feeling fidgety and angry at himself for aching for her. "Seen it happen enough times. You live long enough, you see it happen plenty. Insecure little boys get a bit too much power. It always ends the same."

Buffy's frozen, thinking about that tin foil pit in the initiative with all those straps. All those needles, and scalpels and-... and hacksaws. Worse things. Tools she couldn't even name.

I couldn't do that. Even when we tied Spike up he was safe. Even if it's a demon y ou don't hurt something that can't fight back... that's...

That's evil.

She'd felt like that the first time she'd seen the Initiative. They weren't interested in keeping civilians safe. There was no clean slay, no ultimate good versus ultimate evil. It was research. It was blurring the line of good and evil. Science without morality.

The pieces Maggie Walsh had squirrelled away to build Adam. The damage he could do... he wasn't for protection. He was for destruction. That wasn't what the good side was supposed to look like.

If I hadn't escaped the tunnels would I have been added to her box of parts?

She shivers, flinching violently away from memories but they come anyway. Of being tied down in a white sterile room as needles slipped in under her skin, insidiously gliding into her veins. Filling her with poison as she passed out of consciousness. Helpless and terrified-

no.

"Riley's not like that."

...But...

"...Sort of wish we still had the Initiative's lab. Information on healing like that would be invaluable."

"Isn't he?" Spike fishes a packet of cigarettes out of his coat pocket and lights one. "You think he'd respect your super strength, your Slayer destiny, and cosmic calling if he didn't love you? Or is it more likely that the only respect you're getting from him is because he loves you?"

Buffy turns, brow furrowed.

"What do you mean?"

Spike shakes his head sadly, letting out a long stream of smoke.

"Love and respect aren't the same thing, you know. If he only respects you because he loves you, how long before you find yourself with your own chip?"

"The Initiative doesn't exist anymore."

Spike grins icily.

"Bully for you, pet. Good thing there aren't other ways to control someone, eh? Dodged a bullet there."

Buffy shakes her head.

"He's not like that." She repeats, but the words don't come out with any conviction.

"No? I'm sure this is all for your own good then. Offering to lighten the load, because he's such a gentleman."

"I'm just asking to take some of the burden off you."

Why is it I can never hide anything from Spike? It's like he can read my mind...

Spike's eyes haven't left her face. Cool blue eyes that feel like they're looking straight into her brain.

Buffy swallows.

"Isn't that what you do though? When you love someone, you offer to shoulder the burden?"

Why am I defending him?

Because you love him... right? She thinks to herself, and wavers at the uncertainty.

"Sure. You offer." Spike takes another drag of the cigarette that's starting to burn down in his hand. "But you don't make them feel like they're the burden. If you love someone no part of them is a burden."

He stubs out his cigarette in an ashtray, blowing out a last lungful of smoke.

"I hated Dru sometimes you know? When she'd-" he bites his tongue, feeling his gut turn inside out from the pain. Thinking of all those times... fucking Angel in front of him as he watched helpless from a wheelchair. Pawed at and caressed demons in front of his very eyes, as if he was little more than a backdrop to her own insanity. Worse things. Deserted him completely, knowing how much agony it caused him to be apart from her...

"... but she was never a burden to me."

He's silent for a long time, watching her watching him back.

She's not going to just fall into your arms, you pillock. No matter how badly you want it.

Not with that asshole still in the picture.

She turns away, staring back at the bottle in front of her to avoid his gaze.

"What would you do? If… if you were in his position?"

"If you were mine?"

She freezes. "I'm not saying that."

Despite the dead heart in his chest he still feels like it missed a beat. But that's what you meant.

She pinches her lips shut, closing her eyes so she doesn't see his. Stiffens a little when she feels his fingers folding a sheath of her hair back, tucking it behind her ear.

"It makes you tired doesn't it sweetheart? Being the strong one all the time. You want to share it with someone, but not someone who'll call you weak afterwards. Not someone who'll try to take it from you. You do want to share it. But only when it's right."

"What makes it right?" She sighs, wiping more tears out of her eyes. "Why can't it be right with Riley?"

"You know why. He wants to be fighting instead of you. Not next to you. Or for you. He doesn't want a Slayer, pet. He wants a damsel in distress. You can't be that for him without sacrificing a piece of yourself."

Buffy swallows back more tears. There's a harsh burning now in her throat of constantly holding back her emotions, mingled with the sharp taste of the vodka.

Maybe I'm drunk, but everything he says is true.

Why does it have to be him saying all this.

Why can't it be safe sweet Riley. Kind, mostly thoughtful Riley who most of the time just wants to help, even if it is misplaced. Even if does come across as controlling sometimes I know he's doing it because he cares. But I don't want to be cared for like a weak little girl. I don't want someone to take my job and do it for me. And I don't want to be made to feel like the bad guy for saving myself all the time. For saving him too. He gets so resentful if he's not the hero of the day it's ridiculous...

"...I want it to be over." She whispers.

A cold flood of dread fills Spike's stomach, swells his throat shut completely.

Which part? Joyce's illness? Or the Slayer life?

Or... Life, entirely?

Too much talk of death wishes and near misses has clouded his mind, despite the easiness with which he can usually read her, all those beautiful micro-expressions that flit across her face as she thinks and talks and moves like an open book, as though it's all for him. No one else seems to notice it...

But now he can't tell which facet of her misery she's talking about, the indecision of what to say clamping his mouth shut entirely.

He blinks hard trying to dispel the paralysis of his vocal chords, but as he struggles for the words she slips out of her seat.

"Buffy..." but she's already out the door, swallowed up by the dark.

Chapter Text

He squeezes her hand, as she leans against him, the terrible plastic of the waiting room chairs squeaking every time she moves.

Buffy turns to face him, barely seeing him, and Riley cracks a half smile.

"I am sorry. Again. For yesterday." He hasn't stopped holding her hand since they sat down and it's starting to feel clammy. "I was a jerk."

Tell me about it. Buffy manages a smile, trying hard to focus on the good things of Riley.

Kind. Sweet. Safe. Sort of a dope. On the good side. My side. Think about those things. Don't think about the blood sucking fiend. Focus on anything but the blood sucking fiend.

"It's ok." She manages through a forced smile that's rapidly becoming a grimace the longer she sits in the hospital waiting room. "These last few days have been majorly wiggy for both of us, I guess." She leans over to squeeze his arm with her other hand and he winces, sucking air in through his teeth.

"OH! Sorry, uh, didn't think I was being too strong-" she furrows her brow as she feels the ridges of a bandage underneath the long sleeved shirt he's wearing.

"No it's not that, I-"

She starts lifting the sleeve up to his forearm but he stops her, smoothing it back down.

"I just caught it on a door lock, it's just a scratch."

"Deep scratch?" Her fingers feel over the bulky bulge underneath his sleeve and he pulls her hand away gently.

"We don't all have super-Slayer healing powers, you know." He cracks a smile, no resentment or hidden meaning underneath. Buffy nods, smiling back, settling back against the chairs stiff plastic.

"It's been hours, what's taking so long?" Dawn hands Buffy a soda that she's retrieved from the vending machines in the hall, taking a seat back down next to Buffy.

"It's a brain biopsy," Riley says. "I'd be more worried if they didn't take any time at all. Might mean they can't do anything."

"I hate waiting." Grumbles Dawn, opening the tab of her soda.

Riley's thumb rubs over Buffy's fingers and the crushing heat of it makes her squirm as the sweat pools between their hands, but she doesn't unlatch their fingers.

Kind. Sweet. Safe. Don't pull away. You don't really want this to be over you just got... turned around. Mom being sick just turned me around is all. It'll get better.

It's got to. I can't keep making the bad decisions. Can't keep letting the wrong ones in. Choose safe and sweet for once in my life.

It doesn't matter how Spike makes me feel. He doesn't have a soul...

She bites her lip, dwelling on thoughts of Spike seem to pull the anxiety of the hospital out of her mind and she can't help but pick at those thoughts, slipping them on like a nicotine patch for her constant twitching misery.

But it doesn't seem to matter with him... He makes decisions for himself. They might be selfish, but he can choose between good and evil.

He does choose when it suits him... if you have a soul you feel the weight of the guilt for the bad things you do, right? You do good and you get the good feeling. Like a reward for good behavior. You get the warm, happy, cookie getting feeling. You do bad, and you feel bad. Simple. Deceptively simple.

So if he does good, and doesn't get the good feeling... does that make the good deed mean more? Does that make doing the good thing less selfish? Maggie Walsh said once 'there's no such thing as a selfless good deed, because the doer will at the minimum get a sense of doing right.' So good deeds from Spike would be entirely selfless? If he has no guilt, and does the bad thing, does that mean less than someone who does it regardless of the guilt? Regardless of having a soul?

The things he did were always done for Drusilla, weren't they? Not like Angelus, who wanted to unleash hell for his own amusement. Wanted to destroy and murder and torture, and twist every good thing into shreds. Spike only ever wanted to make Dru happy. If she hadn't wanted murder and death, he wouldn't have needed it either... is that right?

Hmm. Tricky, slippery thoughts. If I could I'd ask Riley, he could probably come up with some psyche 101 term to explain it.

But I can't ask Riley, not now... all these layers of lies. It's getting out of hand-

The doors at the end of the hall open and Buffy's neck snaps round to watch as Dr Kriegel strides towards them. She lets go of Riley's hand as she gets up from the chair, automatically wiping the residue of him off her palm onto her jeans.

"The biopsy went well," Kriegel starts before he's fully reached them and Buffy's tenses for the next part, holding her breath. "The shadow is a brain lesion, a small abscess that's been pressing down causing the fainting and dizzy spells."

His face is unreadable and Buffy feels like she hasn't take a breath in hours.

"Ok... uh... what does that mean."

He blinks, realizing he hasn't made himself clear.

"It's the best outcome we could hope for. A couple of months on antibiotics should hopefully resolve the abscess. She can go home the day after tomorrow-" the rest of the words are strangled out as Buffy grips him in a bearhug.

"Oh thank God. Thank you, OH!" There's a sharp crack and she pulls back from him before the rib breaks under her embrace. Dr Kriegel pulls back, having turned a deep shade of white as he steadies his back.

"That's...alright. She'll need checks ups for a few weeks but she's all yours again in a couple days."

Riley's hand is stroking her back and he's saying something too far off to hear, Dawn is beaming, but everything looks watery behind Buffy's eyes.

"Can we put this song on repeat?"

Buffy and Riley sway in the candlelight that's turning the front room a pale glowing yellow. He smiles down at her, winding his arms further around her waist.

"Whatever you want."

Mom is home day after tomorrow, everything's fine. Dawn is at Xander's, staying over. I don't think I've been this happy in months. I feel like I can breathe a little for the first time... Feels like I've been drowning for weeks.

"Can we put the whole night on repeat?" She smiles back.

"Absolutely."

"Good." Buffy sighs, lying her head against Riley's chest. "Mm, I can't believe how relaxed I feel. It's like all the tension's just left my body."

"Oh, really? 'Cause I had that scheduled for a little later on." Riley grins, pulling her closer.

"Scheduled? Are you planning on seducing me, Mr. Finn?" Something in her stomach knots and she pushes it back down. Some little flicker of disquietude.

"Always..." He hand strokes the skin of her back where her shirt has risen up. "I want tonight to be special for you."

"It's more than special. It's perfect."

"Well, I'm glad. You deserve it after everything you've been through."

"Well, it's nothing compared to what my mom had to deal with."

"It was a lot. And you were incredible."

"Not really. Just covering for the weepy chicken within."

"Don't sell yourself short. You stayed strong throughout, Buffy. So strong. You never even cried."

"Oh, I cried. I cried so hard, I didn't think I was gonna be able to stop."

"...Oh." Buffy doesn't hear the hurt in his voice, or the look of betrayed anguish in his eyes as her head rests against him.

Riley clenches his jaw a little, feeling jealously flare up inside him like a white fire.

She did cry. She said she was holding herself together and didn't have space for...for that. She just didn't have space for it with me.

With who then?

Spike... surely he was lying when he said he was a shoulder to cry on. She would never...

"That's all in the past now." Buffy mumbles, swaying in his arms, and he tries to focus on the feel of her against him. Instead of swirling angry thoughts. Thoughts of her in a crypt. Thoughts of her near Spike. With Spike. Touching him, her head on his shoulder as he strokes her back, fingers brushing her hair- Stop thinking about it!

"Mom's out of the woods, and I'm here with you. That's all that matters."

"Right." Riley says, swallowing the seething tide of anger. He kisses the top of her head. "That's all that matters."

In her room she leans into his kiss, deepening it, twisting her tongue up into his as he slips the shirt up and over her head.

Buffy presses herself up against him, slipping further into his embrace as his hand trails up her back. Soft and tender and-

-and barely there.

She pushes a harder kiss on him, trying to ignite some small spark underneath the gentleness. Some burning fire to set them both on edge. She wraps around him, pushes up against his chest holding his head in her hands as he-

"Ow." He gasps.

"What?" She pulls back, face confused.

"Nothing," he grins sheepishly. "You just bit my lip is all."

"Oh sorry-" she mumbles, turning a bright embarrassed pink conveniently hidden in the half glow of the room, lit only by her table lamp.

I didn't think I did...

They resume the kiss and he pulls her closer again, unlatching her bra, careful fingers trailing over her skin as he pulls it off her, gently pulling her down onto the bed beside him. Her hands stroke up his arms, pulling them around her tighter, scratching a little with her nails as-

"Ahh!"

For God's sake!

"Sorry! What?"

"Just my arm, your hand-"

"Oh God, sorry." She pulls her hand away from his forearm. He sighs, flexing his hand and smoothing the bandage back down over his arm. He unzips her skirt and she settles her hands either side of his neck, on his shoulders, as she straddles him, kissing his neck and jaw, up to his mouth as his hands travel down to her hips, stroking her skin with his fingertips, slipping fingers under the lace of her underw-

"Ah-" he pulls back out of their kiss, sucking air in through his teeth, wincing in pain.

"I didn't bite you!"

"No, it's your thighs."

"My what?!"

"You're crushing my hip."

God, that's a mood killer!

Buffy swallows back a frustrated sigh, leaning back away from him.

I can't do this. It's like having sex with a porcelain doll.

"It's ok, Buffy." He holds her by the waist and flips her underneath him. "Let's try it like this." She nods, trying to regain the moment. He moves to lift her leg up and across, widening her hips so he can slide in closer to her, but she moves to lift her leg to the side of him and as they fumble together Buffy inadvertently knees Riley hard in the chest.

"Oh Riley!" She tries to sit up, but he's doubled over from the wind being knocked out of his lungs and their foreheads collide with a hard smack.

"Ah!"

"CRAP!"

This is ridiculous. This is worse than some sit-com skit.

He takes a breath, rubbing his ribcage. Even in the dim light she can see a pink mark that'll turn to a bruise in the morning.

He smiles at her, settling her back against the pillows.

"Just try to relax." He says, lowering himself down between her legs.

Buffy rubs at her forehead, rolling her eyes. I don't want to relax. I want to feel something other than gentleness, and- and kindness, and BORING-ness and Oh my God what's WRONG with me?!

He slips his tongue into her mouth and internally she squirms at the how careful he's being, treating her like she's made of glass. Warm lips barely doing more than pressing against hers.

He moves down lower, kissing her neck, her shoulders, as he moves across to the bedside drawer, pulling open the top drawer where she keeps the condoms.

Ok. Guess that's all the warm up I get then.

Buffy bites her lip, trying to undo the bitterness of her internal monologue.

He's sweet. And funny. And not a blood sucking murderous asshole. TRY to be happy about that.

He tears a packet open with his teeth and rolls it down the length of him as she wiggles down, carefully positioning her thighs to either side of him. Adding very specifically no pressure whatsoever.

He butts up against her and she winces.

"Uh... I'm... I'm not-"

"I know, it's ok. I got you."

Buffy blinks, realizing he hasn't understood at all what she was going to say. I'm not anywhere close to being... uh... well- ready-

"Riley-"

He suddenly pushes up into her and she gasps from the sudden near tearing pain.

OW!

Riley, in blissful ignorance, mistakes her gasps for pleasure, leaning down to kiss her.

"Uh, Buffy. You feel amazing..." He dips closer to her, moving against her. Thankfully the pressure is so minimal it doesn't matter that she's tight as a fist. She tries to relax a bit further into him, moving against him to find some respite from the low thrumming heat that's starting to build up inside her.

Not exactly the heat I wanted... this is a dry, sore heat, feeling more like an internal graze with every thrust.

After what seems like hours she starts to loosen up a little, winding her arms around his back as he settles into her, cautiously pushing up a little higher.

Better... but...

Pointless... I can't, this is just too... gentle but also awkward. Was he always so weirdly quiet? So suffocatingly careful? Why does this feel so wrong, this isn't our first time? Maybe I'm just tired...

Maybe if I was on top?

"Riley... I uh-"

"Are you?" He kisses her, deep and slow, holding her by the waist. "Me too."

Wait... what?"

"Um-"

"Oh Buffy." He suddenly clenches her waist, and she gasps as he shivers against her, feeling him swell slightly inside, groaning against her as he cums.

She blinks, lying underneath him feeling dazed. She waits for him to move away from her, and when he finally does his skin pulls against hers uncomfortably, damp skin pulling against damp skin and tugging painfully.

He smooths her hair back from her face, pulling her closer to him. Doesn't seem to notice she's tense as a bow.

"I love you."

Buffy sighs deeply, shifting further into the pillows next to him, every part of her wanting to get up and shower.

"You too."

Chapter Text

Spike stands underneath Buffy's window, leaning against the tree in the yard, smoking his fourth cigarette of the evening. It's late, the street is dark and the only thing illuminating his face is the bright, brief ember of the cigarette as he sucks the smoke down into his lungs...

He'd watched as Riley and Buffy swayed together to music, glowing in the light of candles downstairs. She looked peaceful. Calm, and happy. The biopsy must have gone well. God knows Riley wasn't the one making her look so soothed. He feels a soft release of tension in his shoulders as he thinks about Joyce.

Want to ask her about it. Wish it could be me in there with her, swaying her as she looks up with dreamy half closed eyes. All soft and sweet and serene.

It must've gone alright for Buffy to look so happy...

She glows when she's happy...

Her and Riley had stood swaying, looking into each other's eyes dreamily for what seemed like ages. He hadn't dared light a cigarette then, in case Buffy saw the glow of it from the window, but his fingers itched for it. He could feel himself becoming twitchy and irritated.

Finally they shut off the music. Much as he loathed watching them be so wrapped up in each other his stomach plummeted as they headed upstairs. He could just about see to the top of the stairs from the angle of the garden. As they reached the top stair Buffy stopped, let Riley kiss her, draped herself against his chest. Spike clamped his jaws, a sour bubbling jealousy burned his throat as he watched Buffy lead him round the corner into her bedroom. After a few moments the light in Buffy's bedroom window flicked on. He'd fumbled for a cigarette as she moved away, leaving the blinds open.

...Four cigarettes later and a long wait outside, and he's no closer to feeling any sort of release.

He can't see them, but he can hear them. Smell them. Vampire sense of smell is such a curse sometimes.

He can smell Buffy's skin, hot and warm. Not excited though. Not wet or willing. She's about as aroused as Tara would be.

He hears Riley gasp... and her apologise. A soft susurration of lips on lips, possibly clothes shedding before another yelp, and another apology.

Spike smirks bitterly.

Poor girl, can't help her own strength, and goes and shacks up with a weakling who has all the stamina of a fruit fly.

He hears her sigh, the note of frustration underneath ringing loud and clear like a church bell. Then what sounds like a pained gasp. And not the playful sort of pain either.

He pulls a fifth cigarette out of his pocket and lights it.

What good's he to you, Slayer? I bet he doesn't even wrinkle the sheets does he? Probably leaves the bed neater than he found it.

After a while, but by no means a particularly impressive feat of vigour, he hears a shallow grunt signalling the end of the nights torrid activities.

He rolls his eyes.

Bet that was as satisfying for her as it sounded. Girl barely made a noise, crewcut. You're never going to be able to hold on to her if you can't hold on to her. Bloody puffed up soldier, how you got her in the first place is a fucking mystery.

He chain smokes another two cigarettes, watches as the light turns off and listens to the rustle of bedsheets. He sneers, not having taken his eyes of the small square of Buffy's room he can see from the garden.

Guess the night's over. Over before it even began, eh pet? How can you stand it? Such dissatisfaction? That can't have been fulfilling. Not by a long shot.

Does he make your skin crawl, sweetheart? Heard it all. That wasn't passion, that was pity.

Spike stands in the dark for an hour more, lost in his own thoughts of Buffy, of her underneath him. God, on top of him. How beautiful she would look, all that gold hair and peach toned skin.

Bet she'd feel like a dream... all those muscles pulling and wrapping and holding you. Twisting you up until you burst.

The images in his head flow like liquid silk. The way she'd move, breath hitching, nails scratching his chest, his back, his arms. Gold hair spilling over tight breasts, neck covered in love bites and bruises from his lips. Scratches from his teeth decorating her shoulders... welts from her nails decorating his.

What her skin would taste like… vampires don't sweat. No need to. She'd taste salty and sweet at same time. The thought of his saliva coating her nipples, licking a line up t her neck, makes him nearly painfully hard.

He crushes his last cigarette out under his heal, about to walk home, maybe pick up a bottle of bourbon on the way back and drink until he can't feel anything anymore. Drink until the tongue in his mouth is thick and choking him. Drink until thoughts of her are all but a fuzzy blurry image instead of the sharp stinging agony they are now-

The front door of Buffy's house clicks shut and he realises he didn't hear the door even open. He freezes, thinking Buffy's about to roundhouse kick him into next week, but it's not Buffy.

Riley heads down the steps of the porch, shrugging into his coat. Spike stands a little straighter, watching as he turns down the road.

Where the hell are you going, Boy Scout? Beautiful naked girl in bed upstairs and you what? Need to take a walk around the block?

But he doesn't have the air of a man stepping out for fresh air. Riley's shoulders are hunched, furtive.

On the move to somewhere he shouldn't be. Somewhere the Mrs doesn't know about...

Spike shrugs his coat up around his shoulders as he pushes off from the tree, casting a last glance up to Buffy's window.

Think I'll take a little walk myself.

Spike stalks Riley down into the lower depths of Sunnydale, where the factories are all empty shells, and the shop windows are all boarded up.

It's late at night but there's still enough foot traffic of drunks and drug addicts passing by on the road for Spike's footsteps to blend in underneath. Eventually Riley turns a corner into an abandoned factory parking lot. Spike hangs back in the shadows and watches as Riley disappears into the mouth of the rotten factory.

It stinks down this end of town. Like piss and drugs and-

and blood.

There's blood in that factory. Lots of it to be able to smell it from here. To be able to smell it underneath all this muck.

The demon in his mind pricks up its nose, baring fangs and Spike can hear the growl of it reverberate all the way down his spine, straight down into his boots. That smell sets his teeth on edge and he fights to keep his human features from slipping underneath the fangs and furrowed brow of the vampire rising up.

Wild as the animal in him is he's always managed to keep a leash on it. Sometimes clawing it back by his fingernails but it still listens to him. It never had him fully. Not like others. Other vampires would feed and rip and tear to pieces anything in their path to feed their hunger. Couldn't keep it sated. Couldn't hold on to it, the blood lust was always too much. Too powerful a tide not to be swept by it. Too taken by it to think even a single focussed thought, becoming mindless snarling monsters, prowling like rabid dogs.

As the smell of blood settles down around him Spike pulls the control back by inches until he can see straight, lets the demon gnash and bite inside but doesn't let it out.

Heard of these places. Never wanted to be caught dead in one. Well... deader in one. Full of sad lonely humans, men mostly, paying vampires to suck them off. Getting off on the rush of it. He could smell the arousal underneath the stench, stale and disgusting like dried semen and blood stains.

Sure there were plenty of his fellow kind in places like these. More since the Initiative shut down, flooding the streets with vampires that couldn't feed themselves. That couldn't bite anymore, and refused to get by on animal blood. That's a little loophole her army brat's playgroup didn't see coming. Human desire drowns out the pain of the bite, letting the chip remain dormant.

All these new and disgusting suck houses popping up all over the place now. Spreading out into any unused and abandoned places they can find.

Even in his most desperate moments, starving to death after his escape from the Initiative, feeling his demon starting to pace and shred himself from the inside out, the thought of using one of these places turned his stomach. It was beyond distasteful. It was revolting. Humans or not, willing or not, you don't unleash an addiction like that on someone. On yourself sure, but not on others. Not on weak minded feeble idiots scrabbling to find something to make them feel alive, whether they asked for it or not.

You have to be a real parasite to do something like that.

Besides, I might not be perfect, not by a long fucking way, but I'm no whore. Start down that road, where does it end?

And here we have the Slayer's boyfriend, Initiative soldier, Captain Dependable, waltzing right into the middle of the fray.

Probably out for a quick punch up on blood-drunk vamps. Easy targets for someone looking to work off a little aggrevation and dissatisfaction. For someone looking to feel less expendable for once.

Spike smirks, heading for the doorway of the factory.

It would be too much to hope... but God how satisfying it would be if he-

Inside the entrance he freezes, pulls back into the shadows. Riley is standing amongst moulding furniture dragged in and scattered haphazardly through the warehouse, humans and vampires draped across them in varying states of undress and recline. The smell of blood is searing now and it takes all of Spike's attention to focus on Riley. Riley talking to a skinny, anaemic looking girl-vamp. Dishevelled and hungry looking. Riley fishing in his pocket, pulling out a wad of notes and handing it to her.

Riley being taken by the hand. Riley being led upstairs as he lifts the sleeve of his shirt up, peeling away a bandage covering twin holes just underneath the crook of his elbow.

Spike bites his lip, grinning like a maniac, eyes gleaming in the gloom of the shadowy factory as he retreats unnoticed.

What dyu know, there is a God after all. And for some reason, he's shining his light on me.

Chapter Text

Spike lingers underneath Buffy's window, pacing back and forth in front of the tree in the yard.

Every part of his being is screaming to go in, wake her up and drag her downtown. Let her take in what her sweet little rebound has been crawling around with.

I want this to be over. I want them to be over so BAD and I want it to be over now. God I want it so bad it's torture.

But...

He's downtown now, but for how long? How long will his bought-and-paid-for bites go on for before he finishes and heads back?

Shit that's the last thing I'd need. Crashing into him on the street, without getting a chance to show her, where he'll make up some weak pathetic excuse and she'll buy the whole damn thing or... or shit him catching me in her bedroom, and I go up in a sodding cloud of dust... Too much of a gamble.

Those bite marks though. They're fresh. Recent. So, he goes back fairly often, right? He's already at least a little addicted, that much is obvious, right? He can't hang about for a less risky moment. He's sneaking around now while she's sleeping, when she could wake up any fucking minute and notice he's gone.

Human's don't heal quickly, but those bites are just a few nights old if that. Maybe not even that long.

Tomorrow then. I can wait one more night. I can wait until tomorrow for him to walk into a trap of his own design.

Enjoy it while it lasts, crewcut. This is the end of the fucking line.

Joyce settles herself up against the pillows of the hospital bed as Dawn and Buffy scrunch up next to her. The dinner cart has been and gone and Joyce pokes at the creamed spinach and potatoes on her plastic plate.

"Ugh, one more night in this place. I don't think I can take it!" She rubs her temple, carefully avoiding the bandage over the top of her hair line.

Dawn plays with the green jello dessert, squishing it between her fingers and occasionally sucking pieces of it off her fingers.

"Soak it all up while you can, leisure-having-lady," Buffy smirks, "12 more hours and you've got Dawn-patrol again."

"Hey!" Dawn flicks a green jello fragment at Buffy.

"My point exactly." Buffy finds the jello piece and flicks it back, getting it right in Dawn's hair.

"Girls, don't. I'm pretty sure they'll kick us out if you start a food fight... on second thought keep going-"

"Good Morning Joyce," Doctor Kriegel steps into the room from the bustle outside the door, "how're we feeling today?"

"Better. Less tired. Still a bit headachey."

"Well, that'll improve as the antibiotics start working. Try and get as much rest as possible. That goes double for when you're back home too," he eyeballs Dawn and Buffy, "make sure she gets plenty of rest, feet up, no excuses. And a reminder that visiting hours are strictly 8 'til 8. Even if you've only got one more night with us Joyce, no more late night visitors, you need your sleep-" his beeper gives a shrill little whistle and he checks it, signs Joyce's clipboard and the bottom of her bed and nods an exit.

Dawn raises an eyebrow at Buffy, who reciprocates with a look of her own.

"Late night visitors?" Buffy grins, gently teasing.

"Maybe it's a handsome doctor," grins Dawn, "or- oh, or one of the mental patients down the hall?"

"Thanks very much." Joyce says pinching her on the arm.

"Oh I'm sure the hospital is just teaming with eligible potential step-dad types." Buffy chuckles.

"Yeah, is it that bald man 3 doors down? The one who always has the back of his gown open."

"Mr Morris-" Buffy interjects.

"Yeah! Is it Mr Morris?" Dawn crumbles into a fit of giggles. "Are you going to be Joyce Morris?"

"Stop it the pair of you." Joyce rolls her eyes biting back giggles of her own. "I must be getting better if you're making fun of me."

"So who was this mystery midnight visitor?" Buffy asks, fishing a can of soda out of her bag and opening the tab.

"Spike."

Buffy's hand clenches suddenly, crushing the aluminium, causing the can to fizz dramatically and she holds it over the side of the bed to stop it spilling all over the sheets.

"SPIKE?! Spike was here?"

"How come Spike was here?" Dawn interrupts, sitting up straighter suddenly far more interested.

"He just came to see how I was doing." Joyce finally pushes the plate of hospital food away from her, having mashed the spinach into the potatoes completely creating an unattractive slime green moss effect.

"He can't just... come by though, can he? Don't we have a- a visitors list or-or something?"

"Buffy, it was fine, honestly."

"Mom, he's dangerous-"

"It's not like he can do anything. He's got that chip in his head. His head chip." Dawn says picking up another cube of jello.

"I don't think he's dangerous. At least not anymore." Joyce watches as Dawn pulls the cube of jello apart into little wiggling pieces.

"I cannot believe the two of you." Buffy says, still holding her half exploded-half crumpled can of soda. "He's dead, and evil, and a vampire, you can't just let him wonder in. Literally rule number one here, vampires equal bad."

"Right, that's why you were never with Angel for three years." Mumbles Dawn around her jello covered fingers.

"Angel was good. He had a soul."

"Except when he didn't." Says Joyce, surprising herself with the moral stance she didn't realize she was taking.

"Mom!" Buffy splutters.

"-I watched this episode of the Simpsons," Dawn starts, sucking more jello off her fingers and ignoring Buffy's outburst. "Where Bart sells his soul to Millhouse for five dollars, and he gets all sad and nothing he used to like makes him happy anymore, and then Lisa gets his soul back for him, but she says some philosophers believe that nobody is born with a soul and that you have to earn one through suffering and praying and stuff like that. Like maybe, do you think, if Spike suffered a lot, and- and wanted his soul back, do you think he could get one?"

"Spike doesn't have a soul, Dawn. He has a chip. It's not even remotely the same thing."

"But then... maybe the chip is like the whale."

"The... what?" Buffy's brow furrows trying to keep up with Dawn's train of thought.

"The whale. Jonah's whale. You know because Jonah was running around and being all not good and stuff and God sent a whale to swallow him up, and it seemed like a punishment to Jonah. But I think, maybe it was God giving him what he needed. He needed the thinking- the thing where you- where you think-"

"Contemplation." Joyce interjects.

"Right the that, so that he could come back to being good. And once he did, God let him out of the whale again. So maybe, even though, you know, he didn't ask for it, the chip is like that for Spike? So that he can think about being good. Like a whale stomach."

Buffy rolls her eyes, shaking her head at Joyce.

"You were the one who insisted on teaching her to talk." But Dawn's half philosophy half Simpsons trivia rambling meshes a little too well with the thoughts that have been circulating in her own brain.

It's true Spike isn't like any other vampire she's met. Other vampires, and actually most other demons, are blood thirsty, obviously, but also blood obsessed. As if that was all they could possibly think about at any given moment. Not just one track minded but stupid with it. Feral with it.

He's not controlled by it. There's room inside him for other thoughts. Other things.

She sighs. More messy thoughts.

"So what are you girls up to tonight?" Joyce asks, not quite expertly changing the topic. "Your last night of mom-freedom?"

"I'm staying round Janice's." Dawn starts arranging blobs of jello into a smiley face on the dinner tray.

"I thought you were staying with Xander?" Buffy asks.

"I know but Anya keeps wanting to play the Game of Life and talking loudly about Xander sex. Besides, Janice's dad is making homemade pizza. No contest."

"What about you?" Joyce turns, brushing Buffy's her back from her face. "Night out on the town with Riley?"

"Oh- uh. No, I gave him the night off."

"I don't think he thinks of you as a chore Buffy."

"I know that." Buffy flushes, not wanting to explain in detail and in front of Dawn how much she doesn't want to be around Riley right now. After last night everything feels ooky and out of sync, and this morning he'd been even more distant. And a little dazed. "Gonna squeeze in a quick patrol. Then I've got homework and studying to catch up on. Was gonna hit the books. Catch up with what I missed the last couple of weeks."

"With Willow?"

"Yep. Study is in session at the Summer house."

"Fair enough, but you know you should get some proper time to yourself? Have some fun. Why don't you get Riley to take you to a movie or something?"

"I will. Another night. He's meeting up with some ex-army-buddies or something, but he'll probably come round later for- uh..." She glances at Dawn. "Um... Bible study."

"Well... good." Smirks Joyce. "As long as the two of you are spending some quality time together... with the Lord."

"You could look up that part about Jonah and the Whale." Says Dawn through a cube of jello. Joyce laughs, and Buffy can't help herself either.

"Ok, so, we're doing World War 1, so open your textbook to page 428."

Willow moves the drinks out of the way of the textbook so Buffy can open it fully. They've settled at a table on the balcony of the bronze, spilling over with notepads and textbooks. The music of the acoustic set playing below keeps the background noise at a pleasantly mellow volume, and the chatter around them remains unobtrusive but Buffy can't help but fidget in her chair.

Willow fusses around her, checking notes to questions and underlining causes for her, but she's not paying attention.

"Alright, here, this starting paragraph here, you could use more of an example of propaganda during the first-...Buffy?"

"Hmm?" Buffy's staring down below into the dance floor. A flash of platinum blonde hair caught her eye for a second. Her stomach does a flip, contracting with a little flutter.

She takes a breath. What is wrong with me? Why does the thought of seeing him set me off like this?

"Uh... Earth to Buffy?"

"What? Oh, sorry Will. Which bit are we doing now?"

"Second question down, propoganda efforts in the US?"

"Right, Ok. Great. And... what do I have to do?"

"Just underline cause and effects on the opposite page."

"Uh huh."

"...You Ok Buffy? You seem all... somewhere else-y?"

"Oh uh sorry Will. It's the history-ness. Can't seem to focus."

"Everything alright with Riley?"

"What?" Buffy's head snaps up, suddenly. "Yeah... everything fine."

"It's just, it's a Friday night and you're here hitting the books? Shouldn't you be, I dunno, celebratin' in style?"

"No I gotta cram this in. Besides I'm meeting him afterwards for patrol."

"Didn't you already patrol?"

"Yeah but, I have to do like... a real one and then a Riley one. He get's all pouty if I go without him but he's sort of slowing me down. God that sounds so harsh. And we're even more out of sync since I got hurt."

"He just wants to help?" Willow says trying to diffuse the sourness that's starting to sting Buffy's words.

"I know." Buffy lets her gaze trails off again, sighing bitterly.

Another flash of blonde drags her eyes back to the floor below. He's there, just to the side of the bar with a beer in his hand, drinking in the shadows. The way he moves is sort of hypnotic. Slow and swaggering like he has all the time in the world. Like a panther, not necessarily predatory, but definitely something dangerous curled underneath hard muscles and harder features. Even chipped there's something mean underneath. She tracks his movements towards the back of the Bronze, watching him sidestep couples, dipping out of her line of sight as he passes underneath the stairs.

Willow, follows her gaze down but doesn't spot Spike in the crowd.

"Vampire or something?"

Or something.

"Yeah. I'll uh... I'll be right back. I'll grab snacks from the bar on my way back alright? Guard the books."

"Check. Books are guarded."

Buffy slips off her seat and heads down the metal stairs into the crowd below. There's a few couples swaying together to the music and Buffy edges around them heading for the shadows underneath the stairs. The hairs on the back of her neck have started prickling, and as she catches sight of him, leaning against the wall, his beer bottle dangling from his fingers, a lit cigarette in the other.

"Spike." She crosses her arms and sets her face into a hard scowl that feels far from genuine.

His eyes snap to hers, cold and cool and lit underneath by a burning glow. He notes the hard look in her eye, the anger simmering under the surface of a barely contained frosty attitude, and stands a little straighter against the wall.

"What's eating you, Slayer? Or have you just come to keep tabs on me?" He grins, goading her on, wanting to see that anger shift out from underneath.

"I'm not the one keeping tabs."

His brow furrows as he takes a drag of his cigarette.

"You lost me, pet."

She snaps, closes a fist around the collar of his shirt and pins him hard against the wall. He lets out a soft growl that slips all the way down her back.

"Give it me good, Buffy. It'll make you feel better." He chuckles, watching color flush in her cheeks. She bites the inside of her cheek, pushing her arm up a little into his throat. He groans and she feels the vibration of it against her wrist. "Come on, harder. You want to do it harder."

She pushes off him hard, suddenly very aware of his skin against hers, and he laughs, straightening his collar back into place.

"How about you tell me what you were doing at the hospital, Spike."

"Oh, is that what this is all about? Don't get your knickers twisted, it was just a couple of blood packs-"

"God, disgusting, and not what I'm talking about." Her nostrils flare as he takes a swig of his beer, seemingly unconcerned by the hard edge in her voice that suddenly doesn't feel as sharp as it was. "Stay away from my mother, Spike. Or we're really going to have a problem." She turns to walk away from him.

"She's doing better then?"

He calls after her and something in his voice stops her. Some note of genuine concern.

...He actually cares.

She shrugs it off with effort, and heads back up to Willow.

Chapter Text

Buffy gives up checking the time. The minutes have slipped well passed midnight, raising her anger a degree with every second.

I didn't even want to patrol again tonight! I already patrolled once! I hate being stood up if I didn't even want to go in the first place! God men are so USELESS.

She picks the phone up off the bed, keying in Riley's number, then thinking better of it and cancelling the call.

If he wants to spend the rest of the night with his army buddies then fine! I'm not going to tag along after him like a heartbroken schoolgirl!

She drops her stake back into the trunk at the bottom of her bed and kicks the lid shut. She'd twirled her hair into an up-do to keep it out of the way for the slay and she undoes it, letting her hair fall back down over her shoulders. She pulls the rest of her clothes off, leaving them in a heap by the side of her bed and wraps her robe around her, heading for the bathroom.

The house feels lonely and dark, and anger flares harder around her heart at being left out for the night in favor of his army friends.

At least I know he's safe though. He's been acting super twitchy lately, especially after I took that stake to the stomach. Keep feeling like he's going to go off half-cocked and get himself hurt to make himself feel better about it.

In the bathroom she turns the shower on and spends half an hour just basking in the warmth letting her mind drift away on Riley.

Think I'm really coming to the end of this. Of us. He used to be so... dependable. If I'm being honest that was a major draw on him. Sweet, and predictable. I really wanted to want that.

Until I found out he was part of this huge government underground unit. You think that would've made us so right for each other, both fighting for the same side, and no more hiding, but if anything it just made it all complicated. Maybe it could've worked if only one of us was out demon fighting while the other was home being all ignorance-is-bliss-y. Or even if we were in the same special unit or whatever and I wasn't some chosen one. But I don't fit in within his army ranks, and he doesn't want to just be a Scooby on the sidelines. It's not enough for either of us, and he's punishing me more and more for it.

Tears of anger are washed away underneath the torrent of water. He knows I'm here waiting for him. Is he making me wait as some ridiculous power play? Get the upper hand? Treat 'em mean, keep 'em keen?

Asshole.

She sighs and shuts off the water, towelling off before wrapping her hair up to dry.

I never get it right. Every guy I go for always has secret depths of being a complete asshole. Angel, with his 'here let me help you let me be on your side oh wait actually that's not going to work for me see you never'. Then manipulative sex obsessed Parker, piling on the sensitive college boy routine before doing a 180 and kicking you to the curb once fun has been had.

Wasn't even that fun...

I guess you have to write off the first time for getting to know you-ness but you kinda expect there to be a second round after the awkward fumbling icebreaker.

And now with Riley... says he's there for me, says he wants to be there for me, but it's only if it's on his terms. Only if I play the part of weak little girl so he can play pretend at being the macho knight-in-shining-kevlar for an hour.

I just want one guy who can be honest about himself. God, send me a man who doesn't act all sweet and nice only for the mask to slip once it's served it's purpose.

She undoes her hair, drying off her locks and shrugging out of her robe before slipping into the sheets. The night is hot and close and her anger has raised her temperature even higher. She wriggles down under cool sheets, letting it sooth her hot skin, but it does nothing to cool her internally. Unbidden the feeling summons thoughts of Spike, the cool of his skin against hers.

If all men are monsters might as well date a monster. At least you know where you stand. There's something to be said for the bad boy routine, it's a lot less surprising when they turn into an asshole.

The real surprise is when they randomly visit your mother in the hospital-

Buffy turns angrily in bed, shaking her head as if she could dislodge thoughts of Spike that way, but he's stuck tight.

God, I'm seriously losing it.

The way he growled, moaned against her even as she pushed him harder, the thought of it turns the heat up inside her to a vicious inferno. The warmth of her room feels cloying, airless, and she moves further into the cold of the sheets, trying to find some respite.

Bet he could cool me down... Wonder if he's cold all over?

Wonder what it would feel like not to have to worry about leaving bruises...

I want that... not necessarily attached to him, or with him, but just once it would be nice not to have to be so careful.

That first kiss had danced on the edge of pain. Feral and wild. A kiss with teeth in it. With hunger underneath it. Passion running through it like a surging river. No hint of gentle, or sweet, but brutal. Almost as though he'd starved for her. Strength against strength, claws on skin.

Like a stream flowing into a river Buffy's thoughts merge into memories of Spike, perched on his lap at Giles', spellbound and desperate for him. He hadn't kissed her gently even then, and Giles' company had done little, or more accurately nothing, to put him off as his hands had roamed with unstoppable force, pulling her closer into him as he wrapped his tongue around hers.

Blind as Giles' had been Buffy had tried to keep the noises escaping her lips as chaste as possible, but Spike had seemed to take a perverse pleasure in seeing how far he could push, wanted to tip her over the edge, kneaded his fingers into her sides, scratched her as he sucked and bit her lips, refused to give her an inch to take a breath. The way he pulled her against him, held her close as she pushed back, both of them knowing she didn't want to be let go, that she was just testing the waters to see how tightly he could really hold her. How much pressure those arms could really inflict...

After such an onslaught her moans had finally escaped, earning a scolding from poor blind Giles, and with a smirk Spike had finally released her lips, but not her waist as his free hand travelled lower. He'd shifted in the chair to let her drop to his side, bringing her closer to him as they tangled tighter around each other. Legs wrapped around each others. He'd caught her wrist in his hand, dragging it down to his crotch, curling her fingers around the hard bulge under his jeans, smoothing her fingers down under his own before travelling up to the button of her pants. Unfastened them before she could stop him, and slid a hand down her stomach muscles and below, enjoying seeing her jump and squirm each time a finger grazed a nerve. She'd moved her lips to his, needed something to muffle the moans about to escape, but he'd pulled back with a grin, wanting to watch her struggle to keep herself quiet without his tongue in her mouth dampening the sound of her need.

Cool fingers found their way under the edge of her underwear, dipping down lower he'd wrapped his whole hand over her pussy. Held her firmly. Greed had filled his eyes while he'd watched her wriggle, as she waited for some little movement from him, waited for a hint of what he planned to do as the anticipation built to a shivering crescendo. Her breathing had started to turn to panting. Gasping. Those ice blue eyes had burned at her, all while his mouth had shushed her silently, motioning towards Giles lying on the sofa, and at that moment he'd slid two fingers down between her lips, grazing over her clit as she jumped in his hands, a trickle turning to a hot river.

She hadn't been able to stop a blush from flooding across her face as she felt how wet she was underneath his fingers, and he'd let her hide her face in the crook of his neck as he rubbed her, teasingly slow, pulled the hood of her clit back to glide a wet finger across it, rolled her back and forth for a while, tipping her towards an unbearable edge before moving lower, deeper, first one then two fingers inside her as she clung to the shirt on his back, terrified that worse noises than moans would reach Giles' ears.

Of course once the spell had ended she'd been mortified. Horrified. Had avoided him for weeks, but thinking about it now, with the cool sheets of her bed wrapping closer around her every time she moves she can't help but replay those moments in her head. Her hand finds its way down between her legs, mimicking the caress he'd inflicted on her then, hips moving, imagining him next to her. Inside her. Not just fingers... lips and tongue... more...

Thoughts of him then, and thoughts of him now, constrict round her mind like a python tightening its suffocating grip, vivid and dark. So vivid that she doesn't here the click of the front door closing.

Spike watches Buffy leave the Bronze with Willow, books under their arms.

The line across his throat where Buffy's forearm pinned him against the wall is burning. Every place she touches him now feels like it's being set on fire, and it's glow doesn't dissipate for hours after.

The evening is still early but he decides he's wasted enough of it. Passed enough time by now surely.

He sets off towards downtown on foot. It's warm out, and sort of damply humid. A sticky sort of heat. A couple up ahead of him seem engrossed each other, walking in tandem whilst locked at the lips, tongues darting in and out of each other's mouths without shame. The girl pulls back a little and a glint of teeth underneath a street light sparkles in the dark. Spike realises he can only hear one heartbeat from the both of them. The demon features have slid seamlessly into place over the girls delicate heart-shaped face, and the man at her side dips his head to run his lips over her fangs.

They turn left into the parking lot of the factory, his arm draped over her shoulders as they climb the steps to the entrance. In the far corner of the parking lot underneath the shadow of an neighbouring building Spike has parked his car in anticipation of the stake out.

Bad pun. He thinks to himself, as he opens the door, settling himself behind the wheel. A few more couples make their way across the lot, climbing the stairs and disappearing within. Two college boys, beers in hand, trip and shove each other, pushing each other towards the door with dares and laughter that echoes across the empty expanse, before ducking inside.

Spike drums his fingers on the steering wheel, impatience starting to make him agitated.

Come on, Soldier Boy. You gotta be itching for it by now.

He turns the electrics on enough for the dash to light up to check the time. Just before midnight. He shuts the car off again, taking a deeper breath. The flask in the glove compartment is mostly full and he pulls it out to take a swig from.

Maybe I could take a gamble... go and get her now...

He takes another swig, trying to settle. Trying to quell the impatience.

Don't be an idiot. He scolds himself. If he's not there and she busts in tearing the place apart then it's over. He'll cover his tracks, and there's no way she'll take my word without proof.

Just want to see her now is all. It's driving me mad-

A figure emerges out of the shadows of an alleyway across from the factory and Spike freezes, recognising the excessively upright gate, the military swing of the arms.

Gotcha.

He waits for Riley to get all the way inside the factory, and a couple agonising minutes more for safety, before starting the car and pulling out of the lot, heading to Revello Drive.

Chapter Text

Spike stands outside for a few minutes, clenching and unclenching a fist, trying to will himself through the door. His stomach is in knots, butterflies tickling the edge of nervousness.

If I had a heartbeat it'd be deafening right now.

It's not just the thought of seeing her, though that's done plenty to set him on edge. Riley being downtown, it's a ticking time bomb, with no clue how long before it goes off.

Bloke's getting further away from towing the line. If I don't play this right, I'm dust. If he comes back early and catches me in her bedroom I'm a dead man.

More so than usual.

Thoughts of the night before pull at his mind. The way she'd swayed in Riley's arms, all soft and happy and sweet. All smiles and whispers. No idea of the lies he was hiding. Of the bite marks underneath the bandage on his arm. He thinks of Buffy underneath Riley, grinding ineffectually against him as he paws at her. Slips inside her. Not seeing it with his own eyes is little respite, his imagination fills in the gaps with excessive, graphic clarity. Choking him completely. Twisting his heart with thoughts of what it would be like to feel her beneath him... see her wanting him like he wants her...

Alright... so it's worth the risk.

Even if she stakes me it'll be worth the risk. Can't go on like this...

He lets himself in as quietly as possible, closing the door behind him with barely a sound. The house is silent. Almost silent. Upstairs overhead is a soft gasp from Buffy's room, and he prickles, suddenly panicking that he's misjudged the situation entirely. That Riley is in fact in the house and he's about to get himself dusted over nothing.

When no other sound travels down to him he starts his way up the stairs.

God Buffy, I'm risking everything for you. How have you got me wrapped up in you so quickly?

He heaves his mind back on track, back to the task at hand.

This'll be it though. She'll see it, see him getting the juice sucked out of him by some vamp trollop and she'll realise what a lying piece of shit he is. Knew he was a fucking asshole from day one. No one ever listens. Happy to tag and capture and cut up whatever he wants, then goes and pays vampires to suck him dry. Hypocrite.

Coulda told her what a mistake Angel was too. Sure he can brood and pout and play the poor victim of gypsy curses 'til he's red in the face. Says he has to come to terms with infinite remorse, but pretends he doesn't have any memory of it all around her. Pretends that shoving a soul back in is just a reset button, but he remembers everything. Always did. If I'd warned her then... Didn't particularly have a reason to at the time, but shit I really coulda saved her some hassle over that one. Should've killed him over what he did with Dru anyway.

Stupid girl's got the worst taste in men, always picking the sweet kind gentleman without realising they're the most dangerous. The ones with the most to hide.

He can smell her, a softly sweet clean smell everywhere through the house. It's stronger on the landing, and damp like she's showered recently... He takes a breath, wanting to fill his lungs with it, wanting to hoard it, unable to stop his mind lingering on the thought of her peach colored skin glistening under hot water.

He fingers the grain of the wood of her door. Taking a moment, trying to regain composure a little but his fingers are shaking.

As he slips in she stirs, a slight rustle of the sheets and he catches the smell of her again. Stronger. Sweeter.

...Wetter.

That scent. Warm, and fragrant and a little earthy, human and alive, heat built in underneath it...

That time in Giles' chair... Wet fingers... Hungry mouths...

His throat swells shut entirely. There's no accompanying scent of Riley lingering in the bedroom. Fresh sheets. No trace of his scent at all. He's not keeping clothes here then.

Girl's going unfulfilled too often... give me a chance Buffy, I'd do it all for you. You wouldn't catch me running around behind your back.

I'd be yours if you'd have me-

"Riley?"

It takes him a moment to find the words caught in his throat, feeling like his voice box has completely abandoned him.

Her orgasm shudders through her, making her shiver and sigh, and in that moment she hears it. Heavy booted footsteps on the stairs.

Guess he lost track of time with his army troop, she thinks, taking a breath, relieved he didn't walk in on her 2 minutes ago, whispering Spike's name as she imagined his tongue inside her.

There's a pause outside her door just before the handle turns and she relaxes into the pillows, suddenly feeling very drowsy after her ebbing release. Her bedroom door clicks shut but he hovers in the middle of the room, not moving further in.

"Riley?"

He shuffles, moving into a beam of light cast from a streetlight outside.

"...It's me."

Hard cheekbones and pale skin are suddenly illuminated in stark black and white tones, as if he's stepped straight out of her thoughts into her bedroom.

She sits bolt upright, only just remembering in time that she's wearing nothing underneath the bed covers, and she clenches the comforter to her breasts.

"What the hell are you doing? Was I somehow not clear enough the last time you wandered in uninvited!?"

"I wouldn't be here if I didn't have a good reason." he moves further out of the shadow and freezes for a second, realizing her shoulders are bare. The way she's holding the comforter up across her chest... "I..." God, get a grip.

"So this isn't like last time? When you had absolutely no reason?"

"I'm serious-"

"Get out."

"Look, I'm trying to help you-" This is unravelling. I'm unravelling...I didn't expect her to be... to be-

"Get out, or I'll throw you out myself!"

He bars the image from his mind, knowing it'll derail him further.

"And as much as I'd love the full show, pet, we really don't have the time."

She flushes a deep red that's little more than a darkening of her cheeks in the gloom of her bedroom. He moves closer to the foot of the bed, and she hardens her jaw, trying to figure out how she can pull her clothes on and simultaneously wrangle him out of her bedroom.

"I want to show you something." There's a desperate insistence in his voice that makes some of the fury evaporate a little.

"What?"

"You need to see this. But we have to go now if we want to get there in time."

They square each other off, glare for glare, but her curiosity wins out over stubbornness. She sighs, biting her lip.

"Turn around."

Spike raises an eyebrow, eyes pitch black with dilated pupils gleaming in the dark.

Didn't ask me to leave. Or wait outside. Is her resolve slipping faster than she wants to admit?

Her eyes flare and he realizes he's staring at her, knuckles white against the railing of the bed. He turns, leaning against the bedframe, keeping the railing in his hands to steady himself.

Naked Buffy. All alone in a room with her. And she doesn't even seem to mind... If I turned around, if I kissed her would she stop me... if I pulled her down on the bed with me would she stop me?

He stifles a moan, wicked thoughts pulling at his mind with hot little fingers, making him harden against the fabric of his jeans.

Buffy keeps the comforter pinned to her chest as he turns away from her, only letting it slip once his head is turned. She's left a little pile of clothes next to the bed, Thank God, but...

Oh. Underwear. I put what I had on before in the laundry hamper in the hall and my underwear drawer is on the other side of the room by the door...

I could ask him to move...

...I could ask him to leave...

She decides against both, knowing her voice will come out cracked and dry.

Don't think I could really take his snide commentary right now...

She slips into what she has, a thick green sweater and sweatpants, sans bra and panties, finds sneakers and pulls them on, lacing them up tight.

Not ideal. But it's dark he won't be able to tell, right?

...Vampires have good night vision though don't they?

Crap. Can't do anything about it now.

"Ok. Let's go." She pulls on a denim jacket over the sweater, ignoring his trailing glance that slides over her as she moves passed.

They drive downtown, Buffy keeping her jacket closed across her chest, feeling like she could do with five or six more layers despite the balmy night air.

Had to pick up the jacket without buttons. Please. Please, please please don't let this be a drop-kicking, back-flipping kind of excursion.

He hasn't said anything since they left the house, sharing a truce-ful silence as the interior of the car flashes underneath headlights passing overhead. Occasionally their eyes meet in the dark and Buffy's throat feels like it's going to close altogether.

Thoughts of him, of having him, letting him have her had only just dwindled and then as if summoned he was in her room, staring down at her as she clung to the bedsheets. Almost like he could read every single thought. Like he always somehow managed to.

God this is so far passed awkward, this out the other side into please just let the Earth swallow me whole.

"Are you going to tell me what we're doing?" She was right, her voice sounded strained and on the edge of breathy.

"It's not really something I can tell you, luv. This is a show not tell sort of situation."

"I hate surprises."

He smiles bitterly. You're really going to hate this one.

Spike parks his car a few streets away, shuts off the engine, nerves shaking through him like ants under his skin.

This is going to hurt her.

She moves to open the door and he catches hold of her wrist, staying her for a second.

"Buffy-" Tell her. Tell her you love her. Ask her to leave him, and spare her all this... But instead he swallows his words, knowing this is the only way she'll listen. He lets go of her wrist, clenching his jaw as she climbs out of the car.

They turn into an abandoned factory car lot and her heart drops.

I don't think I've ever once been in a factory and not had to fight my way out. That's not how Sunnydale works.

She bites her lip, resigning herself to the fact that by the end of the night Spike will probably get more than a bit of an eyeful, and that she'll never ever live it down.

They cross the lot. Spike can already feel his hackles rising, skin tingling from the smell of blood inside. From the stench of bodies pressing against each other in dirty surroundings, making the air thick with it. His demon fights a little against the leash of control but he winds it back tighter.

Not now. Gotta keep the face she likes in place for this.

He opens the door for her, and she steps inside. As her eyes adjust to the gloom, she recoils, fingers twitching for the stake that she suddenly realizes she hasn't brought. Vampires, littered through the room in various states of undress, in various states of...

...feeding. But there's no screams, or cries. Not even whimpers, just a low continuous note of moaning and sucking. Like she's walked into the middle of an orgy.

Oh Jesus... what is this.

He catches her fingers as they reach for a stake that's not there.

"Don't start slaying. This isn't what we're here for."

She's too stunned to move for a moment. Oh my God, how can it get worse than this. If this isn't what we're for...

He nudges her gently and she nearly trips over her own feet as he gets her moving, walking towards a set of stairs at the back leading up.

He can smell him now. Underneath all the blood, and the lust, and the sweat, Riley's smell is a bright white note, the scent of the soap he uses mingling with the smell of his blood. Like a glowing line it disappears up the stairs and he moves Buffy towards them, keeping near in case she trips. Litter and rotting clothes left behind by careless patrons decorates the steps as she picks her way over it all.

A hand suddenly drops onto his shoulder, spinning him round.

"What d'you think you're doing?" A hefty vamp glowers down at Spike. He's big, and mean looking, but he's still only fresh, not more than a few months out of his grave. Weak compared to Spike, and his centuries of feeding.

Don't need the hassle. Spike thinks, un-balling a fist. Don't want to start a brawl that'll make Captain Crewcut come running.

"Just having a look mate," he shrugs the hand off his shoulder. "Keep it down."

"You can't go up there-" The hand grabs his shoulder again and Spike chokes him by the throat, squeezing with one hand until the vamps eyes near pop, nails digging into tendons. He shoves him hard, and the vampire sprawls on the floor, unnoticed by the rest of the warehouse's clientele.

"I said keep it down," Spike sneers, straightening his coat and following Buffy up the stairs.

It's worse somehow on the second floor. Heaps of trash in corners, used needles, dirty clothes and filthy tattered curtains that flutter against the windows. The smell is worse too. Of piss and blood and sex. There's a row of offices, secluded rooms with moans and grunts spilling out of them. Spike can hear Buffy's heartrate start to tick over higher. Not usually one to panic this place has gotten fully under her skin, making her want to gag.

I can't do this. She thinks, feeling suddenly dizzy from the smell of sex and blood. There's no air in this place, every breath she takes feels like it's already been sucked in a hundred times. Circulating through dead lungs. This is... this is completely disgusting. How did I not know about this? Surely Giles should know about this? She feels her gag reflex suddenly tighten, and takes a steadying breath, accompanied by every smell seeping out into the hallway.

She's about to walk further down the hall when Spike stops her with a hand on her arm, nodding to an office room off to her left.

I don't want to go in there. I don't want to see what's in there if it's worse than this.

She steals herself, not wanting to crumble and flee in front of Spike. She pushes the door open, making her way inside a little, before stopping in her tracks.

Two figures are sprawled on a filthy mattress on the floor. A man, shirtless with his face in shadow, tangled around a vampire, thin, female, twisted in between his legs. Grinding against him. Her lips pressed wide and hungrily over his arm. Something black has spilled onto her face, a thick line of blood dripping down, running down her neck. The man sucks air into his lungs as she bites down further, moaning.

What the hell am I doing here? Rage mingles with disgust and she tries to edge back out of the door.

"Harder." He groans, and Buffy freezes. Recognising the voice. Her lips move but nothing comes out.

Riley...

"Uh..." Oh God... it can't be... please tell me I'm dreaming. This is some twisted awful nightmare...

His head snaps up at the sound of her gasp from the open door. Spike is behind her, steadying her with a hand on her back as she tries to find air in the dank disgusting room.

I'm going to be sick.

Oh God I really think I'm going to be sick...

"Buffy-" Riley moves to untangle himself from the vampire on top of him and she backs out of the room, not wanting to give him a chance to reach her whilst he's still covered in his own blood and the vampire's drool.

She snaps out of her daze then, shaking herself out of shock as she pelts back out into the dingy hallway.

"BUFFY!" Riley screams after her but she's half way down the stairs, running for the exit.

Chapter Text

"BUFFY!" Spike's voice echos down the street after her. She hasn't stopped running since she left the factory behind. She's just a blur now in the distance, and he has to sprint to catch up. "BUFFY! COME ON NOW, STOP!"

She turns a corner and he thinks he's going to lose sight of her completely. As he hits the corner she's up just ahead, bent double against a wall retching up dry scraping heaves, thick choking coughs in between gagging.

Oh fuck. Sweetheart I'm so sorry...

Tears are streaming down her face from being bent double but there's nothing to throw up against except her own horror. She flinches a little when she feels Spike's cool fingers on the back of her neck, pulling her hair out of the way from her mouth.

"I... I just thought you should know."

"You-" She straightens up, swatting his hand away from her hair, "you could've just told me. What is wrong with you? What, it's no good for you unless you get to watch?"

She starts walking away, fast down winding streets away from the factory, wiping at her mouth and eyes with the back of her sleeves and he follows behind, leaving enough space to duck out of a punch if her fist swings his way.

"You think if I'd told you, just outright came out with it and said hey by the way, Oh Approachable One, Sergeant Shagless back there's spending his nights getting sucked off by some ladies of a very questionable reputation, you would've believed me? Did I miss the part where we suddenly had that kind of relationship, Slayer?"

"God just shut up."

"So no then."

"You could've tried."

"I DID TRY! I told you he was bad news, it's not my fault if you won't listen!"

"Why are you always there?!" She spins turning to face him, spitting venom like a wild cat. "Why is it whenever anything goes to hell in my life it's ALWAYS YOU THAT'S THERE!? Do you just follow me around waiting for things to go wrong?"

She doesn't wait for him to answer, turning right down a street that parts across from the cemetery.

"Oh that's RICH coming from you!" Spike shouts, following her through the cemetary gates, boots crunching on gravel behind her. "You spend all your free time kicking me about, batting me back and forth. I can't get away from you! You know, I've got a set of bootprints on my door for every bloody pair of shoes you own, pet. So you tell me, who's following who?"

"Sorry, are we just blowing passed the two times in as many days you've broken into my house?!"

He catches up to her then, blocking her path.

"Are we blowing right passed the fact that you could get your dial-a-witch to de-invite me anytime you choose and yet you don't? Why is that, Buffy? Cus from where I'm standing it's a little like you don't actually want me out of your life."

"You want a de-invite? Here it is: Stay. Away. From me!"

"Oh sing me another tune, luv. That one's a golden oldie."

"Funny you never seem to remember the words then."

She shoves passed him and he grabs her by the elbow, hard fingers digging into her bicep.

"You started this! You don't get to act all high and mighty, playing innocent in all this, when you can't stay away from me either! There's always an excuse Buffy. Always some little piece of information that you need to pump me for. That you say you need! If being around me was really such an inconvenience you could find it some other way! But you break down my door every time! It's wearing a little thin, sweetheart."

"Let go of my arm."

"You say you hate it, but you won't leave! If being near me repulses you so much why won't you bloody leave?!"

Her mouth crashes into his hard. For a blind groping moment he thinks she's punched him in the mouth until he feels her tongue against his own.

The shock of it stirs his demon awake, furious and hungry. Sharp teeth on soft lips, and Buffy catches her tongue on his fangs before he pushes his demon features back down, before he can pull the fangs back away from her. Suddenly her blood is in his mouth, coating his tongue.

It's just a scratch but God... First fresh human blood in nearly a year... he assumed he'd be out of control like a shark scenting blood in the water, but it's hers, her taste, perfumed like her scent. So much so that it floods his mind completely, pushing all the blood lust back into oblivion, until all that's left is a throbbing, aching need for her.

His lips are surprisingly warm, from the night air and from her own. Buffy wraps her arm across his neck, pulling him harder against her. She expects him to wince, pull back out of her clawing grasp but he's leaning in deeper, matching her strength with his own.

This. This is what I want...

She clings to him desperately, bruising her lips on his. There's a sharp tingle across her tongue that's gone in an instant but she can taste blood in his mouth. In hers.

She panics briefly from the taste of it, expecting his fangs to come sliding out to finish the job. She pulls back and trips over a step. She braces herself, clinging to his collar, thinking she's about to tumble into grass, but her back slams hard against a door of a crypt. His crypt.

She blinks. Dazed. Realising that's where she'd been storming off to without knowing. Instinctively heading in his direction.

He doesn't let up, dragging her back to his mouth, pushing her through the door, into the cold darkness inside. Her hands move from the back of his neck to his jaw as they move further into the crypt.

She sinks her teeth into his lip and he groans, a deep spine shivering growl that reverberates over her teeth down her throat, all the way down and settling in her stomach where it scorches and burns. Hard fingers at her back make Riley's seem like moth wings.

He pushes her further back, not breaking their kiss, further towards the back of the crypt to the hole leading down into the floor.

He finally pulls away from her, releasing her, and she feels weak from it. He drops down the hole, expecting her to follow. Doesn't look back to see whether she will or not.

Buffy bites her lip, standing in the gloomy half dark of the crypt, looking down into the pitch black beneath her feet.

I can't turn back now...

She takes a breath and climbs down into the dark.

"Spike?" She whispers. There's a small scraping clink of a lighter, a flare in the dark, and his face is illuminated. He touches the flame to a few candles, dispelling some of the suffocating darkness.

Buffy blinks in the half light, casting her eye around the cave underneath the crypt. A few empty coffins lie overturned along the walls, some furniture lines the other side. Spike moves further into the caves, lighting candles on his way through.

At the back is a bed. Not what she pictured him sleeping on. Peach colored and quilted. Pillows. More candles. Everything soft, and sort of golden in the glow.

Her skin turns to goosebumps, breathe fogging in the chill of the crypt a little.

"Spike... I can't-"

He snaps the lighter shut, shrugging out of his duster and draping it over the side of a chair, moving in front of her in the half light.

He grasps her again, less desperate, more controlled, one hand at her back, the other brushing her hair away from her neck, letting it slip through his fingers.

"Why? Why can't you?" He leans in, running his lips over her neck and she shivers, wanting to dig her nails into his back. Rigidly keeping them by her side to avoid temptation.

"It's complicated."

I won't be able to say no if he keeps doing that...

"I want you. You want me. What's complicated?"

He moves his lips to hers, hand on the back of her neck pulling her closer.

"I'm still with Riley."

He freezes, hurt glistening in his eyes.

"After everything? Everything you saw? You still want to be with him?"

"No." She sighs, "Spike I-"

"It wasn't just blood Buffy. You know what he was doing."

"I know. It's over, it is, but it needs to be said, I need to end it properly. And I can't... with you not until then. I need to do better than he has, for myself."

And so he doesn't have something to throw back in my face. I can't pretend that's not part of it.

He runs his hands down from her neck, down her arms, settling on her hips and pulling her towards him. Pulling her with him further back into the cave.

"That's good of you." He slips a hand round her waist, under the edge of her sweater, bare hand on her skin.

"Spike-" she's about to protest, but she's moving on her own, deeper into his arms.

"I hear you're serious, so am I. Stay. Just stay here. Not for-" he cuts himself off, clenching his jaw as the warmth of her skin melts his fingers from the inside out. "For whatever you want, or don't want, figure it out later, just stay."

She sighs. She doesn't say yes but she relaxes into him a little more as his hand travels up her back, the other snaking round her waist.

Chapter Text

There's a small moment where the hesitation seems to leave her for a fleeting second. He seizes on it, on her, sinking his mouth down on hers.

Might not get another chance... God I'll take whatever I can get from her. Any tiny little piece she's willing to give.

He slips his tongue passed her teeth, tangling it around hers and to his surprise she melts into it. It takes her a moment, a heartbeat of indecision, but she breaks. Pulling him in hard, warm hands on his arms, moving across against his back, nails scratching at him. He stoops, sliding both hands around her waist. He lifts her up with a hard yank, hoisting her off her feet, and she shocks him by wrapping her legs around his hips.

She wants me...

The heat of her is scorching, starting from between her legs and burning through layers of clothes, setting his skin on fire. He growls possessively, and he hears her heart beating, tripping up and over into a higher tempo, ticking against his tongue through hers, echoing in his teeth as they itch to move down into sharper fangs. Itching to bite her, but not to feed, just to feel. Just to feel her bucking against him more, feeling himself inside her, feel her moans trickling down his throat, swallowing the sound of her need down into his gut, breathing the scent of her in deep into his lungs.

He walks her to the bed, one hand still round her waist, the other on the back of her neck, locking her against him. Her breasts crush against his chest and he nearly buckles, nearly falls to his knees, at how soft she feels. Everywhere. Skin on his. Lips under his teeth. Breasts heaving with her every breath. Hair slipping through his fingers. Soft everywhere but with hard muscles and sharp claws underneath. Exquisite contradiction.

Buffy loses herself and squeezes his hips with her thighs, expecting a sharp intake of breath or a cry, bracing her heart for it like a little cutting dagger engraved with words like Too Strong To Be Loved- memories of Riley wincing in pain... Parker smirking as he left her in the quad...

But instead Spike's laughing. A sneering sort of chuckle you'd hear from a schoolboy.

"If you're trying to leave your mark, pet, you'll have to go a bit harder than that. I'm not a paper doll." She let's out a breath, hitched by a light laugh, followed by a head rush as he topples her down onto the bed beneath him.

"Is that a challenge?" She purrs as he tangles himself around her, grazing the skin of her collarbones with his teeth, finding all the little pressure points on her back that make her jump and gasp as he strokes hard fingers up her spine. She can feel him grinning into her neck.

"Definitely."

His hands are moving further up, pushing her up into him more, holding her closer. Something inside her melts completely. Some small fragment of ice she'd been protecting her heart with. Keeping herself back just enough not to be heartbroken again. But the way his fingers play across her skin, the way his lips press into her neck, kissing then sucking... nearly biting... feels almost worshipful. Feels strangely loving. Safe.

That's... weird. He makes me feel safe? Makes me feel wanted... all parts. Every part. Human part and Slayer part...

Her heart sinks...

"Spike... I... I don't want to hurt you." Her head swirls at the intense change of direction that she finds herself taking.

I really don't... I've had enough of hurt. Taking and giving...

He chuckles darkly, putting slightly more pressure behind the caresses his teeth are leaving on the skin of her neck.

"Don't you, luv? That's a change of pace."

"You know what I mean."

"You mean it's no fun beating me to a pulp if I get off on it?"

"NO! That's definitely not what I mean!" She laughs, feeling some of the tension ebb.

He nuzzles into her neck, leaving long biting kisses behind, purring against her veins, a deep vibrating growling purr like a panther prowling on top of her, all lithe muscle and satiny skin. Hard teeth and claws with desire underneath. She matches it with light scratches at his back, growing in ferocity the lower his lips move.

"Don't be gentle with me, Buffy. You don't need to pretend with me. Leave me bruised."

Her skin prickles, shivering under his. Her legs are tangled underneath his and she moves them up around him, letting him slip closer towards her. His fingers find a knot of nerves near her spine that catches her breath in her throat as he strokes over it. He learns quick, watching her with a side eye as he strokes back over it harder, making her whimper.

"You're so easy to read." He whispers in awe, and her stomach twists over.

He digs his fingers in hard and she screams, back arching, her thighs suddenly crushing his hips as all her muscles contract. Fingernails clawing his back.

Do all parts of her do that? All muscles? He thinks, his mouth filling with saliva as she squirms underneath him. Even the ones on the inside?

What muscles like that could do...

His throat closes, thinking of her wrapped around him.

"Buffy..." he swallows, trying to dispel the croak that's taken hold of his voice box. "How far... where's the line?"

She blinks, eyes fluttering, he's so close he can feel the heat behind each breathe she takes. His arms are still wrapped around her back, up underneath her sweater but the claws have turn to soft fingers, scratches to soft winding strokes, ready to pull back if she says stop.

"I uh..."

I said I wanted to wait... needed to wait ...I...

I feel drugged. Drunk on him. Like I'm melting away completely.

I said I wanted to wait.

"I don't know." To herself not just to him.

He nods, touching her lips with his in a softer kiss, and she relaxes a little. Even soft, even gentle his kiss has power underneath it. Not weak like Riley. Not careful like Angel. Intentionally light, choosing to be, teasing a little, loving a lot.

"This alright?" He whispers as he pulls away. She nods, shifting down a little further underneath him, pulling him in closer still with her hands at the back of his neck, slipping up into the hard slicked back spikes of his hair. She kisses down further, over his chin to his throat, down his neck and he gulps, panting, at the scorching heat of her tongue working its way over his jugular, down further...

"Buffy…"

He can hear her heartbeat hammering, feels it leaving little trembling vibrations everywhere she touches him, even when he pulls away from her, sitting up on his knees between her legs. She follows him up, pulling his black shirt up over his head. He reaches down, re-wrapping arms around her waist before hoisting her up, setting her down so she's sitting on top of the pillows at the head of the bed. He takes one of her ankles in his hand and pulls her sneaker off, pulls of the other and kicks his boots down off the edge of the bed.

He pulls the bed covers out from under her feet and she slips down, settling into the bed without being asked, and he moves in beside her. Bare feet against bare feet, cool fingers over hips, under clothes, twining into hair. He strokes up her stomach, rucking the sweater she's still wearing up to just under her breasts.

There's a soft pink line across her abdomen, barely there, where the stake punctured. He runs the back of his fingers over it, lowers himself down between her legs so his head is in front of her stomach and she stiffens, almost imperceptibly, swallowing a little gasp.

She thinks I'm rushing ahead...

Not used to men taking their time.

He sets his mouth on her skin, kisses softly down the line of her stomach... brushing her scar with his lips. As soon as he does an electric bolt rips through Buffy and she can't help suck in a deep lungful of air as he does it again, trailing his lips over fresh sensitive skin. He flattens his tongue against the scar and licks slowly along the full length of it as she bucks and screams, hard fingers suddenly burying themselves in his hair, gelled spikes cracking underneath. He works his way back, nipping her just underneath her belly button, starting to feel high on her moans. Finding more places to bite as she pulls his hair and leaves deep scratches over his neck.

He moves back up her torso, pulls her hands out of his hair and resettles them on his jaw, pulling into a harder, hungrier kiss. She pushes her tongue hard against his, clinging to him.

"Do you normally sleep in a sweater, luv?" He moans as she wraps her legs tighter around his.

She stops. Green eyes snapping open, meeting his.

"No. Not usually."

Buffy bites her lip as his hand moves down to the hem of her sweater, lifting it up. The back of his fingers grazing her ribcage for the second time in a week.

This will be as far I go... it's not...

It's not as bad as what Riley was doing.

I don't even really care anymore what he was doing... Maybe I'll never care about anything again.

She lifts her arms and ducks her head out underneath the sweater as Spike pulls it up and off her shoulders, relaxing back down into the pillows. The silk of the sheets feels cool against her skin, a little slippery...

Spike drops the sweater off the edge of the bed, freezes when he turns back to look at her properly.

The peach of her skin, against the peach of the sheets, silk on silk. Gold hair against the gold in the stitching, shining in the pink candle glow.

He cocks his head, taking her in.

Huh... that's why I chose that color. Thought it was out of my usual taste.

She's really been infecting me for longer than I thought...

Riley slips into Buffy's house, not bothering to close the door quietly. Dawn is at Janice's, Joyce won't be back until tomorrow.

I guess today technically…

"Buffy?" The weighted silence greets him.

His arm is throbbing darkly underneath the bandage. Two punctures, oozing blood thickly.

He smooths his sleeve over his arm, leaves his coat on so she won't see the bulge of the bandage. It might be too late, but there's no reason to set her off.

"Buffy?"

The stairs creak under him as he makes his way up to her bedroom. She's not the kind to give the silent treatment. Never really was a sulker, and the silence is starting to making him panic a little on the inside.

He pushes her door open. Nothing. No one. Just the dim glow of streetlights illuminating the ceiling through the blinds. He flicks the light on, hoping maybe he's just mistaken the emptiness.

But she's not there.

She's probably out. Down on a patrol somewhere. Maybe getting herself hurt... I should look for her. If she's upset, it could blind her at a bad moment... She's making too many bad decisions...

If she didn't keep making them I wouldn't have been down there. With them. She should be here with me. This is her fault just as much as mine! I just wanted to feel... needed. Wanted. How hard would that have been? Just once choose me over them? Just once cry on my shoulder, let me comfort her! Let me in just an inch!

You'd think with everything she's been through she could let me in to her heart just a tiny bit. Let me be there for her! She'd see how well I could be there for her!

The adrenaline to face her has evaporated leaving him exhausted. He sits down on her bed, biting his lip, runs his hands through his hair. He casts his glance around the room, crippled by the lack of her suddenly. There's a gap in her mirror where a picture used to be, and he freezes, heart filled with cold icy sorrow. Their picture. It's gone.

Did she come back just to take it down? Only to go out immediately after? She's fast but I would've seen her on the way out surely?

Or did she take it down earlier? Before tonight? Did she know about- about it all before tonight? Was she waiting to confront me?

Did she bring Spike along just to rub it in?

That's insane. She's not that sort of person. She never needs back-up. He thinks bitterly. Never has. And even if she did want back up she'd bring Willow. Would bring a girlfriend for support not Spike. I'm just getting in my own head about hi-

His train of thought dies. His swirling rampart thoughts falling out silent like dead birds out of the sky. His eye has caught a pile of laundry messily kicked to the back of the closet and underneath a heap of Buffy clothes, bright colours, girly patterns, soft sweaters, is something different.

Something dark.

Something black. With a paisley pattern.

Chapter Text

She hadn't stopped clinging to him, clawing at him, since she'd shrugged out of the wool of her sweater. Hot skin pressed against his, making his legs weaken. Even in the deep chill of the crypt's underground cave, even pressed against the cold silk sheets, everything, every part of her was burning. Burning him too it seemed, fingers no longer just under room temperature, skin no longer starkly white. Every part of Spike seemed to be thawing under her touch.

Drowning in heat. Smothered with it. Every breath she draws in pushes her breasts against his chest, soft and warm and beating with a heaving heart rate. Every breath out spilling hot air down over his skin, into his mouth as she wraps her tongue around his.

The gel had splintered from his hair under her grip, hard nails scratching his neck and scalp as they wrapped around each other tighter.

Buffy resurfaces out of a long biting kiss for air, feeling out of breath, feeling drained, arms still wrapped around his neck. The room feels like it's on a tilt and she pulls him in a bit closer to stop from slipping down underneath the spinning feeling.

She lets him kiss down her neck, when a slight chuckle escapes her lips.

"What's funny, Slayer?" Spike glances up at her, blue eyes singing in the half light, mouth still working further down over a collarbone.

"Nothing. I just didn't realise you had curls under all the hair gel." She hooks a finger through a curl, wrapping it round her finger like a little white ring.

So soft...

"Uh huh. Bed head's not a side of me you've seen before."

"I like it. Makes you look less psychotic."

"It's not a look I tend to cultivate." He nips at her finger as it slides down over his cheek, grinning meanly. "Prefer the sweet schoolboy curls, do you?"

"It's definitely more accessible than the full helmet." She runs both hands through his hair up from the nape of his neck, pulling it into her fingers and he groans at the hard pressure. His eyes flutter shut as she pulls a little harder, releasing more curls with her nails.

"You like accessible?" He sighs as she runs her fingers deeper into his locks. He moves in closer, running his lips over her jawline, moving hands up to cup her face so she can't look away from him.

"Yeah. I like."

"You like me?"

Buffy swallows, trying not to squirm as his eyes burn, meeting hers, mouth mere millimetres from hers. Messy emotions spilling over one another, sweet safe strange feelings tangled up with bad memories...

I do like him. How cuttingly honest he is. I'm so sick of boys, men, sugar coating everything for me. Pretending around me, acting like I'm just a weak little girl, and looking the other way when I save their lives... it's patronizing.

Oh God... I like Spike...

Maybe a bit more than like. When he looks at me like that... maybe a lot more.

"Sometimes."

He can tell the direct eye contact is making her panic a little.

Too much honesty too fast...

He moves in closer, running his lips over hers.

"Careful, luv. You're implying this is more than a one time thing." He rests his head against hers, running his teeth over her skin, feeling the wave of her lungs breathing in underneath him, feeling like he's floating.

"Is that what you want?" There's a gulp in her voice that she's trying to talk around. Hoping he doesn't notice it.

"You know it is."

Her fingers are working back down his scalp and they stop dead as they cross over the scar at the back of his head. A hot screaming mess of Initiative memories bursts over her brain and she struggles not to lose control at the thought of the pit. And the thought of the cells.

What did they use to call demons?

Hostiles?

This feels like the opposite of hostile though. This whole past week with Riley... that felt hostile.

I'm kidding myself if I pretend that he hasn't been more than hostile for a while. With me. Even the way he was around Oz, when he found out what he was underneath. I can tell he's still weighing that against me. I know he thinks I should've killed Spike on sight after he escaped their lab.

I think, in his opinion, I shouldn't be... what's the word... subjective. Everything should be black or white. Humans good. Demons bad. But it's not that simple. Nothing is ever that simple. Maybe it was once, for me, when I was just a kid, but not anymore. Because it's not demons versus humans. It's demons living in humans, controlling them. For days, like with Oz, or millennia. With Anya. With Spike. They started off as people.

As victims.

How do you untangle that? How do you just decide that half of what they are, who they are, doesn't count?

Can you be a good person in spite of the demon in you?

She wants to ask him how long Riley had been visiting the den for. How long he's was watching him before tonight. Several days at least considering the bandage on Riley's arm. Maybe even longer, when was the last time she saw his bare arms? The lights were always strategically off, sleeves always strategically long, even during the sweltering Sunnydale heat. The betrayal stings fresh and new.

Spike would never have done that to Drusilla.…. didn't even lie to Harmony as far as I could tell, even when she wanted him to. Even if it would've spared her feelings.

How insane is it that I'm lying here with Spike, weighing him against Riley and he's coming out on top…

His lips touch over a tendon in her neck and she gasps. All thoughts of Riley and the Initiative vanish like a candle flame being snuffed out. Tension about Riley melting out of her rapidly... being replaced by a whole new tension lower down. Much lower.

"Spike-"

He sinks his mouth down over the spot, hard teeth biting skin to a pinch, sucking a little for pressure and she moans.

Sucking a lot actually-

Fuck-

"Spike! Don't, you'll leave a mark!"

He bites a little harder before releasing her neck from his mouth.

"So?" He whispers, making her spine shiver.

"So it's probably not a good idea to leave a giant flashing love bite over my jugular! Not least because I'm still technically with Riley and he'd more than happily stake you chip or no chip."

"Concerned for my well being all of a sudden are you?"

"Spike, I'm serious-"

"I'm not scared of your toy soldier, pet. He won't know it's me anyway." He moves back towards her neck but she's still got him by the hair, stopping his mouth with a firm pull.

"You don't think he'll figure it out? After you went and bragged about helping me the other-"

"Oi, I didn't brag!" He pulls back away from her so he can look her in the face. "I slipped up, but I didn't brag."

"Is that what you call it? A slip up?"

"Oh fine! Spike couldn't possibly keep anything to himself, is that it? I might not be the most discreet man on the planet, sweetheart, but I don't kiss and tell!"

"You leave a huge bite shaped bruise over my neck you won't exactly have to."

Spike rolls his eyes, clenching his jaw, swallowing a pout.

Getting further than I ever dreamed I could. Don't fucking sulk and ruin it all.

"All right, fine. Fair point." He brushes her neck with his fingers softly, trailing lightly over the little pink dents his teeth have left behind. Wanting to leave more. Harder deeper bites. Harder, meaner kisses. Ones that would make her moan again. Scream a little. Ones that would take days to fade.

Wanting to leave them further down-

Hmm...

His hand trails down from her neck, over her collarbone to a breast, beating skin thumping against his fingers. His throat clenches shut.

She didn't say no to me... she just said no to there...

Riley pulls the shirt out from underneath the pile of laundry. It's crumpled. Has unmistakably been there, lying underneath her things, for a few days.

A few days at least.

Was it here when I was here? After we found out about Joyce, that evening, was it here then?

The thought of it, tucked in amongst her things like a festering secret, while he touched her, kissed her, makes his stomach feel like a lump of cold concrete.

Is it here because he was? Must be, people don't go around leaving their stuff all over the place for no reason.

He was here.

And she took it off him.

His looks back to the empty slot in the mirror's frame, wishing he could remember when he last saw the photograph there.

Guess it doesn't matter. It's been a while that much is clear. The way she's been pushing away from me, keeping me at a distance. Because of him. That's why. Made it seem like it was my fault, when all the time she was...

With sheer will power he drags his mind back from the spiralling jealous mania threatening to flood through him entirely.

No. That's not true. None of it.

He takes a long steadying breath. Get it together.

The other night, she was there with me I know she was. He's just got in her head that's all. After everything with her mom. And looking after Dawn...

She wouldn't... not with him.

He probably planted his shirt here. Hoping I'd find it. If she was messing around he wouldn't leave it here, would he? He'd wear it back to his disgusting mouldy crypt.

He probably took the picture too. He's just doing this to get in my head. In both our heads.

He lets out a low bitter chuckle.

Almost worked too.

He heads back out of her room, down the stairs, still clutching the shirt in his fist.

He works his way down over her collarbone, fingers slipping up her stomach to cup her breasts and her eyes flutter open, catching his.

Green dangerous eyes flashing like a green light in the bedroom's glow, begging him to keep going as he slips down further. His mouth grazes a painfully stiff nipple teasingly and she lets out a deep low moan, wanting to feel lips there. Wanting to feel teeth. Her hands are on his shoulders, nails sinking into hard muscle, pulling him closer but he doesn't answer the call for more pressure, keeping everything light and soft and teasingly out of reach.

His tongue darts out and licks under a breast, just across a rib cage and she gasps, stomach crunching in a half-sit up as he scrapes his teeth over skin covered bone. The sensation of it is heart stopping. Breath stealing.

He wraps an arm right round her back and with the other pushes her hard back down into the bed. The slight extra height of his arm pushes her ribcage up a little against her skin and he sinks down over her side, tongue darting out before lips kiss over the soft curve of her hourglass.

Buffy's mind flares with white hot emptiness for a brief eternity.

That's insane. How does he make everything feel like it's on fire? He's barely even touching me-OH GOD

He bites down with blunt teeth, sucking skin into his mouth, tongue lapping at nerve endings singing underneath as she screams and grabs the back of his head. Her nails scratch the back of his neck and he moans, causing a wave of vibrations to ripple over the skin in his teeth, through every bone in her body.

Harder. Oh God, harder.

She bites back the words, not ready to give in to wanting him that much but he seems to read her mind anyway, sucking harder, catching bone and skin and muscle between his teeth as she pants for it.

More... I want more...

God, maybe I have a bite fetish if that's what that feels like-

Like a sudden cold shower thoughts of Riley sprawled out underneath a vampire splash across her mind. Teeth sinking into his arm as his eyes rolled back into his head. Her stomach lurches suddenly at the parallels, ice filling her veins.

Am I like that? Is this where I'm heading if I... if I want this am I no better than those sad people in that factory?

I've got to stop... this is too much...

She pushes him away hard, harder than necessary, but it's too late. A deep crimson love-bite decorates her ribcage. Spike's chuckling, still kneeling between her legs.

"What's wrong, luv? Bit too much?" He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

She's staring transfixed by the mark on her skin. Her cheeks flare with a hard blush, mirroring the intensity of its color.

"God, what are you, 14? Who still leaves a hickey at your age?"

"I like having you in my mouth. I'll take whatever I can get." He fingers her ribcage, wiping a thumb over the red bite mark. "Let me do it again."

"No!"

"Yes."

His hand moves down to her hip, to the edge of her sweatpants. She jumps as his fingers dip below the waistline, catching a line of extremely sensitive skin that makes her feel as though she's suddenly been electrocuted.

"What about there?" His thumb trails a line of pale skin at the top of her leg where her underwear would normally cover. Buffy raises her leg to stop the waistband of the sweatpants dropping even lower. "What do you think, sweetheart? Bet that would feel really good for you."

His hand is moving inwards, closer to heat radiating out from between her legs.

If I don't stop him now I won't be able to at all.

"I..I have to go." Buffy pulls his hand from under the hem of her sweats, starts to untangle her legs from his but he catches her wrist in his hand, confusion clouding his features.

"What's with the sudden bashful blushes, pet? Thought we'd moved passed that?" He wraps a hand around her other wrist, moving her hands up back to his neck as he slides in closer again.

"Stop it, I really do need to go."

"Why? Riley?"

"To begin at the top of a very long list-"

"Buffy-" He dips his head to hers, catching her lips briefly in his before she pulls back sharply. "Why is it always one step forward two steps back with you?" His hand is moving back down to her ribcage and she bats it away hurriedly, trying to slide out from underneath him.

"Don't."

"Is that what it is? You didn't like being bit a little?" He grins, then stops, noticing the red of her cheeks. "Ah huh. Liked it a bit too much?"

"I'm not like that." She pushes him off her, moving to the edge of the bed. Slipping off onto the cold concrete and stooping to grab her sweater.

"Not like what, pet?"

"Like that. Like them. I don't... get off on it."

"Well that's not exactly true is it?"

"Spike-"

"I know. I know what you mean, but you shouldn't feel guilty about liking a little bit of teeth, luv. It doesn't mean you're headed in that direction you know?"

He stops her hands before they can pull the sweater back on.

"If vampires got you hot I don't think I'd have to persuade you half as hard as I currently am to just stay, would I? If it really was just that I'm sure you could find any number of willing vamps to satisfy you. Although I don't honestly like the idea of sharing you with the entire demon population of Sunnydale, sweetheart. "

Buffy sighs a little, biting back a bit of a smile before slipping on the sweater.

I like him. That's weird enough, without overthinking all the rest of it.

"I really do have to go though. It'll be light soon, and mom's coming home today."

"Oh yeah?" Spike wraps his legs around her hips pulling her in close. "All sorted? No more prod and probe?"

"Yeah. She's just got to take some stuff for a few months. All good."

She smiles, genuinely, feeling a little bit of relief about it all.

"Back today, huh?" He grins, tucking a hand underneath her waistband at the back, fingers gliding over the soft skin of her back. "Maybe I'll drop in and see the patient. Got to get the matriarch on my side early on, anyway."

Buffy can't help but laugh.

Chapter Text

"You alright Buffster?" Xander drives down towards the edge of Sunnydale, swatting Dawn's fingers every so often when she reaches for the controls of the radio.

"Buffy?" He waggles his fingers in front of her face. "Hello, Ground Control to Major Buff."

Buffy snaps out of it, blinking hard, realising they're nearly at the hospital.

"Sorry Xand. Just... off somewhere else, I guess."

"Hey it's a celebrating day. Mother Summers returns! You be where-ever you want." He casts a glance over at her, noting the deep purple marks underneath her eyes that always seem to appear when she doesn't sleep. Slayer metabolism only ever seems to carry her so far before wear and tear starts to set in, eyes first.

"Late night with the Sunny-D undead?"

"What?" Buffy snaps her head to face Xander, color draining out of her face. Oh my God, did Spike leave a mark on my neck after all? She balls her fists in her lap to stop herself reaching up and checking her neck in the windshield's mirror. Shit, if Xander knows-

"On the slay? Last night? You look like it was a late one?"

"Oh." Buffy's heart rate crashes back down, missing it's landing in her chest and sinking into her stomach. "Uh. Yeah."

"You take Riley? Sunnydale's dream-team?"

Some dream-team. Buffy thinks bitterly, biting a cheek, swallowing an angry sigh as thoughts of him rolling around underneath the fangs of a vampire push intrusively into her head.

"No uh... just a short patrol."

The endless conversation is making her throat close over. It's too bright. It's too hot. It's too early. And every innocent, innocuous question out of Xander's mouth is new tightrope to walk.

There hadn't been any messages on the answer machine when she got home and part of her was relieved, didn't want to hear Riley's scrabbling excuses, or worse a short note asking her to call him in his pretend-all-is-well voice.

But not even a missed call rankles her a little.

I don't want him back. And I definitely don't want to see him. I just... I just-

I just what? I want him to suffer a little? Care for me, feel just a tiny bit guilty? Fight, even if the fight is meaningless and will end the same way? Stroke my pride just a little bit after I caught him there, with that thing? At least act like losing me would be unbearable.

Shit is my pride really so co-dependant? How lame is that?

Like a cooling balm thoughts of Spike wrap around her mind. The way he yearned for her. Burned her. Begged her to stay, and made it seem like even inches between them was too much to bear. She sighs.

I wish I was he was here now. He's so good with mom... and I'm exhausted. Want someone to take the wheel. Just for a little while.

"Dyu think Spike will be there?" Dawn asks, oblivious to the tension, giggling a little.

"Why would Spike be there?" Xander asks turning a little in his seat.

"He visited mom in the hospital a couple of days ago." Dawn reaches over Xander's seat and changes the radio station for the umpteenth time.

"...Huh." Xander smirks.

"What's funny?" Buffy turns in her seat, changing the radio station back again.

"No nothing."

"What?"

"...Think the Nuisance Undead has a soft spot for mothers." Xander chuckles, tickled by the idea.

"What makes you say that?" Buffy resettles in her seat, winding the car window down.

"When Giles was Spike-sitting last year they watched Passions together a couple of times. You know, that sad soap opera that's on in the middle of the day that bored unemployed people watch? Apparently they killed off one of the main characters, some big time mom-style character, dropped her off a cliff or something. Giles said Spike sulked for a week."

Dawn dissolves into a fit of giggles.

"Poor Giles."

Despite the last couple of days Buffy can't help but smile a little.

They turn into the the hospital and Xander parks. They climb out of the car into the cool of the hospital parking lots shade, heading round to the entrance at the front. Buffy stops in her tracks.

Riley's standing at the front of the hospital, waiting by the doors. She clocks the long sleeved shirt, and the jacket he's carrying in his hand, despite the broiling heat. He looks pale, like he's fighting a bout of blood loss, sticky white and sweating. But underneath it is a sort of agitated twitchiness. A fidgety nervousness that she's seen in a few of Sunnydale's more struggling drug addicts.

Or were those more of that places clients?

Oh my God, how did I miss all these stupid obvious signs?

She hardens her jaw catching up to Xander and Dawn who have noticed Riley, and are waving friendly, oblivious greetings.

He kicks himself off the wall he's leaning against, moving to meet them, barely noticing Xander and Dawn as they head passed to the hospital doors.

"Buffy-"

"No." She walks around him heading for the door that Xander is holding open for her.

"Buffy, wait-"

"Not. Here." She whispers, venom dripping off each syllable.

"I need to talk to you-"

"And when I want to talk to you you'll know it. But right now we're picking my mother up from the hospital, and you are most cordially not invited."

She stalks into the hospital passed Dawn and Xander who share a worried glance, leaving Riley out in the blinding sunlight.

Spike lounges in his armchair, daytime TV providing a white noise for the background of his thoughts. They swirl in his head, making him feel slightly dizzy. Last night feels like forever ago, like a sea of faded dreams with nothing but a couple of scratches up his arms and down his back to testify to their reality. Something about it all feels... uncontrollable. Pre-destined.

Like being a puppet on a string.

I don't believe in destiny. And a hundred years trailing after Dru... I don't believe in soulmates. Not after all the stuff we saw. All the things we did. But I don't think I'm really in control here either.

I don't have a choice when it comes to her anymore. Love doesn't give you a choice. It's there or it's not, and when it's there you don't get to opt out.

If I can't have her I'd rather be dust in the wind...

There's a flicker of shadow crossing the grilled window of the crypt.

Oh here we go...

Spike shuts off the TV listening to footsteps heading round to the front. On the stone steps outside. Bashing in the door.

He doesn't bother to turn his head, stays lounging in the armchair.

"What took you?" He takes in Riley as he crosses the floor. He looks pale. Sickly. He can't help but sneer. "Takes a while to get to full strength after the bites huh- HEY-" Riley yanks him out of the chair by the collar of his shirt, ending Spike's protest with a hard fist across his cheek, swelling an eye.

He's got him by the throat, pinning him against the crypt's pillar, reaching behind him for his back pocket-

Oh fuck-

Spike panics at the sight of the wood grain.

"Easy mate, let's be reasonable about this."

"Oh I'm far passed reasonable Spike."

Riley shoves the stake hard through Spike's thorax, driving it with pure force into his heart. Spike screams, silently, no breathe to make a sound. The agony is just a thick foggy wall of mind-numbing emptiness.

Over... it'll be over in a second. Dust any second.

Riley pushes the stake further in, out passed his heart through the other side, towards the muscles of Spike's back, touching the nerves of his spine. It seems to last hours. Days.

Please... just end, why won't it end?

Jesus, did he somehow miss?

Oh God..

Spike's transfixed by the stake sticking straight out of his chest, perfectly piercing his heart. Hyperaware of every detail. All the little swirls in the grain, the hairs on the back of Riley's hand as it drives it in further. Riley's breath hot and angry in his face. There's a stitch missing in the cuff of his long sleeved shirt. A slight scratch on his knuckle. The smell of antiseptic soap on his skin. A strange sort of sheen to the wood-

A strange sort of sheen to the wood.

Wait...

"Hey..." he manages to croak.

Riley suddenly yanks the stake out of his chest with a heavy sucking sound and Spike coughs as muscle and air flood back into the hole it's left behind.

"Plastic wood grain. Looks real doesn't it?" He leans further in, still holding Spike by the collar. "I catch you hanging around her again, we'll do this for real."

He pushes off him, deliberately leaning on the open wound in his chest before turning his back.

Relief washes through Spike like a river. There's a bubbling in his throat and it takes him a second to realise he's laughing.

Oh fuck I really thought that was it. Honestly thought that was it...

"Bloody hell, you're really on the ropes, aren't you soldier boy?"

There's ice in Riley's eyes as he turns back to face Spike.

"What?"

"Got you trembling has it? All afraid that I'm hot for your honey." He grins, nearly cackling again.

I've gone insane. Who's got a fucking death wish now, Slayer?

Riley furrows his brow, edging back towards Spike.

"Because you are."

"Yeah. Oh yeah, I definitely am." Spike sneers, rubbing his chest over the hole left behind. "She's really got under my skin now. Really got under your skin too. Amongst other things." He nods at the bulge under Riley's jacket, still grinning. "Didn't think I was worth getting you all riled up though. It's uh... encouraging."

Riley's fist cracks his jaw, re-pinning him against the pillar.

"Maybe I didn't almost kill you enough."

Spike spits out some blood, wiping it away with the back of his free hand. He hasn't taken the other off his chest and there's a painful sucking feeling in the hole as he straightens back up.

"I'm not your problem, mate." But God how sweet it is to think I am...

"No I really think you are." He grips Spike's hand, forcing it further over and down into the hole in his heart. Spike gurgles, blood filling his throat.

"If that was the case, you wouldn't be spending you're nights downtown getting suck jobs from Sunnydale's Desperates would you, crewcut? Might piss you off a bit sure, but not enough to be slinking off at night. Getting your rocks off somewhere else."

He braces for another fist to cut his lip but it doesn't come. Riley let's go of him suddenly. Taking a step back. Eyes full of... pain. Misery.

"Really cut you deep, huh? When you found out what her ex was?" He takes a gamble, not sure if he knows about Angel, but the flinch in Riley's eyes tells him he's hit another jackpot. "Girl's got a type. And it's not soft college boys. Or army brats. She needs something darker than that." He levels himself off the pillar, easing himself back into the armchair. "It's just not in your nature."

"She's not like that."

Spike chuckles, rubbing his chest.

"Sure, maybe I'm wrong. But even if I am, you're still not what she needs. You're never gonna be able to hold on to her."

"And you know all about what she needs?" Riley sneers, edging back into anger.

"More'n you do. I know Slayers mate. They don't do well from being made to feel they have to hide half of themselves away. Even if it's the case most of the bloody time."

"That's not what-"

"Not what? Not what you were doing? Wake up, tin soldier, you worshipped her as Buffy Summers College Sweetheart. But since finding out what she really is you've been far from the doting boyfriend." He reaches for a bottle of wine from the table by the chair, uncorks it with his teeth, and spits the cork out. "Not that I blame you. Gotta be a bit of a shock, thinking you're the big solution to all of Sunnydale's demon problems. Then low and behold the tiny little blonde thing on your arm that you've been flashing around to your cronies turns out to be the be all and end all of the whole sodding mess."

He takes a swig, wincing as the alcohol burns on the way past the still throbbing hole in his chest. He holds the bottle out to Riley.

"Stung a bit, did it?"

Riley glares, jaw clenched, but he takes the bottle. Swigs from it.

"So what, you think you'd do better?"

"I'm not burdened down with an ego thin as porcelain." Spike sneers, "she wasn't built to make you feel like the man you're not, mate. Besides," he lifts a boot onto the footstool at his feet, grinning, "all those lovely muscles your girl has, takes a bit of strength to give her what she needs, doesn't it?"

Riley freezes.

"What's that supposed to mean."

Spike runs a tongue over his teeth. "What indeed."

Riley blinks. Thinking of nothing but the shirt in Buffy's room.

Chapter Text

Buffy settles Joyce down on the sofa, tucking a blanket around her.

"There we go. All set." She hands her a glass of water and the first of a bunch of pills.

"Thank you Buffy," Joyce smiles up at her like she's the nurse making her rounds. "It's good to be back."

"So, what's the plan for the day?" Dawn snuggles in closer to her. "Horseback riding? Bungee jumping? Maybe we could find you a bull to wrestle."

"Yeah," Buffy smirks, rolling her eyes and re-fluffing the pillows behind Joyce, "cus all that yammering on Doctor Kriegel did about bed rest, that was just a suggestion."

She hands Joyce the remote to the TV.

"You've got soap operas to catch up on."

"Alright." Joyce smirks. "Bench mark bull wrestling for another day Dawn"

"Can I get you anything else? Tea or… water? Juice?"

"I'm all set, thank you honey." She relaxes into the pillows, smoothing Dawn's hair down and tucking it behind her ear. "What's your plan for the day? Are you seeing Riley?"

Buffy bites her lip.

I should. I know I need to get this out of the way but it all just…. hurts too much for words right now. And whatever he has to say is just going to make me feel... inadequate. It's not just the betrayal of it all. There's something wrong with me. Has to be. Happy people in happy normal relationships don't go out and nearly get themselves killed multiple times.

Last time he blamed me and I just know he's going to again and it hurts so much.

...I want to see Spike. She winces internally. Things with him seem to be falling into place far to quickly. Infuriatingly so. All of it just too laughably simple.

Think I should keep my distance. Just for a bit. It's all too intense.

"Actually I'm Magic Box bound. Gonna go get some training in. Stretch the old Slayer muscles." She coats her words with a false cheeriness she's far from feeling.

Joyce smiles, reading more than Buffy wants her to in her furrowed brow and sad eyes. But doesn't push it. Something is brewing between her and Riley, she can read it in the defensiveness of her daughters hunched shoulders and hollowed eyes.

For most other guys her daughter had brought home she'd happily try to talk her through the problem. But try as she might she can't bring herself to repair whatever damage has caused a rift between them. Something about Riley…

I'd be happy to see that back of that one….

"Alright sweetie. Don't train too hard."

"She alright do you think?" Xander mumbles to Anya, casting an eye to the training room door. "She's been in there all day."

"Mmhmm, she's certainly gung ho for it today." Anya finishes counting the cash from the register and slips the money into a bag, closing it into the safe by her feet. "Barely stopped to say hello this morning."

"Something's going on with her and Riley." Xander leans on the counter.

"You sure? Her mom's just got out of the hospital, and she's back at college this week. Maybe she's just got a lot on her mind."

"No, he was there at the hospital this morning. She was all… well vegence-y."

"Oh please."

"I'm serious-"

The bell above the door tinkles and they turn. Riley stamps down into the shop.

"She in there?"

"Yuh huh…" Xander eyes Riley cautiously, noting the glint of anger in his eyes. The clenched fist.

"You guys mind clearing out? I need a word with her."

Protests fill Xander's mouth.

If it was anyone but Buffy, no way I'd leave my friend alone with a big tough army guy like Riley looking the way he does now. Something really not right there...

Thumps and grunts echo from the training room out into the shop.

"Little after hours training, huh?" Anya grins with a furtive wink, oblivious to the obvious tension, and Xander has a sudden need to get her away from Riley.

Let Buffy handle this. At least I know she can take care of herself.

"Sure. Let's go, Anya." He reaches for her hand, lifting her coat off the back of the chair and making for the door, casting a last look back.

Spike lounges outside in the alleyway on a crate, the cigarette in his hand nearly burned down, listening to Buffy strike the punching bag over and over. He rubs the hole in his chest. It's sore even though it closed over hours ago. Little more than a bruise on the inside now, but the dent it's left in his chest hasn't reformed.

Just a bit longer... Just listen to her a bit longer then I'll go.

He watches Anya and Xander pass the mouth of the alley, hand in hand, and a moment later Riley's voice floats out of the open window above him.

Well. Can't leave just as the curtain's going up…

"We need to talk." He closes the door behind him, but Buffy doesn't break her stride on the punching bag.

"I don't want to talk to you."

"Too bad."

He stops the punch bag from swinging and Buffy rolls her eyes. "I'm serious Riley. Just get out, I don't want to even look at you right now."

"Whether you want to or not I'm here and we are going to have this talk."

"Right because it's all always on your terms isn't it? God forbid I ever get a say in any of this."

She turns away from him, starting to unravel the tapes around her palms and wrists.

"I just need you to hear me out!" He grabs her by the bicep and spins her to face him, looming over her. She blinks at the sudden force around her arm.

Jesus... if I wasn't the Slayer that would be fucking scary.

"Fine. Get your hand off of me." There's a brief moment where it doesn't feel like he will. Fingers digging just a little passed comfortable. But she doesn't flinch and he finally let's go, seeming to come to his senses a little.

He takes a breath and moves back away from her, nostrils flaring as he tries to shrug off the overwhelming aggression underneath him.

I'm not mad at her. I'm mad at this. All of this. It's not her fault.

"When all this started, it... it was just some stupid game," he starts and Buffy's throat clenches shut. It's one thing to half think what he was doing had been going on for a while. It's another thing entirely to have it confirmed from his own mouth. "I just... I wanted to even the score after you let Dracula bite you-"

"I did NOT let Dracula bite me!"

"I know-"

"NO! No obviously you don't! I got bit, and I got thralled, and yeah shit like that happens in the line of what is basically the least satisfying job in the world but I DID NOT LET IT HAPPEN!"

"Buffy-"

"You're insane! You're actually insane! If you got shot in the line of duty, I wouldn't go out and point a loaded gun to my head and pull the trigger to even the score!"

"I know that! On some level I know that-"

"On some level!?"

"Just LISTEN! I know you didn't mean to let it happen, but I was still thrown. Alright? I just... I just wanted to know how you felt. I just wanted to know why Dracula and Angel have so much power over you."

Buffy let's out a sour exasperated laugh.

"So much power over me... You so don't get it. I loved Angel. I fell in love, and it just happened to be probably the most doomed relationship in the history of ever. But Dracula thralled me against my will Riley. I didn't get a choice in that. I didn't walk into his arms and open a vein willingly. So whatever you think you've been doing, and for God knows how long, it's got nothing to do with what happened to me and you don't get to pretend it does! You made those choices all by yourself."

"Of course I know that. This isn't your fault it's mine."

"Except you don't really believe that do you?" Buffy tips her head back for a brief second to stop tears of anger. "If it really had nothing to do with me you wouldn't be throwing what I went through in my face."

"Buffy-"

"I can't. I really can't listen to this-"

"You need to!"

"FINE! Tell me all about your whores! Tell me what they gave you that you think is worth almost dying for."

"...They needed me."

Buffy blinks, momentarily taken back by his answer.

…Men like Riley, they look nice and safe but they can't take it. Sooner or later they'll twist it around on you. Act like you pushed them away just because you're strong enough not to need them…

She shakes her head, stunned by how perfectly Spike's words always seem to line up.

"They didn't need you. They needed your money."

"No on some level they needed me. It was my blood, my body." Memories of him writhing underneath his vampire leap into Buffy's mind and she pushes down the instinct to slap him hard. How dare you remind me of that... She's so furious she nearly misses the rest of his babbling.

"I get it.. what you went through now. When they bit me, it was beyond passion-"

"Stop! Just STOP! It wasn't passion for me, don't you understand that!? You consented to that, I DIDN'T, there wasn't any passion for me!"

How can he stand there and compare what he's been doing to what happened to me? If I was... if I was some other girl, and I was forced to do something I didn't want to, would he go out and do the exact same thing to someone else, then twist it round and say it was to even a score?

What kind of a monster thinks like that?

"Fine, Buffy. Maybe that's not how you felt when it happened to you, but for me... they... they made me feel like they had such hunger for me. Like they wanted me."

"And I don't?" Buffy swallows her tears, refusing to let them fall. "I don't make you feel like that?"

"I just wanted to feel wanted-"

"I DID want you! You don't get to stand there and tell me how I felt-"

"You keep me at a distance, you know you do, you didn't even call me when you're mom went into the hospital."

"So you did what you did to punish me!? For dealing with my mom's near fatal brain tumour the only way I could?"

"I just wanted you to let me in!"

"You're pathetic! You pretend to be strong and caring and independent but you can't bear the fact that I can take care of myself! I let you in, Riley. As much as I could. And I'm sorry that that's not enough for you. But I'm really done picking up after you every time your ego can't handle who I am."

"Is that really true? That you let me in as much as you could? The way you seem to let Spike in so easily?"

"What are you talking about?! Are you still bitter because he helped me when I got stabbed?"

"I found his shirt, Buffy. The one you kept?"

"What shirt?"

"Don't play dumb. Black shirt, hidden in your closet."

Oh for God's sake...

"He lent it to me! What I had on was blood soaked!"

"Sure. How convenient."

"It was far from convenient. I'm so sorry I couldn't schedule taking a stake to the gut for when you were there to charge in and rescue me."

"But you don't seem to mind letting the likes of him help you! Not just then, either! You told him about your mom before me! You say you want me, but I just don't feel it! I just don't!"

"Well, who's fault is that? I've given you everything I have Riley, my heart, body and soul, but I can't change who I am for you."

"And if you could?" He looks her square in the eyes. "If you could give this up, give all of it up, for me... would you?"

Buffy closes her eyes, exhausted. There it is. I knew this was coming.

"...That's what it's really about, isn't it? You can't handle the fact that I'm stronger than you."

He's silent for a long time. Buffy leans against the vault horse, drained. Her throat feels raw from the effort of not crying. From all the bitter angry words still charging through the air.

"I'm leaving Buffy." It's barely more than a whisper but the words drown out all her anger. "The military wants me back. It's deep undercover, no contact with civilians. Transport's leaving tonight."

She furrows her brow, trying to catch up to his words.

"When were you going to tell me about this?"

"...I'm telling you now. Unless you give me a reason to stay... I'm taking it."

"This really isn't the moment for an ultimatum."

"I'm not giving you-"

"Yes you are! Either I fall in line and get over everything you've done or you're gone!"

"That's not what I'm doing-"

"-What then, you're trying to get me to beg you to stay? After what you've put me through?"

"Why won't you!?" He shouts. "I'd beg you to stay Buffy! I would!"

"Do it then! Beg me Riley! Because so far, this whole conversation has been about blame. Buffy's too strong, Buffy's too distant, Buffy doesn't treat me like the vampire whore's downtown! Not once have you said you were sorry, not ONCE!"

He bites his cheek, anger flaring his nostrils, and Buffy steps back from him.

"That's what I thought. Have a safe flight." She turns away from him, refusing to watch as he grabs his coat. His stomping footsteps dwindle through the shop and the bell tinkles manically as he slams the door behind him.

A hard burning anger flares up inside her chest. She takes a few steadying breaths.

It's over. Over now. Hurt but... it's done. That was worse than I thought it would be.

She shivers, thinking of Dracula's thrall slipping into her head. The disturbing, insidious mind control. Feeling helpless, with no way out of it. How much effort it had taken to fight back from that.

Giles hadn't managed to.

Xander hadn't managed to. She catches herself before wishing it had been Riley thralled into eating bugs.

Fuck you Riley. Fuck you making me feel like that was my fault.

She starts winding her knuckles back up, wiping tears out of her eyes with the heel of her hand when the door clicks shut behind her. She sighs.

"Were you listening?" She turns, facing Spike who's leaning against the door to the alley.

"Couldn't really help catching that racket, pet."

"It's not polite to eavesdrop you know." She sniffs, wiping the last few tears off her cheeks.

He smiles. "Well I'm not particularly polite anyway."

"...You heard it all?"

Spike nods.

"He's a wanker. I did tell you."

She sighs, casting her glance down as he makes his way over to her.

"Don't you ever get tired of watching me be miserable?"

"I never get tired of watching you."

She feels his fingers at the curve of her back. He makes a sympathetic tutting sound with his tongue.

"Besides, you didn't seem so bad last night." He grins, fingers the strap of her top, pulling it closer to her shoulder, "pretty sure I got a smile by the end of it."

She finishes wrapping her knuckles, flexing her hands under the tapes before balling them to into fists. Spike raises an eyebrow.

"Squaring up for a fight, Slayer?"

"Not with you. I don't hurt things that can't fight back."

He moves in closer, and she lets him back her against the wall.

"I can hurt you if you want to be hurt. If you like it."

Buffy snorts, rolling her eyes.

"That's a really stupid loophole."

"Chip can't shut off pleasure. Half those vamps you saw were chipped luv."

"I told you I'm not like that."

She moves to the punching bag, starting it rocking with a few hard punches and backhands.

He follows her. Hands are on her hips from behind, moving up. His thumb grazes over the love-bite he left the night before.

"I can take your fists. Give it me good, Buffy. One good swing, why not?"

"I'm not a sadist."

"No, you like the pain too much. But you can't find anyone to hurt you the way you want it. Keep picking boys that hurt your heart instead."

She spins, shoves him hard, and he shoves her back. There's a sparkly little tingle from his chip. Little more than a twinge.

Didn't hurt her, no intent to either.

He throws a punch, knowing she'll block, and she does. He throws another, and she catches his wrist in both hands, spinning him round and pinning him up against the wall. He groans, and the vibrations seem to settle in her own throat. Pulling everything in tighter. One of his hands trails down her arm, up to the shoulder, pulling the strap down entirely.

His other arm snakes round her waist and he pulls her in hard, one leg pushing between both of hers, splitting hers open. He hooks his boot round the back of her ankle and topples her backwards, falling with her as she sprawls on the mats behind.

His lips lock round hers, soft at first before pushing wider. Deeper. Fingers in her hair, at the back of her neck pulling her in more, around her throat caressing the skin down to her shoulders. Slipping down more, cool hands on her stomach sweeping up. He unlatches the bra clasp at her back, pushing her up into him with his hand where the strap was.

She moans, hips raising to meet his, and he pulls out of their kiss.

"God Buffy... I've wanted you in my mouth all day." He shrugs out of his duster, before wrapping his arms back around her, setting his mouth at her neck, biting and clawing and kissing her.

Buffy whimpers, all the emotions of the last day melting into a soft and aching blur.

"...Missed you too." She whispers, almost hoping he doesn't hear. Her vulnerability is riding her hard and tears prickle her eyes.

His lips work their way up to her ear, tongue stroking the skin behind, inside. Teeth tugging the piercings in her ears.

"You missed me?" He whispers, his breath tickling her neck, hands roaming over her stomach, her waist. Lifting her top up over her breasts. He cups a breast, squeezing gently, working the nipple between his fingers. Pinching and rolling. "You really did?" He slips down her torso, holding her by the ribcage.

"Yes-" Buffy gasps as his head ducks and he takes the other breast deep into his mouth, working her nipple with the back of his tongue while his teeth scratch her. He sucks harder, a hand on her throat as she bucks against him, gripping him by the hair. Her legs close round him, crushing his torso between her thighs and he scores her sides with his fingernails.

He levers himself off her, pulling her legs up and pulling off her boots. He unzips her pants and pulls them down along with her panties, releasing her legs.

"Spike-"

"Open your legs for me."

Her breathing is frantic, passed panting, and as she moves her knees apart she feels like she's going to faint from the overwhelming heart rate that seems to be doubling. Tripling.

"Wider."

She moves her feet further apart, and he takes one of her hands in his, unwrapping the bandages, unlocking her fingers. He nuzzles his face into her palm, running his teeth over plump flesh underneath her thumb.

He lowers himself down between her legs, slipping her hand up into his hair, anchoring it there by her wrist. His teeth graze her scar and she screams, yanking his hair, thighs clamping hard against his shoulders.

"Spike- Oh my God-"

He works his tongue over the soft white flesh of the scar, making her scream and wiggle with every kiss, every lick before slipping further down.

Going to miss getting such a reaction when the scar stops being so sensitive. The way she moans... makes throwing all that blood away worth it... He runs the fingers of one hand over it, wiping away traces of his spit, painting the skin of her stomach with it, as he settles himself down further between her legs. He wraps his arms around her thigh, pulling her knees down towards the floor.

Buffy feels his breath on her inner thigh, kisses touching with soft barely there lips, over her mound, pushing her open even wider. She lets out a squeak when he catches her outer lips in his teeth, squeezes them, teasing her folds inside with the pressure, before setting the flat of his tongue against her opening and licking upwards. Slowly. Prying her open. Moving back down in soft strokes.

Her cheeks flush a deep red as she realises how wet she is, how much she's filling his mouth.

He moans, sending a volt of electricity up through her as he slips his tongue against her clit, pushing gently on it. Tasting her. Tasting microscopic traces of sweat and her scent. Blood pumping away underneath thinnest skin.

He rolls her nub with his tongue, swirls it as she screams, claws in his hair, thighs trembling.

"Spike... please... too much..."

He slips a hand between her legs, stroking the muscles of one thigh, before slipping two fingers inside her. Her throat feels like it's closed all together, mouth gasping, scrabbling for words as his fingers start to stroke her from the inside, curved slightly up, hitting her G spot like this isn't their first time together. Like he's known her for decades.

Her hips start to pump on their own, walls of her pussy squeezing down on his fingers as he catches her clit in between his teeth, gently biting. Sucking down-

She shrieks as she comes, nearly ripping the hair in her hands, head thumping against the mat as he releases her. Setting her legs either side of his as he unbuckles his belt.

She raises her hips, feels his cock butt against her before he pushes in slowly. Straight up all the way to the hilt of him. He groans, gripping her waist, lying down on top of her as he starts to grind against her.

He's moaning against the side of her neck with each thrust, growling every time her nails drag over his shoulder. His chest. Digging his fingers into her sides, nearly screaming when out of nowhere she clamps her hand over his mouth, suddenly rigid beneath him. Breath held in her throat.

"...BUFFY?" Xander's voice echos from the shop, the door closes behind him, setting the bell above it tinkling. Footsteps walking down the couple of steps towards the cash register.

Bollocks.

Buffy throws him off, yanking her top back into place and re-clasping her bra underneath it before grabbing the red leatherette pants that have been cast aside.

"Shit. Shit oh shit oh shit." She struggles into them, runs her fingers through her hair, heading barefoot to the doorway.

Chapter Text

Spike tucks himself back into his jeans, picking his duster up off the floor as she runs to the doorway of the training room.

"Hi! Xand... hi." She's blocking the entrance, her breath still out of sync. Voice still breathy.

"Everything all right?" Xander takes in her disheveled hair, her slightly off-centre clothes. Maybe they made up? But the red rims to her eyes tells him otherwise. Shouldn't of left her. What was I thinking...

Buffy swallows.

"Yeah. It's fine."

"Riley?"

"Huh?"

"He still-?" He motions behind her.

"Oh... no uh. He left." Her voice cracks and she coughs trying to get the croak out of her throat.

"Left?"

"Left left. Gone left."

"Buffy... I-"

"I don't want to talk about it right now, Xand." Or maybe ever. Would be too much to ask that he slips from everyone's memory immediately.

Xander nods, swallowing the words he was going to say.

"Look, me and Anya and Will are heading to the bronze. You coming?"

"Um..." She blinks, not sure what direction to take.

There's a soft click behind her of the alleyway door closing, making the decision for her, but Xander doesn't seem to notice it. She glances back into the empty training room.

"Come on Buff, I'll even aid in sorrow drowning, first round's on me yeah? Tall frosty glass of forget coming your way?"

"Uh... Ok. Sure. Why not."

"Atta girl. Things get roudy I might even spring for the pretzels."

She chuckles, unable to stop herself relaxing a little.

The Bronze is busy, crowds of patrons swarming the floor and the bar. Xander and Buffy push their way through until they spot Willow and Anya perched at a table.

Willow sees Buffy and waves frantically.

"HEY! Buffy, Hey. Hi. Help me get drinks. Lots and lots of drinks." She drags Buffy off by the arm towards the bar. "Save me, Anya keeps talking about her and Xander's sexcapades and I think I'm gonna hurl. As if I wasn't gay enough..." she shivers. Buffy smirks, casting an eye back towards Anya, who's interest in everyone else has entirely melted away, eyes clearly seeing only Xander.

She swallows. Dwelling on the way Spike's eyes do the same thing. Hyper-focussing on her. Stealing her breath...

Snap out of it.

"Where is Tara tonight anyways?"

"She's got a final tomorrow. Deep in the books."

"She kick you out for hogging the covers? The... book covers?"

"Uh huh." Willow glances over to their table, rolling her eyes as Xander sticks his tongue in Anya's mouth. "Ugh. Think she'd take me back if I grovel?"

They fetch a pitcher of beer and four cups and head back, settling on the bar stools.

"Anyway, where's Riley tonigh-"

"ZZzzt-" Willow's cut short by Xander's manic throat-cutting gesture.

"We're not mentioning the Riley tonight." He interjects.

"Why, what happened?"

"ZZT!"

"It's Ok Xander." Buffy soothes. "Uh.. we... we broke up. Rather definitively."

"Oh Riley's gone?" Anya pipes up. "I didn't like him. He was very demon judgemental. And he always smelled of soap-"

"Anya-" Xander tries to stop her.

"Riley's gone?" Willow looks heartbroken by proxy, "Oh Buffy. I'm sorry, I-"

"It's fine. I don't want to talk about it."

"You'll get over it quickly, I'm sure. He was all righteous. And bossy. Righteous, bossy men are bad news. Trust me, I set fire to thousands of them." Says Anya, taking a sip of her beer.

"Anya! ...And speaking of bad news." Xander motions over to the bar.

Buffy catches a glimpse of Spike, pulling a cigarette out of a fresh packet with his teeth before lighting it, beer bottle in hand. He doesn't look over, leaning against the bar, casually watching the crowd. His gaze roams lazily, and the cut of his figure tightens a knot in Buffy's stomach. The way he's holding the cigarette between index and middle finger, slightly curved makes her shiver, violently remembering earlier. What he could do with those fingers. She presses her legs together underneath the table.

"Buffy?" Xander interjects her train of thought and she jumps, nearly spilling her untouched beer, suddenly deeply thankful for the Bronze's low lighting. She can feel the heat in her cheeks spreading downwards uncomfortably.

"Uh, sorry, what did you say Xander?"

"I said you wanna join us on the dance floor? Shake off some of those Buffy blues?"

"Oh, uh. No I think I'll just... guard the table. You guys go."

"Come on Buff, we cant leave you here all on your lonesome?"

"No really, I'm not very dance happy."

"I'll stay." Says Willow, smiling resolutely.

"No, you go. I'm feeling all... inner reflection with beer. I might head home soon anyway. Check in on mom and Dawn."

Xander nods, giving Buffy's shoulder a squeeze before being dragged away by Anya. Willow doesn't move immediately, looking at Buffy with fresh eyes of concern.

"You sure you won't come join us for a little shimmy? Might make you feel... well maybe not better, but certainly sweatier? I've heard top notch things about this new thing they call endorphins? Maybe we could get you some of those?"

Buffy chuckles.

"I'm fine really. I'll table guard, find me after you've shimmied."

Willow nods, smiling a consoling smile before slipping off her seat following Xander and Anya into the crowd. Buffy relaxes a little, exhausted from putting on a brave face. Strung out on the whole evening. The whole day.

The whole week.

...The whole life.

She glances over to where Spike is leaning and gets an electric shock as she realises he's staring at her. His cigarette has burnt down to the stub. He grinds it out, eyes leaving hers only for a second.

He raises his eyes pointedly to the back of the club, deeper in the shadows, where only a few couples are dancing together, locked around each other. Some swaying. Most lost in each others eyes. Buffy's skin prickles but she slips off her seat.

She makes her way through the crowd. She can sense his eyes on her back, feel him just behind her as she makes her way underneath the stairs.

His hand catches hers and she jumps, the breath in her throat catching as shE turns to face him. He doesn't say anything, pushing against her. His hand travels up her back and grazes a nerve making her lurch upwards into him, and he catches her lips in his. Cool but soft, pulling her in closer. She slips her tongue against his, tasting his cigarettes, and a sweeter hotter taste underneath. Warm and sort of peppery. The taste of him. He groans, pushing her back further under the stair well.

Her hands are fluttering around his shoulders, not resting in one place and he grips her a little harder, trying to push her to grasping him back.

Put your hands on me. Want you... under my coat, want those warm hands at my back.

He pulls her hands down from his shoulders, pushing them under his coat, around his waist and she hugs him tighter.

"Come back with me." He whispers between her lips, his leg pushing against hers, grinding his hip against hers. She shakes her head.

"Need to check on mom and Dawn."

"They're fine. Safe as houses, luv. Come back with me." His lips dip to her neck, tasting her, biting her softly up towards her earlobe. She gasps as his hands slip into her hair holding her head against his mouth. Her nails dig into his back suddenly as he growls, pushing harder, wanting more of her.

"I can't wait any longer Buffy."

Buffy freezes. Riley's pushing his way through the crowd, eyes searching. Clearly looking for her. He spots Xander, Willow and Anya who've returned to the table. Heads in their direction.

"Spike-"

Spike tears his head away from her neck, brows creased in confusion at the sudden sound of panic in her voice, then spots him too. He rolls his eyes, jaw clenched as he bites his lip. Stepping back away from her.

Thought we got rid of that wanker...

He sighs. Rubs his chest, reliving earlier, wondering if he's had a chance to swap his plastic toy for a wooden one, fingers trying to loosen the tension there after having to let her go.

"What's wrong with your chest?" Buffy says eyeing his fingers, and he pulls them down, shoving them into his coat pocket.

"Nothing."

Riley moves passed them, and Buffy's eyes glaze over in anger. Spike sighs.

"Tomorrow? Come by?"

Buffy blinks, checking Riley's still headed in the direction of Willow and Xander. She nods.

"Yeah. Tomorrow."

He nods, taking a last lingering look and disappearing into the crowd.

Buffy waits, watching Riley from the back. Approaching their table. Seemingly asking if they've seen her. She can see Willow and Xander shaking their heads. Anya looks like she's about to say something when Xander clamps a hand over her thigh and she yelps.

Riley casts another look around the crowd. Checks his watch.

Transport's leaving tonight.

I'm not going to stop him. Something inside her settles. Making a choice. Choosing not to run after him. The pained look on his face does nothing to her, no pity rises to the surface. No sudden pang of regret or remorse.

He says some final thing to Xander, nodding his head before slipping out the back door. Gone.

Buffy releases her shoulders. Exhausted. She waits a few minutes longer in the alcove of the stairs before heading back to the table.

"Buffy!" Willow exclaims, "you just missed Riley. He was- he went out the back you could still catch him if you-"

"I know. I'm good here." She downs her beer taking a breath. "Nowhere I'd rather be."

"You sure Buff?" Xander asks.

She nods, thumping her cup down.

"More refreshments please." Xander fills her cup again and she glances to the bar.

Spike is nowhere in sight.

Can I wait until tomorrow? She swallows. Every nerve in her body is strung out like piano wire. Need to catch my breath. This whole day has been infinitely too much.

The beer seeps into her system, easing her tension by degrees. Xander cracks a joke and she laughs, Willow gets talking about college, and then Tara, and then magic with Tara, Xander cracks another joke and Anya says something blunt and the evening winds on a little at a time, normality shrugging itself back into place.

Just going to be here for now.

She relaxes. Breathing out. Smiling a little.

The TV is off when she gets in, just gone passed midnight. There's a fresh glass of water on the coffee table, and Buffy notes how neatly Joyce and Dawn have been tucked in underneath a blanket. She closes the front door as quietly as she can shrugging out of her coat and hanging it up when she spots it.

A thick leather duster hanging over the banister.

There's not a sound from upstairs but her skin prickles, goosebumps raising up her arms.

She swallows, picks the coat up, starting up the stairs.

Her bedroom door is closed. Buffy realises she's kneading the leather underneath her hands.

He's in there waiting for me. Broke in, tucked mom and Dawn in, and now is in my bedroom.

Still can't get my head round him.

Inside he's leaning against her bedside table, a darker outline of black and white in the shadows, backlit by the window.

"... Couldn't wait for tomorrow?" Buffy raises an eyebrow, as he moves closer out of the shadows.

"It is tomorrow. M'through waiting." He mumbles. His hands are by his side curled into tight fists, and she can see he's nearly shivering, ready to burst. "Bloody well through waiting."

He can hear her heart beating like a deafening drum. Could hear it as soon as she was in the house. It's like his vision has gone completely, leaving just a shadowy strangling impression of her heat.

His hand reaches out, lightly gripping a wrist feeling the pulse hammering underneath. It makes him swoon, legs feel like they're buckling. The warmth of her burning his fingers. So close.

"Don't I get a choice in the matter?" Buffy raises an eyebrow.

He can smell her scent, the sweet scent of her skin. The fresh lemony smell of the shampoo she uses. Traces of alcohol still on her tongue. He swallows hard.

His fangs are itching to move down. Fingers aching from holding back. All his muscles are straining not to crash against her.

Want to be in her. Tongue, teeth, fingers, cock. In her. Inside. In her mouth. Everywhere. One more second without it all and I'll go mad.

"You get a choice, luv..." he moves in until he's only millimeters apart from her, still only touching by the wrist, but her breathing is already changing, deepening. "Bed or floor?"

She shoves him hard, smirking, and he grabs both wrists in his hand pinning them above her head against the door.

"You're a pig." The heat is already rising off her. Tell tale signs of arousal spilling out of her. Pupils dilating, lips parting. The pulse under his hands throbbing.

He pulls one of her wrists off the door, kissing the palm.

"Got interrupted last time. Want me to start over?" His teeth grip the mound of her thumb, lips dancing over each digit, sometimes sucking, sometimes biting. Buffy's eyes flicker shut, shivering at the overwhelming burn spreading up from between her legs.

Spike leans in, releasing her wrist from his hand so he can wrap round the back of her, pushing her up into him. One hand on her back and one still pinning her other wrist to the door, like a stationary waltz, and his mouth crashes over hers, teeth biting her lip.

Each kiss emits a sweet mewling sound from Buffy making him feel dizzy and he pushes against her harder. His hand leaves her hand and slides down her waist, down to the front of her red leatherette pants, pulling the zipper down and slipping a hand underneath.

"Make a choice."

Buffy's breathing is gasping, hot air in his ear, hot skin underneath his hands. He slips his fingers down further underneath the edge of her underwear, carefully prying her lips apart, dipping a finger into the flood inside her before gently bringing it back up, slipping down, spreading her open more. There's a vibrating in her legs from the effort not to grind down on him and as he slips two fingers inside she jolts, banging her head against the door with a soft thump.

"Oh God... Spike..."

"Make a choice."

She swallows. His thumb is kneading her clit in hard little circles in time with his fingers dipping in and out of her.

"The... Bed squeaks." His thumb exudes a sudden jolt of pressure and she stifles a scream.

"So do you." He grins.

He drags her off the door, pulling his hand out of her pants so he can unlatch the bra under her shirt. Her hands are on his waist, moving the bottom of his shirt up and over his head, pulling it off him roughly before her lips crash into his, her tongue dancing in his mouth...

Chapter Text

They tumble lengthways across the bed and she pulls herself further back across it by her elbows, lips not leaving his. His bare chest under her hands is warm from her own body heat.

They shed clothes, pulling them off each other to get to skin, clawing at each other in the stillness of her bedroom. An endless expanse of pale white fills her vision and she jolts alert from underneath the onslaught of their kiss, the crush of his embrace.

Naked Spike. Naked Spike in my room.

She panics, pulling back out of a hard biting kiss, but there's something about the black drowning depths of his eyes, almost all pupil, filled with hunger. He doesn't notice her sudden gasping headrush of shock, too busy wrapping his arm around her waist, one hand pulling her head back by the hair, gently but firmly to get at her neck, biting with blunt human teeth, feeling her pulse on his tongue. Beating away in his head.

Something internal inside her snaps and she lunges for him, sinking her own hands into his curls. He's left them un-gelled she realizes. Knowing she'd want him to. Surprisingly soft hair, not dry from the bleach but thick and winding. Tangling around her fingers as she sinks her mouth down over his throat. She wraps her legs around his, and squeezes. Squeezes everything, the hips under her thighs, the hair in her hands, pulling as her mouth bites and sucks over the muscles in his neck.

She can feel him shaking, the hand at her back vibrating, he's trying to breath round a groan in his throat. Pulling himself back from an unnamable edge as she latches onto him.

Her skin is burning, scorching his own as he sinks deeper into her wild, biting embrace. Her tongue catches a nerve and he nearly loses himself entirely, swallowing down a howl just before it escapes. He gets her wrists in his hands, pinning her to the bed and pulling out of reach of her mouth.

"I can't keep quiet if you do that again, luv."

She smiles in the dark, her hands held down by the sides of her head as Spike catches his breath. Suddenly she spreads her arms wider under his grip, forcing him to lose his height above her, bringing his face closer to hers. She runs a tongue over his throat, up to his ear, biting the lobe as her legs pull him in tighter, hips grinding.

Spike bites back a groan, thrusting back against her. He releases her wrist, scooping her up from behind. His fingers line up against her spine, electric bundles of nerves singing underneath his fingertips and bears down. Buffy yelps, releasing his ear.

"You don't want to start a war with me, missy." His breath tickles her ear and Buffy's back arches involuntarily up into him, pushing her closer towards him.

"I always want to start a war with you."

He purrs against her, a deep growling sigh as his lips find hers. The reverberations of it travel the length of her, hardening her nipples against his chest. Shes wet already but she can feel it flooding inside her.

"I could make you howl, you know. All that blood pumping through you, gives away all your secrets. I can read you like a book."

"Maybe," she edges away from his lips before he can sink her with another mind-numbing kiss, slipping a leg higher onto his hip. "But I'm not the one with a Slayer fetish. You'll cave before I do."

His eyes flash in the dark and she nearly giggles at how much lust is flooding his face.

"Care to make a bet?" He takes her sudden silent focus as a yes. Bites a lip in a sweet hard kiss. "Terms?"

"First one to make a sound loses."

"Easy." His hand trails up her back, making her shiver and he grins at the way she bucks gently against him. "And the prize?"

"Aren't I enough of one?" She smirks.

He pulls back, raising an eyebrow. Taking her seriously. He catches her chin in his hand and pulls her face towards him, looking hard into her eyes.

"If you're the prize, and I win, you're mine. No skulking around behind your little gang's backs, Slayer."

Buffy holds her breath, considering carefully.

He wants me. All of me. Strangely cares... about me. And mom and Dawn.

And I'd be lying if I said I didn't want him back.

...So really a win-win situation.

Huh... my first one.

"Fine." She pulls her chin out of his fingers, nipping his thumb with her teeth. "And when I win?"

Spike blinks, sucking air in between his teeth.

Didn't think she'd agree to that...

What else can I get her to agree to.

He takes a gamble, pulls his hand out from behind her back, the silver rings on his fingers catching the light from the blinds, and he pulls off the smallest one with his teeth. Heavy, thick silver.

The one he proposed with.

He holds it in front of her face.

"You get this back."

He watches her for a sign that that's too far, but her features are unreadable. After a moment she looks him in the eyes.

"And everything that goes with it?"

His mouth goes dry. Throat closing. Legs weakening.

...Didn't say no.

He nods.

"Yes."

She hesitates, cogs whirring...

"Deal."

He smiles. Win-win. He reaches up, thoughts on fire, and leaves the ring on the nightstand.

Chapter Text

As he slips the ring onto the nightstand Buffy repositions herself properly on the bed, taking him in as he moves to line up with her, kneeling next her legs. All white muscle and bleached hair. Black eyebrows and black eyes. Black polish on his nails.

Her eyelids feel suddenly heavy, drowsy from the overwhelming arousal flaring up. She bites her lip.

Her mouth flickers into a smile. Thinking about the day in the quad after Parker had left her standing, gawking open-mouthed. Deeply wounded.

Rejected.

Spike could've killed then. Hadn't needed to fight her for a quick savage victory, off guard as she was in the daylight, back turned. But he'd toyed with her. As she'd toyed with him. Enjoying the fight more than they cared about the outcome. Fighting with fists and words.

"What does it take to pry apart the Slayers dimpled knees?" He'd leered and she should've been able to read it then. Jealousy. Deep and hurt.

"Did you bruise the boy?"

"Guess you weren't worth a second go."

Those words had stung at the time, sure, but thinking back it was there already. He wanted her. Was angry at wanting her. Wanted to hurt her, the way wanting her was hurting him.

She grins inwardly.

She probably did bruise Parker. And her last night with Riley hand been extravagantly disappointing.

In my element now though. Spike can take the pressure. And he wants it.

I'm not going to let him win.

Spike drinks her in, the sight of her in the dim pale light of her room, lit by nothing but the streetlight through her blinds.

There's a scorching look in her eyes and he feels himself falter. Like she's going to eat him alive, fracturing his bravado for a moment. But stubbornness settles over his nerve.

I know I can make her scream my name. Not that it really matters, seems like I get her either way.

God but how sweet it's going to be when she breaks first. Bloody well wanted to hear my name on her lips since I first saw her. Done pretending I didn't..

Such a pretty voice she's got. Clear and sweet. Like church bells ringing my downfall...

Going to make my name dance on her lips if it's the last thing I do. The way she's looking at me it might well be.

His hand reaches for her thigh and she pulls it out of his reach, twisting her body, coming up to kneel in front of him too. Both of them on their knees on the bed facing each other.

Buffy cocks her head, taking him in, reading his eyes.

He likes it rough, definitely. Likes to feel the scratches and the bruises. Loves the depths and burn.

But he needs the soft side more. She thinks. Remembering the way he wept when Drusilla left. She'd caught him in the kitchen with her mother and later Joyce had told her how heartbroken he'd been, not understanding Buffy's mortification over Spike being in the house alone with her.

He's only seen the hard side of me. The punches and kicks of me. I bet the sweet and gentle side would get him there. Push him there. Push him over the edge.

Maybe not quicker, but definitely louder. I've got all night to win this round.

Another feeling wriggles into view in her head. That it's not just about winning. That she wants him to see her soft side too. Trusts him enough to.

Not something I would've thought even a couple of days ago….

His gaze is dark and dangerous. Not a grin, or a leer, but what you get when you take the smugness out of the passion. Raw want.

She trails her hands up his chest softly, cupping his face in her hands, and his eyes flicker. Confusion for a moment at the track she's taking. She pulls him in closer, gently. Warmly. Lips brushing his and she feels him catch his breath.

Knew it.

Her kiss is sweet and tender. Deep with care and emotion and she feels him melt under her hands, his own coming up and settling on her hips. He moves to push her lips wider, tries to turn the kiss meaner, but she pulls back a little, keeping it slow. Keeping it soft. She can already feel a moan building in the back of his throat under her fingertips. Can feel him tensing, trying to keep himself back from her.

He swallows. Head swimming. Fingers twitching to clench down on her. Teeth aching to bite her into a screaming passion but he's completely hypnotised but her lips swirling on his.

So soft.

She's so soft...

The moan is starting to work it's way up into his vocal chords and he gasps as she presses herself against him, hands cupping him by the jaw. Gently pulling him down on top of her. Lying flush against her as her kiss edges him towards a black sparkling abyss. As her tongue slips into his mouth, slips over his, her hand slides up his neck into his hair and he shivers.

Bloody hell, I'm going to lose, and all she's done is kiss me. I didn't know a kiss could feel like this...

It's too much..

There's a vibrating between them and he realizes he's shaking. From the effort of keeping the groan building up in his throat back. From the softness of her onslaught, sweet and gentle and... and hopeful. Loving.

He pulls back to catch his breath and she let's him go, breathless herself.

Can't let her take the lead so easily. Girl wants to play dirty she's tangled with the wrong bloke.

When she breaks first I'll make her kiss me like that every night.

He pulls his thoughts into order, shaking out of his reverie. She's panting underneath.

She got caught up with it too. He grins. Need to make her fall under it more.

He searches his memory for what in the passed couple of days has made her swoon like now. She'd pressed up and moaned in his mouth whenever he kissed her. And he was going to kiss her again, might never be able to stop... but what else?

The scar on her stomach definitely, but that's too far ahead in the game.

Want to build up to that. Make it so that when I do run my tongue over her she's going to bring the house down.

Just before... earlier just before in the training room, before he'd set his tongue to her he'd unwrapped her wrist, bit at her palm, and later sucked her fingers as he held her against the door. It had made her shiver. Bite back a moan.

Poor Slayer throws punches all day long. Gotta be murder on those sweet little hands. Delicate wrists. She's just begging for some tenderness...

I'll give it you, Buffy. I'll give you all the tenderness you want.

He slips closer to her, lying down by her side and pulling her against him, pulling her leg up across his hip as his arm slides behind her neck. He's got her cradled against him as he presses his lips to hers, softly again, deeply again. She jolts as the fingers of his other hand stroke a nerve in her back, gasps slightly at how gentle he's being with her too.

Not fair.

His hand strokes down her arm with the back of his fingers, the full length down to the hand at his hip. He holds her wrist gently, pulling up towards his mouth and she breaks out of the kiss, suddenly very aware of what he's intending.

Oh so not fair!

Oh God. I might actually lose... if he does what I think he's going to...

He drags her hand up to his jaw. Leans away from her lips and kisses her palm, working towards her fingers. She shivers as he runs his lips across them, before pushing her index and middle finger fully into his mouth. Buffy tries to pull back but she's trapped against him with his arm at her back. His mouth is full of hard teeth, biting her a little as he plays her fingers over his tongue.

She clamps her lips shut, suppressing a moan at the last second, dragging her hand away from his lips before he can do it again. He still has her by the wrist and she tries to tug out of his grip. He doesn't let go, holding on tighter, pushing her arm down and pinning it to the bed, pressing against her harder. With his tongue he traces a line along her shoulder on to her neck, up towards her earlobe. He bites gently, feeling her freezing beneath him, muscles humming, her head tucked against his neck, her breathing shallow as she tries to focus on not making a sound.

He releases her ear and she lets out a shivery pant. He's moving down towards her neck, but she wrenches her wrist out of his hand, pushes him back. Pushing him down on to his back. The smirk is back on his face, and she can see in his eyes he knows how close she was to letting out a groan.

It's starting to hurt her throat how tight she's holding back.

Ok. Maybe I don't have all night. Buffy thinks, as she pins his hands to the bed covers, slipping up on top of him. I'm already too close to giving in...

He's laughing silently, flashing bright white teeth in the dark, and Buffy feels like she's definitely lost the first round.

But I won't lose the second.

She cradles his face in her hands, kissing him deeply, slips her hands down to his chest, trailing her fingers down over his muscles the way he did to her. Taking her time. Slowly moving off his lips when she feels the wicked grin melt, once his attention refocuses solely on her. On what she's doing. Of how low she's slipping down over him.

Soft warm lips over his chest, a tongue over his nipple makes his back arch, claws her arm in a death grip leaving scratches up her forearms. She sucks on him, bites him, her breasts pushed against his stomach. He grits his teeth and she watches as he turns his head away trying to regain control as she moves even lower. Warm tongue and burning lips on his stomach.

She wouldn't. He thinks as she moves even lower, eyelids flickering, air trapped in his lungs as he swallows. She's won't do that. Oh God if she does... I'll lose control if she does. How hot her mouth would be.

Her tongue swirls over his skin and he bites the inside of his cheeks to stop himself from panting her name. Her hands are on the inside of his thighs, moving his legs apart. He can't stop himself from pushing his fingers into her hair, thick silk locks wrapped around his hand and every nerve prickles up as he feels her hot breath against his shaft.

She nips his inner thigh, moving up to the junction between his leg and his crotch, hot tongue darting out to flicker against his skin. He's trembling and when she glances up at him she can see every muscle in his neck is taut, the hand not in her hair is gripping the bed covers.

Got you now.

Something about doing this feels different, exquisitely different, from any other time. Maybe it's his rapt attention, how much he's clearly holding himself back, not just wanting this to be a quick end, but instead wanting to savour every moment with her. All of it feels intimate but easy.

She runs a long slow tongue up his entire shaft and is rewarded with a strangled gasp, his legs twitching against her. She grasps him lightly, pumping slowly as pre-cum seeps out of him, darts a tongue over his head. Laps at him, building up towards taking him in fully.

He's panting, trying to stop his hips from thrusting is taking all his concentration. He's biting his lip to try and have some other sensation to focus on.

You win, pet. Oh God you win, you win, you win...

He'd dreamed what warm skin against him would feel like. What that boiling silken mouth would do to him.

Wasn't close... wasn't anywhere close to this-FUCK

His teeth draw blood from his lip as she sinks her mouth down onto him entirely. Liquid heat flooding up and through him. Can't look down, can't watch her as much as he wants or it'll all be over.

If I make a sound will she stop?

There's a dull aching pressure building in his brain and he realises he's clenching his jaw so tight he's teeth are starting to hurt. Heat for the first time round his cock in his entire existence is making him feel light headed. The agony of every nerve being pulled to breaking point by her tongue is choking him. She's building the pressure up, sucking and swirling her tongue over him, taking him even further to the back of her throat where it's not just warm but burning-

OhmyGod Buffy...

BuffyBuffyBuffyBuffy-

"BUFFY!" He screams, back arching as he comes, the fingers in her hair spasming and clenching down on her head.

She doesn't move away until she feels his muscles relax, until the hand in her hair loosens. She sits up, casually looking him over, kneeling between his legs. There's blood on his lips, and he's panting, eyes dreamily half closed.

She smiles.

"I win."

He lets out a shaking laugh, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"You cheated."

"What?!"

"Unfair advantage, luv. No man could resist that." He pulls her up towards him by her forearm, holding her by the hair and dragging her into a kiss. She pulls back.

"Admit defeat."

"Never." His lips wrap around hers, arms pulling her even closer.

"Spike!" She hisses.

"If anything you lost, you spoke first. I'll concede that it's a draw, but that's being very generous."

She chuckles, sitting up on top of him, squeezing his hips with her legs. She gets an electric thrill watching him as sighs contentedly at the pressure of her, hands stroking her thighs.

"And the terms?"

"I think it's got to be a best two out of three situation. Can't see any other way to resolve it."

Chapter Text

Somehow they find themselves underneath the bed covers, tangling around each other tighter and tighter. However much Buffy had pondered on it, guiltily dreamt on it, the reality was completely different. He wasn't cooling her down at all. Instead heat seemed to wrapping around them in a suffocating delirium. Either from the burning of her skin, the panting of her breath, or the friction of their bodies pressed against each other, she feels more on fire with every touch. Every kiss.

Their re-instated game of who would cry out first has stopped being a simple challenge and is rapidly becoming an unbearable edge over which they are both trying to topple the other.

Three more love bites decorate Buffy's shoulder and collarbone, and a host of deep scratches flourish over Spike's chest and back.

One of his arms is pinned underneath her, gripping her round the waist as he grinds gently against her hips. He unlatches his mouth from her neck, licking the welts he's left behind, breathing hard in her ear as his free hand slips down between them.

He brushes a hand against the inside of her thigh, pushing her open further as he slips two fingers inside her. Pumping in and out of her with a torturously slow rhythm. Moving further in, curling slightly up. He hits the spot almost immediately as soon as his fingers move up and is rewarded with the fingernails of her left hand sinking into the flesh of his arm. Buffy's face turned into his neck as she shivers uncontrollably.

She turns her head to his, moves her mouth up towards his and he pulls back out of her reach, curling his fingers up into her more cruelly, building the momentum. A hard gasp escapes her and she lifts her head to his again, begging for a kiss, begging for something to muffle the scream that's building up, echoing up from inside her.

He can feel her starting to breach the edge, feel all those slithery, slippery muscles inside her starting to contract.

Just a bit more..

Buffy's holding her breath, trembling underneath him. He pushes her right to the brink of it-

and pulls back.

She catches the yelp just before it spills out of her mouth, eyes lit like fire in the gloom. She bites her tongue hard, almost losing control and cursing him out for being a tease.

She can feel rather than see the smirk on his lips against her neck. Two slick fingers trail over her stomach, trailing over her hip. Excessively light, barely there at all.

He shifts the arm out from underneath her back, sliding it under her neck. With his other hand he catches her wrist, pulling her nails away from his bicep. Gently pushing it down to meet the bed, passing her wrist from one hand to the other.

With her hand held firmly in his, his fingers brush over her neck, up towards her jaw, turning her head into his to catch her lips in a kiss. Slow at first but turning into a burning brutality, tongue slipping over hers. His hand travels back between her legs, grazing her clit, pushing her open before slipping back inside her.

She tries to pull out of the kiss for air but his lips are locked over hers as fingers knead her back up to the edge in seconds. She tries to cup his face, pull him closer, but her hand is still caught in his grip and he holds on tighter, hard fingers digging into tendons, his chest crushing the breath out of her.

Going to faint...

Oh God I'm going to faint. I'm going to come and then I'm going to faint.

He bites her lip and she gasps, feeling his fingers curling further up, bearing down on the spot inside her all over again, still quiveringly sensitive from the assault on it moments earlier.

There's a fluttering between them and she realises it's the air in her lungs, the panting building up and up into a scream. There's a trembling moment of clarity in which she can hear herself moaning before she tumbles over the wave, all but howling into his mouth, the walls of her baring down in a bone crushing grip around his fingers.

He pulls his fingers back from her slowly as the pressure subsides, leaving a last kiss on her lips and releasing her wrist from his hand.

"One all."

Buffy nods, eyes still unfocussed, and he rolls off her to give her space to breath.

Spike lies on his back, one hand over her chest feeling the jumping underneath as her heart tries to kick its way out through her ribcage. He licks the palm of his hand up to his fingers, sucking off every trace of her.

"You taste so sweet." He murmurs, feeling her prickling next to him, green eyes watching him in the dark. "I could drink you dry, pet."

"You better not be talking about blood, Spike." There's a hard edge under her whispers and he grins at her.

"I wasn't. Well... maybe a little but I still can't bite you. I'm happy to wait another," his eyes flick up, counting on his fingers, "...ten days is it?"

Buffy freezes.

"You're- please tell me you can't tell when-"

"Blood's blood, sweetheart."

"Oh my God. That's so disgusting."

Entirely mortifying. I don't think I'll ever be able to stop thinking about that now. Three days a month I'm going to be completely self conscious...

...Might have to get the gang to patrol. Unless it's an emergency...

"Don't be such a prude. It's barely different from what you did to me earlier." He turns on his side, pulling her in closer. "I bet you'd taste so nice. Say you'll let me."

"NO!"

He clamps a hand over her mouth too late, laughing.

"I think that's the last point to me."

She bites at his palm.

"We weren't playing."

He straddles her, lazily, slowly like he's got hours now. Nothing to rush. Wrapping her legs around his hips.

"We're always playing, Buffy. I've never stopped playing with you."

He ruts against her, pulling her hand down and wrapping it round the tip of his cock as he glides it over her clit. Buffy moans, hips joining in with his.

"Really think you need to concede now, pet."

"Spike-"

Everything is shivery and sensitive and soaking wet. He leans over her, covering her mouth with his hand again as he pulls down a little and glides into her. She bucks underneath him, back arching as he slides over her G spot in one fluid motion setting every nerve blazing again, groaning into his palm.

"Two, one."

She nods, pulling him closer, arms wrapping around his shoulders. Disappearing into a deep well of black and stars underneath him. He cups her face, releasing her lips from his hand so he can push his against her, soft and kind and warm.

"I love you, Buffy."

Everything goes cool. Cold as all her nerves humming with energy slam to a halt.

She takes a shivery breath, trying to keep all the memories back a little but there's too many and they rush her-

-in Giles' chair -the look in his eyes when she agreed to marry him- the feel of his hand on the back of her neck after she'd nearly thrown up, seeing Riley in the vampire den- the coy flick of his smirk that makes a knot in her stomach- soft cool hands brushing the hair out of her face- punches and kicks thrown under an onslaught of want and lust- his fingers over her skin as he carried her to his crypt, melting over hers in the bronze, soft and breath stealingly slow, bandaged her stomach, held her hand as she cried over her mother in hospital...

I love you-

Spike freezes, pulls back to look her in the eyes.

"What?"

Buffy blinks. And realises she spoke those words, not thought them.

"I love you too."

He grins, catching her lips in another kiss.

"No more fighting it then, luv?"

Buffy wraps her arms around his back, dragging him down into her, nuzzling his neck.

No more fighting it...

Something cool slides down her finger, nestling against her knuckle. She rubs her other fingers against it, centring Spike's ring over her finger as he wraps a hand into her hair, holding onto each other, breathing each other in.

No more fighting it.

Chapter Text

Buffy wakes to bird song, and daylight trying to pry its way through the blinds of her bedroom. Her head feels fuzzy and far away. And there's a heavy weight across her chest and shoulder.

She massages sleep out of her eyes with the heel of her hand, trying to dispel some of the fog that continues to linger in her mind. The weight on her chest moves a little. An arm, snaking closer around her, wrapping more tightly around her ribcage.

Buffy turns, coming face to face with the sleeping form of Spike. Last night comes back in a shocking uncontrollable wave, but none of it seems to penetrate through her mind as he pulls her in closer, still asleep but gripping her tightly. Pale muscles relaxing around her like a snake uncoiling a little at the feel of her skin under his. His head is nestled against her neck and in sleep he shifts in closer, wraps a leg over hers, his cheek flush against her neck.

Buffy gasps a little as his lips touch her skin.

His skin is warm from being close to her underneath the covers all night. Sleep lends him a softness that clashes with the wire cut of his jaw, the sharp angles of his face. Thick black eyebrows offset by white ragged curls, almost glowing in the morning's half light-

Oh shit- morning, what time is it?!

Buffy turns her head to her the nightstand, checking the clock-

HOLY CRAP HOW IS IT NEARLY NOON!?

"Spike!"

He stirs, but doesn't wake. Instead he winds tighter around her, his hand dipping underneath her waist anchoring her completely to him, face nuzzling deeper into her neck, hips sliding against hers-

Oh.

Buffy swallows. Even in sleep his body seems completely aware of her, and as she tries to shift back out of his grasp he rouses a little out of the depths of unconsciousness, purring lightly and pulling her back in.

"Spike, wake up!"

"Buffy..." It comes out as little more than a sigh but it sets her spine tingling. An achingly soft whisper but with a growl beneath it. The way he murmurs her name, like he was dreaming of her all night, pining for her all his life-

Get a grip!

"Spike, you have to wake up! It's morning!"

"M'nocturnal, pet." His moving lips catch a soft patch of skin at the base of her neck and she bites her lip, trying to edge back from him. Eyes still heavy lidded he's pulling her closer still so she's lying flush beneath him.

"You have to go!" She hisses, shaking him by the shoulder as she tries to pull herself out of his grasp.

"Can't."

"Why!?"

"Because it's morning, you just bloody well said so."

"I'm serious Spike!"

"So'm I. I've really rather outgrown my bursting into flames phase. Takes sodding ages to get rid of the blisters." Instead of moving off her he's moving further down. She tries to slip away but he yanks her back hard, sharp teeth grazing over already sensitive and sore skin. Caressing bruises with his tongue, scratching the love bites he's littered down her chest with his teeth. He traces her collarbone and she shudders, angry at how her own body betrays her. Resolve crumbling from nothing but the slightest touch.

He groans against her neck as he pushes her knees apart with his own, before slipping in between her legs, making the bed creak loudly.

She winces, edges her hips back from his.

"Spike! Shhh!"

"If you want me to be quiet, I'll happily take a bribe, luv."

"With what?"

"A kiss." He levels himself off her a little, stroking her cheek with the back of his fingers, catching her chin and pushing it up so she meets his gaze. "Say good morning properly."

She sighs exasperated and kisses him quickly on the lips. He chuckles.

"You can do better than that. Kiss me the way you did last night."

"Spike, off-" He smirks, and wraps his fingers around the bars of the bed frame, pretending to thrust against her, making the bed howl with a cacophony of squeaks.

"Alright, stop!"

She checks the time again before biting her lip. Weighing her mothers raised eyebrow with the desire to stay under the covers with him all day.

Just ten more minutes... I've missed feeling so wanted, I can have ten more minutes, right?

She slips her arm round his back, pulling him down to her a little more. She runs a thumb over his lips and can see he's already mesmerized, his eyes turning from blue to near black as his pupils dilate into huge dark oceans.

She pushes her lips gently against his, and he lets her take the lead, his hands relinquishing the bed-frame to pull her closer, slipping round her shoulders, fingers curling up the nape of her neck into her wild hair. She cups his face, pulling him in as she widens their kiss, her tongue darting across his lips before entwining around his.

Her leg slips around his waist anchoring herself to him as she pushes up against him and he groans, low and deep, lost in her kiss completely. She breaks away from his lips and trails hers down over his jaw, moving round to his nuzzles in closer, wrapping around him in an embrace that sinks heat into his skin. She feels him sigh a little from the enveloping warmth, the easy intimacy. She let's herself feel it just a little too, letting the weight of him press her back into the bed, feeling completely surrounded.

"There. Now get dressed." She pushes him back and maneuvers herself out from under his arms.

He rolls his eyes.

"Women."

Buffy slips out of the bed, pulling on her clothes.

"How're you going to get back to your crypt?"

"How'm I what now?"

"You can't stay here, Spike."

He huffs.

"Why not?"

"Because my mother's in the house!"

He catches her hand as she moves past the bed, holding her own hand up in front of her face, forcing her to look at the chunky, silver ring nestled against her knuckle.

"And what exactly happened to not skulking about?"

She pulls her hand back, reaching for a sweater to accompany the jeans she's found on the floor.

"It's not skulking, it's... strategically not giving her a heart attack to accompany her recent brain surgery."

"Sure. Fine. But I still can't bloody well leave, darlin'. It's broad-sodding-daylight."

"I'll lend you a blanket." She grabs one that's slipped off the bed and holds it out to Spike. He raises an eyebrow at the fluffy blue florals.

"You are kidding."

"Just get dressed!"

She hustles him down the stairs as quietly as she can, practically pushing him, but he's not cooperating. He drags his feet, going deliberately at a snails pace, holding the blanket in one hand and letting his boots thump down heavily on every step.

"Spike, for Gods sake! Move!" She hisses.

"Can't help it luv, you've got me weak at the knees."

"Stop it!"

"In fact I think I'm going down." He slumps against her as they reach the front door, wrapping an arm over her shoulders for support as his teeth graze the shell of her ear.

"STOP IT!" She gets the door open behind him but he doesn't budge.

"Don't I get a goodbye kiss?"

"Spike-" she pleads.

"Spike?" They both jump, heads whipping round to face Joyce standing in the entrance to the dining room.

"Uh-" Buffy pales as Spike closes the door behind him.

"Morning Joyce. How's the head?"

"Much better, thank you." She raises an eyebrow at Buffy.

"Uh.. Spike just came by for... for uh.. uh-" she stammers.

"For band practice?" Joyce smiles, ironically.

"Well it's definitely not bible study." Dawn bounces down the stairs, smirking whilst Buffy turns a deep shade of pink. She disappears into the kitchen.

Spike smiles innocently and Buffy turns an even deeper red.

"Just thought I'd stop by. Check on Sunnydale's favorite patient."

"Well that's very thoughtful." Joyce smiles back, "I'm making coffee, would you like some?"

"Love some-"

"No!" Buffy interrupts, trying to re-open the door Spike's leaning against. "Spike's really got to get going. He's got a... thing that needs taking care of. Big, evil thing. Can't wait. Right Spike?"

He snaps his fingers.

"Oh right, knew there was something I forgot to tell you. All a big misunderstanding. Whole day of fighting evil just totally blown over." He grins, watching as she purses her lips. "My day's wide open, pet." He hands her back the fluffy floral blanket, following Joyce into the kitchen as Buffy glares at his back.

"So really, how's the battle wound? All healed up?"

"Not quite, but much better. I'm just trying to work up the nerve to change the dressing. Stitches always give me the heebie jeebies." She hands him a cup of coffee.

He takes a sip.

"Want me to do it?"

Joyce blinks, taken aback by the offer.

"Oh, I couldn't ask you to do that."

"S'no trouble." Spike sets the coffee cup down. "Your eldest has given me enough cause for stitches, and I know my way around most cuts and bruises." He drags the first aid box lying open on the kitchen island towards him, expertly fishing out what he needs.

Buffy watches from the doorway, too stunned to protest, as he washes his hands in the sink before carefully scooping her mother's hair back away from the old bandage and gently peels it off.

A row of dark stitches grace her forehead.

"Oh cooool." Dawn murmurs around a mouthful of cereal, before catching Spike and Joyce's raised eyebrows. "Uh, I mean gross."

"You ghoul." Joyce chuckles.

Spike carefully cleans it with an antiseptic wipe and applies the new bandage with deft fingers, squeezing her shoulder to let her know he's finished. "Good as new."

Joyce smiles warmly, patting her hair back into place.

Buffy shakes her head. Really didn't think this rabbit hole could go any deeper.

"So what's everyone's plans for today?"

"Janice's." Dawn slurs through another mouthful of cereal.

"And I'm heading to the gallery," replies Joyce.

"Uh, really? You sure you're up to it?" Buffy opens the fridge and pours herself a glass of orange juice. "The doctor said it's super duper rest from now until... well he didn't actually give a cut off point but I expect forever."

"I'll be fine Buffy. I'm getting a ride there and back, and all I'm going to do is sit in a comfortable chair and say yes or no to the new shipment. Just a very easy, restful, somewhat judgmental day."

Buffy mock glares. "Alright. But it better be mega restful. And super judgey."

"Agreed. Actually I should get my things together, I'll be off in ten."

She checks her watch, and heads out of the kitchen. A car horn blares outside and Dawn jumps, spilling milk across the counter.

"That's Janice. See ya!"

"Ugh, teenage slob!" Buffy calls after her but she's out the door.

She bites her lip, realizing Spike and her are alone.

And that oddly he hasn't taken his eyes off the newspaper lying on the counter even as milk starts to puddle towards it.

"Something interesting?"

He spins the newspaper round so she can read it.

...Six Found Murdered On A Train At Sunnydale Station...

...police investigating the bizarre case of a traincar massacre for which there are unconfirmed reports of severe trauma to the throats of one or more of the victims...

...No apparent witnesses...

"Bye Buffy!" Joyce calls from the hallway.

"Uh huh." Buffy mumbles as her eyes skim through the rest of the article, before Spike snatches it back and bats her with it. "What- Oh! BYE MOM!"

The front door closes and a strange hush falls between them. Buffy swallows. Spike's eyes linger on her.

"Sounds like work's calling, luv." Spike downs the last of the coffee and leaves the mug in the sink. "Wanna check it out later?"

"Yes... I mean uh. I'll take Xander. We'll head over after he finishes work."

Spike leans against the sink. Clenching his jaw at the obvious exclusion.

"Suit yourself."

"Don't pout."

Buffy reaches for a cloth to wipe up the milk that Dawn spilled. He catches her wrist, drawing her closer in.

"How about you give me a reason not to pout?"

She rolls her eyes but it's not sincere. He pulls her in, arms snaking round her waist, holding her tight as his lips touch hers, tongue weaves passed her teeth to wrap around her own.

Spike feels like his fingers are melting. Each piece of skin in contact with hers feels like it's being thawed.

But it's not quite enough to keep his attention this time. A thick ugly knot has corded itself around his guts.

The newspaper had a photograph of the carriage, and it keeps flashing up in his head.

I'm wrong. I've got to be wrong.

I'm wrong, or it means nothing. Just a coincidence.

But it doesn't stop the thought of it settling in his mind like a poison.

On one of the luggage racks, hanging off from the edge, nearly obscured by the camera's edge... what appeared to be a china doll.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Drusilla slips out of the crypt into the soft gray hue of early evening. The graveyard smells fresh. And sweet. Of rain saturating plush grass and newly turned earth. Of damp stones, and the blood on her hands.

Fresher blood too, in a living body beating like a warm ripple through the cool evening air.

She watches from behind a mausoleum wall as Buffy cuts across the gravel path towards Spike's crypt. The door hinges squeak as she pulls them open and, no longer entertained, Dru drifts away. Her black lace dress catches a few ivy leaves as she departs, tugging them loose and trailing dark streaks of blood upon them. There's nothing interesting to do there. How dull.

Her poetic pet has found a new toy to chew on and she has no interest in watching. She never did have a taste for that sort of sin. So much exertion for so little reward. Nothing to compare to the symphonies of chaos in her own mind. The sweet nothings whispered from his lips as he writhed on top of her couldn't compare to the fae voices in her head that always said such disturbingly wonderful things.

Her William always was so preoccupied by it. Couldn't fathom that her visions were so much more vibrant than those pleading blue eyes of his. That they fought their way past him even as he tried to hold her tighter. Dark visions, full of blood and bone and gore. What could compare?

Her ballet-slippered feet skip out of the back gates of the cemetery, uncaring for the thorns and sharp rocks under her soles, her dress skimming the blades of grass in a soothing whisper.

There's something deep and dark in the woods and she wants a piece of it, even if her poet isn't in the game for now. She can begin without him, and he'll smell the blood and come running. Then Daddy and Grandmother will be so delighted. They'll dive into the blood, spilt in that iron box underground from soldier throats, and they'll be so happy. So happy with her they'll fold red dripping arms around her and be a family again.

All she ever wanted… a happy family reunited… The blood will bring them together. The blood always brings them together.

She's so light footed, the twigs and debris beneath her barely snap as she passes higher up into the woods.

Dru doesn't need to walk for long before voices prick her ears. Everything seems so loud and dreadfully vivid after gorging herself in the train that there's a possibility the voices aren't there at all. Or simply aren't there yet…

But she's sure they are. These ones are accompanied by two boys in green.

Like little gnomes… she thinks and giggles quietly in the underbrush, pressing in just a bit closer to watch them as they make their way up to a rocky outcrop, carrying guns but not paying close attention to their surroundings.

"So you broke up?" One of the gnomes with spiky brown hair like a hedgehog asks the other. His companion's back is so straight he's like a statue and Dru thinks casually that her daddy would break it piece by piece until he could roll him up like a snail.

The statue shrugs.

"Not officially. I said the outfit wanted me back and transport was leaving tonight. She assumed it was international and told me to have a good flight," he says bitterly, hefting his gun a little higher up, forefinger tightening on the trigger.

Hedgehog clicks his tongue, shaking his head. "You know ultimatums don't usually work if you're the one that fucked up," he says with a hard pat on Statue's back.

"It wasn't an ultimatum," Statue mutters.

"Sure, whatever. Sounds like a break up to me, dude," says Hedgehog, cocking an unsympathetic eyebrow. "Think you need to chalk that one up to don't date ultimate destiny chicks."

"She just needs time to come around. She'll cool off," Statue says, his lips pursing in the half moon glow.

"Right," replies Hedgehog, but doesn't sound convinced. They move on up higher and Dru follows behind like a dark blood covered shadow. "And how does that play into the mission? Not to point out the obvious but this rather puts a wrinkle in the plan."

"I know."

"Ellis brought you in specifically because of her-"

"Yeah, I know. I'll figure it out, she just needs to calm down for a few days."

There's a momentary pause in the conversation between them and Dru stills her steps. She can smell demons up ahead. Not fresh, a scent from a few days ago lingering like sweat on a stained shirt.

They're getting close to the entrance to their hidey hole. Little treats in a tin can.

"You know, you might be looking at this the wrong way," says Hedgehog and Statue cocks his head towards him. Dru mimics the motion, her eyes glittering darkly from behind her leafy cover.

"What do you mean?" asks Statue. He sounds weary. And sad. His emotional defenses are weakening. How simple it would be to unravel him further until he was a quivering little boy begging for mercy.

"She's not human, Riley," says Hedgehog like he's talking to a very slow child, "I mean, you do get that, right? Human girls can't bench press a car."

The statue stiffens, and Dru can smell anger spicing his blood into a heady intoxicating aroma.

"She's human," he says brusquely, but she can hear a tiny little seed of doubt has tightened his throat, making those two little words sound… unconvinced.

"Yeah, really?" says Hedgehog, with a snort, "I hate to burst your bubble Ri, but there's a hell of a lot of things that look human until they aren't." He shifts his rifle to one hand so he can count off on his fingers. "Super strength, super healing, super God knows what else. Doesn't sound all that human to me."

"She's the chosen one Graham, it comes with-"

"With what?" Hedgehog interrupts, hitting his stride with his impromptu lecture. "Think it through for a minute, man. What's more likely; that your girl is some literal second coming of Jesus wrapped up in a Superman package? Or she's some hostile we haven't had the pleasure of making a more thorough acquaintance with." He readjusts his gun back into both hands. "Forrest never trusted her. Ellis doesn't either."

The statue bites his cheek. They look flushed from anger and humiliation, and the sight of warm blood coloring his skin pink makes Dru's mouth water a little despite her full stomach. If she sank her nails straight into them they'd burst like warm ripe cherries, spilling hot red nectar into her hands until her fingernails met the stones of his teeth.

"I know," he mutters, and Dru makes a mock pout at his distress. "But she's not evil."

"Got that in writing do you?" asks Hedgehog, "you've weighed her in the balance and deemed her ultimate good?" Statue opens his mouth to reply but Hedgehog gets in first. "She stopped lurking about with Hostile 17?"

The statue shuts his mouth, his teeth biting together in a click, and Dru cocks an eyebrow under her bracken cover.

"Yeah, thought so," sneers Hedgehog. "Ultimate good my ass."

"Spike's a creep but he's harmless-" Statue says defensively but Hedgehog pulls up short. So does Dru, following as she is adjacent to the path they're walking, hands behind her back like she's part of the conversation. Her eyes sparkle. This could be interesting…

"Spike?" Hedgehog chuckles, but there's no mirth in it. "Hostile 17's name is Spike? The same Spike she pretended she was engaged to? That Spike?"

Statue opens and closes his mouth but no words come out, and Hedgehog laughs a mean schoolboy laugh.

"Oh dude, you got it bad."

They reach a cave and Dru hangs back in the shadows, watching patiently, smiling sweetly.

"Go talk to Ellis," says Hedgehog, thumping Statue hard on the arm. "He's not gonna like the delay but it'd be better if she came willingly. Try and get on her good side yeah?" Statue huffs and heads into the cave, turning his back on Hedgehog's mocking face. "Buy her flowers!" he calls after him. "Even demon babes like flowers!"

Statue raises a middle finger at him before he disappears into the shadows, leaving Hedgehog all alone.

Deliciously alone.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Scratched, pissed off, and practically blind from the scent of blood filling the air, Spike makes his way through an endless barrage of trees in the moonlight, climbing higher to where he dimly remembers the Initiative caves once were. It seems like a terrible, terrible idea—traipsing about in these woods with more troops lurking around—but it's the only idea he's got.

Hours pass with nothing but dim stumbling through bracken until, like a beacon in the dark, he suddenly catches Buffy's scent. It drifts towards him with outstretched fingers beckoning him onwards.

He opens his mouth to bellow her name and then halts with it on his tongue as he remembers the potentially teeming masses of soldiers waiting for a new opportunity to dissect him. He shuts his mouth. Stealth it is.

He tracks her to a twisted tree in the shadow of an outcrop. It's out in the open enough for him to see scuff marks down the slope of the rock face illuminated in the moonlight.

Girl took a tumble- he wrinkles his nose as another scent assaults his sinuses. Harsh soap seems to be the prevailing ingredient. Hair wax too?

A soldier maybe? It's hard to pick out the specific notes over the blood stench that's evaporating out of a large dark pool at the base of the rock. Impossible to decipher if it belongs to anyone specific. He sighs, pinching his nose to try and stop the salt of it from washing through his brain.

Ok so… Buffy was here and then she went…

She went…

He glances around looking for marks in the dust, or crushed forest floor to indicate a path she might have taken. There's one set of boot prints walking in; a soldier coming to look at the blood and guts puree? Finds her too? And they leave together…

But then where are her footprints?

Oh fuck… No footprints, but her scent drifts off into the woods again alongside Sergeant Soap. Something happened and she was carried off. That's never good.

"BUFFY!" He can't stop himself this time as panic seems to lurch upwards like vomit into his mouth.

He runs off into the dark. The sensory mix of blood and Dru and Buffy crisscrosses confusingly, and he gets turned around more than once, cursing and swearing and feeling like if he had a heartbeat it would be aching in his chest, until he makes it to the mouth of the cave.

"Oh, God," he mumbles. All the aromas flow into the mouth of the cave. Buffy, Dru, the soldiers, and the blood.

Things feel painful and groggy as Buffy's eyelids pry themselves open. Her left arm throbs, radiating from the shoulder downward, and she groans as she rolls off it before struggling into a sitting position on the cot that's been placed against the wall of an entirely empty cell, devoid of anything but white ceramic-tiled walls.

"Buffy?" Riley's voice summons her further out of her disorientated dizziness. "Buffy?"

Her vision swirls as her head jerks to the glass that fills one wall like she's in an enormous fish-tank. Riley stands rigid behind the glass.

"Sorry for the rough treatment," he says, offering up a regretful smile that at least seems to have an ounce of shame underneath.

"What the HELL, Riley?!" Buffy screams from inside her box. Her voice seems to refract strangely off the tiles, stinging her already throbbing head more. "Let me out, you psychopath!"

"I wish I could." Riley winces in a way that Buffy finds she loathes, so unnatural and obviously affected. "We need your help and couldn't risk you saying no-"

"Gee, what a reasonable and not completely insane way of asking for it!"

Riley nods, stiffening his bottom lip like she's a child having a tantrum. "To clarify," he says cooly, the facade of sympathy slipping, "we aren't asking."

"Obviously!" Buffy raises herself off the cot with a slight wobble but recovers quickly. "Let. Me. Out!"

"So you can go running back to Spike?" he asks, no emotion rising in his voice whatsoever, just a chilling dead quality to the question. Buffy hardens her jaw and says nothing back. Denials at this point would be futile. Her silence seems to aggravate him further. "Don't you see what you're doing? You're corrupting yourself—"

She scoffs in disbelief. "Real rich coming from you!"

"That's not-" he shakes his head, seemingly exasperated as if she's driven him to this argument, "that's not the same at all. I did that to get close to you, but you just- no-," he cuts himself off with an angry shrug, "look, that's not important anymore. What we're doing now is important. We're going to help each other here-"

"Oh, I really doubt that," she snarls.

"You're slipping, Buffy," Riley continues as if she hadn't spoken at all. "And that's ok, you're just a girl, just a student, you shouldn't have all this responsibility! It's too easy for your head to be turned and lose sight of the ultimate goal."

Fury makes Buffy's skin prickle with a cold, unstoppable hatred. Just a girl!?

She takes a deep, stabilizing breath in and visualizes kicking Riley in the balls so hard he turns inside out. It doesn't really help.

"Just a girl that threw you bodily across a room," she says as she stretches the arm still stiff from the needle's puncture. "Something I'm very much not regretting anymore. I held back, by the way."

"That's exactly my point," Riley says as he leans on the glass. "Power like that, abilities like that, shouldn't be in the hands of just one individual—"

"Heeere we go," Buffy mutters under her breath. He means one woman. He'd probably be fine with it if it turned out Xander was the Slayer-calling guy.

"I mean, think about it, the entire fate of the world rests on your shoulders," he says, and Buffy raises her eyes to his and sees they're glassy, not focused on her but on this speech he's clearly rehearsed. "And if you have an off day? Or some other monster turns your head and you decide that actually things aren't as black and white as you once thought? What then?"

"Oh, so this is for the good of humanity," Buffy says acidly, eyes narrowed. "Gotcha."

"It is," he insists, glaring back at her. "You think the hellmouth is the only place with these problems? Newsflash, darling, it's not. This is global, and you're one person, in one location. We need to branch out."

"And I'm not stopping you from doing that. This has been a great conversation. Let me out."

Riley rolls his eyes. "Buffy, we don't stand a chance without your abilities. If you'd just let us run some tests, see if we can reproduce some of your—"

"No."

"-strengths, don't you understand how—"

"NO!"

"-incredible that would be? We could put a stop to the entire demon population. A resistance in every country! We need that. If you're the ultimate weapon, then we need to replicate that!"

"Just so we're on the same page, the Initiative would be paid for whatever super-mystic-weapon-DNA you think you'd be able to extract from me, right?" Buffy growls. "You'd be selling it, wouldn't you?"

He makes an aggravated snort at the back of his throat. "Don't be naive, there's no such thing as a free lunch. Labs and equipment don't grow on trees. It's not about the money, it's the results that counts."

"Ends justify the means, right?" Buffy sneers, the memory of that time-and-space-altering moment with Spike at the Bronze practically choking the air from her lungs. Riley's nostrils flare with impatience and she bites the inside of her cheek.

Oh God, I'm not getting out of here…

There's an angry pause that seems to stretch endlessly between them before Riley averts his eyes, looking pained. "Ellis thinks you're a demon."

Buffy snorts disbelievingly, shaking her head to try and stop angry tears from amassing. "And I just bet you fought my corner." There's probably already a tinfoil pit with my name on it…

"You need to do this," Riley persists, pointedly ignoring her sarcasm. "Prove him wrong. It's just blood tests, some muscle biopsies, that's all."

"You want to literally cut pieces off me after kidnapping me, and you have the nerve to say that's all!? Have you completely lost your mind?!" Riley opens his mouth to respond but she doesn't give him space to. "I'm saying no. No, no, no! And if you don't let me out THIS SECOND I'm going to personally rip both of your arms off."

Riley flinches, composes himself and then sighs, shoulders relaxing minutely as if their argument is over, filling Buffy with utter dread and frustration.

"Miller was right," he mutters as he types something into the keypad on the wall next to her window. "We were hoping not to have to do it this way-"

"Riley-" her heart stutters with panic at the blank, clinical look on his face.

"Look, it'll be alright, you'll see."

"RILEY!"

He walks away, and as he does a fine mist starts leaching from the vent in the ceiling. It smells sour, like air circulated in an airplane too many times, mixed with something that dries her mouth and sets her lungs straining. "R-Riley-"

But he's gone, leaving her gasping in the white-tiled cell.

A little tap-tap-tap gets her wavering attention and she glances over to the cell opposite her. Fear fills her lungs even as the air is sucked out of them.

Drusilla stands, pressed against the window, smiling calmly like a gore-covered vulture. Half the glass is smeared in blood that she's splashed across it from an empty plastic baggy discarded on the floor. With the tip of her manicured finger she draws a dot and branches it out into waving petals. Buffy slumps to the floor, the last thing she sees is Drusilla's rose sketched in blood…

Spike waits outside the cave mouth in the shadows for as long as his already minuscule amount of patience allows. Praying for Buffy to return any minute now, every second willing her to materialize out of the dark.

An hour passes and he feels it in his gut that she's not going to be walking back out. Especially seeing as she didn't walk in in the first place.

This is bad. Need to get her out of there… how the hell am I going to get her out?!

He drags his top lip in between his teeth as his gut plummets. Gonna have to get the bleeding B team on the case. Fan-fucking-tastic.

This can only end well considering we're such good pals.

It takes another hour to untangle himself from the woods. Half an hour more to cross town in a dead sprint heading for the Magic Box. He tries to rehearse what he's going to say in his head. What words in the right order would unify her gang quickly and efficiently with the least amount of back and forth?

Preferably no back at all. Just forth.

The Magic Box windows are dark. He ignores the We Are Closed sign and rattles the handle loudly. "Oi! Open the door! Watcher, open the fucking door!" He hammers on it several times before accepting that there's no signs of life within.

"GREAT!" He kicks the door hard enough to hear the doorbell on the inside tinkle obnoxiously. "THE ONE TIME YOU DECIDE TO HAVE A PERSONAL LIFE, YOU STUFFY TWEED-WEARING GIT!"

A couple more blocks of furious running brings him to the Bronze. It's busy, but not packed, and a brief sweep of the floor and balcony is enough to confirm none of the rest of her entourage is there either.

Shit!

More running and he dimly ponders on how it's a good thing he doesn't need to breathe or he'd probably be coughing up a lung at this point, but it's not too much further to the street where he keeps his beat-up DeSoto.

He rarely drives it and as such it doesn't always obey, choosing inopportune moments for the battery to stutter and die.

"If you don't start I'm going to bloody well set you on fire," he threatens as he slams the door shut and turns the key in the ignition. As if it heard him the engine flares to life, seemingly out of terror. He hits the gas, breaking the speed limit and running two red lights as he careens empty streets to the watcher's house. No police cars follow him, no one tries to slow him down, as is usually the case with anything that occurs after the sun sets.

Dark windows greet him as he pulls up to the house.

"ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!" How can he not be home?!

He slams on the horn maliciously in case the asshole has just decided to retire for the evening, though he knows from experience Old Rupes reads well into the night, and that bedroom window is totally pitch.

What now!?

He takes a couple of unnecessary breaths, hard sharp ones to try and get himself calm enough for a plan to surface.

One last option; maybe Joyce has a phone book or something. He could call Harris, see if there's some sort of emergency number he's not privy to because until 24 hours ago he was the de facto outsider to the entire operation. Cruel irony.

Mercifully, lights are on at the Buffy residence as he tears the front door almost off his hinges.

"JOYCE!" he shouts, wincing as he turns and sees her on the sofa watching TV with a mug of tea only a few feet away from him. "Need your phone, can't find the bloody watcher or any of the- phonebook, where's the bleeding phonebook!?" he babbles and she blinks at him before she catches wind of what he's trying to say.

"I think Giles said he had a date tonight, but I don't know where it's supposed to be—"

"Christ!" Spike snarls as he hunts for an address book amongst her bureau. "Murphy's sodding law." He finds the yellow pages and tears through it to the H's.

Harriford-Harringway-Harrion-HARRIS! He dials the number into the phone. Come on pick up, pick up, PICK UP, PICK UP-

"What's going on?" Joyce asks as she joins him by the desk.

"Slayer's been taken by the Initiative," he bites out without fully thinking just as the phone's ringing clicks into voice message.

"What!?" Joyce practically yells. "But it burned down! How can they- taken?!"

"Apparently they rebuilt headquarters-"

"And they have Buffy?! Oh my God—"

"Look, calm down I'm handling it, just—"

"CALM DOWN?!"

"I have a plan," he lies badly. "Would you sit down before you pop a seam!"

She glares at him, and instead of taking a seat, she storms off to the downstairs closet with a murderous look on her face.

"What are you doing?" he asks, the phone in his hand forgotten. "I said I'm handling i- BLOODY HELL!"

With a harsh clatter Joyce pulls out an ax.

"You kept that thing?!" he sputters as she sets it by the door and pulls on her coat.

"You're driving, let's go," she says as she hefts the ax into her hands.

"I'm not driving you anywhere, pretty sure bedrest doesn't include storming the sodding Bastille- Joyce?! JOYCE!" But she's already out the door. "Oh, balls!"

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